Cathy in the Wright

Crusin'

We did it. Managed to get The Old Timer out of the nursing home. We took off and explored a couple of neighboring towns, and then went the the seat of Wright County where Old Timer used to teach. She had a good time. So did I. As people would pass us (I was holding steady at 55 on the highways) they looked annoyed with me, but then they would see Old Timer and a smile would spread over their faces. Not too often you see an 84 year old out crusing in a Corvette.

I know what you're thinking: Thank G*d she's not driving.

I can't wait until the leaves start changing colors. I promised Old Timer another ride to see the fall foliage. She loves trees.

Enough is Enough

Mosquitoes
Senator Mark Dayton
Fifty degrees below zero wind chills in the winter...

Minnesota has enough going against it without this guy helping our image.

Not all our high school students weigh in at three bills and look like they eat Volkswagen Beetles for breakfast.

Thanks to Tiger for the CNN link.

He's Not Bad-Tempered...Just "Challenged"

Yesterday was The Governor's first hair cut.

When the Wright County Coroner's office sorts out the remains and gets the DNA tests back, I will be able to let you all know just how many casualties there were. Currently, the body count is relatively low. Most of the people not accounted for have simply been labeled "missing" as there are not enough body parts to identify complete corpses.

Well...I suppose it wasn't quite as bad as all that. No deaths. The barber is going on permanent disability and there was less that half a million in property damage. I think our insurance covers this. I don't know. I haven't returned the "urgent" phone messages from State Farm that are piling up on our answering machine.

Today has been a bit calmer. We're heading to the nursing home to visit one of our favorite old timers. I offered to take her out for a ride in the convertible tomorrow, and so we're going to go bribe some social workers and nurses to see if we can't get rid of Old Timer's home monitoring anklet alarm for a couple of hours in the morning. If they don't comply, I'm going to release The Governor. I expect them to succumb in less than six minutes.

Not too much else to report. If you live in Wright County, stay off the roads tomorrow around 10 a.m. Old Timer and I are not slowing for anyone.

Have a great Labor Day weekend. Drive safely or wear clean underwear. It's your choice.

We will be in town, perhaps celebrating in the city of Dassel at their Red Rooster Days. The big draw of the weekend is the chicken dinner on Monday. And I AM PRO-CHICKEN!

Hard to Pacify...

The Governor expresses his general disdain of early bedtimes.

Wanted: Hard, Wooden, Uncomfortable Chair

Yesterday The Senator was playing in the livingroom while The Governor napped. I grabbed my book and sat down in a chair in the corner of the livingroom.

The Senator walks over and says,

Mom, I'm kinda playing in here by myself.

Oh. Well, can't I just read quietly in the corner here?

Well, the Time Out chair is pretty comfy.

Anyone have a really uncomfortable chair just taking up space...waiting to be taken to the dump? Preferrably with some rusty nails sticking up through the seat?

Apparently discipline has been getting a bit too "comfy" here at the Outpost.

You're a Mean One...Mr. Chirac

The VP sent me an email this morning with this link. I'm game. I clicked.

At first I thought someone must be channeling Scrappleface, if not outright plagiarizing the site.

Then I thought...Yeah, the French could cancel Christmas.

Go read the article. Seems like June 6th (D-Day) would have been an easy day to pick. The French government has not had too much trouble forgetting about it in the recent past.

My Next T-Shirt

Um...Chris? Can I use one of your characters on my blog? Should have asked first, I suppose...

Waiting for Mother Earth to Fight Back

Jeff over at A Little More to the Right posts about my favorite feel-good group, PETA. It appears they are giving funds to the loony tree-huggers at E.L.F. (Earth Liberation Front).

Pretty soon even the animals are going to be saying, "Stay the h*ll away from us!"

Can't you just see a typical meeting for these ELF nuts?

Lead Crunchy: Welcome to the Earth Liberation Front's secret underground meeting. Today we are going to be talking about...

Second Crunchy: Wait, wait. I thought this was the Liberation Front for Earth?

L.C.: No. Well, we used to be, but we split off from them. We're the Earth Liberation Front.

Third Crunchy: No, that's not right. We split from the Front for Earth's Liberation. Bunch of crazy b*stards. Made James Watt look like a Greenpeace spokesman.

Fourth Crunchy:I'm hungry. Anyone want to go grab a burger?

Chairs thrown. Fourth Crunchy mumbles "veggie burger" with her dying breath.

Apologies to Monty Python fans.

Awww. I'm sure they are just a bunch of misguided youth who will no doubt end up in therapy one day when they're grown and start shopping for a Ford Explorer because it would be so much easier and more comfortable taking their dream vacation of visiting all the organic farms of the midwest in an SUV instead of on their beloved bicycles.

Posted by Cathy at 01:10 PM | Comments (2)

Back to Life, Back to Reality...

Waking up this morning and seeing stacks of dirty dishes, empty wine bottles, and the house in a general state of disarray made me smile. We had a very busy weekend here at the outpost. Lots of company, lots of fun. I was rather disappointed to wake up and discover Monday had arrived. I could swear we were shorted one full day this weekend.

After the company left last night, we allowed The Senator to make a fort out of the cushions on the livingroom sectional and the coffee table. This morning, in an attempt to uncover our original living conditions (not unlike an archaeological dig) I was picking up cushions and discovered the motherload. I called National Geographic to come take pictures.

The Senator had raided the M&Ms and had an enormous pile of them sitting in the middle of his fort. On the tan carpet. No bowl, no napkin. Ant fodder. Mouse bait.

There are some days when I think that boy could rule the world, and other days when I think "Fries with that, Ma'am?" is going to play a prominent role in his future career.

I sat down with a half opened bottle of wine and ate the M&Ms.

Naw, not really. That's sick.

Five or six years ago...perhaps.

Oh Sh*t! The Governor is already awake. 70 minute nap. It's going to be a wild afternoon.

Before I forget...a big "Hello" to Dean Esmay. Every time I see your name, I mentally thank you for helping me get set up here on Moveable Type. I appreciate it more than I can express. And I really enjoyed your post on your favorite words.

The Boys

Took The Senator to the clinic today for his school physical. Last year they gave him a quick once over. This year was a little more involved. He got to do a UA (med-speak for pee in a cup) and get his hemoglobin checked (stick your finger). He didn't mind peeing in the cup; I just hope he doesn't get any bright ideas and try to reenact the event at home. Wasn't too crazy about drawing blood. No tears, but he was ready to jump out of his shorts. The lab tech had a death grip on his wrist to hold him still.

The whole exam took about half an hour. Half an hour of trying to keep The Governor entertained and quiet. Guess how successful that was. The only bright side is that the staff at the clinic sure try and move you along quickly when your 16 month old is starting to grab for the expensive equipment.

Sure makes you realize the power of a wild child. I get really disgusted when I see parents ignoring their out-of-control children. But now I'm going to have to take a closer look. Maybe the parents were getting lousy service at the restaurant and it was taking forever for the food to arrive. Release the hounds. Tired of waiting in the check-out line at the grocery store because the cashier has to trade endless witticisms with the bag boy? See how fast the manager invites you to the "10 Items or Less" line with your full cart when Junior starts ripping magazines and breaking candy bars.

I think I will now start to carry The Gov in a holster on my side. Whip him out when things aren't going my way.

I'm not that kind of parent. But you have to admit it's tempting.

The Newest Addition...

Anyone remember the scene in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer when Clarice tells Ruldoph she thinks he's cute? And he launches across the playground crooning, "She think's I'm cute! She think's I'm cute!"

That's what I feel like whenever I discover Cathy in the Wright on someone else's Links list.

He likes my blog! He likes my blog!

So Tiger made my day NOT ONLY by adding CinW to his Links, but he also left a couple of comments! Thank you! What a great start to my day!

Grumpf

I was unable to post yesterday. Besides being rather busy, The VP got some weird email messages at work, and he wanted to check the home computer for a virus, so I was banned from the keyboard.

Probaby a good thing, since I was ready to rip someone...anyone...a new orafice because I had a lousy day.

Started off when The Crazyweiler, who has been off his feed as we say here at the outpost, made a huge mess in the mudroom. I'd say it was diarrhea, but there was so much grass mixed in, it could have been a runny hay bale. The smell...I can't do it justice. Not because I lack the words, but evoking the memory might make me hurl on the keyboard.

Drove into the cities for a haircut. I love the woman who cuts my hair. She's highly entertaining. Lives a Jerry Springer life. She's getting married in a couple of weeks, and the fiance was forced to uncover his massive credit card debt when they went to the bank to get a loan to buy a house. Oops. She's threatening to call off the wedding. Now...I HAVE to go back in 6 weeks to find out if she made it down the aisle. I'm afraid to, however, because once I got home and showered all the excessive goo out of my hair, I discovered I looked like a boy.

Drove back into the cities with boys in tow to attend a soccer managers' meeting which took 25 minutes, and could have been handled via email in about 5.

Got home and flipped through the mail. Another Newsweek^TM magazine. According the the concerned letters I've been getting from Mr. William Barnes, my subscription expired four issues ago, and I have

...missed out on exclusive signed opinion from experts like George F. Will, Anna Quindlen....

I read her lastest column. Or tried to. She was yammering on about bears and natural resources and we should put a moratorium on all building permits. Permanently. If I thought that Ms. Quindlen lived off grid and raised her own, organic vegetables made her own clothes, and rode a horse to work each day...well I might not consider her a hot air bag. Not as quickly as I do now, anyway.

I think I will send Mr. Barnes a letter and inform him that the Newsweek subscriber list and the one they're using in Distribution are not the same, and perhaps he could fix this and put my out of my misery.

Sigh. I feel a bit better. Good thing, or you were all in for a whiny rant.

If You Can't Stand the Heat...

Heh. This made me laugh out loud.

Found the site via Mark Hasty, who rants beautifully today about church music.

A New Link

Anyone who is kind enough to visit the lonely outpost and leave a comment, especially one that commiserates with me on my demon child, deserves a link. So everyone welcome Jeff from A Little More To The Right!

Don't forget to check out these "If Women Ran the World" pictures!

High Noon

It's twelve o'clock noon. Lunch has ended. The Governor is ready for a nap, and The Senator's favorite cartoon, Tom & Jerry, is now playing on the Cartoon Network. I guess planets must be aligning; my timing is never this good.

First of all, I would like to thank all of you who left comments suggesting a replacement link for Mean Mr. Mustard. So...that would be you, Aelfheld! Apparently my family members don't read any other blogs.

Aelfheld suggested we take a look at In Passing, and we did, and we liked it. And how appropriate that we are replacing on Berkeley student with another. Go take a look. And I dare you not to think, "Oh, I overheard a funny one the other day too."

On the home front, I'm getting more and more worried about The Governor. He's 16 months old. I see his temper and belligerent attitude expand daily and think, "Are there boarding schools for 2 year olds?" He's going to be a monster. Earlier today I was hollering at him to stop grabbing handfuls of dirt out of my geranium pot and whipping it across the front sidewalk. He didn't listen. I decided to try and count to three. (Never tried this before with him) I said, "One..." He fired back immediately, "Two!" What the h*ll! When did he learn how to count? I was totally nonplussed. Go ahead. Unearth the geraniums. I'm dealing with a higher power.

After the geraniums bored him, he took off running for the neighbor's house yelling, "Buppa! Nana!" Yes, that's where they live, but he's never walked over there by himself before. I hauled him back home, set him down, and he took off for the shed where we keep the 4-wheeler. "Honda! Honda!" Hauled him back home (kicking and and screaming) and we went inside because he has not figured out how to open the screen door. Yet. He's containable inside. For now.

He's going to re-define Terrible Twos, I'm afraid.

Well, as much as I would love to blog a whole lot more, I'm wasting valuable quiet time around here. There's laundry, cleaning, dishes, yardwork, paperwork for school, and perhaps an unread Jeeves book around here somewhere. (P.G. Wodehouse rocks.)

Blather II

A very entertaining weekend. My two nephews, The Surgeon General and The Cap, spent Saturday evening with us. By the end of the evening, I was thinking of this lady with such elevated esteem, that if she ran for President, she'd have my vote.

At one point I offered to take the boys out in the golf cart to a rather wet, marshy area of the farm where frogs can be found in abundance. They were rather pokey about finishing their snacks and washing up, so I hollered, "The golf cart leaves in two minutes. Anyone not standing at the front door with hands and face ready to be inspected can stay behind and help The VP change The Governor's diaper."

I think electricity might mover slower than those boys did. The SG, The Cap, and The Senator were all at the front door with dripping wet paws in less than 45 seconds.

We went and caught frogs. The Cap (age 7) was so happy that at one point he yelled, "Cathy, you're the BEST AUNT EVER!" And so I was for that evening. I will lose the title eventually, say when Aunt P. takes him shopping, or Aunt E. lets him sit in her squad car...but I ruled on Saturday.

I brought the boys back home on Sunday when I came in for my soccer game. Well, it was nearly a game. The weather was so hot and humid that we mostly stood around hoping someone would kick it really far out of bounds so we could stand and rest while someone walked to retrieve the ball. I think there may have been one goal scored. No one was sure, because the effort to bring the ball back up to the half line for a kick-off was too much effort. We re-started the ball as a goal kick.

Today's weather seems as promising. The Chapstick in my car is now a vial of liquid wax instead of a solid. Still...never travel anywhere without it.

More later if The Governor decides to bless us with a nap.

Who Do You Love?

Time to update my Links. Mean Mr. Mustard closed down his blog a while back, and I have yet to replace him. Any suggestions? Who is your Must Read each day?

Right now I'm hovering between Quit That (found through Gut Rumbles) or A Little More to the Right...because he does things like this. After all, I am Pro-Chicken...or bunny or any tasty animal.

I was just about to replace my brother's blog, seeing as he hasn't posted a word in two months...but his wife recently entered a post and hopefully, she can breathe some life into the poor, neglected thing.

Guilty

Someone or something has been teaching The Governor that the kitchen trash holds all sorts of wonderful treasures.

BUSTED!

If The Crazyweiler really wants to pass on some knowledge...he should potty-train The Governor.

Blather

Did I mention yet that I'm glad to be back home? One of the greatest pleasures of returning was coming back to my computer and my keyboard. My mother-in-law was kind enough to allow me unlimited access to her notepad computer while I was vacationing. However, trying to type on that little keyboard was tough. It was like trying to tile the bathroom floor in a dollhouse after your fingers have turned into bratwurst. But now I'm back home with my nice big keyboard and I can stop having dreams about feral cats chasing me and trying to bite my fingers off.

The Governor has taken up a new hobby since we've been back. Trash can rummaging. I think he picked it up from The Crazyweiler. Tonight's bath will consist of a dip in pure alcohol.

And speaking of things gross...I saw THE COOLEST roadside death scene(animal, you animals) on the drive to the airport in Colorado Springs. A buck (mule deer, I think) got his antlers caught in a wire fence on the side of the highway. About two dozen vultures were circling overhead...just like a cartoon desert scene. One big ugly buzzard was sitting on the fence post right above the expired deer. I did not see one other road kill or otherwise deceased animal along the highways in Colorado. They must have already killed all their raccoons.

Time to go pry The Senator away from the television. It is a beautiful, hot, muggy day outside. We should not be spending our time indoors.

While I was gone...

Steve H. has a post from yesterday about the noble Human Shields getting fined by the U.S. Government. It reminded me of a post Steve wrote a long while back about these nuts. I was very new to the whole blogging world back then, and I remember this was the first thing I had read that made me laugh out loud. Which was unfortunate because at the time I was drinking hot chocolate and it burned my nose on the way out.

"Peacenik Tartare" - awesome.

Home Again

Hello everyone!

There is a great satisfaction in returning home after a vacation. In the face of mountains of laundry and the weariness of resuming the daily grind, I can't quite eliminate that smug glee of sleeping in my own bed with my own pillows and waking up with all my stuff around me.

My vacation, by the way, was fantastic. We stayed in a beautiful house, ate wonderful food (my brother-in-law owns an Italian restaurant), gazed for hours at gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains, and I even got to sneak in a little soccer. If I could have eliminated the slight hangover which set in after several Coors one night (when in the Rockies...), I could have called this vacation perfect.

Many, many thanks to The Professor for keeping up appearances while I was gone. He did such a good job, that he started to get fan mail. He has officially received more fan mail than me. Therefore, I am not revoking his posting privileges. You may hear more from him.

And guess who was the most excited to see me on my return home? That's right.

Really. He was ecstatic. I'm sure it wasn't the rattling of the box of dog treats.

Glad to be home. I must now go walk around the house and touch all of my stuff.

Quoth -- Whomever!

I've collected quotations for years, here are a few, in no semblance of order. Maybe there's one you might like. Now The Chairman won't feel obliged to blog today but, instead, can deal with The Senator and The Governor.

You have sat here too long for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say, and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go! – Oliver Cromwell, dismissing Parliament in 1563.

"Hubert Humphrey talks so fast that listening to him is like trying to read Playboy magazine with your wife turning the pages." -- Barry Goldwater.

Intellectual rigor annoys people because it interferes with the pleasure they derive from allowing their wishes to be the fathers of their thoughts. – George Will

It is not always easy to say the right thing at the right time but it is far more difficult to leave unsaid the wrong thing at a tempting moment. -- Benjamin Franklin.

Arrogance is the illegitimate child of confidence and pride -- Pepsico Chairman Wayne Calloway.

There is no tragedy in nature so great as the murder of a theory by a brutal gang of facts.—LaRochefoucauld.

Three o'clock is always too early or too late for anything you want to do. - Jean-Paul Sartre.

The average vice-president is a form of executive fungus that attaches itself to a desk. On a boat this growth would be called a barnacle. -- Fred Allen

SCHRIMPTON'S LAW OF TEENAGE OPPORTUNITY
When opportunity knocks, you've got headphones on.

PAUL'S LAW
You can't fall off the floor.

CHAPMAN'S COMMENTARY ON PAUL'S LAW: It takes children three
years to learn Paul's Law.

For My Penance, I'll Say!

With The Chairman returning Tuesday, this is my final chance to offload a burden of guilt that’s been resting on my shoulders since I was 7 years old. I was a lawbreaker, along with my uncles and cousins on my mother’s side of the family.

This lawbreaking occurred after Sunday mass at St. Anthony’s Church in Terrebonne, Minnesota. From the name, yeah, it’s a French community of Canadian farmers who planted themselves and their crops south and east of Red Lake Falls.

After mass, most everybody walked next door to Sauve’s Store, a wonderful place where crackers and cookies were sold in bulk and everything was available from canned soup to work shirts and straw hats. Sorry to disappoint, but the store didn’t have a pot-bellied stove to lounge around. The lounging was done in the other half of the store, which was a bar where—zut allors—beer was served on Sundays. That was highly illegal at the time—the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.

This illegality was ignored so routinely that, darn, there was no sense of illicit excitement. The criminals just sat down and drained a few long-neck, brown bottles of Hamm’s beer. I became an unindicted coconspirator when my cousins gave me tiny sips—same as they did at home with dandelion and chokecherry wine. It didn’t dawn on me for years that all those fun Sundays were rife with law-breaking..

What really set the stage for beer drinking was when my father, not Catholic, attended mass at St. Anthony’s. The priest, Fr. Paquin, broke into a smile when he saw Dad sit down with the family, but the congregation sighed with resignation. That’s because Fr. Paquin was given to lengthy sermons—in French—and everybody knew he was going to repeat the day’s talk in English, for my father.

If The Chairman thinks that The Crazyweiler is one tough dawg, she never met my uncle’s two mutts. One was named Rover and I forget the name of the other. I learned enough French to get the dogs to do what I said, which was important, if you wanted to cross the field that was home to my uncle’s particularly irritable Holstein bull. This two-ton terror once overturned a hayrack, but he’d only paw the earth a safe distance from those dogs, which would leap up to nip him on the nose. The dogs were never in the house, in part due to their habit of hunting skunks. That, as they say, is another story.

I think the statute of limitations has expired on Sunday drinking at Sauve’s store. In the off-chance that it’s not, I promise not to resist if they surround the house.

A Multidimensional Day

There is one thing to be said about “Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over.” If you take kids to this movie, that penance is enough to absolve you from giving up candy for Lent—maybe even booze.

“It's soporific,” The Associated Press reviewed. And maybe that explains why The Green Goddess and I nodded off. So why did we sleepyheads have such a good time at the movie, then?

Our good time was due to fact we were with The Surgeon General, 9, and The Cap, 7, who loved the movie, including 3-D effects. The boys were so absorbed by the film and its effects that they didn’t notice their guardians were napping. Our drowsy guilt was mitigated by the purchase of a tub of popcorn and container of pop the size of F-14 drop tanks and approximately the same cost. Sorry, boys, you ate and drank the college inheritance.

Back in the lobby, the boys conned us into letting them plunk coins into those gumball-like machines that dispense toys. They each got two small and gloriously politically incorrect pistols. The Surgeon General came up with the real winner—a derringer that has to be the world’s tiniest cap pistol. I know that it works, because The Surgeon General got quite a bang out of it at home, when he discovered some tiny caps that The Cap had stashed. Sharing pistol and caps avoided a confrontation.

The Green Goddess arrived separately to buy tickets ahead of time, so she also departed separately. When the boys realized she wasn’t with us, they shouted at her loudly enough to be heard two parking lanes away: “Grandma … thank you for taking us to the movie and for letting us buy toys.” It doesn’t get much better than that. (Grandma's! That’s the side on which the boys know their bread is buttered.”)

Previews were another good thing about the movie. Several enjoyable kid flicks are en route. That’s important, because we have some catching up to do with the Senator, 5, who arrives home from Colorado Tuesday with The Chairman, The VP and The Governor, 16 months. (It’s important to maintain equilibrium when you’re spoiling grandsons from two families.)

This is the penultimate substitute blog. (Gee, I’ve always wanted to use that word, penultimate. Maybe, some day, I’ll get to use contraindicated, too.)

Transcendental Dog

Hoocher’s the dog to watch when you’re dog-watching at The Chairman’s house. Like the small gambler with a .38-caliber bulge in his jacket, he controls the big guys’ action. You have to observe carefully, however, because Hoocher, Breezy and The Crazyweiler appear to operate collegially.

By collegially, I mean the way they rush into the hallway when the back door is opened at feeding time. Breezy and the Crazyweiler play Alphonse and Gaston while Hoocher trails behind. Hoocher always stops to gaze back and wag, as if to salute your understanding of his burden of noblesse oblige toward those ruffians. He’s so in control that he need not get involved in pecking-order hassles.

Where Hoocher does get involved is when he chooses to leave food in his dish, and The Crazyweiler thinks that leftovers are up for—his—grabs. Thirty-five-pound Hoocher snarls and leaps toward 130-pound The Crazyweiler, who backs off immediately. Meanwhile, Breezy is like a crime-scene witness in a Mafia neighborhood, “She don’t see nuttin.”

And it's a crime how The Chairman treats these dogs. Why, she makes available only two innerspring mattresses for the three of them. Breezy takes the crib-size mattress, and Hoocher claims first dibs on the twin-size. The Crazyweiler is left with two options—actually, Hoocher has two options. If Hoocher occupies the top half of the mattress, he will let The Crazyweiler curl up on the bottom half. However, if Hoocher parks in the middle, Crazy slinks away to the discomfort of a blanket on the floor.

Hoocher’s use of authority reminds me of the best officers I met in the Army, 1959-1961. The true commanders were at ease in their role, which was understood and accepted. They didn’t have to raise their voices or push their rank. Those who commanded only through authority given by bars or oak-leaves on the collar felt obliged to follow the rituals of protocol. (See Major Frank Burns on a M.A.S.H. rerun.)

The waking-up is even more fascinating. Breezy comes forward for a pat on the head but defers to being muscled aside by The Crazyweiler. Hoocher remains in the background, wagging his tail and telegraphing his thoughts: “When the kids are done, we adults will talk.” He’s always so calm. But even the most natural commander obviously is called upon to discipline the unruly, and Hoocher takes naturally to this role.

I halfway expect to see Hoocher sit down, lift his paw and wait for The Crazyweiler to kiss it. Breezy? Remember, she “don’t see nuttin!”

Virtual Is Its Own Reward

“I’m Catholic,” and this is only the second time in my life I can remember beginning a communication with those words.

The first time was in 1968, when I took a job that involved travel. When I told my new boss, “I’m Catholic,” he was puzzled why that should affect my first trip. I replied, “Do I go to confession before or after turning in my expense account.” He didn’t care but promised he’d review my report “under a magnifying glass.”

I’m repeating those words now, because my church has a severe shortage of priests. As Time magazine noted last year, there are more Catholic clergy over age 90 than under age 30. This means, at some point, the supply will run out … and establishing a virtual clergy will be the only possible response. This is how it will work:

“Ring ….

“Hi, I am your virtual pastor, and your soul is important to me. Please use the number pad on your touchtone telephone to enter the appropriate four-digit parish code.

“You have selected St. ____ Parish. To proceed, press (1) for a list of sacraments; press (2) for televised mass times. If you need other help, press (3) and someone who has periodic contact with actual clergy may call back within two weeks—if we can clear up the backlog of calls from last year.

“You have selected Extreme Unction from among our virtual sacraments. If you are at the point of expiration, activate your speakerphone and press (1) to hear a short-form, perfect act of contrition. If you have time remaining, press (2) for a schedule of Extreme Unction telecasts on the Religion Channel.

“This concludes the Extreme Unction function. A deacon will contact your next of kin within seven days after we read your obituary to provide information about our annual mass for dead of the archdiocese—assuming that one of our three Western Hemisphere priests is available.

“Please press # to exit—the telephone call, I mean.”

Noun Sequitur

It’s time for a grammar rant. I want to raise hells about the misuse of collective nouns, which are becoming an endangered species.

For example, “e-mail” is en-route to passenger-pigeon status, replaced by the clunky term “e-mails.” If e-mails is (are?) correct usage, it follows that newspapers ought to be carrying advertisings and the Post Office should be delivering mails.

Now, you know why I'm raising hells about this!

Let us pause to morn the simple, clear word “behavior.” This fine collective noun has been choked out of existence by its milfoil form, “behaviors.” Even newspapers are lured into such lexical misbehaviors.

We can blame the academic community for "behaviors," but I can't reason why anybody fluent in the language would adopt its unfortunate practice of lexical vacuity. Can’t you hear Earnest Hemingway whining, “Gee, I want my next book to read like a Ph.D. thesis.?”

It’s good that Hemingway wasn’t after an advanced degree, or academics might have forced him to dull-down his prose. That was the fate of an author about whom I heard many years ago.

A colleague said his friend wrote a thesis about the then-new field of business aviation. The guy was a fine writer, and his text was said to be an easy read as well as informative. However, the author’s pedagogical betters sniffed and huffed and protested that the thesis was not “sufficiently academic.”

To get his paper accepted, the guy rewrote in academic argot. After receiving his Ph.D., the writer titled his original thesis “Wings of Business” and sold it to a publisher. Ever hear of another thesis being sold, or even read by anybody outside the tight little circle of academic advisors huddled over the degree candidate like the witches in "Macbeth?" Or, in today's usage, should that be "the witches in Macbeths?"

Lexical evolution does not seem to be providing for survival of the fittest. Or, should I say, the “fittests.”

p.s., although The Chairman calls me The Professor, there isn't an academic bone in my body. I just worked with words for 40 years and hate to see them abused like foundlings in a Dickens novel.

There, a daily posting, with 10 minutes to spare.

No Respect

I can't believe what I'm reading here. I go out of town for a week, and I ask The Professor to guest blog. He hauls out the embarrassing childhood stories and insults my dog. Hmpf.

I'm still out here in Colorado and having a great time. Spent the afternoon up in the mountains. There are no words to do the views justice. Simply amazing.

The Senator and The Governor are having a great time. There is a terrific park nearby and an ice cream shop even closer. Nana and Buppa know how to get the most out of their surroundings.

Well, The Governor needs to go to bed. So he can wake up at two in the morning to talk to us for a couple of hours. You hate to change a routine just because you're on vacation.

Somebody keep an eye on The Professor for me.

And P.S. Chris Muir says t-shirts are on the way!!!!!!!!!!!

Some a-Paul-ing Stories

The Crazyweiler is not so huge as The Chairman’s blogs would have you believe. For example, it is untrue that he can look Paul Bunyan’s blue ox, Babe, straight-on in the eyes. It’s also false that, when Crazy yawns at night, bats fly out of his mouth.

Further, it is apocryphal that Crazy stands astride the Crow Wing River—as the colossus of French Lick Township. The source of that exaggeration can be traced to our late and deeply missed Cairn Terrier, Sandy. Several years ago, The Chairman would bring The Crazyweiler to the city and park him in our back yard. Sandy would stand between Crazy's front legs and leap for his throat with her fangs snapping shut about 6 inches short, every time. The story got out and—well—if a dog could stand up under The Crazyweiler, it’s not a major extrapolation to project, why not a sitting canoeist or snowmobiler on the river?

The Crazyweiler came up shorter than Sandy in one important way—brainpower. Sandy could understand spelled words … w.a.l.k., for example. She also recognized “perambulation” as a meaning ”walk.” She would be at the door, having heard… “do you …” without waiting for the rest of the sentence, “... want to go for a walk?” As for The Crazyweiler, he could have been named after Lenny, the tragic, dim giant in Steinbeck's “Of Mice and Men.” In a game of word association, tell me Crazyweiler and brain … and I’ll give you back “box of rocks,” every time.

Sandy was top dog with manners, too. Give her a treat, and she'd cary it into the next room for a nibble. The Crazyweiler would just open up; you'd throw in a dog biscuit (or a pipewrench) and wait to hear it splash.

So, there, I’m done hours ahead of my blog deadline, but that’s only because I have a free-lance assignment to delay completing.

Slipping in under the wire

It’s after 11 p.m., so I have only a few minutes to conjure up today’s substitute blog. I'm late, because The Chairman and The Governor spent last night and part of this morning with us, and we drove them to Twin Cities International Airport for a flight to Colorado to join the in-laws and The VP’s brother and his wife. Then I spent several hours in charge of The Cap, 7, and he wanted to go frog hunting in a local nature preserve instead of watching the Cartoon Network, as God intended. I ask you, aren't those reasons enough for postponing any other activity?

The airport made me feel as if I were in the "Twilight Zone." I haven’t flown since before retiring in 1999 and was a bit open-mouthed by all the changes … computerized check in and, of course, everything arranged around the security check-in lines. Reading about these changes may give one knowledge, but seeing is what provides understanding.

I especially noticed the legions of jacketed and tied businessmen who were huffing and puffing into and out of the terminal while I was clad in T-shirt and shorts. Looking at them, I thought about a New Yorker cartoon of many years ago. A hippie and executive pass on the street, and each is reflecting, “To think, I once used to look like that!”

A Procrastinator Trapped

I’ve warned The Chairman of this site that a procrastinator backed into deadline corner is a dangerous person, indeed. There’s no telling what happens when, running out the time-tether, he slams off his feet.

When the only way out is through the keyboard, desperation and revenge combine into a catalyst—and the reaction generates tales out of school—about The Chairman. And I can do this fearlessly, because (a) I baby-sit, by myself, even, and (b) The Crazyweiler likes me. So, there. Hah!

I don’t fear The Crazyweiler, because I’m always on his good side, even though that quite often puts me at the wrong end. Whenever the two of us are in company, Crazy backs into me with the subtlety of a boxcar bumped down a 2% grade—to have his lower back scratched, forever. Maybe it’s not the wrong end, after all, because petting The Crazyweiler’s head puts a person the danger zone of slobber. My Lord, that dog could drown a small animal with one friendly lick. Turn your back, and Crazy runs to get in front of you again—most often bludgeoning his way between your legs—an experience not unlike being ridden out of town on a (wet) rail. Uncle Ralph, in Missouri, has a saddle that would fit Crazy, but his bridle, from a Civil War cavalry horse, might be too small.

As for The Chairman, she was a girl with early and high aspirations. At age 6, she wanted to be princess when she grew up. Later, she decided to settle for life in “a small but exclusive suburb of Cheyenne, Wyoming.” She missed Cheyenne by 916 miles but did wind up on a farm. In a Big Sky context, perhaps Wright County is a Cheyenne suburb.

Put to bed early for an infraction, she called as I walked out of the room, “Daddy, you’re a wart hog!” I stormed back to her bedside. As she tensed for the triggered scolding, I said, instead, “Wart Hog? Hey, that’s pretty good.” What fun! I managed to baffle The Chairman. Any day that could happen was a good one, even then.

The Chairman’s in-laws are long suffering. They’re no doubt the only people in Wright County who—last winter—wound up with an anatomically correct snowman in front of the house, shaped to show visitors he was glad to see them.

Ah, finally, words on the screen; the headache’s gone, and my blood vessels have receded into the skin.

What? I’m supposed to post daily?

Gaaah!

I wanted to post something else today before I left. Unfortunately, every time I got caught up on my cleaning, The Governor was right behind me un-doing everything I had just straightened.

I was hoping Lilek's site would have been back up by now. It throws my routine off when I can't read The Bleat first thing in the morning.

Don't miss Day by Day. When is Chris Muir going to put some of these guys on a t-shirt?

Ooh. The Governor is waking up from his nap. Just in time to destroy the house one more time before we leave. Hello, Pentagon? I've got your MOAB right here.

A Lileks Moment

This morning The Governor passed gas while eating breakfast in his high chair. He said, "I toot!"

He's only 15 months old.

I'm sure he'll be doing long division by the time he's two.

Travel Notes...

I'm back at the outpost for a short break before we head out to Colorado to spend time with my husband's side of the family. The Crazyweiler will still be here, however, ready to use your small intestine for dental floss...so don't get any ideas.

The weekend down in Missouri at my mom's family reunion was terrific. The first great thing that happened to us was that my Aunt Marilyn saved my sister and I from checking into this motel.

We had reservations...sight unseen...because we heard it was quite close to our destination. Then Aunt M. pointed out that this place has a reputation for renting by the half hour (one of their prouder bragging points) and maybe we should look elsewhere. Found a brand new Holiday Inn Express (too new to be shown on the Internet) not much further away.

The reunion itself was fantastic. I learned quite a bit more about where my mom's side of the family originated (Westphalia, Germany) and got re-aquainted with a lot of relatives. My great Aunt Francis and great Uncle Ralph kick heinie. They are awesome. Uncle Ralph collects, well, everything. Key chains, WWII ensignia, old guns, toys, you-name-its. Someone said, "If there was ever two made of anything...Ralph has one." Very interesting guy with lots of interesting stories.

I have lots more to write about the reunion, but maybe I'll save some stories for another post. The only thing I'll add is this photo, which was taken at the McDonalds in Cameron, Missouri.

From the interstate, Ronald looks as though he is embedded in the roof of the restaurant. If his body did continue below the roof, when you walk up to place your order, your nose might be right in Ronald's McNuggets. I thought it was funny, so I took a picture. (He actually sits cross-legged on the roof, but the salad banner hides it well.)

So, glad to be home. I'll try to sneak in a post tomorrow between loads of laundry.

And...a special surprise. I have found a guest blogger to cover for me while I'm gone. If I can get him up to speed on MT tomorrow night, you will have the thoughts, insights, opinions, and bad puns of The Professor to amuse you while I'm gone.

G'Night.