Pioneers O pioneers....

which one of these is not like the other?

Broccoli sprout..

ROMAINE!

romaine.

What the.....?

Lately we have had some sort of varmint attack our trash, granted its usually only when we have a stray bag sitting next to the big rubber maid outside on the deck but this trash can is by our sliding door with in sight of, ahem, ferocious huskies and rabid spaniels. So I'm thinking it has to be something with chutzpah like a raccoon. Well, one experience with clammy coffee grounds and congealed chicken fat and the new rule is that all stray bags get deposited in my truck bed for dumping the next day. This has worked fabulously until yesterday, when to my great irritation trash was scattered all over the truck bed letting me repeat my ritual of gagging while scraping soggy coffee grounds out of the crevices of my bed liner. Funny how coffee in a cup is Divine, and coffee grounds out of the trash are vile! Anyhow in the thanking god for small favors department, all trash was contained in my truck bed and not strewn about the yard. After much cussing and retching all trash was again contained, so I went inside to gather purse and keys for the dump run. I passed Ms. K lounging on our outdoor furniture. She was sporting a really funny "har do"(that's how we say hair do down south). It was a greasy looking Mohawk. Its been chilly here lately and I worry that Ms. Kitty will take to hiding in the engine compartments of our vehicles for warmth. So of course I had to identify the greasy look and what better way to do that than to smell of it! Hmmmm, definitely not engine grease, in fact it smelled just like chicken with a hint of coffee grounds! That's right folks, Ms Kitty, lapper of organic half and half. Connoisseur of canned cat food. Tuna taster extraordinaire, is a dumpster diver! Ungrateful feline. She at least will suffer the embarrassment of having her picture posted for all to point and giggle at. Cats! such posers.....

Horse Pants Blues

Well, folks I've suffered my last stare, my last stink eye, my last slack jawed scowl! I'm done I tell you, "Hallus"!( "enough", in Lebanese, don't ask me the true spelling... but when pronouncing it , start the "h" way back in your throat like your are gonna hoick a loogie!) Horse pants, otherwise known as breeches in the rest of the modern world, are not a well known article of clothing here on the coast. As the none to friendly stares from the natives have proven to me. The roughest spot so far has been the local gas station but hot on its heels is the Food Lion. I LIVE in horse pants and have happily for a decade. It makes me grumpy that it draws any sort of attention here, where racing home to change my pants before errands is a spleen bruising* waste of time.*See earlier posts on our road.

So, I first tried to remember to pack a pair of jeans with me to change into, this failed in many ways. Key word being the "remember" part. Then when I did manage to bring a pair, I had to parade myself past the very people I'm trying to "spare" the apparent horror that my spandex clad buttocks incites. I tried changing in my truck. I'm not sure, but i think this was even more scandalous. Maybe because a truck full of bubbas pulled up next to me at a crucial part in the concealment process. Anyhow I'm not one to bow to peer pressure, but its getting ridiculous. Down by the university, I blend right in with the yoga crowd. Especially if I change out of my smelly horse boots. But out in the country where 98 percent of my clientele reside? Not so much with the blending in.

The search is on for an acceptable pant that is comfy enough to sit in a truck and hop on a horse. I think I have found it in the Bettona pant from athleta. Get this, its a yoga JEAN! It comes in black and has jean-like stitching , faux zipper,rivets and pockets. I am hopeful. I'll give them the old test run when they arrive next week. Man, this small town living is not for the faint of heart! Who knew everyone has a reputation?