Cathy in the Wright

The Envelope Please...

And the winner for Most Phallic Foot Path Lighting at a Rest Stop goes to....

Dows, Iowa! Congratulations!

Ironically, it was at this same, award-winning location where I laid claim to the Gold Medal in the 200 mile Bladder Freestyle in Interstate Rest Stop Competition. The VP talked a good game. During the preliminaries, I heard a lot of "We're not stopping every 50 miles," and "Don't think I'm pulling over every time you need to go." But 75 miles into the trip, I was sitting comfortably while The VP was sweating from the brow. Really. I'm almost embarrassed to accept the win. It was too easy. I will add that I tested clean for drugs. The VP, on the other hand, was stoked to the gills on Sudafed.

If you're ever traveling I35 through Iowa, don't miss this historic (and mildly erotic) Welcome Center.

Home Again

I'm home from Missouri, and to those skeptics who thought I was being a bit melodramatic about the long arm of Grandma...(cough...Ya-Ya...cough)...when we checked into our hotel, we discovered that someone had called 15 minutes earlier wondering if we had arrived yet. Next year I believe I'll be equipped with a GPS device so Grandma won't have to worry.

We had an excellent time at the family reunion. I got to see all my favorite relatives. There was a lot of good food. And Uncle Bob came through with the cooler of Heineken's. My favorite part of the weekend, however, might have been Saturday morning. Thanks to the lack of kids and dogs and the hotel's WWII-era black-out curtains, I slept until 11 a.m.

The only drawback to the weekend was that no one wanted to be in charge of next year's reunion. Someone made the executive decision that grandma's granddaughters should all do it. Two of us live in Minnesota, one in Illinois, one in Kansas, and one in Oregon. One does live in Missouri, but a good hour and half away from Independence.

So? Anyone for a road trip to Minneapolis next year?

Well, I miss my relatives already. It was great coming home though. The Senator was glad to see us too. The Governor, however, took one look at us and reached for Nana. Sorry, kid. Everyone hates to see the party come to an end.

And Here I Thought You All Had Nothing To Say

I managed to screw up my comments yesterday. While I was enthusiastically banning IP addresses from blackjack spammers, I hit "Add" while the line for the IP address was blank. Apparently MT thinks that means "Ban Everyone."

So, I think it works again. Sheriff Bart, let me know if you still can't post a comment.

This will be the last post for the weekend. I'm heading off to a family reunion in historic Independence, Missouri. The clan is a bunch of feisty Germans, and yet, the only beer to be had will be from a small cooler hidden in my uncle's pick-up truck. I'd bring my own, but it would never make it to the reunion. Cold beer + Interstate 35 through Iowa...you do the math. I will bring my camera. If you're lucky, Monday morning you can look forward to cattle photos...or Uncle Ralph. He's a hoot.

Now if you will excuse me...I have to finish cleaning off the livingroom sofa. The Governor was throwing a single serve pack of apple sauce up in the air and trying to get it to land on his head. He succeeded.

Have a brilliant weekend.

Note to Suz: Thanks for the message! I've been swamped today and missed the gold medal match. Hurrah for the USA! If I don't reach you tonight, I'll call as soon as I get home!

Everyone Knows You In A Small Town

Yesterday the Uber-Babysitter came over for a few hours. I escaped into town to run a couple of errands. I stopped at the local pharmacy for office supplies and wound up in line behind a woman who works at the nursing home.

At least, I assume she does. She turned to me and said, "No dog with you today?"

"Uh, no. Not today." He's not a seeing eye dog, lady. I don't bring him everywhere.

"Boy is that Hoocher a nice dog. We just love it when he visits."

"Thanks. It's fun to bring him."

"Yeah. Well, okay. Nice to see you....eh....."

"Cathy," I supplied.

"Right!"

Once again the ugly truth snaps its fingers under my nose. My dog is more popular than I am.

Tuesday Blather

It is so quiet upstairs. Way too quiet. And yet, I find myself unable to get up to investigate. I just hope they keep the damage to under $200.

We returned an hour ago from our usual nursing home visit. Nothing out of the ordinary going on today. I watched Mrs. K. swallow an entire shot glass full of pills. There must have been two dozen assorted tablets. She warned me, "Just you wait...when you get old, you'll be doing this too." Wait? She should see me with the Advil bottle the morning after a rough soccer match.

And speaking of getting old...3-legger turns eight this September. She's still doing fairly well. We're seven months into her predicted "year left to live." I was a little afraid she's make it exactly a year and leave me to try and bury her under five feet of permafrost, but I have since found out the vet's office offers cremation services. I plan to keep her in a little urn on a shelf over the wood stove. Build a little shrine. Unless my car gets stuck in the driveway this winter and I need something for traction.

Oh lighten up.

Ah...screaming. Lots of it. My cue to finish, publish, and go stop the bleeding.

A New Entry?

Ahhh...my poor neglected little site. I may put you up for adoption with a little tag that says, "Owner had no time for a blog."

Since we got back from vacation, we were busy preparing for The Senator's birthday party. We rented this:

Big. Hit. It was so much fun we kept it for two days. The neighbor kids came down to play, and even The VP and I had some fun. I'll just leave it at that.

The Senator got a lot of cool new toys with lots and lots of little tiny parts that will no doubt end up in the vaccuum cleaner by the end of the month. The Governor got a few new things as well, courtesy of some thoughtful grandparents.

Other Outpost news: The Senator starts kindergarten next week. I'm not ready. (Although it could mean some free time spent blogging.) I just wish I had another month to goof off with him. There's so much we didn't get to do this summer. I suppose it could be worse. The east coast military boarding school we're considering for The Governor offered us a discount for enrolling another child. Tempting...but no.

Finished another soccer league Friday night with a crushing defeat over an arrogant pack of brats. Not only did we come from behind, but we were short-handed for most of the first half. I love it when the opponent starts out condescendingly smug and ends the game yelling obscenities at each other because they can't believe they're getting beat by a team they thought they would wipe all over the field. Makes shaking hands at the end so sweet. Most of the time you slap hands and say, "Good game." I like to sprinkle in a few comments like, "Oooh. Too bad about that botched cross in the last minute," or "Gee, you missed that shot by inches!" I like to send 'em home feeling good.

Well, I could type more, but it's already taken me two hours to get this much down. Now the phone is ringing again...take the baseball bat away from The Governor...feed The Senator...washing machine finished - transfer clothes...let dogs out...take digital camera away from The Governor...break up fight in kitchen...clean spilled cereal...answer phone again...

If anyone needs me, I'll be out in the woods screaming.

Vacation Over

I think I might have to administer a rather snug wedgie to any child (or adult) who dared utter the words "I'm bored" when staying at Grandview Lodge.

I was there for only two days, and there was more stuff to do than I could tackle in a week. Activites are planned for all ages from before breakfast until bedtime. I needed a nap after reading the weekly schedule of events. Good Lord. I think this place must employ about a third of all local residents. The only break in the action was an unscheduled pool closing when the attendents spotted the dreaded "pool stool." (And yes, I was IN the pool when they asked everyone to evacuate. Sorry. Hope you've already had breakfast.) Eight hours and an enormous chemical cocktail later...all systems were go.

Nana and Buppa invited the Uber-Babysitter to come along, so The Governor and The Senator had their personal Director of Fun. (Or, as I liked to think of her: Commissioner of Parental Free Time)

The only snag in the whole trip was discovering that my rear tire was slowly going flat. However, Nisswa Automotive was able to make the repair early Wednesday morning. I cut ten minutes off the drive time on the way home. Amazing the difference a fully inflated tire can make.

Did all you men just collectively groan? That's so cute.

Sunday Whining

I've been having some tough luck in my pick-up soccer league on Sundays. Most weeks, the teams are fairly balanced. Last week and today, however, I managed to find myself in a black hole of talent and enthusiasm. Two guys couldn't run, one simply didn't want to run, and another would run, but he's all elbows and knees and struggles with the ball. I had a nearly identical team this week.

This is recreational soccer; having fun and enjoying yourself should be tantamount. But when you're down 15-1...fun isn't the first adjective that springs to mind.

Oh well. My odds have to improve next week. What are the chances of landing on the "I got picked last in gym class" team three Sundays in a row?

And speaking of odds...what are the chances of marrying a person who brings you the BEST in-laws in the world. Yes...world. I'd offer to place wagers, but it's not sporting to bet on a sure thing.

My mother-in-law and father-in-law are taking the boys up to a resort for several days. They're leaving tomorrow. I'm joining them on Tuesday. Ha ha ha ha ha! An entire day to myself! What to do? What to do? So many options. Mow the backyard jungle? Clean the house? Nothing at all? That last one sounds promising. Can you imagine what posting is going to look like tomorrow?

Boys gone. Return to house. Sit on front porch steps. Stared at cows for a hour.

(Two hours later) Still on front steps. Cows have moved 30 feet to the left. They're munching on the hay bale.

(Three hours later) Fell asleep on front porch. Good nap. Am watching cows again.

(Hour later) Should probably eat. Wish there was a pizza place that delivered to The Outpost.

(Hour later) Ate box of crackers. Too lazy to fix real food. Have moved inside. Will watch TV until late hours of the morning. Almost wish I could have a catheter so would not have to leave comfy chair.

Heh

From Nana (via her source...Mr. J. Swanson):

A popular bar had a new robotic bartender installed. It could not only dispense drinks flawlessly, but also -- like any good bartender -- engage in appropriate conversation.

A man enters the bar, orders a drink. The robot serves him a perfectly prepared cocktail, then asks him, "What's your IQ?" The man replies, "150." And the robot proceeds to make conversation about Quantum physics, string theory, atomic chemistry, etc. The customer is very impressed and thinks, "This is really cool."

He decides to test the robot. He walks out of the bar, turns around, and comes back in for another drink. Again, the robot serves him the drink and asks him, "What's your IQ?" The man responds, "100." And immediately the robot starts talking, but this time, about football, baseball, cheerleaders, etc.

Really impressed, the man leaves the bar and decides to give the robot one more test. He goes back in, the robot serves him and asks, "What's your IQ?" The man replies, "50." And the robot says, "So, you gonna vote for Kerry?"

Tonight's Bedtime Story

Aelfheld has found a new book for The Senator!

The story of two boys who dream about opening a lemonade stand when a strange thing happens...

Their dream gets stuck in Liberaland!

"Help! Mom! There Are Liberals Under My Bed! A Small Lesson in Conservatism" is a wonderful way to teach young children the valuable lessons of conservatism. In simple text, parents and children follow Tommy and Lou on their quest to earn money for a swing set their parents cannot afford. As their dream gets stuck in Liberaland, Tommy and Lou’s lemonade stand is hit with many obstacles.

Liberals keep appearing from behind their lemon tree, taking half of their money in taxes, forbidding them to hang a picture of Jesus atop their stand, and making them give broccoli with each glass sold.

Law after law instituted by the press-hungry liberals finally results in the liberals taking over Tommy and Lou’s stand and offering sour lemonade at astronomical prices to the customers.

Ahem

If I might, I would like to have a few words with the City of New Hope's Park and Recreation Department.

Dear Sirs:

Placing your soccer field next to a swamp was a less than brilliant idea. The 15 foot high fence you erected to keep stray soccer balls from swimming with the cattails is ineffective, as I found out this evening. I will pass over the particulars involved with tonight's debacle; I will only add that I am not to be held responsible for the destruction of an acre of wildlife habitat as I searched for the missing game ball.

I know the name of a top class asphalt company should you require their services.

Sincerely,

Cathy "I was picking briars off my jersey the entire second half" Camp

Ick

Yesterday at the nursing home, I was visiting with Malina. She's hard of hearing, so I leaned in close to her ear to ask her a question. When she turned her head to answer me, I forgot to move back out of the saliva zone.

It took me all day to stop dry-heaving every time I thought about a 90-year-old woman spitting on my nose, lips, and in my eyes.

Next week I'm wearing one of those salad bar sneeze guards over my head.

The White House - 2005

One sunny day in 2005, an old man approached the White House from
across Pennsylvania Avenue, where he'd been sitting on a park bench.

He spoke to the Marine standing guard and said, "I would like to go in
and meet with President Kerry."

The Marine replied, "Sir, Mr. Kerry is not President and doesn't
reside here."

The old man said, "Okay," and walked away.

The following day, the same man approached the White House and said
to the same Marine, "I would like to go in and meet with President Kerry"

The Marine again told the man, "Sir, as I said yesterday, Mr. Kerry is
not President and doesn't reside here."

The man thanked him and again walked away.

The third day, the same man approached the White House and
spoke to the very same Marine, saying, "I would like to go in
and meet with President Kerry."

The Marine, understandably agitated at this point, looked at the man
and said, "Sir, this is the third day in a row you have been here
asking to speak to Mr. Kerry. I've told you already that Mr. Kerry
is not the President and doesn't reside here. Don't you
understand?"

The old man answered, "Oh, I understand. I just love hearing it."

The Marine snapped to attention, saluted, and said, "See you tomorrow."

(Thanks, Dave P.)

Carnival Time

I thought parades were for kids, but they're not. If parades were truly for the children, they would consist solely of clowns pouring buckets of candy in the gutters while a midget on horseback released clusters of helium balloons into the sky. Kids don't care about marching bands and Miss Hometown candidates. At least mine don't.

Tonight the Cokato Corn Carnival got underway with the traditional small-town parade. It's an excellent display; lots of tractors, fire and rescue trucks, beauty queens, and millions of Tootsie Rolls. The boys and I parked ourselves in front of the local pizza joint and took in the sights. And about two pounds of candy.

I wish I had brought my camera. So much fodder...so little time. The one that truly got away: a picture of a pick-up truck with members of the Red Hat Society stuffed in the back. The lady with the oxygen tube just made the scene for me.

I wish I could have had a picture of the local Democratic and Republican candidates for our MN House District. The Democrat is a physician. He was clean cut and nicely dressed. The Republican (incumbent) needed a hair cut and a treadmill. If they weren't marching with party banners, I might have found myself wishing the challenger good luck on his re-election.

The guy behind us had it all straight. When the Democrats came by, he started shouting, "Go Bush! Four more years! Go George!"

"How fortunate for us," I whispered to The Senator, "that we landed in the right cheering section."

When the Republicans came by, we clapped and shouted and nearly got a hug from the guy behind us.

We didn't get to watch the entire parade. The Governor had a meltdown when I wouldn't let him dance in the path of an on-coming John Deere. I strapped him into the stroller and wheeled him three blocks to our car. He was screaming the entire time. His list of public places I'm willing to take him to just gets shorter and shorter all the time.

Tomorrow and Wednesday the Corn Carnival continues with the rides, the games, the coronation of Miss Cokato, and all the free corn-on-the-cob you can eat.

Never has a town been so collectively regular as the day after the Corn Carnival ends.

The Men of Modem. The Gigabyte Guys. The Boys of the Blogosphere.

Time for a good intramural blogosphere battle.

I received the following comment from the distinguished Rocket Man of Power Line:

Handsome? The Fraters guys?? That's obviously a compliment they've never heard before--you'll note they're headlining it on their newly-redesigned site. Sorry I couldn't make the blogger bash, we'll have to do it again soon.

Taking my cue from Rocket Man, who has been known to post a photo or two of Miss Universe contestants, I offer the following eye candy.

Here, erudite readers, is Rocket Man:

(Photo lifted from here.)

And, discerning friends, these are the gents from Fraters Libertas, seen here posing with James Lileks (back row, center):

Now...if I could just find that picture of Mitch Berg eating a hot dog...my pin-up collage would be complete.

The Dog Who Cried Wolf

Thanks to my neighbors, Tiff and Andy, for pouring a beer down my throat tonight and sharing the wedding video. I needed cheering.

Today I made an appointment with the vet to have old 3-legger put to sleep.

Don't panic. She lives.

She had some nasty, red, swollen tissue on the side of her nose, and I was sure it was another manifestation of the cancer. I've been crying for 3 days. Made the appointment and started spoiling her even more. Yesterday I gave her a couple of the left-over pain pills from her surgery days, and today I took her to McDonalds for lunch.

This morning, the swelling started to go down and by this afternoon, she looked a lot better.

I still took her to the vet to get it checked. I was prepared to hear it was cancer. I was prepared, even though she didn't seem uncomfortable, to put her down and head off the misery before it starts.

The vet says: not cancer. She thinks she must have gotten bit or sratched or something. The pain pills have an anti-inflammatory ingredient. Had I given her the pills a couple of days earlier, I would have saved the whole family three days of unnecessary grief.

I felt an enormous amount of relief, but I also felt drained and exhausted. This is the second time I've thought she was going to be put down only to have her pulled back from the brink.

Tomorrow I'm giving her twenty bucks to go buy lottery tickets.

Oh They Grow Up So Fast...

The VP had to humanely dispatch of a fawn that broke its leg last weekend, and we were all afraid it might have been our favorite little Bambi who resides in the cow pasture.

But lo and behold:

Not only is our fawn still there...he has a sibling.

Go ahead and "awwwwwwwww." It's okay. Even girlie-men go "awwwwwww" when the occasion calls for it.

The Core Has Been Breached...Meltdown in 5 Seconds...4 Seconds...3 Seconds...

I awoke in a perfectly good mood. Sad, really, how it took only a few hours to go from pleasantly happy to steamingly angry. And who bears responsibilty for the change? You guessed it: The Governor.

He's ruined many a day before, but this might be a record. By next month, I'll just have The VP poke me with sharp sticks when he leaves in the morning and save The Governor some of the effort.

While The Gov awoke crabby, I suppose I could be partly to blame for trying to sneak in a trip to Target with a volatile toddler. I tried to disarm him by bribing the boys with a trip to McDonalds if we could get through Target without Security asking us to leave.

We did make it through Target, but only after I abandoned my list at the first sign of trouble. We bought hair spray and toothpaste and bolted for the front door. I wanted to salvage McDonalds; something to make me feel less like the Commandant and more like a fun Mom.

McDonalds was crowded. The Governor decided lines were not his thing. He ran up to the front counter and started talking to the cashier. I hauled him back to our place, and the screaming ensued. I let go of him. The screaming stopped and he took off into the restaurant. I peeled him out from underneath a table and held onto him while I placed shouted my order. The cashier looked at us with troubled eyes and her voice wavered as she asked tremulously, "Is...is that for here...or to go?"

Oh yes...we're going.

Got our order and a couple of empty cups. Headed to the drink station. The orange drink button didn't work. Haul fussing toddler and older brother back across restaurant to other drink station. Held cup under the orange drink button, and out came orange syrup. "Oh cripes," I muttered, "That's not going to work."

"What's not, Mom?"

"It's syrup. You can't drink this, Senator. What else do you want?"

"Let me try it!"

"No! And hurry up! People are waiting. What else?"

He grabbed the cup out of my hand and slopped sticky orange syrup all over his face. He started to lick...like some poor fool who gets a pie in the kisser, tries it, and can't believe his good luck that someone tossed banana cream at him instead of blueberry.

By this point, the noise and the crowding got to me. I threw all the drink cups in the trashed and we headed outside. We were followed out by one of the employees who cooingly asked The Governor, "Are you okay?"

Good thing for her I left my crowbar at home.

I'm not sure how I managed to open the car door with a wild toddler draped over my shoulder and my other hand gripping two Happy Meals, but I did. We got home. The Commandant returned in full force.

"You will SIT! You will EAT! You will NOT MAKE ANOTHER SOUND!"

It's so much easier to go all red in the face and holler and yell in the privacy of your own home.

Finished lunch. Marched offending toddler into his room for a nap. More screaming.

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha. Where's your Moses now?!

I'm Still Here...

We've had several wild days in a row here at The Outpost. Not crazy wild...just busy. The gluttony of activites is over so now it's time to unbutton the jeans, sneak the zipper down just a bit, flop on the couch, and watch some football.

Or at least take a small breather as August winds up to a whirlwind pitch.

Today we had one of The Senator's little friends over for a visit. At one point, Young Master Taylor asked me a few questions about driving a car. Who taught me to drive? How old was I when I learned? What kind of car did I first drive? That last question I answered with "Chevy Celebrity." He asked me, "Is that a buggy?"

Buggy? How old do you think I am, twerp? Give me that cookie back, you punk.

Besides having my son's friend think I'm older than the hills, other highlights of the past few days included a soccer game with the Cameroon National squad and a visit to the Wright County Fair.

The county fair was terrific. Comfortable weather, no crowds, cheese curds, and the world's largest Holstein. Can you ask for more? I didn't think so. The world's largest Holstein (for you city folks...Holsteins are the black and white dairy cows) is Oscar, and he tips the scale at 4000 pounds. I even got a yellow sticker declaring that I had seen Oscar. Only cost me a buck. What a deal.

My other favorite part of the fair was slapping the "Wright County Republicans" stickers on the back of the boys' shirts and parading back and forth in front of the hippie manning the Democrats booth.

Or maybe it was the cheese curds. Close call.

The soccer game? It wasn't the Cameroon National team. At least not all of them. The phrase "had our asses handed to us" doesn't even come remotely close to what happened Friday night. We probably would have done better had we not showed up at all.

Saturday we had some friends out for dinner. We grilled bacon-wrapped filets from Ittel's in Howard Lake. It's an old-time butcher shop; no web site, but great meats. They process our bacon for us whenever we butcher pigs. Yum, yum.

We ate a lot of food and shared a great bottle of wine. Sunday at soccer I swear I was sweating Merlot. Guess I shouldn't have usurped The VP's share of the vino.

Tomorrow we're back to our regular summer schedule: Nursing Home Tuesday, Play Date Wednesday, Do-Nothing Thursday, and Park or Beach Friday.

I know, I know. It's a tough life.

And with that, I'll leave you with a picture of my cow. I took this photo on Thursday after Kerry got the official nod from the Democrats. When I told my cow, this is how he looked: