Dragonfly
Geez, it's Wednesday already?

This week has come at me fast and furious. With rain. Lots and lots of yawn-inspiring drippy drizzly rain.

Inside, where it's supposed to be toasty and warm, I've found myself doing the sweater dance. Sweater on. Sweater off. I'm freezing! Where did I leave that darn sweater? Sweater on. Geez I'm hot. Sweater off. If I felt anything other than bone-weary exhaustion, I'd think I might be coming down with something. Mr. Clean thinks I'm just a little farther on the nuts side than usual.

There is one thing toasty warm in here, though. Peat pods!

Currently, I have seeds nestled in 82 cushions of warm peat. The spawnlings and I planted them on the 21st. I probably should have waited another week, considering this damn rain is keeping me from a) collecting the manure from the paddock and pasture, and b) I can't very well go till up a nice neat garden while it's drizzling ice-cold WET stuff. You'll recall I'm not one for patience, though.

I've also ordered the remainder of my seeds (those I couldn't find in the store) but they won't be here for another 7-ish days. I would have liked to have had them in 3 days or less but the store I bought them from didn't offer any expedited shipping. Who doesn't do that?? I imagine they expect gardeners to be timely people who order well before needed. Hahahahaha... there goes any hopes I had of putting that on my resume of accomplishments. I'm already starting out badly.

Still, I'm excited and once this infernal dreariness stops plaguing us, I might be able to slosh out and get some areas tilled up, working in some compost (aged horse poo, once I can find it again) and dead leaves. Plenty of dead leaves around here, though I've been warned I'll be charged for their gathering and delivery. Spawnlings and money, I tell ya.

Now, besides this whole garden brilliance, I should be writing.

Ummm... I did some done over the weekend but I didn't update my word meter. Why? Because it's going to hurt and I'm not up for the crushing blow of removing 20-some-odd-thousand words and replacing it with.... 1800-ish. That's right, I have finally decided to TRASH almost everything I have so far. There may be a couple of scenes (or partials) saved but... yeah, it's toast for the most part.

I'm a little depressed about that but also intent on moving forward. I do, however, need to reinstate my Butt-In-Seat policy. It's not been in use very much this month. At all. I'm pink-faced ashamed, but folks... I was shopping for seeds! And stuff.

And stuff. And stuff.

This Friday marks the beginning of two days of nail-biting high school baseball tryouts for Shaggy. What does this mean? Heh. It means I'm currently living with a teenager full of nerves, which are being manifested in so many Not Lovely ways.

He no longer responds to questions, he growls. He doesn't just practice on his tee every afternoon... he throws the bat and, yesterday, he dropped the F-Bomb so loudly I heard him from inside the house. *shaking my head*

That's a particularly hard one for me because:
1) I understand his plight, I really do.
2) Hi, I'm Dragonfly and the F-Bomb is my all-favorite word ever ever ever.
3) Umm, that means I say it a lot.
4) I know this isn't a great habit.
5) All that being said... throwing a $200 bat across the yard and screaming the F-Bomb at the top of your lungs, NOT happening on my watch.

In the midst of the teenager's angsty anxiety, Doodlebug suffered a loss today. After coming home from school, he found that his beloved guinea pig - Slick - had died. *sigh* I sort of knew this might be coming but didn't expect it quite so soon. Slick was getting on in years. I don't remember how long guinea pigs normally live (we had them as kids) but we've had Slick going on ohhh gosh... at least 4 years now... and he was already somewhere between 1 and 3 when we got him. I think 5-7 years old is pretty darn old for a guinea pig.

** I just Google'd it. They live, on average, 4-8 years.

Still, it was a sad day.

And hair-pulling tough.

Imagine this: 3 hours behind on work, hysterical 9 yr. old holding a dead pet, less than understanding 15 yr. old currently late for batting practice (with a coach who doesn't tolerate tardiness), and cranky father-in-law who won't leave mother-in-law (she had a recent fall, so it's completely understandable) to take 15 yr. old to practice until hysterical 9 yr. old comes down to sit with her while he's gone. That, my dears, was my afternoon today. Tomorrow will be a better day. Seriously, it needs to be.

Oooh, and I've just been not so subtly reminded to tell you... we have a ghost cat. Or something. Over the past week, we have been hearing a mysterious YOWLING at our back porch. It sounds like a cat - if it were soaking wet, starving, and putting on a show of dying. The problem? We hear it either on our front or back porch but upon looking... NOTHING IS OUT THERE. It's driving me insane.

We did have a rather large tom cat on our back porch a few weeks back, trying to get into the trash. Merlin (the dog) busted him and pinned him in a corner so we were able to see him for just a second before he streaked away. Logic says it's the same cat but where the heck IS HE? I swear, the minute I hear the yowling I tiptoe to the door and either flick it open or look through the window. Not. A. Thing.

I make Mr. Clean open the door or look through the window at night. Except for just now, because he is dead asleep and if I wake him in the middle of the night just one more time, he's going to throttle me for sure. The hair is standing up on the back of my neck, though. I really, really need to STOP watching all of these ghost shows. They make me jumpy.

Digression: Those ghost shows are like crack to me. I cannot stop watching them, I love them so. Tonight's Ghost Hunters International was in my beloved Edinburgh, Scotland and at the ONE freaking place I didn't get a chance to stop in at - Camera Obscura. Well, really, it was partly in Camera Obscura and partly in the building either next door or adjoining it (or above/below it... I'm unclear), called Ragged School. It used to be a school for orphans or some such. Either way, GHOSTS. Creepy creepy stuff. This after staying up until 2am Monday night to watch Paranormal State. It is an illness, I tell you.

So, the ghostly cat. I'd like to set a humane trap for it but then what? I don't need another cat and Schatzi is not apt to tolerate another anyhow. I also don't want to take it to a shelter... there are too many cats there already. The yowling, though, it's making me batty (not to mention scaring the crap out of me when it happens at 1am in the dark - and silence - of night). And then there's the question -- What if we set a trap and hear the yowling but get nothing??

Moving on.

Let's see... I owe a quick thanks to everyone who's commented on the past two posts. I'll be responding better very soon. I just got word that the woman who works with me (whom I've been covering for while she was out on maternity leave) is returning TOMORROW. I Am So Happy. You can't even imagine.

And that's about it. Things I'll be talking about soon: Co-op'ing a steer and a family cruise. Oh, yeah... it'll be good stuff. 'Til then - take it easy and smile!
2 Responses
  1. katkin Says:

    Try thinking of Ghost Cat as your yard and home protector. He's out there keeping all the other supernatural uglies away. I understand about the yowling waking you up although I've gotten used to it. We have a lot of roaming cats in our town. It takes a cat fight or my dogs growling to wake me up anymore. Best wishes to Shaggy at the tryouts!!


  2. bubbles Says:

    This cruise thing has me sooo excited, but also kind of.... will it really happen? What's the deal?