rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the month “April, 2015”

I’m Not Complaining, However…

I approach this posting with delicate sensitivity. It includes what some might believe to be private information. I could be embarrassed by this. You could be embarrassed by this. It is possible it may even be censored. Even in the United States.

Then there are those who might say this is TMI. However, it is a story is that IMT (I must tell).

First, let me say upfront, the “Rancherette” is an excellent housekeeper. And, as such, she always keeps a variety of cleaning agents around our home. She does such an outstanding job In spite of the “Rancher’s” habits because she is always up-to-snuff with the latest cleaning equipment and supplies.  The vacuum cleaner is a top line machine. There are mechanized mops and dust rags and  even a especially designed gadget for cleaning ceiling fans.The “Swiffer WetJet” contraption certainly is an excellent device for hardwood and ceramic tile floors. That same company also makes a dusting tool with top quality materials. And, I dare not forget the polishing resources. Then, there is the famous “scrubbing bubbles”, my favorite. I can only imagine what these little fellows could do if they really put their mind to it.

However, I do have one complaint about an item in the “Rancherette’s” repertoire.

Allow me to explain. I do not know of a single person who does not have a phobia about something. The very definition of phobia in the Greek language means fear. Consequently, everyone I know has a fear of something. In one of my earlier postings, “Pogonotomy-A Male Rite of Passage”, I spoke about the fear of beards. If you do not believe you have a fear of anything, then take a stroll through Google for an indexed list of phobias. You are sure to find one that fits your situation.

So, this is where it could get embarrassing.  In the closet in my bathroom is a plethora of the aforementioned cleaning supplies. While the “bathroom toilet bowl cleaner” is certainly one of the cleaning tools, it is not in the closet.  It is placed strategically (by someone who shall remain nameless) beside the toilet bowl. Accessibility, I suppose. It is there in plain sight. I think it should be in the closet. It stands all alone within my view. I swear I believe it watches me. There are times when one desires a bit of privacy. This is one of those times. Now you must be thinking I am a nut case. What could possibly be so weird about a bottle of “bathroom toilet bowl cleaner?”

Here is my problem. That bottle of “bathroom toilet bowl cleaner?” Well, it greatly resembles a gnome in my opinion.

Toilet Bowl Cleaner   Gardern Gnome

I do not like gnomes. I do not like gnomes that watch me. I do not like the everyday garden gnomes that people place in their gardens. I do not like gnomes that hide in dark places waiting to scare the bejabbers out of me. I guess you could say it was the little gnome that could. I do not like gnomes that ‘travel’ from place to place. It is only a matter of time before they team up to slaughter humankind. I have Gnomophobia.

I believe the only cure for this phobia is to put that ugly gnome-a-cleaner in its place.

05-gnome4

 

Hope you have a gnome-free day.

Shopping is So Exhausting

Yesterday morning, the day began much as every day begins. Up at the crack of dawn (only because I had to go to the bathroom), letting the new kid on the block, Alfie, the heirdale, outside along with her mentor, Apollo, the Poodle, then waking up the rest of the Poodles, Italian Greyhound and the two Cairn Terriers. After all, they need their time out of their kennels for their morning constitutional. 

Next, I check on the Silkie chickens. We have seven four-day-old chicks in the brooder, one chick healing in sickbay, nine juveniles in the condominium, which they share separately with four adults. Nine teenagers reside comfortably in the mansion on the hill. Much of this happens before I have had a full cup of coffee. It was an exciting morning, and all before breakfast.

So, finally, I’m sitting down to a bowl of cereal and a banana, (potassium, you know) before the television watching GMA. They have a segment called Deals and Steals, where various products are featured with the prices usually cut in half or more.

The “Rancherette” perked up.

“I must go to lunch with my best friend, “Rosie, the Realtor”, today,” she said. Bear in mind, she was not asking for permission, it was a statement of fact. It did not require a permissible acknowledgment from me. Nothing the “Rancherette” does, requires any sort of permission. In fact, I suggested that lunch with “Rosie, the Realtor” would be the thing to do. It is my duty as a loving spouse to support any endeavor the “Rancherette” attempts.

So the requisite phone call was made, plans were discussed and somewhere during the course of the morning, the “Rancherette” dressed in her finery, (she always dresses in finery.) Soon thereafter, the “Rancherette” left for her luncheon date with “Rosie, the Realtor”. I cannot speak to whatever transpired after the “Rancherette” left. I realize that when “Rosie, the Realtor” and the Rancherette” get together, all bets are off

.Gloria's

And so, on for lunch.

Food

Me, I had exciting plans of my own. Since I am supposed to be a writer, my plan was to sit down before my computer and begin punching away at the keyboard. Occasionally, I form paragraphs that make sense. However, earlier this week, a small storm invaded my backyard. The grass has been growing at a record pace since we have had so much moisture this winter. I am not complaining, for we need this and more. I empathize with those of you who are in dire circumstances. But the grasses grow with all this much rain. And to think, I fertilized this past winter and early spring. As I sit at my office window and look outside, I can almost see the grass growing. However, it is too wet to mow with my riding mower. Unfortunately, it is not too wet for the small push mower. You can probably guess how my day went.

After a day on the town,   the “Rancherette” returned, home. I witnessed the trunk of the SUV open. It opened wide. There were packages inside. Many packages. Hmmmm, I thought, this looks like much more than lunch. Besides, lunch has been over for several hours. It was time for dinner. 

Poor girl, she struggled with bringing in all those packages. I could not help for I had to restrain Apollo. He wants to bound out the front door each time it is opened. So, in she came, lugging all those packages. One would have thought it was Christmas. As I recall, there were two purses, shoes, clothing, (the “Rancherette” does dress in finery) a new pillow, and not to leave out the dogs, two new toys. They were very excited. The “Rancherette” was excited. I was excited.
I can only imagine how excited “Rosie, the Realtor” must have been, and Bob, her unassuming spouse.

Later that evening, the “Rancherette” commented, “Shopping really wears you out,” Silly me, I had not noticed. At least, she has a new pillow on which to lay her head.

Me, I’ll stick to push mowing the entire backyard. It is not nearly as exhausting as shopping. 

Patience is a Virtue

I copied this from Wikipedia. Certainly sounds exactly like me.

        “Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances, persevering in the face of provocation without acting on negative annoyance or anger. It is also used to refer to the character trait of being steadfast”.

I also copied this from Wikipedia. Not being repetitious, it  sounds exactly like me. 

        “Virtue is moral excellence. Personal virtues are characteristics valued as promoting collective and individual greatness.”

They, whoever “they” are, say that patience is a virtue. I accept that. However, it can also be a challenge. Take, for example” the “Rancherette” and the tail (pun intended) of the “hitchhiker”. I am approaching the ripe old age of, well; let’s just say the ripe old age. Until now, I was unaware that a fourteen week old puppy could unlock the front door of my pickup, jump into the front passenger seat, make herself comfortable, and upon arriving at my home, have the audacity to exclaim, “she brought me here against my will, I was dog-napped.”.  I know Airedales are very smart, but that is ridiculous. I have difficulty opening the door to my pickup.

However, I can almost hear the conversation that went on with the “hitchhiker” sitting in my passenger seat in my pickup truck.

The “Rancherette”— “what am I going to tell the “Rancher”?
Alfie— “You’ll think of something. Tell him I hitchhiked a ride.”
The “Rancherette”—“I’m not so sure he will believe that.”
Alfie–-“If he is as gullible you are, he will.”
The “Rancherette”-— “OK, I’ll give it a try,”
Alfie–– I’m pretty sure he’ll love me once he gets to know me”
The “Rancherette” —“But what if he don’t?”
Alfie— “I think it will be fine; I can handle the “Rancher”. He will be a pushover for my endearing eyes. All I have to do is Just blink twice, he’ll be hooked”. it worked on you didn’t it. Besides, I’ll be eating out of his pocket before you know it.”

Pocket 2

As you can see, this is me, practicing patience, the part where it says persevering in the face of provocation without acting on negative annoyance or anger. And this is me, practicing more patience.

.resized Alfie and Houseshoe

Alfie practicing virtue.

Alfie practicing Virtue

These enduring eyes started the whole “Patience is a Virtue” thing.Enduring Eyes

It is going to be a challenge for me to practice “Patience is a Virtue” but it is a challenge I accept. Now if I can just get the eight Standard Poodles, the two Cairn Terriers and the one Italian Greyhound to also accept the challenge. That may well try my patience and destroy my virtue.

Uses for a Pickup Truck

So there I was, resting in my recliner on a nice Saturday afternoon. Apollo was content beside me. I was watching my favorite golfer, Jordan Spieth, as he birdied to take the lead in the Houston Shell Open. It was a nice peaceful afternoon. At least, until I heard the horn honk. It was the “Rancherette” returning from her day at Canton First Monday Trade Days.

If you have never heard of Canton First Monday, I suggest you Google it. And, if you live close enough, you should visit the place at least once in your lifetime. Put that on your bucket list. It is the “world’s largest” flea market. They sell everything and I do mean everything. New, used, from antiques to pure junk, tools, you name it, from birds to farm animals to elephants, (well I never have seen an elephant at First Monday. Should you want to bring one, it will probably sell.) However, this story is not about First Monday, but, without First Monday, it would have not been possible.

The first thing, for which one should take note, is the “Rancherette” was in my truck. It is never a good sign when the “Rancherette” wants to take my pickup anywhere. She doesn’t even like to ride in it. There are numerous places where we usually take my truck. For instance, I always have some sort of project going on around here where I need certain materials. Thus, I make a trip to the big box DIY store.

I take my truck when we need to pull the boat. I take my truck to pick up animal supplies. I take my truck, occasionally, when we need to go to the market and the roads are wet. I take my truck when I need to haul something that will not fit inside the SUV. The truck is a work truck, not generally meant for leisure. So, you can see my consternation when the “Rancherette” wants to take my truck to First Monday Trade Days. It probably means she will buy something that will need to be hauled and will not fit in the SUV. It stands to reason; I will probably have to put it together. Nothing comes put together nowadays. But that’s another story.

In addition to raising her purebred Silkie Chickens, the “Rancherette”, in a former life was also a Show Dog Fancier. Having raised Standard Poodles and showing them in competition for a number of years, she is an expert.  As I said, in a previous life.  Today, the eight Standard Poodles are living out their retirement in a favorable atmosphere, here in the country, secure in their kennels. And, of course, the Silkie chickens have their space as well. They also are very content in their luxurious Chicken Condo on the plain and the “Mansion on the Hill, living the life of Foghorn Leghorn, while the hens are laying a few eggs a day. All is well, or so I thought.

Until Saturday afternoon. Until the horn honks. My truck horn. Until Apollo barks.

Apollo is the Standard Poodle who lives inside the home. When the horn honked, he stood at attention. He barked. He usually barks when a vehicle pulls into the driveway. Usually, when the horn honks, it is an indication that the “Rancherette” needs help unloading something. Like a good neighbor, or in the case a good “Rancher” I am eager to help.

I bound out the door, enthusiastically, to provide my services. I always am enthusiastic when the “Rancherette” comes home.

Her words, “I have a ‘rider’”. My words, “did you pick up a hitchhiker?” “Yes, sort of”.

I was very excited that I did not see anything in the pickup bed that needed put together, so I’m guessing it cannot be too bad. I’m thinking she found a chicken she just could not live without. And then, I see “it”. It ain’t no Silkie. It ain’t no chicken at all.

We are now the proud possession of the newest addition to our zoological garden or should I say “circus”. Do you remember the television show, “ALF”, about the alien creature from outer space? Well she landed in our yard. Her name is now “Alfie”. This new Airedale puppy will be just fine as soon as the Poodle makeover is complete. Apollo has already begun the training.

In training

Me, too. Training Alfie to pick pockets, that is.

Pocket 3

I also have an idea about not loaning out the pickup to the “Rancherette” when she wants to go to First Monday Trade Days next month.

Perfect Plan, Perfect Price

Woven tightly on His head,
Reeds of thorns, discolored red.
Vision blurred, eyes so weak.
Broken voice, He tries to speak.
Lips so dry, about to crack,
Raised red whelps across His back.

Spiked to wood, the crowd demands,
His feet, His caring hands.
Pierced veins, muscles torn
Naked body thus forlorn.
gall to drink, unquenchable thirst,
spat upon, grossly cursed.

Downcast friends, broken hearts
Shaken earth; veil that parts
Opened tombs, souls released
Pain and agony decreased
Execution is complete
Sin is vanquished in defeat.

Earthly body laid to rest
Mourners saddened and depressed
Lamenters rift, beset with gloom.
Stone removed, empty tomb,
Risen Savior, sacrifice,
Perfect plan, Perfect price

Just a Lonely Little Weed

A Lonely Little Weed

Just a lonely little weed
Swirling in the breeze
Spiraling toward the sun
Causing sniffles, if you please.

However brave and plucky
This wild plant wants to be
It causes all the allergies
That endlessly curses me.

I’d put this little weed to death
If I could but reach her height
But climbing up above the ground
Creates a bit more fright.

So I’ll just cough and whimper
Until she runs her course
And learn to keep my mouth shut tight
To keep from going hoarse.

Methinks this ballyhoo will end
In perhaps a week or two.
she’ll shrivel up and blow away
I can’t wait until she’s through.

This obnoxious little weed,
With gold upon her head
sprouting on a rooftop,
emerging from her bed.

A lonely weed

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