My three brothers

I am sorting through boxes and boxes of pictures (again) and came across this one... my three brothers, date unknown but taken in the kitchen of the 'home place' in Oklahoma. On the left, brother Don, second oldest who just celebrated his 80th birthday this year. He was/is a preacher... still getting behind the podium at any & every opportunity. He recently performed the marriage ceremony for his grandson (Jake, you might want to check if he is licensed in Georgia just to be sure everything is legal).
On the right, brother Vern... the brother who abruptly ended my reign as the baby of the family which, I am convinced had an adverse effect on my ability to mature into a responsible adult. He is the only one of the five siblings who never left Oklahoma and I'm pretty sure the state is better off for that.
In the center is brother Edwin... the short brother. He was nicknamed "Big Shorty" early in life and I can still remember my dad calling him that even after he was a grown man. You can see from the grin on his face that this brother was all about having fun. He never missed giving everyone a call on their birthday... and no matter what time zone you were in, that call would come at five o'clock in the morning. "Good morning! Happy Birthday", his trademark calling card.
Brother Ed left us in 1997 and I imagine he is making sure everyone in heaven is getting up early, birthday or not. When my time here is done and I get that celestial phone call, I am sure it will be Edwin who is on the other end... and I am positive the call will come at 5:00 a.m.

Alas, poor Morty

Recently, as I was shuttling groceries from truck to kitchen, I noticed that both cats were out on the lawn, crouching and pouncing and, in general, acting like cats. At one point, Smokey had his paw stuck down in a hole-in-the-ground... up to his little cat elbow, and evidently he managed to scare up an underground creature which I'm pretty sure is a mole.

Above, you see Smokey and Morty Mole (he was so cute I had to name him) taking stock of each other. Bandit Cat is just to the left, keeping a sharp eye on Morty while Smokey alternately cuffed him around and then completely ignored him (it's a cat thing).

You want a piece of me???

I'm pretty sure that's what ol' Morty was saying to Smokey at this moment. He was such a feisty little guy I was tempted to interfere and set him free, but didn't because I don't really want a bunch of little Mortys burrowing under my lawn. Eventually, Smokey got tired of the game & took Morty to his going-away party. I didn't witness any more of that exercise... just noticed next morning, the obligatory body parts which had been left where we would be sure to see them and know the kitty boys are earning their keep. Ah, life can be cruel... but then you don't want to mess with Mother Nature.

Addendum to previous blog

I have more to say about this little electronic marvel; I call it "RT"... short for Ruby Tunes... Ruby because of its color & tunes because of what it does. We're learning new things about it most every day. For instance, the first time I was 'loading' music onto it (with Steven's help), it went into a "synchronizing" frenzy & when it finished, had used up one of the four gigs of space it has. That is a bunch in terms of memory! We were puzzled until we noticed that while it was fooling around inside my computer, it had grabbed a bunch of pictures & documents which it can display on its 1.2 x 1.6 inch window. I haven't looked at all of that yet, but did see (and will keep) the photo you see here...my beloved being Mr. Texas a few years back (well, actually 50 years ago). We have loaded music from Patsy Cline to Pavaroti, Elton to Elvis and we're not finished yet! We still have CDs and LP albums (from the 50's) which, with the help of yet another electronic gadget, we will convert to CDs & then transfer to Ruby Tunes. Occasionally when we are listening, a strange song will come out of nowhere (we finally figured out that some 'music' was preloaded on RT). I'm pretty sure it is Heavy Metal since I think it is the sound one would hear immediately after a musician had dropped a heavy metal cannonball on his foot... (no offense, Kim K). So, we have some clean up to do on the files...next project is to find the delete button on little ol' RT so we can truly personalize our music.

Technology runs rampant

Things have certainly changed...the crank phone shown here is the one I grew up with, back on the farm. It actually belonged to my grandparents, who owned the farm before my parents bought it when I was about 8 years old. In those days, the phones were all on a "party" system... eight homes on the same telephone line. Individual 'rings' (two longs, two shorts, one long/one short, etc) determined who the call was intended for... however, that was irrelevant to the neighborhood ladies who listened in on every call... no matter whose 'ring' had rung. My own mom never missed an opportunity to know what was going on in someone else's business... I think that phone was the forerunner of the TV soap opera.

That might very well explain my own aversion to telephones today. As a teenager, knowing that any 'private' call would be shared by at least 4 or 5 neighbors made one hesitant to make or receive calls. To make a call, you had to twirl the little crank on the right hand side of the phone... one lo-o-o-o-ng crank would get you the operator in town & she would then put you in touch with the telephonee of your choice.

The little gadget on the left is, of course, today's cell phone. What a marvel of technology! It affords us the luxury(?) of never again being out of touch with friends and family... or even the telemarketers who can now plague us even when we are not at home! My cell phone is fairly simple... I don't text... in fact I am lucky to hear it in time to answer before it goes to voice mail; then I have to get the manual to figure out how to hear the message.
But, my latest technological goody is a teeny gadget which can hold about 1500 songs (as if I ever even heard of that many songs) and play them to me in my ear, or in the truck, or on the new boombox which can go from room to room or outside on the patio. It's pretty easy to 'load'... I just had to "rip" and "sync" and there were a bunch of our CDs (a marvel in themselves), now residing in that 2 inch x 3 inch piece of technology... it boggles the mind!

Sometimes I wonder what my parents would think... I recall that about 1985, I was telling my Dad about using an ATM (new technology at that time). He heard me out and then said, "I was sort of hoping I would miss the computer age". I'm glad I didn't miss the computer age, although keeping up with it all can sometimes make one weary. I think I have to take a nap now.

Just for the smelluvit

We noticed that when Ray takes off his shoes, Bandit Cat goes berserk... twisting & wiggling until he gets his head as far as possible into the deep (and smelly) recesses of said shoe. He is not a small cat so you can see he is not able to get all of him in there. Evidently, whatever he finds in there causes him great pleasure, as you can see by the look on his face in the picture above.
Those two kitty boys tried my patience severely a couple of nights ago. I was trying to get them to come in for the night (into the garage) and Bandit ran into the sunroom with a large mole dangling from his mouth. Of course, Smokey tried his best to share in the prize & they were both running around the room with me screaming & trying to drive them into the garage. Finally, Smokey (in a snit) ran out the back door into the dark & I got Bandit (and his mole) into the garage. I kept checking every 20 minutes or so, calling "kitty, kitty" out the back door but no Smokey. Meanwhile, Bandit was still in the garage and after a while he started having a fit to get into the sunroom. By then the mole had disappeared... I probably don't want to know where. So I opened the back door again, walked away and when I turned around... there was Smokey rolling around on the floor and playing with his very own (dead) mole...looking for all the world like he was telling Bandit "see... you're not so smart". More screaming & chasing and they finally settled down out in the garage... and next day... there was not hide nor hair of either mole. Sometimes I wonder... but, like I said... I don't really want to know.

Sometimes I wonder...

Like today... I wonder why a temperature of 34 degrees feels so much colder on April 15 than it did on January 15? Additionally... WHY are we having temps in the 30's in APRIL for heaven's sake??? But I guess I can't really complain after the beautiful, sunny Easter Sunday we just had.

And I wonder why every now and then this thought flashes through my mind: Omigosh! The cleaning lady is coming tomorrow and this place is a mess! So I wonder why I spend a whole day getting ready so the CL can spend half a day getting rid of our dust collection and vacuuming in places I can't reach. And then I spend a few more days looking for the things I hurriedly stashed away so the CL wouldn't have to deal with the clutter. Just wondering...

Like yesterday as I was sitting through the process of being "permed" I began to wonder... what possesses us ladies to submit ourselves to this modern day torture? After the B.O. (beauty operator) shampoos & creme rinses us, he partitions our locks into small sections and rolls each one of those sections onto a small plastic rod after first wrapping those hairs with a cigarette paper (anyway, it sure looks like a cigarette paper). That takes a while and is a little bit painful as the rods have to be rubber-banded tight to your head. Then he squirts some awful smelling liquid all over the rods & puts a plastic shower cap on your head, and you wait. Not too long, or else the permanent wave you went in for will be a permanent frizz for the next few months. The next step is a rinse with warm water, then the rods are squirted with another liquid, the 'neutralizer' (sounds a little ominous doesn't it) and then a final warm water rinse. You now have little ringlets all over your wet head. But... the B.O., using a hand held hair dryer and a brush, will attempt to pull those little ringlets into a straight line... so that he can then, using a hot curling iron, put some curl back into your hair... only not little ringlets, something larger and softer and more to your liking. Finally, you are combed out, fluffed up, sprayed down and sent on your merry way. Sometimes I wonder...

That's allotta bull...

This story is about a bull, but first a little history. My dad (born 1902) had an eighth grade education but was one of the smartest (self-educated) men I've ever known. He devised an irrigation system for his farm in Oklahoma in 1953 when no one else around was irrigating. Long story short... the irrigation well consisted of a six-sided hole in the ground, twenty feet deep and maybe 10 to 12 feet in diameter. There was a pump in the bottom of that hole which drew water from six sandpoints which had been driven another 20 feet into the ground to reach the water. Please don't ask me what is a sandpoint or much of anything about that well cause I was a teenager then and had more interesting things to think about.
Well... eventually the irrigation system was no longer used and somewhere in the sixties the well was abandoned and covered with a wooden lid. One day in 1968 or '69, Dad's big ol' black bull came up missing. By then I was living in Texas so obviously, I was no help but the folks still living there looked and looked for that bugger. Finally in desperation, my little brother walked out into the field where that irrigation well was; wel-l-l-l... there was a big hole in the lid of that well and... there was that big ol' black bull standing at the bottom of the well... unhurt, but mad as hell!
So... how do you get a big ol' bull out of a 20 foot deep hole? And still be alive after you do? Not to worry... little brother went to the neighbor & got him and his dozer to come over and they began to push dirt into that hole... a little bit at a time. When there was a pile of dirt built up they would throw dirt clods at BOBB (big ol' black bull) until he climbed up on the dirt and then do it all over again. Eventually the dirt built up to the point that BOBB could climb on out of that hole... by then the clod throwers were hiding out and giving him plenty of room.
When my little brother told this story at the recent Texas reunion I told him to be sure and write it down but I figured he never would so I just did it myself (with his permission) and am giving him full credit for the whole thing. Thank you, Vern.
Oh yes... after hearing that story one of my nieces said "up until then those machines had been called dirt dozers... but ever since have been known as bulldozers."