Robin and Jill took off to Durango on Sunday afternoon to be extras in a film Aiden is making. The plan is that they will return Monday evening, but that’s only a guess.
Meanwhile the cats and I will continue to put the home place in order, which is necessary after being away for a week. It’s the weeds, doncha know. We’re not gardening this year but these sturdy plants leap out of cracks in the driveway, between perennials in the berm, anywhere they can grab one microgram of soil as their very own.
I sometimes wonder what’s holding the plant geneticists back. It seems so obvious that to win the battle we must join them, with hybrids of half-weed and half-whatever. For instance, get dandelions and crabgrass and bluegrass together in one hybrid and stand back. You’d get a lawn that doesn’t need watering or mowing, is a beautiful blue green color, and it would blossom twice a month.
Or perhaps a bindweed/peony combination that could cover a large and unsightly fence in less than two weeks with plants that have fragrant blossoms the size of a pizza pan.
The possibilities seem endless. Let’s get on it, you sons and daughters of Burpee!
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AS IF WE DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT DEPARTMENT!
Researchers have discovered that our testes contain microplastics at an alarming level. Humans more than other animals.They make the observation that our levels are even higher than that of dogs, and “they eat off the floor.”
One postulate put forward is that this may explain why sperm counts are declining in younger generations. But that’s only a guess at present. But whatever health problems are eventually laid at the door of this finding, it is pretty certain that no red-blooded American male wants to know the he carries around Testicles by Mattel.
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Mr. Cluck is being assailed on a daily basis as a lecher, adulterer, fraudster, afternoon dozer, and serial farter. IMHO these are all good reasons not to have him over for dinner. Robin and I have made a deal with ourselves that we won’t ever invite him unless he absolutely promises not to become a dictator if he is re-elected.
We will accept a pinky swear.
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My Lord, don’t I love this song … this particular performance! It sounds particularly good out here on the backyard deck, coming out of that little Bose speaker. I have it on continuous replay, so every nine minutes or so the pleasure is all mine all over again. (When you don’t have a job you have so much time that you can do this).
I will admit that as the years have passed it has gotten a little harder to understand the words when Lucinda Williams sings, but the few that I do catch make it all worth while.
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We have a local public radio station that will occasionally play an hour of tunes by Native American artists. This was one that was interesting and I made it my quest to find a copy, finally locating one for download at Reverbnation.com. Finely honed sarcasm it is.
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To me former president Cluck is like smog. He’s been poisoning the air that I breathe for years now, and I do resent it. But I am a senior citizen, so at least I can remember an America without him in my face every day, and have some sense of perspective. But what if I were twelve years old or less? This unwholesome man would have been put into my awareness by many of my fellow citizens as a worthy leader, on every day of my life. That makes me sad. He teaches no lesson that I would have my grandchildren learn.
If the man has a core at all, it is rotten. We need to rid ourselves of the national disgrace of his presence. November can’t come too soon for me.
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Little Home In The Valley 