Tricks on old people

So, last night, after George went to bed, I drew big eyeballs and lashes on his reading glasses with what (I thought) was a wipe-off marker. He didn't notice until he was in the store and put them on in front of a clerk. He can't get the stuff off. Ooops...

Poop Gal

I know that everything poops. But, why do I have to clean it up? Farm living is also poopy living. Everyone but me gets to poop where they want. I just have to pick it up, hose it up, cart it off, and try not to step in it.

My new horse must think that my new trailer is a portable john. After hours on the trails, then standing around being groomed and un-tacked, he gets in the trailer, and immediately poops and pees gallons and bushels. Well, shit.

My hens come to my entrance in the back of the house to poop. I have a little hen who, a few days ago, decided to hatch a nest of eggs in the screened room off the family room, on the bottom shelf of the Tiki Bar! (By the way, before you say 'Eeew! A Tiki bar on a farm?!', it was purchased for parties my son was having around our pool the first year after college.)

Anyway, the new nest situation results in more, you guessed it, POOP! My job is assured. This shit will never end...

Good ride

Cruz, with a friend

A Western woman who chooses to ride as a hobby/sport is judged. By her balance, her approach to discipline, her mount and his ability to keep up/step out/not spook/be calm. It can be stressful and humiliating. But, not today...

Today, my new gelding, Cruz, made me proud (again), showed me as a strong disciplinarian and balanced horsewoman. He was a forward going, curious and capable trail horse. When he balked at being the lead horse, he and I had a 'meeting of the minds' moment that convinced him of my strength and consistency. All valuable currency when one is trying to make inroads into existing riding groups and the heart and mind of a new horse.

We have been invited back. We are accepted, endorsed, desirable as companions. The new currency of ridership/horsemanship/horse behavior is in our favor.

Good night, Cruz. Good job, tired guy. I forgive you for peeing and pooping in our new trailer. More trail adventures await us tomorrow...

Face of Ireland

Picture by AnnBee, of WhoahGirl

Genetic heritage is evident in this picture of a young Irish man, in a flat cap from Killarney. I know that's where the cap is from. I brought it back from Ireland. This is my son, Mack. And, yes, he is of Irish heritage.

Mare is gone, but not forgotten

The distracting mare is gone. He udder is dried up, she no longer thinks she should nurse her year-old filly, and she has taken the exit invite.

Cruz is frantic. He put two miles on, screaming and running over every square inch of the six+ acre pasture, and has whinnied long into the evening (it is 11:11 pm now). Good heavens, work it out, man.

I hate to be cruel, but he was acting this was after one day with her. So, it's not like they are life-mates. I have to figure into his consciousness, or he is worthless to me. If he cannot concentrate on me, he will be a danger to me. On the trail, in the trailer, in camp.

Sorry, buddy, this is when being a human trumps being a horse. I get to lead and train and demand to be #1. Otherwise, you can go to a new home and be a lawn ornament...

Horse prints on my heart, and my foot

Not my foot, Google image, but this is what my left foot looks like after Cruz rushed the gate to return to 'his' mare. And he's a gelding!

So, I have a horse. And I love my horse. And I got him a pasture buddy so that he would not be lonely, being new to our home and ownership. I had my niece bring over the horse of her choice. She did, a little mare.

So, I did not realize the influence some mares can have on some geldings. This turned out to be the worst combination in the world... for me, not for them. They seem to like one another, but they can't bear to be seperated. After only two days they we like this.

Now, I can't even ride my horse. He is a snorting, screaming, stomping, sweating bundle of nerves, as the mare screams and runs the fence line, calling him back. What idiots. What drama...

Well, a couple days ago, he stepped on my foot. It hurt like hell, which is what I gave him.

It has gone from black to scarlet to blue. It doesn't hurt all that much, didn't swell much, thanks to ice and elevation. But, man, is it pretty. And looks terrible. This is the same foot I sprained and broke the toes on two and a half months ago. Ouch.

So, the girl goes. I am the only girl for Cruz right now. No room for two. He will be alone, with me for his best company, and we will refocus his attention on each other. As it should be.

Great Craigslist Ad

Fresh frozen rabbit for pets only - $1 (Redmond)

The better part of valor: run like hell, then hide!

Albert, having snuck into the kitchen and found a nice roost.

I was in the yard, enjoying the breeze, when a very fast moving, silent white streak came into my peripheral vision. It was Alfie, our young rooster, a full sized nine pound Aracauna, running along the pool deck by the fence, mute and hell bent for breakfast.

Albert, our two pound Old English Game rooster, was right on his ass. Albert finally grabbed some wing feather and slowed Alfie down. Albert used the chance to land a few strikes to Alfie's under belly and chest. Run, grab, slow down, strike, run, grab, slow down, strike... All weirdly silent and fast.

Finally Alfie hid under something and Albert stood there, pacing, quietly waiting for his prey's reemergence. Hearing Timora singing in the distance, Albert's attention was divided and he finally returned to his hen. Alfie emerged ever so slowly, looking this was and that, finally locating Albert across the yard, distracted. He came out, hustled around the pool house, and went to his roost for the night. An age old dilemma; certain ass kicking or early bedtime. 'G'night, y'all!'

Stop being an ass; your nuts are gone...

My horse is acting like an ass. So much so I don't even feel like riding him.

You see, I was nice enough to get a friend's horse to come here to stay with him so he would have a pasture buddy, and wouldn't be alone. The friend brought a mare, a dominant, possessive, snippy little 14 hander that rules the roost. And poor dumb Cruz is beginning to act like a stallion, screaming and snorting when he is away from her. And he has no 'nads, zero, zip, de-macho-ized. Criminy, can the memory of long ago baby testosterone be enough to make him a jerk? Apparently so.

'Course, she is screaming and snorting and pounding along the fence in a fury to ..."get right back here, you hear me?" He is not even worth riding in this state.

I have always been irritated at the folks who show up for rides and horse functions with poorly behaved, snorting, asshole horses, and yet, this is what I have right now.

My plan is to get the mare back to her home, and allow Cruz to be alone, with just me for company. I will work on the interdependence, the friendship, and respect. Then, I think our new relationship can get off to a new, nicer start. Cross your fingers...

A local businessman mangles the language

I have been collecting his sayings. I'll add to them as I remember and encounter them...

Some people are lucky their family is wealthy...

On the staff shortage at the company: ‘We are very underhanded right now.’

On going to a Democratic function: ‘I’ll feel like a sheep in plain clothes’

On a messed up situation: ‘ he threw a wrench in the monkey works’

Men, Slower but no Wiser...

My niece, to her mom yesterday: "Oh, Mom, no more bananas in my lunch, please."

Mom: "Ok, why? Have you reached your maximum potassium level?"

Niece: "No, I'm in middle school and my friends are dorks."

Mom: "Oh, OK I get it."

Dad: "Huh?......Oh, I get it now, let's not talk about it."

My New Underwear

Me, at work, in my new underpants!

I gotta tell you, I was so glad to find these underpants to wear at work. As the ad says, easy washing-no ironing. It's that 'no ironing' part that is saving me so much time before work.Whew!

I used to spend so much time trying in vain to get that perfect front crease and the flat smooth crotch insert. After all, I never know who might see my unders when I am checking a rectal thermometer. And, what responsible critical care nurse wants to wear a clean perfectly starched nurses cap with wrinkled or poorly ironed underpants?

These Spun-lo pants are dreamy, and the salvation for every serious working nurse. Try them, and say goodbye to your ironing board!

Cougar hunting

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Proud flesh

Google image, my horse's was higher on the forehead

First thing today, my task was to deal with the icky thing on Cruz's (my horse) face. It looked like the raised wheal of a bot. But, it turned out to be proud flesh growing under tough dermal tissue, creating a boil-like wound.

Lidocaine, freely injected around the wound. Betadine cleanser, after the area was numb. Scalpel to debride the tissue. Pick-ups to hold up the tortured flesh, surgical scissors to cut away the excess granulated tissue. Not much blood, but an open wound covered with antibiotic ointment.

He tolerated the procedure well, actually dozing off, leaning into my daughter's hands as I placed pressure on the seeping veins. What a trooper.

Ugly stuff, dealt with summarily. Just another day in the life of a farm woman.

PACU, late shift

Google image

Tonight, I took a night shift for a coworker so that she could go on vacation. The night shift is different. It is quieter, more intimate, more intense. The regular nurses, to a one, are quirky and think outside the box. Independent. Brilliant.

And, surprisingly, I fit in. The crew did their best to sell me on joining them. No, thanks. My circadian rhythm runs to the daylight hours. At 10:30, or 2230, in our world, I was yawning, longing for my blankey.

But, now, I am home. I decompressed with hubby-love about the little old lady, demanding and exacting, who dissolved into tears when I gently pushed back her bangs and said' "What's really going on, honey?" She said, "I'm just so scared". About the big 72 year old man, author of 44 books, who found, after a three hour back surgery, that he could move his feet for the first time in over a year. How we laughed and celebrated with fresh ice on a fevered tongue. How, now, post-shift, my back hurts from helping turn him so I could check his dressings and Jackson-Pratt bulb suction drain.

I love being a PACU nurse. Early or late. But, late is closer to the bone, closer to the crux of human needs and dependence. Quirky people are drawn to the quirkiness of the challenge and the task. And they are nearly autonomous in their analytical approach to recovering critically ill post-op patients, filling in for exhausted surgeons who need a little peace and quiet to recover themselves. Treat now, get the orders later. Medicine in the wee hours.

Nurses rock. Night nurses glow and morph.

Good night, coworker friends. We did good tonight.

Seed Savers

In 1975, a small organization was launched committed to the preservation of 'the world's diverse but endangered garden heritage for future generations'. In plain speak, Seed Savers Exchange seeks out, accepts, preserves, and makes available old seeds from throughout the world. You and I or anyone else can order heirloom seeds for food crops from this group.

How cool is that? To grow food from seeds that are in direct lineage from peppers from Russia, like the Georgia Flame, or tomatoes from Italy, like Cherry Roma, or cucumbers from a single plant on the George Starr farm in Michigan at the beginning of 1900, like Early Fortune.

I ordered a full garden's worth of seeds this year. As our family motto states 'Way overboard is a good place to start'. Okay, so I got excited. The beautiful catalog came, it was raining outside, and the pictures were so pretty, and the descriptions so vivid, and it was for the good of preserving a wonderful legacy, and, well, $80 later, my garden is sitting by my computer, packaged neatly and ready to go into the soil.

I'll keep you posted on the progress. Complete with pictures. Meanwhile, go to their website and check it out. www.seedsavers.org

Slogging, not blogging.

(Me, on my way to work...)

I have been neglecting to write in my blog. I am so down from the weather, my husband's illness, my hip is hurting again...

It is not conducive to writing. Well, not the stuff I think you might like to read, anyway. Eeyore was sadly endearing in Winnie the Pooh, but a middle aged not-cute Eeyore Wanna-be is not the stuff of reading pleasure, I think.

So, know that the chickens are fine, the horse is good, the weather is crappy, the mud is deep, the patients are in endless bloody supply, and my husband is back to normal. That, at least, is worth sharing...