As I’ve mentioned, I live on acreage.  It’s a lot of property to take care of.  My husband thinks big–just like Matt Roloff on Little People, Big World.  If we do something around here, my husband knows how to do it.  He’s tiling the bathroom and doing an excellent job.  That’s his indoor project.  He got it into his head that he was going to put in a garden.  And a small garden wouldn’t do.  This is him on his tractor tilling the earth and making rows.  He decided to put a garden in our corral since we don’t have horses.  So this garden runs the length of the arena–twice.  We’re planting enough to feed the neighborhood. 

I have to give my sweetheart kudos . . . he has a good heart and enjoys helping people, and I’m sure all these veggies will go to good homes.  Ours included.

Real soon I’ll post a picture of the six new members of our family.  Hint.  They go baaaaaaa.

This is a memo to the hundreds of birds who share our five acres with us.  While I like watching you while I sit poolside, and you can be amusing, I don’t want to be entertained at the crap of dawn, i.e. 5:00am, when you’re up and I’m not.

To the robin who sings in the cherry tree just outside the bedroom window–give it up.  She’s not coming, and all your singing isn’t going to entice a robinette.  They’re all taken, just move along.

To the blackbirds with the red wings.  While some feathered friends find your call sultry, I find it repetitive and irritating.  Refrain from that song until after 7:30am.

To the killdeers who screech after midnight.  I am aware we cohabitate with a raccoon, and he has a nocturnal prowl, but give yourself some credit–he’s not after your nest, he’s eating other birds around here.  You don’t have to call out warnings all night long.

To the Quail–you can stay.  You’re quiet and you only make noise when you fly.  And you’re cool to look at.

To the finches . . . I’ve tried to attract you with various seeds and you still give me that “we’re on diets” flutter as you fly right on by the seed clump.  I guess you can find chow elsewhere. 

To the geese who poop bigger poops than my Yorkie.  Fly south now, and quit honking on the pond to announce your arrival.  If you insist on staying, put a lid on the beak and just blend in with the ducks.

To the ducks, both mallards and wigeons . . . you guys are cool.  I like you.  You’re entertaining and I love your fuzz puff babies who hatch and float effortlessly along the pond.  I hate to see their numbers go from eleven to one within a week.  It’s the raccoon.  I’m sorry.  I wish I could save you but he’s a crafty critter.  While I love you guys, you need to tell the babies to stop trying out the swimming pool.  Guys, they don’t know how to get out.  All that “peep peep peep peep peep” this week around 5:30 woke me up, only to find the little guy trapped in the “cement pond.”  And then when I graciously tell you I’ll get him out for you, Momma, you attack me.  Foul.  Maybe I should just leave the squirt in the pool.

To the doves–you birds freak me out.  At night, you roost in the pine trees by the garbage cans and if I empty the trash after dinner, you all fly off at once in a big swarm, your wings sound like bats.  I think you should find another yard.  Plus, you poop everywhere and it’s gross.

To the blue heron . . . dude, you’re a glutton.  Morning and night fishing.  You’re eating our pond dry and it’s a big pond.  Maybe go find fish over at the Boise River for a couple of weeks . 

I believe that about covers it.  Consider this memo your fair warning that I’ve had enough of all your shenanigans.

I had to get a mammogram today.  It’s no big deal.  You just have to do it.  It actually doesn’t hurt.  I go to a place that does digital imaging so you don’t have to sit and wait for film to be developed. 

So I’m in the machine, the picture is taken.  I’m unclamped and stand there talking to the technician.  She says, “You should see your film.”  So for several seconds, you have that panic of “OHMYGOSH!  I have the Big C!”  Then you think–they can’t say that?  Can they?  Only the doc can tell you that news.  So I go check it out on the screen and she says–see this? 

I look at the image of myself and see a wall of muscle.  She tells me–that’s your pectoral muscles and they are fabulous.  You have man muscles.  I never see these on women.  I’m like, oh . . . okay.  It’s because I work out with a trainer.  I’ll let him know.

I guess I’m flattered, but I don’t have the body of a dude.  At least I hope not!

P.S.  Check to see when you are due for your mammogram.