The Neon Nurse's Charting

I have a Hotmail address because once in a great while, some ISP out there decides it hates mine (CenturyTel), and it's a way to get around the blockage.

My Trillian IM thingie tells me when I have a new Hotmail message. Sometimes they are real, but usually they are MSN spam.

I just now got a notice of mail and went to check it out. To my EXTREME amusement, this is what the truncated Subject line said:

Exciting Changes happening to your MSN Ho

Hmmph. Unless they are changing my ho to look like Kyan of the Fab Five, I'm going to complain to the management!

Fun spam, anyway!

http://www.southwesternhell.com/perl/weblibs.pl

Create your own special Nigerian spam letter by filling in the blanks Mad-lib style. (Hint: the "name" should be someone you don't trust all that much.)

I haven't forgotten that I promised to tell the exciting story of our fire. It took me a while to get the pictures processed, but I finally have, so here we go.

Why a fire, Susan?

When we bought our house way back when, the housing program's arcane financing rules would not allow us to get the "extra" acreage which originally went with the place. So we scraped by on just the one acre, while the 1.75 in the back changed hands several times. For some odd reason, each time the party involved elected to ADD stuff to the private junkyard it had become.

But eventually, thanks to Stefan, the Nicest Ex In The World, the land became ours. And last spring my firstborn, Damaris, and the Nicest Son In Law In The World, Nigel, decided it would be pretty cool to move to Lamar and put in a house to replace the junk.

Hmm, a house full of grandkids, my Funniest Gul Wuld, plus a handy family handyman out back instead of junk and weeds...wow, tough call. Not.

So it was clear the junk needed to go. Among other odd relics were the remnants of a not spectacularly successful hog raising operation and a totally broken down ex-housetrailer. We decided the best way to be able to remove the scrap metal was to first burn out the old wood.

This is perfectly legal here, if one follows rules and precautions. Which OF COURSE we did. We waited for a non-breezy day, and Nigel put in quite a bit of time mowing a big swath around the intended site, then hosing it down. You know, just to be on the safe side. Then we called in to activate our burn permit and thus alert the county fire department.

What Happened Next

Nigel is an extremely careful person, and he figured the best thing to do, since there was a SLIGHT breeze, was to work from the farthest side FROM the wind, burning stuff by sections, so that IF the fire flared up, it wouldn't have any fuel on the ground to spread. The first few areas went perfectly smoothly. Of course. We had no way of knowing Fate was setting us up.

I didn't even have my camera outside at first. But when the pig ops shed started burning, I noticed that the view from inside the doorway, of the far corner up by the roof crackling merrily way, looked pretty cool. Of course by the time I got back, I had missed my chance to go in and take it by about forever:



Later, while looking at these pictures, one of my imaginative granddaughers pointed out that the shot above looked like a dragon.
And it does! Here's another shot of the head and part of the wings:



The next shot shows some of the firebreak, there where the tin has been laid down. You can also see by how the fire and smoke go straight up that it wasn't windy. (I know, defensive much?)



The problem was that the little shed sort of concentrated the fire. It was the HEAT that jumped over and made stuff ignite on the other side of the firebreak. We all took turns spraying with the hose, trying to get the OTHER junked out trailer and stuff which was NOT on our property to NOT catch fire:



Didn't work. Note that crossbar thingie is now burning.



Shortly after that, when we were pulling the hose trying to get a little more reach, it broke in two places. One of which was not actually the HOSE, but the connection to the well house pump. Oops.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

Correct, the Prowers County Volunteer Fire Department.

This was taken from the road, where I was standing to be able to direct our rescuers to the best ways in.



The copious amounts of black smoke are coming from a bunch of old tires someone was saving for a rainy day. Or something.



Lots of people in Lamar like to listen to the emergency channel on the scanner, and we found out Monday there was a rumor our house burned down. Probably because you could see the smoke so far away.



They sent out three assorted trucks and half a dozen guys, and the worst of it got knocked down pretty fast.



Remember that crossbar thingie?



Nigel felt bad about all the trouble, even though it wasn't his fault, and tried to help out as much as he could. (That's him in the orange Broncos cap.)





At last, we were the proud owners of a steaming field of scorched metal bits.



And Then What Happened?

I'll tell that part tomorrow.

A little over 24 hours ago I took the clone to town so she could frolic off with other teacher types at a summer seminar being held up at Copper Mountain, a tourist/ski resort area. She won't be back until Thursday night, It feels very weird here, just Mike and me.

**JUST got an email from her! That and the nightly phone calls should get me through okay.**

Whut? You staring at me? No I am not EITHER co-dependent....

So yesterday Mike and I hauled trash out to Free Dump Day, and then I puttered around doing outside chores. Recorded QAF so Caro and I can watch it together when she comes home. Not a very exciting day, all told. I might post some outdoor project pictures later. (Now you can't say I didn't warn you.)

Anyway, all I've been doing with my lonely splendor today is doinking around online, and now I REALLY need to go wrap and mail some videos and books to mail.

*sigh*

Here's something fun, gacked from my friend Odogoddess.

http://www.travelex.com.au/press/DOC_POTTER_05312004.asp

Use the handy dandy converter to figure out how much your muggle money is worth in gold galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts!

I don't hold out a whole lot of hope this will work, but if you are so inclined, pop over here:

http://www.draftdeanforvp.org

and add your voice to those who would like to see Howard Dean as the Veep nominee!

Hey, a girl can dream, right?

http://www.snopes.com/photos/animals/catchfish.asp

Harry Potter and the Prisoners (TM Mikespeak) FINALLY came to Lamar. Mike chose to stay home and watch The Cat in the Hat AGAIN, so I went with Caro, who hadn't seen it yet, because it's no fun to see a really looked forward to movie alone. Wow, two out of the house movies in one week! I'm whelmed!

I can't remember if I mentioned seeing it in Denver at the IMAX. Which was pretty amazing, since the visual aspect is the best part of the movie. But it's sad that I could hear the dialog BETTER at our wee little puppet theater here at home.

Anyway, in honor of the film and also because it made me remember to, I present these two links:

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in 15 minutes:

http://www.livejournal.com/community/m15m/2237.html

Thank me later. ;>

And then also this SUPERB photo essay by Hownovel, which I would have titled, Harry Potter and LotR: Separated at Birth?

http://www.livejournal.com/users/hownovel/91477.html?thread=1345877#t1345877

Go ahead, be amazed!

Another Memory Muse inspired post. Word = flight.

At only one point in my seriously deranged employment history did I ever get sent on the fabled business trip. However, the uniqueness of the event isn't the only reason I strongly remember it to this day.

Our goal was a small town or suburb near Philadelphia which I've forgotten the name of. (I do know it was Philadelphia because someone from the company drove me to see the Liberty Bell at some point in time.) I've also forgotten the exact reason, but my companions and I had to take a little feeder flight from the airport to wherever it was we ended up.

I thought it was odd when the check-in clerk demanded to know my weight. I wasn't in much danger of being mistaken for a supermodel on a hunger strike, even in those days, but I was certainly in the average range and didn't think that one glance at me ought to make official personnel bust out the calculators. But hey, rules are rules, so I complied.

This being a REALLY small airline, we just walked out a door onto the tarmac to board. All very casual, like we were jumping in the station wagon to head for Grandma's. There was a man dancing around under the plane, singing a little song he'd quite possibly made up himself, "Oh, I hate my job, I hate my wife...." and so on. I thought that was pretty bizarre, and wondered if it was a good idea to fly on a plane belonging to a company that hired such weird baggage handlers.

So of course he turned out to be the pilot.

All six of us making the run got on anyway, because it would have been a really long walk to our hotel, and the evening was getting late and we didn't want any more airline food. I had a middle seat, right next to a plant foreman, a big hefty muscular guy who I now knew weighed a good 100 pounds more than I did, thanks to the inquisitive desk clerk.

The pilot babbled through some sort of introductory speech that I couldn't quite hear well enough to understand, except for the alarming bits I wasn't sure OUGHT to be in there. He leadfooted the plane through its takeoff, which I didn't even know you could DO. Once in the air, when he got clearance to change course, he jinked like he was evading enemy fire and roared into the turn SIDEWAYS. This dropped me onto my pal the foreman, which probably didn't hurt him much. I couldn't help wonder, though, whether that dinky little door we were BOTH laying on now was strong enough to not pop open.

I wish I could remember the name of the airline. I tried looking it up, but it looks like they aren't in business anymore. Hmmm.

How many members of the Bush Administration does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Nineteen.

One to deny that a light bulb needs to be replaced.

One to reclassify all documents regarding light bulbs "secret" or covered by "Executive Privilege".

Three to attack and question the patriotism of anyone who has any questions about the light bulb.

Two to blame the need for a new light bulb on Clinton.

Five to arrange the invasion of a country rumored to have a secret stockpile of light bulbs.

Four to explain to the UN and Americans that light bulbs in the hands of other countries are dangerous.

One to get together with Vice President Cheney and figure out how to pay Halliburton one million dollars for a light bulb.

Two to arrange a photo-op session showing Bush changing the light bulb while dressed in a light suit and wrapped in an American flag.

And unfortunately, nobody was left to explain to Bush the difference between screwing a light bulb, screwing an intern, and screwing the country.

A weird Yahoo movie review here:

http://movies.yahoo.com/news/va/20040613/108716179500.html

This is what it said, as they will probably find their mistake and pull it soon:

'Harry Potter' Loses Potency Atop U.S. Box Office
Sunday June 13 2:23 PM ET

Harry Potter as a devout high-schooler who gets pregnant following an unsuccessful attempt to cure her boyfriend of homosexuality, has earned $3.7 million to date. The $5 million film was released by United Artists, a unit of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc .

In my LJ bio I mention the many times I've somehow slipped under Death's radar. This post, inspired by Memory Muse's Word of the Day "bike", recounts one of them.

I learned to ride on a man's ten-speed my dad got cheap from some guy in a bar. At the time (5th grade) I had already attained the giddy heights of my full growth, 5 foot 3 inches. Needless to say, I could not reach the pedals when sitting on the actual bike seat, so I had to improvise. By laying a folded-up throw rug over the crossbar and sort of pedalling by reaching backwards and using my heels, I could propel myself forward the few feet needed to crash over and over again.... Too stubborn to die, that's me all over.

Eventually, due to Mom's employee discount at Western Auto, I got one that was the right size, and I was off. Pulled by a gnawing need for Something Other, pushed by the desire to dodge some of my sub-parental duties from being the oldest of six kids, I roamed on my bike for almost as much time as I read books. In other words, considerable.

Another passion for me at that time was horses. The town we lived in then, Lakewood, was a formerly rural border community trying to become a suburb (of Denver). Both backyard horses and biggish chunks of occupied pasture nestled in between neighborhoods and shopping centers were common. This set-up fueled my doggedly optimistic conviction that I could indeed get My Own Horse, if only *one* of my multitudinous schemes went right for a change.

So one day, when I was way off down some rural road, it seemed perfectly reasonable to stop at the little farm where a sign said "Horses For Sale" and ask to try out the goods. I must have seemed quite confident about having parents ready, willing and able to shell out the bucks, because the owner took me out back and saddled me up a mount. He told me she was a bit fiesty, and ought to be walked a few minutes before really trying her out, but I assured him *I* was in Westernaires (a local riding club) and thus basically knew it all and then some.

You are probably way ahead of me on what happened next. Yes, I got firmly bucked off. I don't know if I hit something other than the hard-packed corral ground or not, but I was hurt and shaken enough to decline a second try at riding, a display of good sense that for me was nothing short ot astounding. The guy was concerned and apologetic, but I brushed off his offers of help, mostly because I wanted to get off and away, just in case I might start to cry. My pride had already been injured enough for one day.

Once I mounted my bike and started my shaky ride home, though, I realized something was wrong. The bike felt hard to steer, and for some weird reason my eyelids kept falling down, no matter how hard I tried to stare straight ahead. It was just like a window blind being lowered across my field of vision, and I had the feeling this was not really a Good Sign.

Riding with my head tipped way back, as though I were somehow trying to see out of my nostrils, didn't help all that much. So I stopped, dropped my bike, and sat down under a tree at the edge of the roadside ditch. I remember thinking with gloomy satisfaction how very SAD everyone was going to be when they got word I was found dead at the side of the road.

But I didn't die after all. Eventually I got up, rode home, and dropped right back into my theoretically normal life without a word to anyone, because I suspected the ratio of yelling at to sympathy would not have been favorable....

(From a group I am in where you post memories keyed by a Word of the Day--which today was Desk.)

Decades ago, when I was in fifth grade, schools weren't any better financed than they are now; the "make it do, make it last, use it up" philosophy was darn near Holy Writ. Even though the ball-point pen HAD been accepted into popular use for some time, desks with a built-in hole for the ink bottle were still common.

One day we had a substitute teacher for music, and she was the most boring excuse for an educator I had ever encountered in my short life. Usually, in music class? We sang. This person was bound and determined to TEACH us mindless heathens something, and as I recall started diagramming musical scoring on the board. Not that I recall much, because it was hideously, brain-cell-explodingly boring, and I stopped listening pretty quickly. Purely in self-defense, of course.

Somehow, I got to wondering about that hole in my desk. Would my hand fit in it? THROUGH it? Hmmmm.

Short answer: If I patiently worked at it, pulling my fingers and thumb in turn, yes, it would. Now--could I get my hand OUT again?

Um. Not so much.

Thus I bravely, with no thought for my own safety or comfort, rescued my classmates from death by tedium. The music lesson pretty much ground to a halt as the sub, the other students, and gradually a crowd of advisors gathered around to consider the problem of how to send me home at the end of the day without a largish piece of school property dangling off my arm like a very impractical, and not especially charming, charm bracelet.

In the end, the janitor had to saw off the corner of the desk to set me free. He kindly gave me the piece of wood, which eventually got lost in one of our many moves. But of course the memory remains.

This sort of thing is why my mom was always "Mrs. Crites" to all my siblings' teachers, but "Oh, SUSAN'S mother!" to mine.

In the true GOP spirit, some of the people who got the special programs at the Reagan funeral are cashing in. This is just one:

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=33789&item=3917480976&rd=1

*SIGH*

(This is why I add on the "Neon Nurse" thing!}


(I didn't check to see if they distinguished between 1 and 2 N Dianes.)

No place we HAVE to go, nothing we HAVE to do...such a nice change.

This morning I woke up from a dream where I was living in a huge dormitory type place. All the other people in the other rooms were my LJ friends living there too! Posting frenzy...in my dreams? Heh. I love when my brain tells itself jokes.

The sun is out this morning for the first time in 5 or 6 days. It's very humid, but not too hot yet, so I've just been pulling weeds from the places I can't readily get at with the lawn mower. There are a lot of them, but with the soil so wet, the weeds can't resist my mighty pulling power! My Power of Yank Compells Them! HA!

It's been quite a while since I posted anything fannish, so my *squee*-speak might be a bit rusty. Bear with me, please.

Just got done watching Peter Pan, the 2003 live action version. I don't remember why we didn't go see it at our one small theater when it was here--maybe we were out of town or something. But tonight Mike wanted me to look and see if The Cat in the Hat was on Dishnet. It was, thank you, Lord, not. But PP was, and Mike was amenable to watching that.

Oh. My.

First, this was a visually beautiful movie--luminous, general color somehow kicked up a notch, and full of subtle yet gasp-inducing effects. Whoever was in charge of the lighting should have gotten an Academy Award. The young actor playing Peter possibly benefited the most--he looked like a glowing, androgynous angel. And that smile! Gracious, that is one gorgeous boy!

Equally as attractive but far more age appropriate for me was the Hook character, who also (as is apparently traditional) played Father Darling. What I did NOT know until I looked the movie up on IMBD was that this is the actor who plays Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies! Well, now I know what Narcissa sees in him! He did a great job, very definitely wicked, but JUST enough inner glimpses to make you relate to the character despite his evil ways.

The crocodile was FABULOUS, as were the mermaids.

I'm sure I must have read the original Peter Pan at some point in my life, but I'm now thinking of finding it again, just to see how this film version compares. Because this is NOT the Disney version by a long long ways! Tons of 'paging Dr. Freud' lines, and if it wasn't also red-lining on the Slash-o-meter now and then, well--oh, c'mon, it SO WAS!

But I also thought it was bittersweet and tender, with the reality of the murky and mixed feelings of transitioning from childhood towards being an adult that much stronger for being filtered through the fantasy.

I might just have to look for the DVD of this one.

7:30 this evening

I hope all the Dads on my readership list will have a jolly Father's Day tomorrow. This year it is Caro's turn to the the Celebrated Parent on Father's Day (we take turns by year), but we haven't made any plans yet.

For no particular reason except I like how it turned out, here is a recent picture of my mom, Virginia Rose Crites:

6:45 this evening:

1) go to google.com and type in "You know you're from (your state here) if..."
2) pick out whichever list strikes your fancy and bold the ones that apply to you.
3) post it in an entry. Duh.

You know you're from Colorado when...

You know the "correct" pronunciation of Buena Vista.
You think there are only 3 seasons: elk, football, and skiing.
April showers bring May blizzards.
You see someone riding a Harley in a snowstorm, and you look closer to see if it's someone you know.
Timberline is someplace you have actually been, many times.
You know who Alferd Packer was.
You know who Baby Doe Tabor was, and who Mount Silverheels is named after.
SPF 90 is not out of the question.
People from other states breathe 5 times as often as you do.
Having a Senator named "Nighthorse" doesn't seem strange.
Knowing that Texas and California are downstream gives you a certain feeling of satisfaction when you flush.
You still belong to the Church of Elway.
You carry your $3,000 mountain bike on top of your $500 car.
You have a business degree and are frying burgers at a McDonald's in Vail.
You own a big dog named Aspen, Buck, Cheyenne or Dakota that wears a bandanna.
You think a pass does not involve a football or a woman.
You are 82 years old and take up snowboarding.
The entire top of your head is bald, but you still have a ponytail.
You get depressed after one day of cloudy weather.
You think that formal wear is ironed denim.
North means "mountains to the left", south is "mountains to the right", and east and west are where all those liberals keep moving in from. Yay! More liberals!!
You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels "sticky" and you notice the sky is no longer blue.
You consider a three-piece suit to be a pair of shorts, a sweatshirt, and Birkenstocks.
You can run up 10 flights of stairs without huffing and puffing.
You have stood on solid ground and looked down on an airplane in flight.
You can visit friends at sea level, drink a whole case of beer, and not get a buzz.
You're actually proud of "South Park."
You cast out your fishing line while white-water rafting.
You've never seen the tourist attractions in your own city.
You switch from "Heat" to "A/C" in one day.
You know what the "Peoples Republic of Boulder" means.
You're able to drive 65 miles per hour through 13 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without even flinching. (Or you THINK you can....)
You take your out of town guests to Casa Bonita even though you would never go there otherwise.
You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.
Driving is better in the winter 'cause the pot holes are filled with snow.
You've been tear gassed in a riot to celebrate a team's victory.
You have surge protectors on every outlet.
You know what a 'Chinook' is.
You know what a 'Rocky Mountain oyster' is.
You know what a 'fourteener' is.
But you don't know what a 'turn signal' is.
Thunder has set off your car alarm.
You know where Doc Holliday's grave is.
You know where Buffalo Bill's grave is.
You know where the real 'South Park' is.
You've used 'checking for ticks' as an excuse to get someone naked..
You've gone skiing in July.
You've gone sunbathing in January.
You've urinated on the Continental Divide just so it could run into both oceans.
You actually understand these jokes

6:30 this evening:

If I win the lotto tonight I am *SO* buying this!

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=3682634311&sspagename=STRK%3AMEWA%3AIT&rd=1

This afternoon:

Here I am back again! The weather is way insane here--still overcast, drizzling and COLD for mid-June. I think we hit a blistering high of 58 during the time we were womanning the Democrat table at the Wiley Hay Days. And of course it didn't occur to me at ALL to bring a jacket, because it's JUNE.

We talked to one Independent, one way out of town Republican (very friendly guy) and an assortment of local Dems. So the main thing we accomplished was to Establish A Presence. And plus also freeze me nearly to death. I drove home about 1pm (as the crowd went elsewhere once the Sloppy Joe feast had been served) with my heater on full blast, trying to defrost myself. Then I wrapped myself up in a cocoon-like comforter and took a nice long nap, to emerge feeling MUCH less like a caterpillar-cicle.

So now I am going to start a barrage of posting! You have been warned!!!

From June 18:

It's just one thing after another around here! Last week, the fire follow-up stuff took up way more than its fair share of available time. Then there was the five day trip to Denver, also a fun fest with little free time built in. Mike and I came home again Monday evening, just in time for our rare monsoon season. Not that I am complaining, since some scientists say the current drought is the worst in our region in 500 years! Yikesy yikesy yikes!

You would think I'd be able to get more done because of not having to water the trees and the Garden of Art, Science and Technology. But you'd be wrong, because instead I've been doing all kinds of catching up things. Plus getting ready for that wild-eyed whoop-de-doo shindig known 'round these parts as the Wiley Hay Days. That's tomorrow. Us Prowers County Democrats are going to have a booth at the street fair.

I'm bringing buttons. My idea, Caro's design work, Mike's devoted help in actually making them:



Here's my source, if you are interested in follow-up:

http://www.capitolhillblue.com/artman/publish/article_4685.shtml

http://www.brillig.com/debt_clock/

More tomorrow, HONEST!

ETA: Anybody who wants one (or two, or ten), just let me know.

From June 16:

Yes, I am back at home from my delightful weekend in Denver, and getting close to feeling sort of caught up with things. You know how it is when you travel....

This is not really the hot selling season for eBay, but I am intending to keep SOME stuff listed through the summer. Tonight, while looking for something else, I stumbled across a picture I took quite a while back, and decided to list THAT item. A naturally mummified toad.

Kinda creepy, kinda funny. Enjoy (if you like weird, that is.)

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=5502614068

From June 6

"...part of our fun family weekend. My daughter (pictured) and son-in-law and the kiddos are going to build a house on the land behind ours. Before we bought it, several different owners have used it as a dump site. So today we were trying to burn out the combustible parts of a trashed out mobile home and an old set of sheds where someone had tried to raise pigs.

This was taken about 10 minutes before we had to call the fire department...."




No actual damage, no one hurt, more later....

OOOOH, I wish I was able to attend the ACLU conference in San Francisco next month. Lots of cool things going on, but THIS!

Governors Howard Dean of Vermont and Bill Owens of Colorado, who have agreed to debate on election issues.

:::SWOONS!!!:::

The ONLY way to make this better would be to let them wrestle or something after, with the winner allowed to dunk the loser's head in a bucket of something biologically repugnant. Yes I have much confidence in my hero's wrestling abilities and no, I do not like Bill Owens, Evil Governor of my fine state of Colorado.

(FYI: You can pre-register for the conference through June 23 at www.aclu.org/2004memberconf )

Ah, a nap and lunch, much better!

One of the good things about going in so early is that the medical center isn't too busy. We were in and out in ten minutes, paperwork, blood extraction, and all. Mike got a sausage roll and glazed donut for breakfast as his reward for being such a good and brave boy. (For the delaying food part--he takes blood draws totally in stride.)

Back at home, Mike found a bottle of bright red nail polish I'd bought for the grand-girlies, and we had the following exchange:

Mike: Can I put this on my fingers?
Me: Not in those pants. (Good school clothes) Take them off and you can.
Mike: What about this shirt?
Me: Yes, take that off too.
Mike: Should I take everything off?
Me: No, leave your underwear on. You don't want to get nail polish on your penis.

It's 5:22a. I can't even remember the last time I got up this early--although considering how ineffective my brain is when first pried from the refuge of my Good Old Friendly Bed, I would probably not remember it if it had happened last week.

Mike has his yearly check-up with his Denver neurologist on the 14th. So Mike needs to have a blood draw so they can check things like med dosage levels, liver function, and general routine health thingies.

Tragically for me, at least one of these tests require a fasting level sample. This didn't used to be a problem, but Mike's developed that crazy early bird syndrome, where he sometimes pops out of bed hours ahead of me (duh) and the clone. So in order to be sure he "remembers" (complies with) the need to postpone breakfast, I am essentially up at a completely inappropriate hour to guard the refrigerator.

*sigh*

So where the heck did the last week get to? Well, last Thursday was the last day of school for the kids in our district. Caro is still finalizing her librarian year, of course, as are most of the other school personnel. Then next week her summer reading program begins, which will occupy her every weekday morning for the month of June. Read and Bead, she calls it, as she found having a craft component helps lure in the not-so-much reading faction. Since at least part of the purpose of the program is to help smooth the entrance of the fledgling middle schoolers-to-be, and make the library feel like the sanctuary the Goddess intended, this is a Good Thing.

We didn't go anywhere or do anything exciting for the holiday weekend. There was supposed to be a sort of recycling event in town, where folks stuck things they didn't need out on the curb for others to take away. Sadly, it was poorly promoted and the pickings were extremely slim. We did score an electric footbath and a light up Christmas tree that so far doesn't, but might once I find our stash of replacement lights and fill in the missing and broken ones.

The coolest find wasn't really part of the event, just serendipitous timing. At the Safeway, the produce manager was pulling out six-packs of bedding plants to discard, on the grounds that no one was likely to pay money for the ones where there were only 1-3 viable looking plantlings left. He kindly let us take all we wanted. So we toted home about 4 flats worth of assorted petunias and marigolds, plus a few sad little lobelias, for the Garden of Art, Science and Technology. So far quite a few are still alive!

On Memorial Day, they baled up the first cutting of alfalfa in the field across the road from our house:



That green lump right on the edge of the foreground is the crown cluster of our mighty red maple. As you can see, our own mowing operations have been going well, at last.



Bales, and Nimbus '95, and part of the non-lighting Christmas tree.

Hmm, 6:15 and Mike is still snoozing. The lab opens at 7, so this may work out relatively painlessly after all!

More on this early-breaking news story as it develops.