The Horse Pucky Award of the Month

The Horse Pucky Award of the Month goes to the New York State Thruway Authority. I don't know where to begin here, so I'll go back to when I was 11 years old. In 1954 sections of highway were built to make traveling safer and quicker. It was, and still is, called the New York State Thruway. There are various tollbooths at each exit on I-90, depending on where you are going, and at each strategically placed exit is a place where you pay money.

Back in the 50's the highway system was supposed to take five years to pay for itself using the tolls imposed on motorists. HA! I'm not sure where the toll money went, probably to the Manhattan Madam, but we are still paying, and with much higher toll charges. What used to cost me $.05 from here to the next toll exit now costs me $.35 with and extra $.10 added if I pull a horse trailer.

To add injury to insult, they are now calling toll booths...travel plazas. No kidding! Like that's supposed to make you feel better after increasing toll charges 700% (I stink at math, so I'm not sure this is 100% correct). As far as I'm concerned, NYS can take their travel plazas and stick them where the sun don't shine.  

Four Days After Christmas and All Through the House

Bear with Christmas Present

While I was washing the breakfast dishes this morning, it sounded like a herd of elephants upstairs, in the bedroom. Turns out it was Bear, chasing his Christmas present. Believe me, he's no Fred Astaire.

I tip-toed up the stairs with my trusty digital camera and got this shot of "twinkle toes" playing with his catnip mouse. There was shredded tissue paper all over the place; along with a Picasso print, on an art easel, that he toppled over.

Along with this photo, I decided to write a little kitty ditty for the occassion. Here goes:

Four days after Christmas,

and all through the house
scampers a sleek black cat

after a red catnip mouse.

As his scimitar claws

hook that little red "rody,
Bear chews off its eyes
and its little black "nosy

Mouse parts and tissue shreds

are all over the place,

while Don Quixote

lies flat on his face.

Bear had fun, but he

sure made a mess.

It's time to vacuum

'til next Christmas.

I know, I know, I'm no poet and I really do vacuum more than once a year, but you get my drift.

Merry Christmas Everyone!



Merry Christmas from Pam & Bear



Being politically correct this time of year is a lot of horse pucky. December 25th is a religious holiday which I have always celebrated and will continue to celebrate. MERRY CHRISTMAS to all of you wonderful people out there in blog land and beyond. 

Hanukkah was December 1 (sundown) through December 2nd.; Kwanzaa is December 26th - January 1st; and I have no idea when Ramadan is because I stink at math and don't know how to follow the Islamic calendar. For my Jewish pals, African American brothers and sisters, and all my Muslim friends, HAPPY HOLIDAYS. I know you understand.

For the rest of you who think I'm politically incorrect or totally tacky, HAPPY RAMA-LAMA-DING-DONG to all and to all a good night. Oh yeah, watch out for horse pucky in your stocking, on your doorstep, or tied to the door handle of your vehicle. 

The Little Pink Book with the Big Green Pickle

Jon and I were in Barnes & Noble over the weekend to purchase books for our grandchildren. I could live in B & N because I love to read. They also have great coffee, and some pretty good eats. Jon, on the other hand, would rather watch his car rust than read a book, so I went off on my own to shop, leaving Jon to do his own thing. 

As I was making my rounds through the store to find the perfect book for each of the young'uns, Jon came around the corner and said, "Ps-s-s-t, come here a minute. I think I found a book you can get me for Christmas." As I walked toward him, I looked up toward the bookshelf and saw a little pink book. "Oh no!", I said.. "I knew it!" He was looking at a book titled Tickle Your Pickle. I told him, "There is no way I'm buying that book for you for Christmas!"

With my luck I'd get it mixed up with the gift wrapped books we bought for our grandchildren.

Stinkerbell

Chili is one of my favorite foods this time of year. Give me a steamy, spicy, bowl of chili with home made corn bread, especially when the weather hits below 32 degrees, and I'm a happy camper.

I made some really great chili a couple of nights ago. Jon and I both enjoyed a heaping bowlful along with cornbread and warm butter. It was so nice to be in a steamy kitchen watching the snow swirl around outside. It was a 16 degree night, so we decided to wrap up in warm blankets, after our chili dinner, and find a movie on tv.

As we snuggled down to watch an oldy but goody flick, there were some serious tummy rumblings going on. Those growling sounds gradually escalated to other...ahem...sounds. I won't go any further for fear of TMI, but my new nickname is Stinkerbell.

Love, Grace, Dignity, and Betrayal

When I found out about Elizabeth Edwards' death yesterday, I was beseiged with three basic emotions. I felt sad, angry, and glad to be a woman. I just couldn't shake those feelings. They were all mixed up together. Part of it is because it brought back poignant memories of my husband Tom's courageous battle with cancer.

The other part is the sisterhood connection we have with one another. That woman to woman thing. The need to protect our own gender when we are in pain or are wronged in some way.

Elizabeth will always be remembered as a woman of great strength and fierce loyalty, as she bravely went on to campaign with her husband knowing she had breast cancer. Such grace and dignity! It must have been physically exhausting for her. Yet, she stood by his side; always there for him. And what did he do? We all know the answer to that question. That's why I'm angry.

I send my condolences to Mr. Edwards for the loss of a beautiful wife. I will also send him a bag of horse pucky for his ultimate betrayal.

Frozen Horse Pucky

Br-r-r-r! It's 24 degrees right now. It was even colder this morning...with loads of snow! When I arrived at the barn this morning the horse pucky was frozen. My next thought was, 'What could I do with frozen horse pucky?' Instead of shoveling it into the wheelbarrow then dumping it as I usually do, I decided to turn my usual stall cleaning routine into a game.

I placed one of the empty water buckets far enough down the barn aisle, oh, about 50 feet or so, and figured it'd be fun to see how many horse turds I could actually get into the bucket. I was pretty accurate, until I accidently hit Judy in the head, as she was coming out of one of the stalls, with one of those rock-like projectiles. She was a real good sport about the whole thing.

I have a sneaky suspicion she'll be getting even with me tomorrow. The temperature is supposed to drop to seventeen degrees.