A Ditch Runs Through It

Not many kids have a ditch running through their back yard as a means of entertainment.  So on those hot summer days when all three television channels were fuzzy, we would while away our afternoons playing in the ditch.

The ditch is a result of pipe system that routes water from Christmas Hollow to the pens at the house.  The ditch begins in the pens at the house via an artesian well.  The water flows through the pens and the backyard, through a field and Grandmom's yard and ends back into the river north of Grandmom's house.  

The depth of the ditch in the backyard is about 2 to 2-1/2 feet with a concrete bank barrier put there by Daddy.  The concrete barrier has grooves at various intervals so that a metal shield can slide into the grooves and flood the yard as means of watering the grass.  Daddy also placed a very wide rock across the ditch we used a bridge to get from the yard to what we called the "holding pen". 

The ditch was a nice alternative to getting wet while waiting impatiently waiting for an adult to take us to the river.  The bridge was used as a hang-out for Barbie and her girlfriends.  They could lounge in the sun and gossip about Ken and the guys.  When it got hot, they could dive off the bridge and cool off in the water.  Of course, Ken and the guys would have to jump in to show off for the girls.  Marshall would bring his Tonka trucks out and we would build roads around the bridge and build a make-believe town for Barbie and friends.  For the record, he did NOT like the Barbie part!!!

One morning, Mama looked out her bathroom window and hollered for us to get the paper floating in the ditch.  At the same time, she was reminding us that we knew better than to have any kind of trash in or around the ditch.  We busted out the back door as quick as we could to get the trash out of the ditch.  Joke was on Mama!  It was baby ducks swimming in the ditch!  She hadn't put in her contacts and could only see fuzzy images! :)

Television Reception

My family started out as "townies" and then moved to the country when I was almost 9 years old.  In town we had television reception that offered a clear picture and more than three channels.  Upon moving to the country, our TV set served as a dust collector sitting in the den.  We lived in a valley where absolutely no air waves could reach us.  It didn't take long for us to give up trying to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. 

Daddy, with the help of a local TV man, rigged up an antennae on the south side of the house.  It was one of those antennae shaped like a metal refrigerator rack.  We parked our butts in front of our beloved television set complete with a dusty screen and prepared to be entertained by the wonders of TV land.  Like magic we had an image of.....something fuzzy.  Adjustments needed to be made.  We formed a relay team with Daddy moving the antennae, Marshall watching the screen and me telling Dennis which way to turn the antennae.  Every once in a while we would get a clear  picture on one of three channels.  And it was usually something like golf.  We had better luck in the cold season to get a clear picture.  Mama and I actually watched the television premier of "Gone with the Wind" with Daddy on stand-by to adjust the antennae during commercials.

And now we have hundreds of channels to pick from with the help of satellites and modern technology.  The images are clear enough to think the action is actually taking place in the room in which you are watching television.  I should be ashamed of myself when I think, "Dang.  There isn't anything on TV this evening."  And then I come across a rerun of "Let's Make a Deal" or "The Price is Right" and think, "Hmm.  I don't believe I've seen this episode.  It must have been one of those I missed because I couldn't endure a fuzzy image of Monty or Bob."  :)

When Robin Met Sam

I did not know who Sam Jetton was the first time I was in the same room with him.  We were both attending a coaches meeting for youth basketball.  I had recently broken my ankle and was still wearing a cast.  The first words out of Sam's mouth were, "How do you expect to teach the kids basketball skills with a cast on your foot?"  Really?  I whirled around to spit venom at the man but was told by my friend, Amy, to just let it go because we didn't enough time in the day for Sam and Robin to go at it.  In other words, neither one of us would have backed down.  I did not have a good first impression of Sam.

A couple of years later I was working for an attorney in our small town.  Sam waltzed into the office to meet with the attorney.  Come to find out, Sam's wife (now ex) had filed for divorce.  I kind of felt a little sorry for him until he strutted down the hall like a banty rooster.  Oh, what an arrogant man!  And for a short man he has a big ego and makes his presence known.  As fate would have it, the attorney passed off proofreading the divorce decree (72 pages) to me and checking in with Sam for his feedback.  After the divorce was final, Sam took me and a co-worker out to dinner as a way to show his appreciation for helping him out.  And the rest is history. 

We have had our fair share of bumps in the road during our eleven years together.  Living with Sam isn't the easiest thing I have ever done but it certainly makes for good entertainment.  Our bantering makes most people uncomfortable but it is who we are.  Sam still gets the best of me for the most part.  Every once in a while I get the last word if you consider a sigh or snort a word.  Mike's friend, Ivan, says he would worry about us if Sam and I didn't "go at each other". 

I still think Sam is the most arrogant, egotistical son of a bitch I've ever known and he considers it to be a compliment.  Honestly!  I told him that one day and he smiled and said, "Thank you!"  Oh, what fun this adventure will continue to be!  :)

Blue Shag Carpet

Christmas decorations are repacked in their appropriate tubs and boxes until next year.  I enjoy decorating for the holidays but after a month I have to reorganize the house with the usual "clutter". 

Speaking of the house.....we have the UGLIEST blue shag carpet in the living room.  Not to mention it belongs in the 1980s which is when it was originally installed. 

I've been making comments about the carpet for quite a while.  You know, subtle hints such as: "This carpet is really, um, icky."  "Look at all the dirt and grit I vacuum out of this stuff every time I clean." "I guess I should try to shampoo the carpet but I know it will be a waste of time."  "Old Dude, its time to seriously think about getting new carpet."  "Dang it!  I'm tired of stepping on grass stickers that get ground into the carpet."  Ok, that last complaint really doesn't have anything to do the UGLIEST blue shag carpet in the world.  All complaints about the UGLIEST blue shag carpet in the world have fallen upon deaf ears.  Or so I thought...

On Christmas morning I opened one of my gifts which included an envelope containing money, a piece of the UGLIEST brown industrial carpet I have ever seen and a note signed by Sam, Kris, Mike and Shan.  The note reads as follows:
     
              "We knew you NEEDED new carpet in the living room.  It is so hard trying
                to get the right style and color.  With Kris' help we came up with this. {The
                sample of brown carpet.}  Hope you like it!"   

Well played, peeps, well played.  They laughed when they saw me curl my lip when I saw the sample they picked out which was cut from a piece of carpet at the hunter's cabin.   Sam went so far as to tell me he had already pre-ordered said carpet.  Joke was on me!  Ladies and gentlemen, there is no way I am going to allow UGLY brown industrial carpet in this living room and they both knew it. 

I am looking forward to replacing the UGLIEST blue shag carpet in the world with new, pretty, clean carpet that won't spit grass burrs at my bare feet.  Looks like the blue swag window treatments will have to be replaced, too.  Shucks.  Darn.  :)

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas from all of us at the Jetton Slave Ranch!   


Here's how the Chinese Christmas went down at Mama and Gary's house yesterday:

1.  Kyle.  His gift was a peacock design jewelry box.

2.  Mama.  She took away the jewelry box.  Kyle opened a scarf and blanket gift.

3.  Gary.  He let Kyle keep the scarf and blanket and ended up with a flashlight which he insisted was very dim and the batteries only lasted for 15 minutes.  In other words, "leave my flashlight alone"! 

4.  Kristin.  Her package included a scarf and bath/body goods. 

5.  Kelli.  She took away the scarf and blanket from Kyle.  Kyle next chose a gift, alas!, of TWO scarves! 

6.  Mike.  His gift was a fire-proof storage box. 

7.  Robin.  I took away the scarves from Kyle.  Only one gift left in the pile and Kyle takes it instead of taking away a gift from any of us.  Guess what?  He ended up with a $25 gift card from Bass Pro Shop!! 

Sam was en route from San Antonio while we were partaking of holiday festivities in Segovia.  Sam busted ET out of the San Antonio hospital and admitted him to our local hospital for better care until he regains his strength and can go home. 

May each of you have a day filled with love, laughter and warm fuzzies!  Don't forget the reason for the season while opening gifts and indulging in good food.  Happy Birthday, Jesus! :)

Surprise Visitors

We don't get many visitors at the end of our dirt road.  Friends and family usually call ahead to make sure we are home before making the trek to the Jetton Slave Ranch.  Surprise visitors are usually lost because they missed the turn to the subdivision.  I seem to be by myself at the house when surprise visitors show up at the ranch headquarters. 

Jehovah's Witness representatives have paid more than one visit to the ranch.  Heck of a drive to deliver the Watch Tower.  I am going to leave this one alone.....

The game warden once showed up and he was not wearing his happy face.  He had gotten a call from the subdivision in reference to a dead turkey along the fence line.  Mr. Game Warden was adamant that the incident happened along our fence line and ran me through the gauntlet.  (He never actually accused me of poaching on the neighbor's property.)  I answered his questions but he wasn't liking my answers.  Without trying to sound like a smart a$$, I finally told Mr. Game Warden, "Sir, why would I poach for a turkey when I have over 4,000 acres over here to shoot a turkey?" 

I once had a dude on a motorcycle roar up in front of the house.  Said he was looking for the Jackson Ranch.  Jackson Ranch is another subdivision which is several miles south of us.   He clearly didn't see the "JETTON SLAVE RANCH" sign at our bump gate. 

Speaking of motorcycles, a group of young men on motor bikes turned around in our parking area.  Maybe they were joy riding?  Maybe they were lost?  Maybe they were intimidated by a woman standing on the porch holding a 12-gauge shotgun? 

You might want to give us a call first if you want to come out and visit.  There are twists and turns and cattle guards and bump gates along the way but you will know you've come to the right place if you end up at the end of a dirt road.  :)

The Movies

The Texan Theater was the only source of entertainment in our small town during my high school years.  Most of my peers were traveling to the neighboring town to indulge in dancing, dining and having more than one movie to pick from at the theaters.  Mama wasn't comfortable with allowing me to go out of town on Saturday nights {there are too many things that can go wrong} so I was usually on babysitting duty. 

Kelli and I were regulars at the Texan on Saturday nights.  Armed with sugar goods, we would take our seats and wait for the magic to begin on the movie screen.  We both cried when we watched "The Fox and The Hound".   "Flashdance" was so good that we convinced Mama to go with us again on Sunday night.  Kelli connected with Drew Barrymore's character in "ET" and wore out the line "ET phone home."  "Indiana Jones and The Raiders of the Lost Ark", "Fast Times at Ridgemont High", "Tootsie", "Caddyshack", "Star Wars:  The Empire Strikes Back", "Airplane"; we loved them all.

Kelli was five and then six when we went through a series of  scary movies beginning with "The Shining".  Next in the line of creepy movies was "The Fog", "Friday the 13th", "Halloween and Halloween II"..... and the one that scared the poop out of both of us was "Nightmare on Elm Street".  We just knew Freddy Kruger was waiting for us in our dreams.  I decided I had better stop with the scary movies for fear that I had scarred my poor little sister for life. Okay, I admit I was a little spooked as well.

"Gremlins" and "Ghostbusters" were on the mild side of scary of the movie spectrum.  As a matter of fact, six-year old Kelli said, "Ghostbusters is the lamest scary movie I have ever seen. A giant marshmellow man?  Really?" 

The Texan Theater has been closed for several years.  I drive by it several times a day and every once a while I will glance over at it and remember the smell of popcorn and hot dogs in the lobby and a little blond-haired, blue-eyed Kelli who was my movie date and always a good sport no matter what kind of movies we watched.  :)

Take a Sunday

First things first, ET made it through the surgery with no problems.  He had a very sick gall bladder and we are all thankful for the surgeon taking the chance, at the family's request, to improve ET's quality of life.  We hope to get him home soon and let him recuperate at our local hospital.  Thank you for your prayers!

Patrick has made himself a nest in one of the cat boxes.  I simply recycle paper boxes by putting towels in the bottom of each one to give the cats a warm place to sleep during the cold weather season.  Gotta give the little guy some credit for taking advantage of a cat box.

Buddy Dog has been accused of confiscating a boot!  I noticed two flashlights bobbing along in the darkness last night around the general area of Buddy's house.  It was our hunters in search of said boot.  Seems Buddy was nosing around the hunter's cabin earlier in the day so it would only make sense to think he latched onto the boot.  It will probably show up in the next week or so when he drags it out to chew on. 

Sam will check ranch rain gauges today.  We got another .10 in the official Jetton Slave Ranch gauge after I reported the 1.12" to the National Weather Service.  We couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present! 

Kris is making noise about wanting to bake something.  Lordy, the kitchen will look like a train wreck by the time she is finished with her baking project!  The end product is worth being on clean-up detail.  Red Velvet Cupcakes sound good....

I think I will "take a Sunday".  "Take a Sunday" is ET's term meaning to take a day to be a bum.  Don't make any plans or set any goals.  Just go with the flow and enjoy the day.  Give thanks to the Lord for the day He has given us and just go with it!  :)

Saturday Morning Quiet Time

I'm perched at the computer desk listening to the sweet sound of rain.  I'm also listening to Buddy Dog barking at the rain.  He's a strange one, that dog.  Mike and Kris are sound asleep in their rooms.  Daisy Duke and Kitty Friend are prowling through the house.  Gray Cat is mingling with the common cats on the porch.  And the bottle baby, Patrick, is sleeping in the utility room.

I awoke to the sound of thunder and rain a little after midnight.  My first thought was to thank God for the precious moisture falling from the sky.  My second thought was, oh crap!, Patrick is probably looking for a place to get out of the rain!  Patrick has been staying in the yard since Mike discovered him on Wednesday abandoned just south of the house.  I donned a rain coat and Sam's boots at the back door and set out to find Patrick.  The poor little guy was huddled under a metal chair which wasn't offering much protection from the elements. 

I gave that baby kid goat a midnight bottle and placed him in the utility room.  Did I mention the utility room is next to the master bedroom??  Just about the time I was questioning my decision to leave him in the house, he fell asleep.  And just like any good mother would do, I am staying in the other part of the house so I won't disturb the baby.  :)

Where is Sam?  He stayed the night with Shannon in New Braunfels.  We have ET in San Antonio where he will undergo gall bladder surgery at noon today.  Prayers will be appreciated for a successful surgery and a quick recovery.  Thank you in advance for doing so.

Enjoy your own quiet time this morning, my friends.  FYI:  There are only four days until Christmas in case anybody is counting.....

Mama's Music

Mama loves music and she especially likes to dance to her 1960's rock and roll.  She introduced us to a variety of music during our childhood years.  Albums were the craze in the 1970's and we knew the words to every song on every album.  Everybody's favorite songs were on the Beatles' albums.  It was easy to sing along with "Yellow Submarine", "Strawberry Fields Forever", "Hello, Goodbye"....darn good music!  :)

Saturdays were (and still are) housecleaning days.  Mama would stack record upon record on her console stereo and crank up the music while we did our household chores.  The music didn't really help with the dusting but at least we didn't bicker about it since we were singing at the tops of our lungs.  There were certain songs that would set Mama off into a dance frenzy.....beware of  "Peggy Sue" and "La Bamba".  Her love of dancing would infect us and we would all join in trying to do the "pony", "mashed potato", "twist", etc.

Music at home spilled over to music in the suburban with 8-track tapes.  I never did learn all the words to Simon and Garfunkel's "Scarborough Fair" due to 30 seconds into the song the track skipped to the next song.  Something about parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme??  We sang along with Neil Diamond, Fleetwood Mac, Tanya Tucker, Barbara Streisand, Ray Stevens, Eagles, just to name a few.  We went through the disco era with The Bee Gees and Donna Summer. 

Don't bother knocking on Mama's door on a Saturday morning if you can hear the music as if you are at a live concert.  Just go right in and you will find her jamming to the oldies and dancing in the kitchen...

Bullies in the Fourth Grade

Entering fourth grade meant transitioning from primary school to junior high school.  Our junior high school was two story!!  Woo-hoo!  Moving on up to the big kids school!!  Physical Education became a part of our curriculum and the girls were required all white clothes right down to the sneakers on our feet.

It was a little daunting to change from street clothes to PE clothes in front of one's peers.  We were quicker than Superman changing in a phone booth!  We folded our school clothes neatly in a pile on top of our school shoes and placed the pile on a bench.  Mrs. Roper did not allow any of us wearing jewelry during PE class.  So into the shoes went our jewelry thinking nothing about anyone wanting to steal the jewelry. 

One day as I was changing back into my school clothes, I noticed my jewelry was gone!  My coveted Alice in Wonderland watch and my ID bracelet which was engraved with my first name were no where to be found.  Choking back tears, I headed back to regular class with a heavy heart. 

I noticed a group of girls giggling and smirking towards me in the hallway as I headed towards my homeroom locker.  Wait a minute!  Was that girl not-named-Robin wearing my ID bracelet?  Whoa!  Her friend was wearing my Alice in Wonderland watch!!  What to do?  What to do?  If I told on them, I would pay for the consequences the rest of the school year.  If I didn't tell on them, I would never get my jewelry back.  I wanted my jewelry back!

All three of us ended up in the principal's office where the girls returned my jewelry to me and offered false apologies.  I was prepared to be the object of unfair games of dodge ball and being tripped in the cafeteria while carrying my food tray for the rest of the school year. The girls started their revenge that same day by waiting for me after school.  

I was ambushed as I was walking to the school bus by the two thieves plus two more girls within their circle of meanies.  My attempt at defending myself was feeble at best.  One was pulling my hair, another one was kicking me while I was on the ground.  It was all a blur of fists and slaps and name-calling.  I missed the bus.  I lost my hair clips.  My books and papers were scattered all over the school yard.  I had to walk to Mama's workplace knowing I would have to plead and beg her NOT to make a big deal out of the bully situation.  Yeah, right.

My guardian angel must have worked extra hard to take care of a scared little fourth grade girl who hated going to school for fear of being bullied again.  I managed to stay out of the meanies way and learned to ignore the hate letters left in my locker.  And I never left my jewelry in my shoes again.  I still have my Alice in Wonderland watch and my ID bracelet.....

More Conversations with ET

A few more excerpts from conversations with ET:

{ET was tucking a lap blanket around his feet}
Me:  Are your toes cold?
ET:  Yes, I like doritos.  But I like the wavy BBQ chips better.

{ET observing me feeling for something under my arm}
ET:  Do you have dry skin?
Me:  No sir.  I have a skin "tag" that is bothering me.
ET:  A what?
Me:  You know, a "tag" mole.
ET:  {perplexed} A tadpole?

{coming up on the noon hour}
Me:  Its almost soup time!
ET:  Poop time? 
Me:  SOUP TIME! 

{conversation about a buck one of the hunters bagged}
Sam:  Darrell got a nice axis this morning.
ET:  Who?
Sam:  DARRELL!
ET:  Tara?  I didn't know she was out here.
Sam:  Not Tara, ET.  DARRELL!
ET:  I'm not getting it.   Oh, yeah, Darrell!  I got it now.

I apologize in advance if I shout at my friends and family instead of talking in a normal tone of voice these days.  :)  

Shopping

I.  Hate.  To.  Shop.  I despise everything and anything that involves shopping whether it be for groceries, clothes or supplies for the household and ranch.  ARRRGG! Shoot me already when I armed with a shopping list.

Sam says I am missing what is called the "shopping gene" that all women are born with.  Obviously, I am an exception to this perception.  The good thing is I don't spend money which can cause a man to grimace when he sees the credit card statement.  The bad thing is I put off said shopping until I absolutely, positively have to shop. And that puts me in a very foul mood. 

Poor Kristin.  She loves to shop and obviously was born with the shopping gene.  Shopping for school clothes was utterly miserable for both of us.  She wanted to take her time and ooh and ah and, well, shop like a woman.  Me?  I'm rushing her about and demanding she pick out items, try said items on and if they fit then we are done.  I have mellowed with clothes shopping with her.  I don't get antsy until 30 minutes into the shopping experience which is better than my standard 5 minute mark. 

I attempted to make a good shopping impression when Sam and I first met and he would take me to a neighboring town to wine and dine me.  Sam would also do his grocery shopping while in a bigger town.  I was a good sport and would take my grocery list with me as well.  As God and Sam as my witnesses, I actually once left my grocery cart half full with groceries parked at an end cap and walked out the door.  Sam finished his shopping and found me in the truck reading a book.  "Where are your groceries?", he asked.  "Still in the cart in the store.", I replied.   This puzzled Sam until I explained my frustration with any kind of shopping.  We do NOT shop together anymore.  He shops like a woman with a shopping gene and has to touch things and roam up and down EVERY SINGLE AISLE in EVERY SINGLE STORE he is in.  And can walk out without buying anything.  What's the point? 

I make a list.  I purchase what is on my list.  And then I leave the store.  I do not pass go.  I do not collect $200.00.  In the meantime, there are no presents under the Christmas tree.  Somebody needs to go shopping.....

Kristin and Christmas

I am sitting here listening to Grey Cat paw at the ornaments on the lower level of the tree.  No sense in "shishing" him because he will wait until my back is turned and continue to paw at the decorations.

Kristin was three years old when she discovered the ornaments on our tree.  She would ooh and aw and touch each ornament within reach with her little toddler hands.  Every ornament was her favorite one. 

At the age of four, Kris realized she could actually rearrange the ornaments on the tree.  This resulted in the re-decoration of the tree each day during the holidays.  She would lovingly swap places with ornaments and stand back to admire her handiwork.  She was very meticulous about where each ornament should be on the tree. 

And then she discovered the Nativity when she was in kindergarten.  Oh, the fun she had introducing her Barbie dolls to the Holy Family.  The Barbie dolls would babysit Baby Jesus so Mary and Joseph could go out to eat and the Wise Men could catch a movie. 

Kristin LOVES, LOVES, LOVES everything about Christmas!  She is now 23 years young and starts squirming in October about decorating for Christmas.  "Winter Wonderland" is her favorite carol and "A Christmas Story" is her favorite seasonal movie.  You can find her curled up on the couch with a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate while watching the story of Ralphie and his quest for Santa to bring Ralphie the coveted BB gun.

Grey Cat is still swatting at the decorations.  Kristin will probably have to rearrange a few snowflakes and glitter balls on the tree when she gets here for the holidays.  And just for a moment her inner child will emerge as she steps back to admire the Christmas tree.  Merry Christmas, my friends.

Unmade Beds....

My name is Robin and I have issues with unmade beds, dirty floors and clutter.  I am married to Sam and he gives a hoot about unmade beds, dirty floors and clutter. 

I like to start my day by making the bed.  It sets the tone for the rest of my day.  Bed is made, day will be organized.  I learned quickly in the early stages of my relationship with Sam that he believes there is no sense in making in the bed when you are just going to crawl back into it that same night.  Oh, he can "man make" the bed by pulling up the covers once he evacuates the bed.  He doesn't understand the necessity of "pretty pillows" on the bed that are for decoration only.  I am a woman and he doesn't need to understand the necessity of "pretty pillows" that he cannot sleep on.  (No, I do not have unusable towels and soap bars in the bathrooms.) 

The floors.  I sweep, I vacuum, I mop and stand back to admire my handiwork.  Without fail, Sam will walk across the floor with dirty boots.  I complain.  He doesn't listen.  He will shrug and say, "This isn't a shrine.  People live here, you know."  And out the door he goes leaving a trail of muck along with crumbs of whatever he is snacking on.  Oh, yes, the crumbs.  His idea of cleaning the counter is to swipe the crumbs to the floor.  I sweep, I vacuum, I mop and stand back to admire my  handiwork.  And so the cycle goes.

C-L-U-T-T-E-R.  We all have clutter.  I truly don't mind clutter if it is neat clutter.  Oxymoron at its best -- neat clutter.  We are limited on nooks and crannies to tuck away our clutter in the house.  Sam has a desk of which I cannot even see the surface of.  Therefore, he uses the dining table as an extension of his desk.  I can ignore the clutter for a limited time before I put it in a neat pile and set it to one corner of the table.  Me?  My clutter is all over the house from knickknacks to books neatly arranged as clutter should be.

I remind Sam from time to time, "I take pride in having a clean and neat home.  I would like for you to respect this fact."  Sam will then remind me, "People live here, Robin Irene.  Besides, if you don't have anything to complain about you are going to think I don't care."  Can you feel the love?  Have a neat, orderly and organized day, my friends.

Hitching a Ride with Daddy

Mama rarely missed a day of work when we were growing up.  But when she did it would throw off the whole day's routine for all of us.  Mama missing work meant that Daddy had to get us to school.   We usually had already  missed the school bus and Daddy would have to take us to town.

Daddy drove a baby blue 4x4 Toyota Luv pickup --- stick shift, mind you.  Cram three kids with books and lunch boxes and Daddy into that crackerjack box and you've go no room to even breathe.  Daddy smoked filterless Camel cigarettes.  Cold mornings were the worst of trips because he would barely crack the window when he would light up a tobacco stick. 

I would have to sit next to Daddy and contort my legs in such ways to avoid getting my knees bruised by the stick shift on the floor.  My head was usually under his arm pit which made it even harder to breathe in our cramped surrounding.  There was no chattering amongst us due to the father figure being grumpy because we missed the bus and he had to take us to school.  Talking didn't matter anyway because we were attempting to hold our breath when the cigarette smoke would drift our way.

Daddy also had a mustard-colored, short bed, single cab Chevy that had "glass packs" on it.  He loved to make an impression when he would shift gears after dropping us off in front of the school.  The school boys envied the truck and the school girls swooned over the "Crocodile Dundee" look-alike driving that Chevy truck.  Me, I was just plain embarrassed. 

And then there was the time we had the privilege of riding to town with Daddy in his loaded cedar truck.  There were holes in the floorboard and it was quite scary to be able to see the pavement through said holes while riding down the highway.  At least we had more room to get situated in the cab of the cedar truck. 

To this day, Daddy still smokes filterless Camel cigarettes and drives Toyota pickups.  None of his kids took up smoking but Marshall does drive a Toyota pickup.  And my daily routine is bumpy when Mama misses a day of work.  :)

Boredom and Nerf Balls

Kids will get bored when cooped up in the house during cold weather.  Marshall and I had already played Candy Land, Life, checkers, and our version of Scrabble and poker.    Time to find something else to do....

Marshall had a nerf basketball goal attached to his door.  The bedrooms were along a hallway on the north side of the house.  Closing all the doors gave us an "alley" that became our court for playing H-O-R-S-E.  We got creative with our shots and words we were spelling.  Keep in mind, Mama is at work and Daddy is somewhere outside. 

Shooting hoops became boring and we opted for a game of dodge nerf ball in our alley with the doors still closed.  (Um, did I tell you Mama had pictures hanging on the hall wall???)  You can already see what is coming but it never crossed our minds that a nerf ball could cause such chaos.

CRASH!  A picture fell to the floor!  Oh, crap.  What do we do now?  Fortunately the glass remained intact but the nail was bent.  By all means, WE CANNOT LET MAMA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.  She will confiscate our nerf balls and burn them in the trash pile. 

Armed with a stool and hammer, we managed to get the picture back on the wall.  Stepped back and the picture was crooked.  It took several times and each of us taking turns to get that picture straight.  And we swore ourselves to secrecy.  Mama can never, never, ever find out what happened.

Several years later, Mama was rearranging the pictures on the hall wall when she came across several nail holes behind the nerf-ball-picture incident.  I'm sure lots of thoughts crossed her mind.  By this time I am in high school and Marshall is in junior high school.  Mama mentioned her discovery during supper that same night.  Squirming in our chairs, we had to admit what happened when we were mere children.  She simply laughed and told us she would never have known if we would have used the original nail hole to re-hang the picture.  Duh.

We should have stuck to board games and coloring books but what is life without nerf-ball-incidents?  Stay warm, my friends, and be aware that nerf balls aren't as innocent as they appear when in the possession of bored children.

BB Guns

Stanley must have told Santa the Heap kids were exceptionally good the year we got our Daisy BB guns.  Marshall was 6 and I was 10 the Christmas morning we snuck to the living room armed with a flashlight to peek under the tree.  Ralphie would have been pea-green with envy when we discovered not one but two bb guns in the corner.  

There are always rules when it comes to being a gun owner.  By the way, BB guns are no different than a machine gun in the eyes of a mother.  Daddy sat down with Marshall and me and went over said rules.  Never point the gun at people.  Never run with the gun. Always point the gun at the ground when not aiming at a target, so on and so forth.  Mama injected her rules as well:

1.  NEVER shoot any kind of bird.  
2.  NEVER load your gun in the house.  Any BBs found in the carpet will ruin my vacuum cleaner.  
3.  NEVER shoot at any of my chickens, ducks, guineas, peacocks, turkeys (see Rule 1).
4.  If either one of you break any of these rules you BOTH will lose your gun privileges.

Ergo....

1.  We shot song birds but always had a proper burial service for them. "Now I lay me down to sleep" seemed to be the appropriate prayer.  
2.  We loaded our guns in the house and always dropped BBs on the floor hence the reason Mama had to replace the belt on the Hoover.  
3.  We only shot the peacocks when they were strutting.  We aimed for the "eyes" on their tail feathers.    
4.  Rules are meant to be broken, Mama.  Shooting cans gets boring. And yes, Mama caught us breaking each of her BB rules.  "Lefty" and "Rusty" would end up in Mama's closet until such time she felt we had learned our lesson.

We had to venture further away from the house (and Mama's eyes) to have fun with our guns.  That was until we came across a rattlesnake in the road.  Its a wonder we didn't throw our guns at the snake to distract it and hightail it to the house.  Instead we backed away slowly and then ran like heck to the house.  Out of breath and scared silly, we explained to Mama what was going on.  She asked us, "Why didn't you shoot the snake?"  Marshall replied, "We thought it might be one of your rules you forgot to tell us and we didn't want to get into trouble."  Well played, Brother, well played.  

Sisterly Love

Two weeks after I graduated from high school in 1983, my mother loaded me up in my baby blue 1980 Ford LTD and sent me to Austin to attend business school.  I fell in love with Austin.  The sights, the sounds, the people all intrigued my 18 year old self. 

Although I was having fun (too much fun) in Austin, I missed my family and home in Telegraph.  I especially missed my baby sister, Kelli.  She would be the first one to run out the door and grab me in a bear hug on my visits to home.  Kelli and I are twelve and a half years apart.  She was more like my own child than a little sister when she came into my life.  I packed that child around with me every where I went. 

Leaving her behind on Sunday afternoons when I would head back to Austin would tear my heart out.  She would stand in the driveway and wave until I was out of sight.  As a six year old, she didn't quite understand why I had to live a million miles away just to go to school.  She would hang her head each time I would pack up my car on Sunday afternoons.

One particular Sunday afternoon as I was saying my good-byes to the family, I noticed Kelli wasn't outside with us.  It was devastating to think she couldn't bear to see me leave....again.  I backed out of the driveway with a heavy heart.  She wasn't standing in the driveway waving goodbye.

I hit pavement at Telegraph thinking I should turn around and make sure Kelli was all right.  Lo and behold, that little punk jumped out from behind the back seat and yelled, "SURPRISE! I have decided I'm going to live with you in Austin!"  What's a big sister supposed to do?  I called Mama from the store to let her know where Kelli was.  Stanley hooked us up with an RC cola and peanuts and we watched the sun go down from the front porch of Telegraph Store.  And I ended up staying an extra night at home......

Moving Day

Today is moving day for ET.  He has been making noise about "visiting himself" for the past week or so.  We thought it meant he wanted to spend a day at his house in town while I was at work and ride home with me at the end of the day.  Nay, nay.  He is ready to move back to his house and be with his stuff. 

ET has come back from death's door.  Just a little over two and a half months ago, he was sent home from a neighboring hospital to die.  With the right care and doctors, he is now back where he was before health issues knocked him down.   The removal of a nickel-sized gallstone has been his new lease on life.  I've managed to fatten him up with meat and potatoes and ice cream during his stay with us. 

The home health nurses and physical therapist are wonderful to drive to the end of the dirt road to work with ET twice a week.  ET's strength has greatly improved.  The walker is collecting dust.  He gets around with the use of his cane as he did before moving in with us.

Sam and I have mixed emotions about letting him live by himself.  ET feels confident enough to get back to his house and we fully respect his need for independence.  This doesn't mean we won't be checking on him every day!  We are willing to give him the opportunity to try living on his own with the option of moving back in with us if things don't work out.

ET has enjoyed his vacation at the ranch and I have enjoyed getting to know him better.  Our evening chats are full of history from the "good ol' days".   I bet I can get him to continue with my history lessons when I bring him a hamburger and chocolate milkshake from Milky Way.  Or potato salad from Lum's. 

Thank you for your continued prayers that will keep this sweet, kind and gentle soul with us for a little longer.  In the meantime, I better start packing his belongings.  It is amazing how much stuff an 89 year old man can accumulate in such a short time.  :)  Take time to make time to tell someone you love them today. 

Telegraph Store

"TELEGRAPH, TEXAS. Telegraph is on U.S. Highway 377 thirteen miles southwest of Junction in southwestern Kimble County. Ranches in the area near Telegraph by the 1890s included those of O. B. Fleming and Thomas C. Taylor. A post office was established there in 1900 with Ruth Holms as postmistress. Rancher Thomas C. Taylor became postmaster in 1902. During the 1920s Telegraph was a popular vacation spot for campers, hunters, and fishermen. In 1925 the community had a resident population of twenty-five, a tourist park, a gas station, and a post office-general store. The estimated population remained stable for the next forty years, increasing briefly to fifty-six in 1966 but declining to thirty-one in 1970 and eleven in 1974. Telegraph was named for the telegraph poles cut to support communication lines to early United States Army forts just east of the town in Telegraph Canyon, which was once part of Governor Coke R. Stevenson's ranch. In 1990 the population was reported as three. The population remained the same in 2000." cited from the Texas State Historical Assocation website.

We all have our own memories of Telegraph Store.  Some of my favorite memories include RC colas and peanuts, peanut butter crackers, and ice cream sandwiches.  And of course the mayor!

Telegraph Store was our post office and school bus stop.  Good ol' bus number 7 driven by Mrs. Billo (and later Mr. McReynolds) would pick us up and drop us off at the store.  Mayor Stanley Brite would always be waiting on the Heap kids with a smile on his face.  He would usher us inside the store and tell us to pick out an afternoon snack because he knew we had had a rough day of schoolwork.  On pretty days, we would take our spots on the front porch and enjoy our snacks.  On cold days, we huddled around the gas heater sitting on stools and milk crates.  Mama worked in town so we would wait for Daddy or Grandmom to pick us up from the store. 

Stanley insisted on us calling him by his first name (which was hard to do when raised to address our elders with a Mr. or Miss or Ms. or Mrs.).  He would tell us stories about how a group of wild Indians lived on the hill and only showed themselves at night.  Or about how a mountain lion slept on the front porch of the store just the night before.  Or about having a direct line to the North Pole Post Office and often talking to Santa about how good or bad the Heap children had been. 

It was with great sadness when we heard the news of our beloved Stanley passing away.  Telegraph Store was never the same without him.  I've got memories of a witty man that always had a sparkle in his eye.  Sometimes I will stop at the store just for a minute.  I will sit on the front steps, close my eyes and I swear Stanley is sitting right there with me whistling a tune that only he knows.  "There's no place like Telegraph, Texas!"  I've got the t-shirt that proves it. :)

Sadie

Daddy tried his hand at fur trapping back in the day.  He had a trap line that encompassed the back part of the ranch.  Since I was (and still am) an early bird, Daddy would take me with him to check his traps.  My job was to shine the flashlight on the trap to see if anything was caught in it.  Details are neither here nor there but he did make a little money selling the furs to a fur buyer in town.

It was on a trip that I didn't get to go with Daddy that he brought home Sadie.  Sadie was a javelina pig.  It appeared wild hogs had killed her mother.  Most ranchers would have dispatched the little pig but Daddy felt compelled to bring her to the house.  Marshall and I were a little leery about our new pet.  We never heard anything positive about pigs.  Sadie was just as scared of us as we were of her. 

Sadie took a liking to our dog, Sleepy.  Sadie ate dog food and slept in the dog house.  Sleepy was protective of her and the two of them had a solid relationship.  Sadie loved to interact with us while we played outside.  We attempted to teach her to catch a Frisbee or fetch a ball.  She ate the Frisbee. 

As most non-domestic animals will do, Sadie disappeared for a while.  One day she showed up outside the fence.  We were elated to see her but she didn't come up to us like we expected her to.  Lo and behold, she had two little ones of her own!  I would like to believe she was showing off her babies before saying good bye to us.  Marshall and I sat on the fence and watched her for as long as it took for her to eat some dog food and drink from the ditch.  She rounded up her little ones and took off up the hill.   We never saw Sadie again.

I think about Sadie from time to time.  I remember when she would stand at the back door and grunt for attention.  It was her way of saying, "Come out and play with me!" And did we ever play!  Thank you for the memories, Sadie.    

Busting Water Troughs

Baby, it is cold outside!  I stepped out on the front porch to feed the cat clan and was chilled in less than 10 seconds.  Thermometer shows to be 23 degrees at the moment. 

This is the kind of weather nobody wants to be out in no matter the layers of clothing.  Sam looks like he is preparing to climb Mt. Everest when he walks out the door.  And even though it gets rather warm in the house, ET is wearing flannel pants, thermal top, socks, vest and a long robe. (His robe reminds me of the Harry Potter movies.) 

I will have to confirm with Sam but I believe there are at least nine water troughs scattered throughout the ranch.  The water can quickly freeze under these weather conditions.  Sam was still teaching at JISD when I had my first experience in "busting water troughs" at the ranch.  It was imperative that the livestock get water and so I left my work place early to ensure the animals were able to drink water.

Armed with an ax and a shovel, I proceeded to start busting the troughs closest to the house.  I swear the sweat on my brow was turning to frost as I heaved that ax over and over again to break through the ice.  I encountered Shannon's horse at one trough and he practically pushed me out of the way when he could stick his mouth in the hole I made at his trough.  Gate latches were frozen as well and I had to use rocks to get to the latches to open the gates. 

By the time I made the circle and got back to the house, the water was beginning to freeze in the first troughs I busted open.  Hoping the animals got to water while the trough was open was all I could hope for.  I wearily returned the ax and shovel to the tool shed thinking, "Either I really love this man and his ranch or I'm just plain crazy.  Or maybe both." 

Sam will make the rounds today armed with an ax and a shovel to check the water troughs.  ET and I will keep the home fires burning.  Stay warm, my friends!

The Cat Clan

Many of you know I have a fondness for cats.   I come by it honestly.  There is a picture in my baby book of me at the age of 4 days and curled up next to me is huge grey cat named Smokey. 

On a trip home from Austin in 1984, I stopped for fuel in Fredericksburg.  There was a little boy sitting near the front door with his head hanging and on the verge of tears.  Next to him was a box of 4 kittens.  He told me his daddy was going to kill the kittens if he didn't find a home for all of them.  Well of course I loaded up the kittens, box and all, and delivered them to Telegraph.  My dad still reminds me of this story from time to time because all four kittens were females.  Can you say prolific? 

Our current cat count at the ranch is eleven as follows:

1.  Coalie:  Male.  Solid black long tail and the best hunter of the cat clan.  His favorite place to sleep is in the hay barn.  Approximate age is 16 or 17.

2.  Lucy:  Calico long tail with extra toes on her front paws. Very petite. Likes to hunt and is a loner.

3.  'Listo:  Male.  Black and white long tail with extra toes.  Loves Shannon and hates cats.  We tend to call him "POS" because of his attitude. 

4.  Jack:  Female.  Yellow long tail who once had a litter of NINE kittens.  Doesn't much like humans or cats and only tolerates two offspring we couldn't get rid of.

5.  Puff:  Male.  Yellow and white bob tail with extra toes on front paws.  Once lived with Dennis and Jayne but traveled 7 miles to our house.  Made trouble with other cats and Sam shot at him.  He learned to get along and allows only me to pet him during feeding time. 

6.  Little Bit:  Male.  Yellow bob tail with extras toes on front and back paws.  Started out as housecat but now lives outside due to some "marking of territory" issues.  Little Bit and Buddy Dog are best friends.

7.  Simba:  Male.  Long haired, long tailed yellow cat with green eyes.  Was also a housecat but had same issues as Little Bit.  Sweet personality but can hold his own against "POS".

8.  Girlie:  Female.  Yellow and white with short tail.  Petite and talks a lot. 

9.  Fuzzy Pumpkin:  Male.  Long haired yellow cat with an extra long tail and beautiful amber eyes.  Litter mate of Girlie and they are best friends.

10.  Squeaker:  Male.  Mostly black with some white, long tail and extra toes on front paws.  Squeaks instead of meows. 

11.  Grey Cat:  Male.  Long hair and long tail with front paws that are as big as my palm due to extra toes.  Inside winter/outside summer.  Prefers to drink water from the tap instead of his bowl. 

On occasion we will have Kristin's two cats:

12.  Daisy Duke:  Calico long tail with extra toes on front paws.  Sister of Lucy, mother of Grey Cat.  Sweet kitty and loves to sit on a lap.  Talks A LOT and snores when she sleeps. 

13.  Kitty Friend:  Male.  Tuxedo cat with long tail.  Kristin rescued KF when he was a malnourished kitten.  Definitely a "mama's boy". 

All cats are "fixed" but for Puff which doesn't matter at this time.  Everybody shows up at feeding time expecting a hand out and an ear scratching.  Sam and Mike are anti-feline and growl when I say, "Love me, love my cats." 

Enriching Our Word Power

Remember vocabulary tests in school?  The tests were usually given on a Friday so you would have all week to practice using the words in writing sentences or, God forbid, the teacher would call upon you to stand up in front of the class and use a test word in a sentence.

Grandmom would encourage the grandkids to empower our vocabulary.  She would give us a word and a dictionary.  Throughout the day we were to use the "daily word" as often as we could.  Grandmom regretted giving us "hilarious" and "ridiculous" because we found everything either hilarious or ridiculous. 

Sam loves using "big" words as Mike likes to call them.  Oftentimes I will come across a word in a book I am reading and call upon Sam to help me with its definition.  We pride ourselves with our vast knowledge of "big" words.  Mike, on the other hand, insists on just saying what we mean instead of flowering our conversations with "big" words.

One time on a fence job Mike was using digging post holes in loose material.  The deeper he dug, the more dirt and rocks would collapse in and around the post hole.  Sam suggested to Mike to get out of the quagmire.  Mike responded, "I would if I knew what that was."  Mike got out of the quagmire.  I've even heard him use "quagmire" in a sentence.

Another fence job in the subdivision had the boys working along the road.  Most neighbors would stop and visit and go on their merry way.  An east side neighbor, who shall remain nameless, drove by with her nose in the air.  Sam turned to Mike and said, "Well.  She must not know we are the landed gentry."  Mike cocked his head and asked, "Land of gentry?  What does that mean?"  Hence another vocabulary lesson for Mike. 

No worries because Mike is a good sport about us chuckling at his expense.  The meltdown would begin if he ever attempted to enrich his word power in a Reader's Digest magazine.  Sam and I rarely get all ten words matched correctly to the definitions but Mike doesn't need to know that.....

Daily Commute

Most people call ahead to make sure we are home before making the trek to the end of the dirt road.  I believe it is considerate on their part but on the flipside they probably don't want to make the trip for naught considering the stretch of road upon which they must travel to get here.

I would rather travel to and from town on this rough and mostly dusty road than fight city traffic any day.  We calculate travel in minutes as opposed to miles.  It takes approximately 30 minutes to get to town and about 25 minutes to get home.  :) 

My daily commute is never boring.  I am privileged to see the black buck antelope and Scimitar horned oryx grazing in the front pasture.  I might even spot an elk or red stag deer hanging along the fence line in the Exotic Pasture.  Jackrabbits and cottontail rabbits dart across the county road and always travel in twos and threes.  It is not unusual to see a grey fox streak across the road.  I often brake for the cattle crossing the road in the neighbors' ranches.  I have come to learn where the axis deer congregate in the mornings and evenings so I am prepared to avoid taking one out with my vehicle.  And then are the hogs.  Never saw a hog that I thought was pretty. 

Bump gates.  There are two bump gates along my commute.  And yes I have had a bad experience with one of them.  I attempted to follow someone through the gate thinking I had time to get through it before it swung back.  Lesson learned but try explaining the self-inflicted accident to the insurance claims department.

The road may be long but I always enjoy the scenery.  So to all my city friends who have to fight traffic and road delays, I feel for you.  In the meantime, I will be cruising along the dusty road which always leads me back home at the end of the dirt road. 

Of all things fowl...

Chickens.  Red chickens.  Black chickens.  White chickens.  Mean roosters.  Nice roosters.  We had them all.  Mama saw to it that the chickens had a coop and boxes to lay eggs. Green eggs, white eggs and brown eggs. Gathering eggs was one of our regular chores and well worth the reward.  "Farm Fresh" eggs make everything taste better from French toast to cakes to just good ol' scrambled eggs. 

And if chickens weren't enough to tend to, Mama brought home guineas.  Said she liked the looks of them and the noise they made.  When upset or unsettled, those guineas can squawk for several minutes.  As kids we called them "pot-racks" because it was the best description we could think of to describe their squawks.

Let's not forget the peacocks that we inherited by migration from a neighboring ranch.  Absolutely one of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen, they are also one of the most annoying of birds.  They do not like loud noises at all and when one peacock hollers they all holler.  They will bloody themselves fighting their own reflections.  Hub caps and chrome bumpers can be a peacock's worst enemy. 

Throw in two domestic white turkeys that were mean as heck.  The turkeys had a knack for sneaking up behind whomever was throwing out feed with the intent of a good old-fashioned flogging.  One turkey met its demise when Daddy hit it with the metal feed bucket.  RIP mean turkey.  We didn't cry over that loss.

Chickens.  We do not have any chickens at the end of our dirt road due to the amount of small predators looking for a hand out.  However, Mama still raises Rhode Island Reds and a smattering of some other kind of chickens.  The best part is she keeps me stocked with those "farm fresh" eggs which still make French toast and baked goods taste wonderful.  And it is hard to beat (pun intended) good ol' fashioned scrambled eggs. 

Comments at the Closing Table

Working at a title company allows me to meet a variety of folks.  We are seeing more and more people move to our county.  It usually starts with a member of the family having a hunting lease who falls in love with the hill country.  Or a family will have stopped at one of our local eateries on the way to or from some place else.  They take a little tour of the town and county roads and determine this is the place they need to settle down and raise their children. 

Here are a few comments I've heard during closings from new property owners:

Husband:  Well, honey.  Now that we are the proud owners of a ranch (35 acres), what is the first thing you plan on doing?
Wife:  I'm thinking we need to discuss landscape options.


Wife:  I'm so excited to have the opportunity to come to this town and make it more like Houston.
Husband:  I thought you wanted to get away from the city?
Wife:  Yes, but there isn't anything to do here.
(I'm afraid that relationship ended in a divorce.)


Man:  I am planning on buying some horses and cows to put on my property.   What is the first thing I need to do?
Lee (closer):  I believe I would check the fences or build new ones around your property.
Man:  Why do I need fences?  The animals should know to stay on my property.


Wonder if I should mention the possibility of Indians still living in these parts 'round here at the next closing?   

Obstacle Courses

As country kids, we had to use our imaginations when it came to entertaining ourselves.  Obstacle courses were one of our favorite past times. 

The best course ever was the summer my brother was 9 and I was 13.  Marshall's career plan was to be an architect so he would bring out the pencil and paper to draw the course before we put the plan in action.  We then gathered our "obstacles" which consisted of but not limited to:  5-gallon buckets, empty detergent boxes, rocks, golf club and balls, our BB guns, cinder blocks, etc.  There was a long stretch of dirt road in the front of our house that was perfect for our obstacle course.

The starting point would be in the driveway behind Mama's suburban.  You couldn't start without your hand being on the bumper.  The first obstacle was to grab your BB gun and shoot and hit the empty detergent box six times.  Next step was to jump on the bicycle and weave around the 5-gallon buckets.  Points were deducted if you hit a bucket.  Then came the golf challenge by having to hit a golf ball through the gate from a distance of 20-yards.  (Marshall still plays golf.)  Back on the bike to face the dreaded ramp made of cinder blocks and left over lumber that Daddy used for scaffolding on his rock mason jobs.  Many a wreck happened with our ramps but we weren't deterred from always including one in our courses.  Racing back to the starting point on your bicycle would conclude the course. 

We would tweak the course along the way and add more challenges.  One challenge included roping one of the dogs.  Mama put her foot down when she caught us roping her cocker spaniel.  Our roping days ended when Marshall roped me off my bicycle.  Towing a wagon full of rocks behind a bicycle didn't work out too well either. 

I still have childhood scars from our obstacle courses.  These scars serve as reminders of hot summer afternoons, busted up elbows and knees and drinking water from the ditch in the backyard.  By the way, I never made it over a homemade ramp without some sort of mishap. 

Good Neighbors

Although we live at the end of seven mile dirt road, we share part of our southeast fence line with a {insert choice of curse word} subdivision.  The west side of the subdivision borders the ranch and it is only neighborly to introduce yourself to a "fence neighbor". 

One of Sam's mottos is:  "A good fence makes for good neighbors."  With that in mind, he approached the two property owners that border us and discussed said motto.  Sam scored a fence building project and put Mike and some of friends to work with the neighbors' blessing. 

Neighbor One (we will call him "Roy") is an absentee property owner and lives in Nebraska.  Upon retirement he plans on building a home on his patch of Texas paradise and move the family to the country.  His wife is worried about rattlesnakes falling out of trees.  His teenage son is not even thrilled with the thought of living in the "boondocks" and over a hundred miles to the closest city that offers teenage entertainment.

Neighbor Two (we will call him "Tony") homesteads in a nearby county and visits his country acreage every Sunday.  His wife is an artist who is allergic to all things country.  Tony even had a local architect draw up house plans in hopes of enticing the wife to spend time with him on the ranchito.  The wife persuaded Tony to buy her a house in Austin and let him keep his metal barn with living quarters that he is allowed to visit on Sundays.  

We know some of the folks that live on the east side of the subdivision as well.  Neighbors Three (we will call them "Don" and "Betty") moved to our part of the county upon retirement from city jobs.  I first met Betty while she was propping open a bump gate on the county road.  (She drives a Buick LeSabre.)  She motioned me to drive through.  I rolled down my window to thank her and introduce myself.  She asked me, "Are you a weekender?"  I replied, "No ma'am.  I am a lifer."  

Don't forget that good fences make for good neighbors.....

Conversations with ET

Due to his health issues and advanced age of 88, my father-in-law resides with us at the ranch.  Ennis Terry (known as ET to the local folks) has the most kindest and gentlest soul I have ever known.  Granted, it has been a challenge for all of us to settle into some sort of routine.  Four adults under one small roof can be stressful at times. 

I have learned a tremendous amount of history from ET.  He is a Veteran from the forties but admits he never left US soil.  He did his part by shipping supplies within the US to military bases.  It wasn't until he got back home that he began his own personal flying career.  But that is a story for a different day.

ET is hard of hearing.  I mean HARD OF HEARING!  I mean VERY HARD OF HEARING!  Some excerpts of our most recent conversations:

Robin:  I packed your razor.
ET:  Raingear?  I don't plan on going outside but whatever you say.
Robin:  No, your RAZOR.
ET:  How much rain is predicted?


ET:  What is that grey cat's name?
Robin:  Grey Cat.
ET:  Right, the grey cat.  What is his name?
Robin:  GREY CAT is his name.
ET:  Why doesn't he have a name?


Robin:  Are you ready for lunch?
ET:  How much what?
Robin:  No, ARE YOU READY FOR LUNCH?
ET:  Much?  Much of what?  I'm not following what you're saying.


Robin:  Would you like a cup a coffee?
ET:  I don't much like toffee.  It sticks to my teeth.

Speaking of which, it is time for me to prepare breakfast.....

Joe, Dixie and Goose

Most of Texas experienced some form of cold weather this past weekend.  The hill country was a winter wonderland with ice forming on the trees, fences and eaves of the house.  

As I was sitting in the warmth of the house yesterday, I noticed the kid goats running and playing in the sleet.  My biggest worry is that some of the little fellas will be abandoned during cold weather.  A couple of winters ago during a storm similar to this one, Sam discovered two kids abandoned by their mothers.  I dubbed the two little nannies "Dixie" and "Goose".  About four or five days later, Mike found a little billy goat practically frozen to the ground.  I didn't have much hope for this one but was willing to give the baby a chance.  I named him "Joe".  

Even with their rough beginning, all three goats made it to goat-hood.  Mama decided she needed some goats to "clean up" the pens around her house.  Thank goodness I had a place to take them because Sam was ready to shoot them.  (Sancho goats can become pests as they begin to discover the world outside their pen.)  I loaded all three in a large dog kennel and took them to Segovia.  As luck would have it, Mama called me about six weeks later and said, "Come get your goats.  I'm through with them."  WTH?  I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the plan.  

Upon getting them back to the ranch, Sam told the goats they would have one week to become members of the herd and act like goats or they would be shipped to market.  I would like to believe the goats actually understood Sam because they eventually stopped hanging around the back gate.  We thought we could use them as lead goats when gathering the herd.  That plan backfired when they jumped in the Ranger instead of following it back to the pens. 

Joe is one of the prettiest billy goats we have in the herd.  Dixie and Goose have become good mothers to their own little ones.  All three goats still expect to eat from my hand when I shake the corn bucket.  There is always a chance I will bottle-raise more goats but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Joe, Dixie and Goose.