Sunday, November 25, 2012

guest post........

dearest readers.

the lovely terri at "workin with what i've got" has asked me to guest post on her blog. she was looking for animal tales and i had a tiny story about one of our cows.

here's a tiny bit and if you would like to follow the link and read the rest that would be wonderful. terri and i will appreciate the love

A Cow's Tale

The calf who would become “Hornet” was born on chilly winter's eve on a small Alberta cattle farm. Her mother had indulged in an unauthorized relationship with the red Angus bull the season before and the calf arrived over 6 weeks before her herd mates. The temperature that night was well below -20 degrees and the baby calf froze instantly when it hit the ground. Her little life was saved by the diligent farmer (who asked to called “diligent” in this story). The calf that would be Hornet was first called Ugly. Frostbite had claimed her tail, the tops of her ears and the end of her nose.  As winter turned to spring and spring, to summer, Ugly grew and she towered above her half brothers and sisters. Her absent ears and tail made her a small embarrassment to the herd. The neighbor, Bill, a crusty farmer, was often heard to remark "Jesus, that's an ugly calf"...............

click for more of this exciting story -

thanks bev

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

the barbie monologues........

i struggle sometimes with suitable topics to write about. yes, i could tell you tales that would shrivel your balls to the size of raisins but i can't do that. i could do it if i lived in france with my boyfriend hugh and only returned occasionally to canada to buy maple syrup but alas this is not so.

but we must talk about something or someone. so off we go.

i played barbies a lot as a child. i had enough of them to stage some really great sagas. and as a child i was fascinated with disaster preparation and little house on the prairie so many episodes of my barbie soap opera involved panic and a covered wagon. i played on the bed and i constructed my roofless wagon from tea towels and knitted blankets. i had many more girl barbies than boys so stories had to be adapted to include cousins, maids and addled aunts who would often wander off in a storm. i (Malibu barbie) always had a great number of children. i was the octo-mom of my time. the children had to brought in from a variety of odd sources. i had a couple of dawn dolls and a few tiny dolls with giant heads that served as the babies. i filled in gaps with my troll dolls ( they were forced to wear toilet paper clothes)

 often i snuck my mother's small antique bisque dolls. although i was playing with these dolls on the sly and although my mother quite prized them (she kept them in the top drawer of her vanity) - i failed to protect them. sadly disasters do not lend themselves to gentle play and slowly but steadily the beauty of the little bisque dolls declined. any attempt by my mother to find out what was befalling her treasures was met with my standard defense - talk and talk until the person just goes away. my mother had given up trying to discipline my by this age. by 8 i was a mystery to her. i was a good kid and she probably liked me but she often would just look at me in way that suggested she had not encountered my species before. as often as not she would just say "you are so queer". this was back when queer was still a heterosexual adjective.  sometimes she'd say "i've just about have had enough of you" i'll admit when i first heard that i was quite taken aback. tiny little shards of fear  came hurdling at me. was it even possible for your mother to have had enough of you and especially enough of me - i was on the whole, rather wonderful. but that particular threat starting losing its sting when i started hearing it from other people like teachers or ministers. it was then i realized they didn't mean it - they were just letting off a little steam. i was safe to carry on.

my mother was a knitter and so my barbies were dressed head to toe in her adaptions of the latest fashions. sweaters and dresses were fine but the bikinis and pants were difficult for even my imagination to overlook. the clothes were not knit from delicate baby fiber but good solid mitten yarn. swimwear was so bulky it was impossible for barbie to lay on her back to get a tan. the pants proved nearly impossible to get up the rubber legs and often ken was forced to wear his red chunky acyclic pants for the entire winter. god love her though, no occasion was overlooked. i had knitted bridal gowns, and veils, walking shorts and tank tops. everyone went around looking uncomfortable and they were, as you can well imagine quite difficult to pose. but by god they could survive a blizzard, ken could last for days when he fell out of the wagon only the troll children in their 1 ply toilet tissue frocks succumbed to the bitter cold.

i sometimes played barbies with another little girl. when we played together it was not enough to have disaster and homesteading - we had to bring famous people into the mix. we were either part of the osmond or jackson family. but because we both liked the stars of the respective families and did not want to fight over them we thought it wise for us to become wed to one of the lesser family members. when we were the jacksons, i was the wife of tito and within the osmond clan i was betrothed to wayne.

i think it must have been quite a sight - mrs malibu barbie and her husband tito atop their tea towel wagon, each clutching one of their scantily clad troll children whilst trying to make their way through the swirling snow of a prairie blizzard.

tally ho

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

practical magic......

yes, yes. that is a genie - we'll get to him in second.  things have been moving right along here on the bald-ass prairie. i, as it turns out, have a fairly interesting life. well interesting, relative to the amount of population - not hollywood interesting but clean, rural living interesting. we celebrated halloween in fine style - over and over again. jesus, who knew. my lovely friend, that throws all the parties loves halloween. so we had a witch's luncheon, a pumpkin carving potluck and a barn dance. can you bear it?  i felt like a debutante coming out for the season.  it was lovely fun. i got to visit and laugh and laugh - which after eating is my next favorite thing to do.

a psychic was hired for the witch's lunch. we had a palmistry class and private individual readings. i am behooved to report that she and i did not get on. now, i know that all of you people are good, honest folks - i on the other hand, a wee bit dodgy. so the encounter  was liken to two people who are full of shit meeting each other and instantly recognizing that they are each somewhat like the other. when i met the psychic (whose name rhymes with pretoria) i thought to myself, hey lady i know you - in a metaphysical kind of way. and she in turn practically flinched upon our introduction. i thought "yes sweetie that's right, it's me". given the right circumstances,  i'm sure "rhymes with pretoria" and i could have become the best of friends. but not that day. she was there to put on a show and i wasn't going to be a part of it.

pretoria, let's just call her that, started with the palmistry class. i was already aware that my palms are perhaps the most nondescript palms on the planet. the lines on my hands are faded and light. just like  in real life, my palms represent my inability to focus and find direction. i think they (my hands) are embarrassed by their lack of prediction and helplessly throw themselves in the air, saying "don't look at us, we're just along for the ride". anyway, pretoria confirmed this finding. dismissing me and my trackless palms and moved on to those with greener pastures. the private reading also foundered. pretoria was a practical girl, with no mention of angels or spirits named eddie. she focused instead on possible vacations to hawaii in march (not so much), the birth of my son (strike two), but to be fair, i sometimes answered no when i should have said yes. i thought, "she's a psychic, she'll figure it out" she did somehow know that my mother had hurt her thumb. i thought "bravo my dear, you perhaps do possess some magic." of course i can't tell my mother about this wondrous parlor trick. she will only say "well i guess its a funny damn thing you can afford to hire a fortune teller when you can't afford a plane ticket to visit me."

ok, sorry that went on for awhile. i just have so much to tell you and i'm not going to get it all in today. i will though give you an update on my boobs. just in case you're new or have forgotten....  i,  in my late 40's have developed the ability to grow my own leavening agent. yes, who knew you could get a yeast infection in the dark recesses under an ample bosom. well it cleared up nicely but would only stay that way if i went braless. this was ok for home but a girl has to go out sometimes. my lovely friend invited me on a trip to the city for shopping and a horse show. i was forced to don my whalebone contraption that dug into my delicate newly, yeast-free flesh.  while shopping with my friend i spotted the "as seen on tv" genie bra which boasts complete comfort and respectable support. my friend pointed out that she was indeed, at this moment, wearing the genie and recommended it highly. "why your breasts look lovely", i said and right then and there purchased one.

fast forward to the bookstore where my friend said "change your bra in the bathroom. just step into your genie bra and pull it up."

me: pull it up over my ass
friend: yes, trust me
me: jesus i'm going to require the big stall

i was thinking right about then what a revelation this is. step into your bra and pull it up. my friend is a god damn genius. i would not have thought of this on my own. i'm sorry to say that my ancestors could never have evolved to this level of personal husbandry.

i finally got into my new apparel. i practically had to get stippy-stark naked to achieve this  and i'm just saying if there was a security camera in that stall and if that footage should show up on utube... i'm sorry but what with my lack of flexibility and the automatic flushing toilet. well you know and so...

friend: comfortable isn't it
me: yes, but why are these chicken fillets things on the top.
friend: show me
me: ok
(peep show)
friend: for f**k's sake those are the support pads, they go underneath
me: oh yes, that makes sense. how do i get them there
friend: reach in and grab them then wiggle them down under
(much grabbing, tugging ensues)
me: (looking down) god damn, they look good from this angle. how's the side view.
friend: your breasts are enormous, i think the genie is doing all she can.
me: what else can we expect.

fast forward to horse show. please keep in mind i'm not participating in the show nor am i an overly enthusiastic observer. just normal people clapping.

me: jesus, look those pads are back on top. they have migrated up and around.
friend: do you have the bra on right
me: i'm pretty sure there were only so many ways i could have gone wrong.
friend. they don't look bad up there
me: yes they are like little landing pads for my popcorn and the keep my monkey food free.

this is a true report of the magic in my life