In honor of the new year, I'll be doing nothing.

I started off the last day of 2006 in grand fashion. This can mean only one thing... pancakes. That's right. Pancakes. Made 'em myself. The Bosslady gave me pancake mix, boysenberry syrup and apple cinnamon syrup for Christmas. She knows my love of pancakes... or she's trying to bribe me. Stay tuned.

I don't love New Year's Eve. Oh, I've had a couple of really fun ones, but I don't feel compelled to stay up to ring in the new year. Especially when I'm sitting on the couch alone. The pets look at me like I'm nuts if I stay up past 10. Last year Amanda was with me in Denver. She went to bed before 10. I fell asleep on the couch shortly thereafter. All I had wanted to do was stay up to see what Dick Clark looked like after his stroke. Instead, I came to at 12:20 when some neighbors shot off fireworks in the parking lot. Welcome to 2006.

So this year, I'm planning on doing nothing. I'm not even going to try to stay up. I volunteered to work on New Year's Day. The hospital's open, and someone's got to eradicate physical disability, plague, and pestilence one patient at a time. Might as well be the girl who wasn't out the night before and is well rested.

So the last day of 2006 is being committed to cleaning house. No, no, my pretties, not the emotional/psychological/metaphysical house. I seriously need to clean. The laundry has crawled out of the basket and is threatening to smother me in my sleep. Nothing like starting the new year with an empty laundry basket and a clean kitchen.

Maybe that is a metaphor for my metaphysical house.
In that case, I'd better get busy.

Happy end of 2006, and start of 2007 everyone!

**Coming soon... why noone is getting a holiday card now. It has something to do with Pooh King's tail, a glass of red wine, and a stack of hand written and addressed cards. Damn.

Oh, and I forgot

I forgot to show you what happened when I tried to leave...

The Old One, the Oldest One, and the Ancient one put up quite a fight... and Amanda's freakishly strong for her size!

They tried to block the exits...

Amanda tried wailing and moaning...

Teva just shook her head in disbelief.

Let's play a game...

It's Friday night. I've fed the pets, walked the dog, had my hair deep conditioned, my toes scrubbed and painted. Now I'm sitting on the couch, having a glass of wine and watching a movie. So I don't feel like blogging. But it's time to update the blog for you, my faithful pals. So we're going to play a new game. It's called "Guess what I'm thinking." For each pictures, you can fill in the "thought bubble" so-to-speak. See if you might fit into the King Family Circus!

Photo and video editing at onetruemedia.com

Been nice knowing you...

Christmas Eve

Every year on Christmas Eve, we read our Christmas book. Mom started the tradition years ago. We each get a children's book and read it out loud to everyone else. It's usually pretty funny.

My book was "5 Little Monkeys Sitting in a Tree".

Amanda got "5 Little Monkeys Jumping on a Bed".

Gram got a book called "The Christmas Cat" but it was a long one, so we only got to hear a little bit. She did a good job turning the pages considering she had surgery on that broken arm of hers. It's doing much better now, thank you.

Dad got a book about a John Deere tractor helping with the County Fair. He liked it. He's got a John Deere tractor. It makes sense.

Mom got a book about the Redneck Santa Clause. There will soon be a post with a clip of her reading from it. I may never get another book for posting it.

It's Festivus for the rest of us!

My favorite sign in Farmville... What a way to combine the "holiday" and "christmas" nonsense in a very PC kind of way. Plus 10 for Dominos!
After working at the hospital in the morning, I started out for the farm on Saturday evening. Amanda was slated to arrive at the Charlotte-Douglas airport at 9:55pm. Of course, the Charlotte airport is conveniently located on my path to the farm. Now, she had to fly in from Denver (shock and horror considering they were closed for 3 days thanks to snow.) I was just over and hour early (made good time!) and her flight was just over an hour late. I pulled the Durango into the cell phone lot at the airport and climbed in the back to have a little snooze while I waited for her.

Pooh King did not know what to make of it. He was seriously concerned that no one was driving and was convinced that I should get back in the front. Once I convinced him that it was okay for me to sleep in the back with him, he went on high alert. The number of cars and people milling around while I was trying to sleep made him nervous. My ever-vigilant dog kept good watch over me.

Every now and then, he'd take a break to make sure I was really okay.

Amanda's plane landed just after 11, and by 11:45 or so, we had Amanda, her dog, and some more suitcases piled in the back and we were ready to roll on to the farm.
We made it in at around 3:15am after I had to turn around twice. In Aiken. Now, I know what you're thinking. The family has been on this farm for 15 years. It hasn't moved. And I got lost. But that's a story for another time.

That kind of week...

I'm telling you, the lead up to Christmas has been rough. While I still love my job, it's a bit stressful these days. I'm not loving spending 1/2 day in the clinic and 1/2 day at the hospital. I'm really not loving doing mostly evaluations and re-evaluations. I miss my regular patients. And I'm downright hating not getting to spend much quality time with my coworkers. I am the only PT, trying to keep 2 PTAs in patients and make sure that all the inpatient evaluations are done. This makes me very busy. The amount of paperwork alone is huge. Doing the treatment is fun. That's where I get to make a difference in someone's life. Doing the evaluations? It's cool to get to stretch my brain, but that's where the interaction ends. I spend about 40 minutes in a private treatment room figuring out what's wrong with the patient, how much better they can get, and what we can do to get them there. Then someone else gets to do it. Some PTs get their kicks out of just figuring the stuff out. Not me. I want to DO it.

The pissiest part about it is that my unhappiness had to be pointed out to me. I hadn't realized how stressed I had become. I swore that, after Denver, I wouldn't let this happen again. I don't think that most of the people I work with understand the why of why I'm not happy. They thought I was pulling away from them. Retracting. Withdrawing. They don't see that the space-time continuum doesn't allow me to spend as much time with them. It's nothing personal. It's just that I am not physically in the same space. I do not have the same focus. My brain has to be engaged in a different way. I can't be the same.

So I'm glad it's the holiday season. I'm glad I'm headed home to the farm. There will be Ma and Pa King, Grammie, and my sister. There will be prime rib, turkey, and pie. There will be a little bit of me returning to my core. I need that touchstone.

And I need to plan a vacation.

Or I'm going to spit.


Addendum... I should take a moment to point out that a) the person who pointed it out was wrong about the "why" of my perceived distance from the staff, but I am greatful that unlike everyone else, she cared enough to bring it up, b) I didn't realize until Friday morning (post-pointing) that I hadn't even done fun party hair in over a month (unheard of, and a clear sign of "something here ain't right), and c)reinforcements arrive on Jan 15, for which I will be greatful.

Santa Diego

I am totally going to hell for animal abuse.

I swear, Emmy better love Crazy Auntie TK FOREVER for this one.

See? He falls off the couch all the time.

The Great and Powerful Oz just tries to console the poor guy at this point.

Holy crap. I'm VERY GLAD I don't live in Denver this winter! And I'm super glad my sister isn't due to fly out until Saturday... I hope she can make it to the airport!

Last year, Christmas Day was in the 60s, and I was apologizing for my behavior toward the post office... not TO the post office mind you, just for my behavior. (Pssst... I'm really not sorry at all. That's just in case Santa is reading.)

Things of note...

• My new coffee maker (which I spent 45 minutes debating over) has a faulty something-or-other, and it turns off at will... like in the middle of brewing, or after I've set the "auto-on" feature. Grrrrrr...
• If Pooh King eats, say, a box of Smore flavored Luna bars, his evening bomb will smell like he ate the contents of Troop 176's snackpacks during their annual bonfire trip.
• This is a refreshingly pleasant change from its normal smell.
• But it doesn't make me excited to eat a Smore flavored Luna bar in the near future.
• The Great and Powerful Oz loooooooooves Diego the Dumpster Cat.
• It makes me almost sad that he's going to a new home.
• But not enough to break the hearts of Amy and her girls, or to cancel the ticket.
• Pooh King is a little sad because that means Oz will go back to kicking his butt on a daily basis.
• My patients have started bringing in all kinds of tasty snacks and candies. I love the holiday season.
• The best thing I've gotten so far is homemade applebutter and fresh bread. Yikes!
• It was spectacular enough to almost make me wish the little old lady's other foot would hurt.
• Yesterday was my Sweet Baby J's birthday.
• Today was the first time since college that I forgot today was the ex's birthday.
• I realized I had forgotten because I thought today was J's birthday, and realized my mistake after reading Bakerquest's recount of J's birthday.
• I can't believe it was 2 years since I drove down to see that sweet baby boy's brand new face.
• I can't believe how much I've changed in those same two years.

I know that most of you think I'm funny, but I am no match for this...

I don't think I'll ever be the same.

Well, the computer is coming along. Most programs are loaded back on. I'm still feeling a little like I need a helmet, though. I haven't tried to reload my pictures and music since my first failed attempt. Maybe I'll try again over the holiday weekend.

By the way, if I happened to know your secret website, could you email it to me again? I lost all that stuff when they wiped out my computer. Psssst... Bob, that's you and your toffee.

I've just joined the in-crowd and switched to Blogger Beta. Let me know if you have trouble posting comments so I can harass someone who would know how to fix it. My email is on my profile page.

Where to begin?

Oh hell. What a whirlwind the last several days have been!

It started on Wednesday when I broke my coffee pot. The plastic one that's never supposed to break. Welcome to my life. So I trucked it over to evil Wal-Mart after work to find a new one. We all know how much I love the bean, and facing the morning without my pot of brew was inconceivable!

Now, one of my dirty little secrets is how obsessed I am with coffee pots. Seriously. I should not be allowed in kitchen stores. It took me almost 45 minutes to choose between the 3 coffee makers I found worthy of my consideration at Wal-Mart. I'm ridiculous. But, alas, I finally settled on a programmable, thermal-caraffed wonder that will keep me happy for (at least) a while.

I got home and fired up Mr. Miagi to post the humorous story of how I broke the pot in the first place, when what to my wandering eyes did appear but an error message that said I was screwed... in so many words. Near tears, I threw him in the car and drove the 45 minutes to Lynchburg to visit the Geek Squad at Best Buy. Let's face it, I don't know anything about computers and I sure as shit can't perform CPR on one.

As the snotty young kid (and at a mere 19, I feel quite comfortable calling him a kid) questioned me about Mr. Miagi's innards (things I couldn't begin to tell him), I almost started to cry. I finally looked at the young man (Joshua) and said "Look, you have a problem with your body, you come to me. I have a problem with my computer? I come to you. As far as I'm concerned, I push that on button, it turns on, and I have messages from my friends. It's magic. I would be no more impressed if you could bend over and pull a rabbit out of your ass as I will be if you can fix my laptop. Got it?" Joshua smiled and chuckled just a little. We had reached an understanding.

By Friday night, Mr. Miagi was released from the computer hospital, pretty much back to his old self. Except faster. Way faster than I remembered. And without all the stuff that used to be there. It's my job to reload all the software (minus the operating system) and get my pictures and music back onto it. They swore it would be easy. Those kids are a bunch of lying filthy bedwetters who take advantage of near hysterical women. They better not need PT in the near future!

Anyway, on Saturday, I headed off to meet the CEO. That's right, I got a face to face meeting with the man and his childbride of 991 years. And I met the center of the universe. Now, I would tell you more about the whole thing, but then I'd have to kill you. Needless to say, a good time was had by all. That's it. Now, move along or some terribly scary secret agents will erase your memory and turn you into a bunch of slobbering fools... if you're not already.




Now I'm back in good ol' Farmville. I'm sitting in my fluffy robe with a glass of wine, doing laundry and updating the blog I've been absent from for too long. Mr. Miagi better never pull that shit again or I might die of a heart attack... and I'm taking a 19 year old employee of Best Buy with me.

Computer is fixed... I'm spending major time reloading stuff onto it. Now my iPod's broken. I think god's laughing at me.

11:30pm update... iPod is fixed, but I still hear god laughing.

Please forgive my upcoming absence... my laptop self-destructed and is currently in the ICU. Hopefully the jumper cables worked and he will be up and running by tomorrow night. But then I'm supposed to go out of town for the weekend, so we'll have to see. Please keep Mr. Miagi and my checkbook in your thoughts!

Have you ever seen a cat fly?

Diego's new shirt

Diego is metrosexual. He likes to have his nails done. This has been established. Diego also has a new home! He's going to live with Amy, Jack, and the girls (and Murphy... can't forget Murphy) in Connecticut! Merry Christmas Emmy! In an effort to help him assimilate, I've broken one of my major pet rules. Diego must wear clothing. As the cat of 3 girls, he will have to play dress up. Hell, his name may become Princess. Anyway, to help him with the transition, I went out and bought a Christmas shirt to practice with. And a scarf and hat. I was ready for a fight. Whatever. The cat acted like I dress him up every day. He rolled around. He purred. He looked pretty for the camera. He's going to be a pretty pretty princess.

Clink on the link above to see him show off his fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la shirt.

I just don't know how I'm going to break it to Oz.

Ack!

Ummm, I'd like to report a missing person. Heather, of 212 designs, has disappeared. Her profile is there, but everytime I try to load her page I get hijacked to an astrology search page. This doesn't please me. I hate it when people disappear in cyberspace. Hopefully it's just a glitch in the system that will straighten itself out. Hopefully she's not really gone. But if you see her, tell her the family who left her at the gas station is coming to look for her.

Influx of holiday baked goods from patients... starting up.

Holiday greeting card list... about half way done.

Decorations for holiday season in downtown Farmville... in full swing.

Holiday shopping for family... done.

The debate on Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas? As old as my love of dumpster cats. At least this year I haven't had this happen. And since I get to go home to the farm and Ma and Pa King (and Grammie too), this won't happen.

Yes, the holiday season is looking up. And how I do love the holidays. By the way, the day after Christmas starts the countdown to my birthday. Just in case you were wondering.

This is my Gram. She rocks. She's currently kicking cancer's ass. Now she has to do it one handed. Gram was carrying a christmas present to the neighbors when she hit a patch of ice and took a fall on the driveway. Broke her arm, she did. Now she's in a splint, awaiting the ortho consult at her hospital, staying at the Broken Animal Farm with Ma and Pa King.

Please send good healing thoughts Gram's way.

And send Ma King some thoughts of sanity. She's asked for chainsaw juggling lessons for christmas.

Thanks Lurkers!

Hey, plus 10 to all the lurkers who spoke up! It's nice to know who is out there. Not that the blog is private, or anything. It's kind of like calling a wrong number and getting to listen to their whole day b/c they didn't hang up. I like that. You're welcome to lurk as long as you'd like. I don't think it's weird at all. Heck, I hit that "Next blog" button all the time just to see who I'll find. It's fun...

Chris's Mom- Hi! I lurk Anne's and Brian's blogs all the time. I've commented once or twice and signed it "Tiffany from Chris and Peg's wedding". Brian always says "Yes, we know who you are." They're too cool. Talk about living your best life!

Carrie- I figured it was you, but wanted to be sure. I can never be sure who's trying to ride the coattails of my extraordinary fame and fortune. Hee hee.

And to Kimmy- Thanks for making my blog not only international, but intercontinental. I've been working on that for a while.

Now, must be off to rid the world of physical disability, plague and pestilence one patient at a time. Start lining up in Farmville, people.

Thursday night

I heart Thursday night television...

So I took the pets to the vet last night...

Pooh King weighed in at 89.9 pounds.
Diego the Dumpster cat at 10.4 pounds.
The Great and Powerful Oz at 7.5 pounds.

I declined to get on the scale.

My Fayetteville boys

The Fayetteville poker group. Notice that Kelly (on the right) made cookies. We're seriously cut-throat about poker, and cookies are a big part of that.

I didn't win the game, but I did win a few hands... including the infamous 2,5 hand. I cannot lose with this hand. It may look pathetic, but it's a killer draw. After I won the hand (two pair with the flop and turn) I stood up and yelled "Give me my money!!!" Just like I always do if I win a hand. I'm very humble about the whole thing.

On Sunday (after brunch at Cracker Barrel) Brandon promised the fastest game of Monopoly ever, before I had to go. Welllllllll, I wouldn't call it fast, but it was fun! I had my very first Monopoly win ever!! Now, maybe I haven't enjoyed Monopoly so much in the past because I wasn't playing with a bunch of cut-throat cheaters. Well, I guess nobody technically cheated, but there was a lot of trickery and deception going on.

The girls banded together to push the boys out of the game. Deals were made that came back to bite people in the ass. Well, mostly one deal made by me and Kelly that bit her in the ass and ultimately lead to my win... that and owning Broadway and Park Place, and having 3 houses on each. Kelly should have agreed to a draw when she had the chance, but nooooooo, she wanted to beat me! Can you believe the nerve of that young'un? She's in a completely different DECADE than me. So I was forced to school her.

And then I yelled "Give me my money!!!"

In notable news, they have petitioned that I move to Greensboro, NC, next year. Brandon and Kelly are getting married in February and will likely relocate to Greensboro. Megan already lives there, which makes Jeff inclined to move that direction as well (me thinks it's getting pretty serious.) When I go to Greensboro for the George Strait concert (where I'll be sitting with Neeter in the 16th row, but that's another story) Megan is going to act as town ambassador and become a one-woman PT recruiting committee.

It was a phenomenal weekend, and I can't wait to take their money again!!!

To understand me...

You have to read this... I got it through 212's site. I know it's long, but it's very good... and I've cut out the parts that I don't think are so true to me. If you want to read the whole thing, go here.

The AQUARIUS Woman
But Alice had got so much into the -way

of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen

that it seemed quite dull and stupid

for life to go on in the common way ...

Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea- And welcome Queen Alice with thirty times three!

The safest way to enter into romance with an Aquarian female is to remember she's as paradoxical in love as she is in everything else. That way, you won't be expecting Priscilla Alden and get Pocahontas.

This girl has all the faithfulness of the fixed signs when die's in love, but she also has the detachment and lack of emotion of the air element. It's possible to have a happy relationship with the Uranus woman if you leave her free to pursue her myriad interests and circulate among her friends. Never try to tie her to the stove or the bedpost. Ask the man who's tried. She can suddenly decide to study ballet, meditate in the mountains or join the Peace Corps. Remember the story of the princess with the long, golden hair who lived high in a tower? That's the Aquarius fe­male. Cutting off her flowing tresses won't change her any more than it did in the fairy tale. She dreams different dreams than you or I. She hears a distant drummer-and follows a star most of us have never seen.

She belongs to everyone, and yet to no one. Her love can be tender and inspired, but there will always be a vaguely elusive quality about it, like a half-remembered song. You can hum the melody, but the lyrics keep slipping away. The Aquarian girl's demand for freedom is insistent, but her allegiance to anyone who can accept romance with­in such limits is boundless. Here's something you'll like:

She won't be terribly interested in your bank book (unless Cancer or Capricorn or Taurus is on her ascendant). Money is never the prime consideration of the typical Aquarian woman. She won't care if you're not the richest man in town, but she'll expect you to be respected in some way for your intellectual achievements. Dr. Christian Bamard and his heart transplants or Wemher von Braun and his rockets interest her far more than J. Paul Getty and his billions.

When you set out to catch this butterfly in your net, remember that she'll never spend her unpredictable life with a man who isn't true to himself. Her own code of ethics may be as weird as anything you've ever come across, and quite different from the accepted codes of society, but she lives up to it totally. She'll understand that your rules may also be highly individual. That's fine with her, but don't compromise those rules. If you're looking for a passion flower, you've picked the wrong daisy. Passion is not her forte if she's a typical Aquarian. She'll think physi­cal love is pleasant enough, if it's not overemphasized. In other words, she can take it or leave it alone. Uranus fe­males can respond to lovemaking with a haunting, deep intensity, but if you prefer to keep it platonic for long periods of time, that's all right, too. Like all Aquarians, she may have an unconscious fear that desire for one per­son will imprison the spirit in some way, and keep her from being true to her one great love-freedom. Freedom to ex­periment and investigate and freedom to give time to hu­manity. Also freedom to pursue her rather kicky, off-beat fancies.

She's an ideal girl if you're planning a political, scientific or educational career. You couldn't do better, unless you happen to run across an Aquarian girl with adverse planetary positions in her natal chart who enjoys shock­ing people by walking barefoot down Main Street or smok­ing big black cigars on buses. There are some pretty wild, way-out Uranian females here and there. But the average girl born under the sign of the water bearer is a social delight. She's graceful, witty, bright as a penny, and ex­tremely adaptable to all forms of society, high and low and in the middle.

Her lack of suspicion under normal circumstances is a special bonus. A traveling salesman should find his dream girl in the typical Aquarian female. If she actually catches you being unfaithful, it will cause a deep wound to her sensitive nature. You'll know it the minute you look into those strange, dreamy eyes. But she won't suspect you without cause, and she'll rarely doubt your word. The typical Uranus woman will never check up on you after you leave, phone you at the office, inspect your handker­chiefs for lipstick stains or look for blonde hairs caught in your cuff link. Deception will have to be brought forcibly to her attention; she won't go out looking for it. Before you give her too much credit, consider that her lack of pas­sionate jealousy is due to something more than strength of character. First of all, she probably dissected your psyche under a microscope before she gave you a second glance. Besides, she has so many outside interests and so many people who turn her on to talk with, there's not much time for her to worry about what you're doing when you're out of sight. Out of sight can often mean out of mind for Aquarians of both sexes. Absence seldom makes the Uranus heart grow fonder. Occasionally, an Aquarian woman will suffer a promiscuous or flirtatious mate, be­cause there's something she needs which she can find only with him, so she looks the other way. On the other hand, if she doesn't really need you, that moral strength will work in reverse at the first actual proof of infidelity. Shell simply walk away. Don't try to kindle the embers, they're stone cold dead. Of course, you can still be friends. Why not?

Expect her to probe into your heart until you haven't a secret left, or a dream that hasn't been analyzed. But don't try to dissect her private thoughts. That's not the way the game is played with Aquarians. She'll keep her motives hidden, and sometimes take a perverse pleasure in de­liberately confusing you. She'll usually be truthful to a fault, but remember, with an Aquarian, telling a lie is one thing. Refraining from telling the whole story is another.

Your Aquarian woman can float through her days and nights with all the grace of a proud swan, but she may behave like a clumsy bear in romantic situations. The line between friendship and love is often all but invisible to Aquarius. Love songs about people who only have eyes for each other strike her as silly. There are so many miracles in the world for eyes to behold, it seems to her a terrible waste for two pairs of them to do nothing but gaze into each other's depths. Shell be glad to let you take her hand and walk beside her as she looks with happy delight on the sunrise, an antique car, the milkman's horse, a yel­low garbage pail, a stuffed owl or a red balloon caught in a church steeple. But don't distract her with too much to-getherness. Let her wander through her wonderland alone when she chooses, and she'll never question your pinochle games with the boys.

The quickest ways to lose her are to show jealousy, pos-sessiveness or prejudice; to be critical, stuffy or ultra-conservative. You'll also have to like her friends, who will come in odd, assorted sizes and shapes...

She's susceptible to sudden flashes of inspiration, and her intuition is remarkable. Her judgment may not seem sound or practical at first, because she sees months and years ahead. The Aquarian girl lives in tomorrow, and you can only visit there through her. What she says will come true, perhaps after many delays and troubles, but it will come true. I suppose, after all, that's the most special thing about your February woman. She's a little bit magic.

That's from PostSecret...

But I am the Monopoly champion of the Universe now.

Story tomorrow.

Calling out the lurkers...

Okay, lurkers, show yourselves.

I happen to know that I have some out there. Those of you who find the blog, read it, and don't comment. I know that at least one of you is from Circleville, Ohio. Aaaah, good old Round-town. Home of Mr. Helser's favorite, the 'Punkin Fair.

The CEO told me (during the morning meeting, of course) that I was getting a lot of hits over there. It must be one of those Statcounter magic thingys. I don't know how they work.

Anyway, I'd like you to speak up. Show yourselves. Speak up, you lurkers. Wave, jump up and down, say "look at me! look at me!" Whatever it takes. Don't you make me come out there.

Quick update from Fayettenam...

The boys showed me this...

Go read it now. If you don't laugh at this, you are dead.

Did I mention that I'm going to Fayetteville this weekend? There are a few margaritas with my name on them, and some boys that need to get schooled in Texas Hold'em. God help them if I'm holding a 2 and a 5. Give me my money!!!!

The problem with dumpster cats...

Sometimes, you have to teach dumpster cats not to get up on the counters. Sometimes, you can throw a dumpster cat off of the counter while yelling "NO, BAD DUMPSTER CAT!!!" at the top of your lungs and it does nothing. Buuuuut, just once, if a dumpster cat goes to jump up on the counter and accidentally gets the towel under the dish rack and pulls the whole shebang down on top of his head, he will lose all desire to get up on the counter ever again. Of course, at 4:30 in the morning, when you're picking up glass shards from a wine glass and (gasp!) the Superstar mug your sister made for you (I still cry a little bit b/c it's not in the cabinet) it doesn't seem like such a good lesson.

The dumpster cat has discovered his love for the Zoomie toy. He plays with it for hours on end.

Then he needs to take a nap.

The dumpster cat let me clip his toenails tonight. I rubbed his belly, he laid on his back, and didn't even put up a fight. In fact, I think he wanted me to file them a little. The cat might be metrosexual.

Since he's not shuffling off to Buffalo, any takers?

Welcome to the farm!! Things are slightly off kilter here. It explains a lot about me.

My Poppy. He hobbled right up to the table to cut the turkey. No stinkin' walker will slow this guy down! Pooh King was, of course, on guard just in case the old man took a fall. Not that he was going to be able to help The Oldest One, but he was going to make sure that turkey didn't go to waste. What a considerate dog.
They both took a moment to pose, then it was back to the turkey work! There they are. The holiday trifecta. L to R: Gram (the self-proclaimed Ancient One), my Pop (the Oldest One), and Ma King (the Old One). We all like to help Dad by telling him what to do. He appreciates it. No, really, he does.

When you leave the farm, the self-appointed departure committee sees you off. If you know the rules, you do a victory lap around the driveway loop blowing the horn and yelling whoooo-hoooo! It's just to make sure the departure committee knows how much fun you had.