Cathy in the Wright

Happy Halloween

Never got the chance to leave one of these on your crabby neighbor's doorstep? Now's your chance.

Click here.

Don't forget to stomp that little sh*t!

Happy Halloween

Sent from Gary.

Yawn

Quality control here at Cathy in the Wright has suffered a few setbacks. I haven't had the time or energy in the last couple of days to post much. I did have a fabulous anecdote about my soccer team, but I got an email from one of my Texas readers informing me that soccer is "the devil's sport." So you can all thank Gary that you didn't get to read about me nearly crippling the Brit on the opposing team last Sunday.

Devil's sport....pshaw.

I will only add Friday is my last outdoor game of the season, providing it quits raining between now and 8 pm tomorrow. After that you get to suffer through recaps of the indoor season. Don't worry. The potential for career-ending injury is just as great. While there is still no slide-tackling allowed, you might not believe how much damage one can do by checking your opponent into (and sometimes over) the boards. I'll have to start bringing my camera.

I'd post more, but it's time to go change out of my pajamas and fix lunch. It's been raining heavily all day, and frankly, unless we get a cuter UPS driver, there's no need to bother with any unnecessary acts of personal hygiene. Who's going to see me?

Although if The VP wants to bring home dinner tonight, I might shower. Shaving legs will require dessert.

A Little Something For Everyone

For all the Republicans in the family:

And for Mom and Grandma:

Food For Thought

As I was walking to the bus stop this afternoon, I noticed small piles of what appeared to be fecal matter every few feet down the driveway. Technically, the dog noticed it first. I noticed when I realized the dog was stopping to sample each pile as we came upon it.

I couldn't quite figure out how this came about, until I remembered seeing my father-in-law driving the tractor through the cow pasture earlier in the day. He must have taken the driveway on his way back to the tin shed (tractor storage) and bits of cow manure fell off the tires as he went along.

So my dog turned the driveway into a 150 yard buffet line consisting entirely of poop. Can't wait to bring him to the nursing home tomorrow and let him kiss up the old ladies.

Just thought you might want to know.

Dining al a Child

Doug over at Bogus Gold links to a post from Plastic Hallways which has a humorous paragraph about dining with little kids in restaurants. Doug adds a few of his own thoughts and gets a snide (anonymous, of course) commenter who chides, "You'll be served first, but in the meantime could you teach your kids some manners?"

Well, anon, we do teach our kids manners. And our efforts often work at home because we have access to the time-out corner or the bedroom and we can listen to half an hour of screaming because it only effects us. But if we want our kids to learn the ins and outs of public social behavior, we sometimes have to put them in the public arena. Not our first choice, mind you. Personally, I'd have no problem keeping the urchins in controlled environments until they were legally responsible for their own actions. But think of the economy. The generic crayon business would dry up. Jobs would be lost when graphic designers no longer have to come up with cartoon pictures of corn dogs and french fries for the kiddie menus. And the big tips guilty parents leave after Junior wreaks havoc at the table? Gone.

This is not to say that parents have no effective tools when out in public. I have spent more than one meal sitting in the car with The Governor while The VP and The Senator finish dining in the restaurant. But bear with us as we try to steer these monkeys away from the label of social pariah.

As painful as eating with children can be, it's worth it. Without actual dining experience, you never know what might happen. One of my boys, for instance, might grow up to date your daughter. And when he's taking her out for a meal, he just might remember he shouldn't blow the paper straw wrapper across the table into her face or turn around in the booth and throw croutons at the diners behind him. He might slurp the last few drops of his soda because the day I was teaching that lesson, we were probably sitting in the car.

A Hunting We Will Go!

In 1956, I went duck hunting with buddies from the University of North Dakota at Grand Forks, who assigned me an ancient, single-shot .410-gauge shotgun—a pea-shooter clue to our party’s low expectations for me. Hah! I made the long shot of the day, dropping a Mallard so far into the slough the retriever had to rest halfway to the bird. (Well, that’s the way I recall it, anyway.) Since my first hunt was a top-gun performance, it also was my last. That’s because, as I’ve been known humbly to explain, there was no room for improvement.

So, while I’m not an acolyte of Nimrod, god of the hunt, I feel comfortable offering Sen. Kerry advice about hunting.

Firstly, if you really killed that goose, why didn’t you carry it? I was so proud of my trophy Mallard, I would have wrestled the retriever for possession. Confess! Didn’t you really bag one of those French honkers that has its feet nailed to a board and is force fed grain to give the culinary world Paté de fois gras?

Secondly, you missed a photo op by not gutting and plucking the goose. Entirely inexperienced, I nevertheless was able to dress out my trophy duck, along with several others, awarded in recognition of my Sgt. York marksmanship.

Finally, my duck was cooked, but how ‘bout your goose? It must be difficult to choose between a delicately sauced presentation dish and copious application of your wife’s branded ketchup? The suspense is killing, but at least we’ll know, Nov. 3, whether your goose is cooked?

A Cultural Affair

As school was not in session today, we invited friends over to kill some time. Part of our entertainment was taking several eggs that had gone bad and tossing them at trees out in the pasture.

While walking through the pasture gate, one six-year-old girl noticed a large pile of grass off to the side. "Did that come out of the cow's stomach when it got butchered?"

Yep.

"Cool."

I love country kids. Rotten eggs and chewed cud. Life just doesn't get any better than this.

Dead Cow Walking

Execution day here at The Outpost. After a final meal of oats and crushed corn, our four Herefords chewed their last cud.

Here's a photo moments before the "processing" began:

The renegade who is standing outside the fence didn't escape. In fact, he got to go first.

Here are Dennis and Bruce, our local butchers:

White Front Meats is a little shop right in downtown Cokato with, as you might guess, a white front. Wizards, these people. Amazing what they can do with a mammal and a sharp blade.

Bruce showed me the shells they would be using to put the cows down. The smallest, the .22, is for shooting cows at the "fish in a barrel range." The largest, the .22-250 is for hunting a Hereford like a wild animal. Our renegade got a taste of this one.

Then Dennis and Bruce get to work. It's amazing. It really is a matter of minutes from live cow to this:

to this:

As Bruce says, "I like these Herefords. Nice size. Easy to skin."

We watched the whole process. The Senator was particularly impressed. I thought he might be a bit turned off by the gore, but he was facinated. When Bruce cut open the stomachs and the grass spilled out, it was all I could do to restrain The Senator from getting down and poking around in the innards.

About an hour and half after they arrived, Bruce and Dennis took off with our cows. The unusable stuff will get sold to a rendering plant. The skins are sold to a tanner. And pounds and pounds and pounds of beef will be packaged in neat, white butcher paper and making its way back to my freezer in a week or so.

Ahhhh.

I think I need a cigarette.

Disclaimer

Wow. Thank you to everyone who stopped by to look at Sen. Dayton's famous lines. We here at The Outpost were quite humbled to see our site show up on Fraters Libertas and Power Line.

That particular post was written by my dad, The Professor. He is an infrequent contributor to "Cathy in the Wright" but I have been pressing him post again. He enjoyed your comments and emails. He is now furiously spinning his wheels to come up with another humorous piece for you. Unfortunately, under pressure, he sometimes resorts to his time-worn favorite: the bad pun. Don't say I didn't warn you.

As the rest of my regular 40 or so readers know, this blog is 98% what my six-year old threw up for breakfast, what the two-year-old destroyed, or what the old ladies at the nursing home fed my dog on any given Tuesday morning. That and an occasional tasteless joke at the expense of the Democrats.

Again, you stand warned.

Thank you, again, for the visit. We'd love to have you back.

Profile in Courage

Quotations from Minnesota’s Sen. Dayton, who moved himself and his staff out of the U.S. Capitol, because he fears a terrorist attack before the presidential election. This makes him a leader, because he is the only member of Congress to do so. And I quote ...

“Women and Children Last.”

“The buck stops there.”

“Flee when you see the whites of their eyes.”

“We few, we happy few, we band of runners.”

“Harm’s way is not my way.”

"My way IS the highway."

“I regret that I have but one country to give for my life.”

“Once more, away from the breach.”

“I shall return, when it’s safe.”

“Backward, Ho!”

“Mommy, mommy, don’t turn off the light.”

Tasteless Humor

Blame Paula.

Thursday At The Outpost

Yes. Still here. Very busy and the crud still lingers. Although I must be feeling a little better because I washed dishes for the first time in four days. Even The Governor was sighing in relief.

I felt good enough to haul The Governor off on a playdate once we had The Senator off to school. Sat around with a few other moms discussing the latest scandal to rock our small town. I'd go into it here, but there are a few locals who read my site, and if they don't know about it, I don't want to be the one who spreads it further. Although after today, I'm pretty sure the only person who doesn't know about it is the dog. In a bigger town, this affair wouldn't cause a blip on anyone's radar, but out here everyone has locked on and will be tracking it for months.

Later, although the day was a bit crisp, the boys and I went for a ride through the woods on the 4-wheeler. We saw a beautiful doe standing amid blazing orange and yellow leaves. Wish I'd had my camera. I also helped my father-in-law stack wood. Nana came out and distracted the boys by raking a huge leaf pile. Funny how much faster the work goes fewer hands involved.

Fixed dinner, drew the baths, tucked children in bed. Ahh. I sat in a chair with my feet up on another, the dog made room for himself around my toes, and we rested. Until I remembered that I didn't post yesterday and I better get something down before my vast readership bails for more productive URLs.

And after re-reading the above...well, they still might. Back to the chair. This time I'll remember to bring a beer and a biscuit for my toe-warmer.

Tuesday Blather

The crud still has me in its grip, but for once I got to go to the nursing home and cough and hack all over the old folks instead of the other way round.

Everyone at the home was in an odd mood today. Old ladies were saying the funniest things. I was holding Petula's hand and I commented that it was warm. She looked at her hand and said, "I haven't been spanking anyone." Another spry tabby told me about how she loves to feed her relatives "a little B.S." when they come for visits. What happened to the placid old ewes I visited last week?

After the nursing home it was off to the optical center to pick up The Senator's new glasses. His prescription hadn't changed; but we had to order a new pair when he demolished his old ones. There is still a lens missing somewhere in the basement. I'm not sure how he destroyed them; he just brought up the wreckage cupped in his hands. A tangle of wire and one cracked lens.

We stopped for a visit with Grandma and Grandpa. The Senator kept asking me to leave so he could spend time alone with them, and The Governor begged to stay behind when it was time to leave. Apparently this whole "No Rules at Grandma's House" atmosphere has a certain attraction.

Home now and everyone is heading to bed early. I found an old prescription bottle of cough syrup with codine in the fridge from The Senator's last cold. Now I'm normally a "purge and toss" kind of person when it comes to the refrigerator. I can't stand expired dairy products or unidentifiable leftovers. But for some reason I stuffed this bottle behind the mustard. And thank goodness. It's starting to kick in, and I believe I might just get a full night of rest.

Because if I didn't have drugs tonight, I might wonder all evening why The Senator asked me, "Does 'Chinese' rhyme with 'heinies'?"

Ahh. Choo.

We had a beautiful fall weekend around here. Friday night was soccer. 2-1 victory over a team that had beaten us previously. The only blemish on the evening was the unexpected return of the mosquitoes. They were horrible. And of course everyone had taken the Off! out of their athletic bags a few weeks ago. We went out after the game to celebrate our win and to watch the Twins tank.

Woke up Saturday morning feeling like a 90-year-old, hungover, emphysema patient with mono. The bar was a bit smoky, but not horrendous. As I don't smoke and didn't drink that night, I felt this condition of mine to be really unfair. If I had known ahead of time how awful I was going to feel, I would have made it worth my while.

Spent a lot of Sunday in bed, but then rebounded enough to make to another soccer game Sunday evening. It felt good to get out and run. My lungs would beg to differ. But we agreed it was a beautiful day to be outside. Perhaps one of the last ones we'll see this fall. And who wouldn't be willing to sacrifice a few thousand alveoli on such a majestic day?

This morning I woke up feeling crummy, but the weather was too beautiful once again to allow for wallowing in bed. Having two children tends to prevent that sort of thing as well. No pity, though. We had a great day. The Governor, Hoocher, and I walked down to the bus stop a little early today. We all laid down in the big clover patch and watched the clouds for a while. And when The Senator's bus arrived, The Senator got off and joined us. Warm, fall air...no bugs...birds singing...colorful leaves falling...no other noises but our soft voices...

The peace and contentment were almost tangible.

And...The Governor went pee like a big boy FOUR times today. He might be seven before he ever decides to have a bowel movement in the toilet, but we're going to have this urination thing licked in a couple of weeks!

Advice

I received the following email from my friend, Terry:

I am passing this on to you because it has definitely worked for me...and as we are into the activities of hurricane season, we all could use a little calm. By following the simple advice I read in an article, I have finally found inner peace.

The article read: "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started."

So I looked around the house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished....and before leaving the house this morning I finished off a bottle of red wine, a bottle of white wine, the Bailey's, Kahlua, and Peach Schnapps, the Prozac, some valium, some cheesecake and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how freakin good I feel.... You may pass this on to those you feel are in need of Inner Peace.

Lemme see...a package of Oreos, nearly a full six-pack of St. Pauli Girl, cough syrup with codine, 1/2 a tub of chocolate frosting...

Yep, this is going to work.

Catching Up

Oh how I miss my blog sometimes. The last couple of days have been so busy, and yet there were so many things I wanted to post. First a couple of family service announcements:

Happy Birthday to my father-in-law. The best f-i-l a girl could land. Back when The VP and I were dating, I knew our relationship was special - the stuff of future marriage talks. But when I met his folks, it sealed the deal. I wanted into the family, even if I didn't marry The VP. Buppa, you're the best!

I would also like to announce that today is our anniversary. Nine years of marriage. And it is also the third year in a row that I forgot. Yep. Completely forgot. I got a euphoric phone call from The VP late this morning. "Happy Anniversary, dear!" I'd tell you what my answer was, but this is a family-oriented blog.

So, I spent my anniversary running errands and spending a couple of hours with an attorney and our accountant. Time to update the will. It was fairly painless, although I almost choked when we were discussing guardianship issues and the attorney jokingly said, "I hear it might be a little more difficult getting someone to agree to take the younger one." The Governor's reputation has spread.

Before the attorney's office, The VP and I stopped at the Godiva shop in the mall to buy my mom some chocolates. The guy helping us was very enthusiastic about chocolate. He rang us up and asked for our phone number. We completed the sale and left. As we're walking out, The VP says,

"What a wasted opportunity!"

What do you mean?

"Well, that guy is working in a mall. In a shop. In a CHOCOLATE shop. How many women do you think come in there each day? And he has to ask for their phone numbers!"

So?

"That guy was gay. What a wasted opportunity."

Hmm. Never thought of it that way. Perhaps a lot of gay men eat chocolate too.

Did Not...Did Too!

Elton John rips on Madonna? As Andy might say...handbags at ten paces.

Thinning Hair = Magical Powers

I don't think my younger brother checks this blog too often, so I believe I'm safe.

Today at lunch, The Senator was trying to think up a nickname for the dog. Not that he needs one, but nicknames are just the sort of thing you ponder over turkey on wheat. If you haven't...try less mayo.

So The Senator declares

I'm gonna call him Meatball, because he's bald on the top of his head. You know. Like a vulture with no feathers. Like Uncle Jim!

Ouch.

For the record, Hoocher is not bald. I guess the white patch on his head reminded The Senator of the (clears throat) thinning area that crowns Uncle Jim.

The Senator also asked if he was going to lose his hair like Uncle Jim did. I told him someday he probably would. He looked sad until I pointed out that thinning hair is a prerequisite for becoming a wizard. (Your cap stays on much better.) And since he believes in wizards with stronger faith than he believes in Santa Claus, I think he's going to ask the barber to shave his head at the next haircut.

Mi Parants Neva Red Books To Mee An I Turnd Out Jus Fine

I've been trying to post, but The Governor's been bringing me books all morning. And using his good manners.

Mom, can you please read me this book?

When I've got other work to do, I can ignore pleas to get down on the floor and play with trucks. I can waive off a request to build towers with blocks. I can openly scoff at the invitation to watch a video together. But when he comes at me with a book, well, the guilt floodgates swing wide open.

Is there a parent who hasn't been lectured, warned, schooled, and drilled that reading to your child is probably the most important thing you can do for your growing sprout? I'm sure there's a study somewhere that says if it's a choice between eating vegetables and reading to your kid, go with the book. After all, how important is robust health if your son only has a vocabulary of 25 words because YOU DIDN'T READ TO HIM! Don't miss a single opportunity to read to your child! Neurons will atrophy! Grey matter will slosh around in his skull unexpanded! I don't care if you've read "Nemo Goes to Fish School" nine hundred times already! One more time could mean the difference between gas station attendant and high political office!

So how did I manage to sneak away and post? I did what any good parent would do. I hid "Nemo" under the couch and told him he could go play in his brother's room. The forbidden land.

And what was I going to post about today? I can't remember. I'm sure complaining about my aching joints after yesterday's soccer double-header was on the list somewhere. Time to...aw Jeez. Here's The Governor with another book. Dr. Suess - "If I Ran the Zoo." Too much rhyme, especially before noon.

Sigh.

If he doesn't end up to be president...somebody's going to pay.

Mr. Muir's Bad News

Chris...I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something or say something to help. I hope you and your family are okay.

Sincerely,

Cathy Camp

To Dad:

Happy Birthday, Professor!

I'll take you out for a stiff drink when you get home. You'll need one after this trip. Bring Frank. He could probably use one too.

Green Lantern: Boxers or Briefs?

The boys have decided that, being confined to quarters due to the unseasonal rain, they will play SuperHeros.

I now have Batman and Superman running through the house screaming at top volume. On one pass through the kitchen, Superman was wielding the toilet plunger. On the next pass, Batman had it. On the third pass the plunger was missing. Vacuum cleaner attachments are apparently the latest in SuperWeapon technology.

Perhaps because of the rain or perhaps because it's Friday or even perhaps because I failed to watch the debate last night...the Justice League decided it is mandatory that all SuperHeros today run around in their underwear or diaper.

Good thing I only had to be Hawk Girl yesterday. This way no one has to see my non-matching bra and underwear.