Kinked Hose and Murphy's Law

Have you ever noticed the longer distance you have to extend a hose the more it kinks, and always when you're stretched for time?

It's at least 100 feet from the barn to the horse's water trough. Most of the time I turn on the water and take the hose out to the water trough only to discover the water is dripping instead of flowing from the end of the hose into the trough. Of course Murphy's Law prevails. The kink in the hose is back inside the barn where it's hooked up to the water pump. "Oh, horse pucky", I say to myself. So back I go to straighten out the hose, then back to the water trough. Still no flow.

By now, my language can peel paint off the barn door. I finally find the second kink which is hidden in a patch of weeds where I dragged the hose, then straighten out the kink. Back to the water trough where the water is finally flowing in a steady stream.

I don't own the barn, just help with chores because my two horses live there. It's probably an accurate assessment that the owners heard my salty language through one of their open windows because the next day the weeds were gone, but they still haven't purchased one of those non-kink hoses. I may be making a non-kink, rubber hose investment this weekend. Happy trails.

Time to trot over to Jenny's for more fun blog posts.

Grammy's Jammies

My grand daughter, Ivey, knows I like frogs. She also knows I like flannel pajamas during the winter months. Being the creative spirit she is, she happened to come upon a pair of flannel jammies with key lime green frogs on a black background and small white polka dots. She gave them to me for Christmas and I love those pajamas for many reasons.

Of course a selfie was in order.

Nester Ramos and Todd Clausen, both writers for the "Democrat & Chronicle", our local newspaper, were tweeting about selfies one day, so I decided to send Twitter a picture of yours truly in my frog jammies. The selfie tweet was favorited by the staff at the D&C as well as other influential and not so influential people in the city of Rochester.

I have no idea whatever possessed me to send this picture out to the world, but I have to say...it was fun! There was even a tweet back from 10 Downing Street. And that's no horse pucky.

Here's my selfie tweet, folks.  Please don't tell my family. Now, let's all go to Jenny's for a pj party.

Grammy's Jammies

I-90

Last week, on my way back to Rochester, from Buffalo, I got pulled over by a New York State Trooper. He asked me for my registration and driver's license, which I produced with trepidation.

"Do you know how fast you were goin' M'am?" "No sir," I said. Sniff, sniff, as I grabbed for a box of tissue. "Well, do ya see that sign over there?" "Which one, officer?" "The one that says, I-90. Just to let you know that's the route number not the speed limit. What da ya have to say for yourself?"

"Well, officer, crying, you see, my-cat-Buzi just-died-and-I'm-still-upset-and-want-to-go-home-and-wasn't-paying-attention-and-I'm-really-sorry." More crying, blowing nose and grabbing for more tissue.

"Don't cry Ma'm. I'm sorry about your cat. I'm not going to write you a ticket, but I am going to give you a stern warning, THE SPEED LIMIT IS 65 MPH ON THE THRUWAY...NOT 90! Now, drive safe on the way back to Rochester and have a nice day." "Whew!"

And I did...drove safe and had a nice day.

Think I'll speed...er...sprint over to Jenny's for more interesting blog posts.