25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

OK, it has come to my attention that some of you need some **help** making the distinction between followers, readers, commenters, and lurkers. Truthfully, though it appears that only two of you have the spinal column to do all of the above (I <3 you both. You are brave souls and/or very bored), I am glad for all of you and am going to start answering the many questions I have been receiving via email. So, here goes: followers are the most hallowed of beings. They have the brass ones to actually publicly follow my ridiculous attempt at writing. Those little square things at the left of the screen (both of them--ha!) are my "followers" They follow, read, and comment regularly and I return the favor--you should read them!!!

Many of you choose to remain anonymous to the world. I guess I understand why and I respect that, but I shall lovingly refer to you as the "lurkettes" regardless of gender. There. Now you have a group and can know that you exist together in my email. So...now to answer some of your questions.

First..."Do I have any favorite recipes from other blogs?"

I am answering this for one reason. I'm not a recipe kind of girl. I cook and I cook very well, but it's always my own recipe. This recipe is distinct for it's true awfulness and the fact that it's the only recipe I can remember from a blog in recent days. It's a cocktail recipe called Tojaadots, I believe: juice box (whatever's available), tonic water, and coconut rum. Mix and I suppose add to efficacy rather than taste because efficacy is the only reason you would drink such a thing. With that concoction you can write stimulating stuff like this. Merriwether may never follow this rag ever again.

CORRECTION: Actually, the Tojaadot is a mixture of tequila, orange juice, and a dash of Tabasco sauce. The drink box/coconut rum/soda water was an earlier attempt at intoxification...which ended poorly. Tojaadots are, therefore infinitely more desireable treat than death-by-juice-box (my name for it).

Second... "Have you really ever slept in a tree?"

Yes. And I mean IN the tree. Not a tree house or a swing or anything like that. This is going to stir up a lot more questions, so I'll start you off S-L-O-W-L-Y.

25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

1. 2000 sq.ft. house with 7 family members (two octogenarians--one deaf, two in their sixties--one deaf, me, one seven-yr-old--deaf, and one four-yr-old). The deaf thing makes you LOOOONG for piece and quiet and a place where you don't have to make yourself known vocally, facially, AND with the correct combination of hand signals. Contrary to popular opinion, deaf people are not that quiet.

2. Entropy.

3. Not enough ________. This is different for everyone and changes by the day for me.

4. The sound of "Momma, I need you!" "For what?" "For sumpin." "Tell me what!" "For SUM-PIN!!! (growling voice)"

5. The "What the bleep am I supposed to do with this??!!" face my mute seven-yr-old can make. He does NOT need to learn to speak, but I am cooperating with his teachers.

6. Computers that make phone calls.

7. Computers.

8. Microsoft. I digress, but you get the point.

9. The desire for silence like you only get during those blessed moments when the power goes out.

10. Because trees have no forwarding addresses.

11. Because no matter what, the twit from Medco (our prescription drug plan) can never find me in my tree because there is NO PHONE THERE. And, I never pick the same tree. Warning: if you pick the same tree, someone will find you and bring you the cursed cordless phone. This same warning applies to tents. Never pitch your tent in the same spot if you want to stay unavailable! He won't get out of the recliner to eat, but my 83-yr-old grandpa will hike out into the woods on chemo days to give you the dang phone! Ugh. Because phone calls are important. Especially if they come from Jack, the talking computer.

12. Because the tree is not really that much more uncomfortable than my grandma's 1960's-era stuffed, stuffed, and re-stuffed sofa.

13. Because my mother is going through menopause AND withdrawing from her psych meds and sleeping in a tree is infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in prison after committing homicide whether it's justifiable or not. Maybe.

14. Trees do not have diapers. They do not shout dinner orders from the living room like a short-order cafe or have the nerve to mouth off at you. They do not come home from school calling you "butthead."

15. They do not possess volume knobs, or depending on how you look at it, are always "OFF."

16. From a tree, you can see the mushroom cloud that was your house when the occupants realize their network connectivity is nil and the network sys-admin is sleeping in a tree.

17. From a tree, you can see just about anything. Sunrises, storms, sunsets, airplanes, birds, etc.

18. Trees smell good.

19. Very few people climb a tree together, look at one another, and one starts of with, "I was taking another look at zone one where we were comparing the Smackover porosity with known wells..." or "Have you taken a look at the latest confidentiality agreement for Walkup County?" Don't get me wrong. I LIVE TO WRITE LEGAL DOCUMENTS!!!!! I SHOULD BE A LAWYER!

I would sooner tattoo "SHARK" on my forehead.

20. Lawyers. :)

21. Doctors. The M.D. type. The type that write off your grandpa's cancer cause he's "just too old." Even though he's one of the world's leading geophysicists. Never mind him. He has nothing further to add.

22. Well, someday I'll really share this one with you...maybe.

23. Psych professors who tell their students, correction, student in public in a classroom that he needs to be on drugs. P-R-O-F-E-S-S-I-O-N-A-L. My fellow student (M.A. in Psychology and LPC about passed out). We are both qualified to teach this class, but are having to repeat it given the distance between our first degrees and our current schooling. Bugger.

24. Global warming--and other Democratic BS. Hahahahahaha. Sorry. That had to be done. Consider it a parting shot to my one politically-minded reader. But you HAVE to worry about quotes like "We won't know what this bill means until we pass it." That's Nancy Pelosi on health care people. If I were a Dem, I'd be afraid. As a republican I'm terrified. And amused. But, alas, still pursuing a career in health care...

25. Last, but not least, UPS. Not USPS, but UPS. I have undertaken the monumental task of clearly marking my home--even though it's the ONLY home on this street on the south side--so that they can unmistakeably see the numbers from the road and DARN if they can't find it with two hands and a flashlight.

Enough for one day, go have a Tojaadot...

Scat

"Spells Are For Witches"

IMPORTANT DISTINCTION: "Spells" are things witches cast on others. NOT to be confused with anything of a medical nature like a stroke, heart attack, bout of nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, loss of vision, low blood pressure, flu, strep throat, hypoxia, or ANY OTHER ILLNESS.

Today started out like any other day...which isn't saying much, but nevertheless, we were going about our business as usual. Church. In a small town. Many abnormal things were going on already, but that is really beside the point (except for the fact that I should have taken note and expected the weirdness to continue with escalation). Attrition and I had finished our regular gig in the a.m. service and I was aimlessly wandering from the nursery with Squib toward the donuts (Squib lives for donuts). The church secretary found me and told me that the pastor needed to find my father.

OK.

So, I grabbed Squib his donut, snagged the secretary and told her that I was headed toward my dad. She snags the pastor. Pastor meets me in the covered drive and says the following: "Your grandfather called the office and said your grandmother has had a spell of some sort and he wants you all to come home immediately.

A spell. Cripes. This is not her first "spell." Some have been rather scary and had all the signs of stroke including asymmetrical facial expressions and loss of vision. She recovered. Still, this morning, when I was casually informed that she had a "spell" I immediately shifted into overdrive. I tucked Squib under my arm like a football and began dragging him from person to person. These days there is one hour during the week when all the healthy people in the family are away and all the cancer patients and invalids are at home. Sounds terrible, but, alas, true. You guessed it. This was that hour. And this was the third time something medically untoward had taken place.

So, we blasted out of there like our tails were on fire. Only to find that the "spell" in this case was a bout of nausea. Maybe low blood pressure. And the import to our returning home was that grandpa was freaking out.

Spell.

Needless to say, we have been undergoing some medical language reeducation this afternoon. "Spells are for witches." That's a direct quote from my father. (There was snickering from the peanut gallery). At that point, I interrupted with a bit of a sarcastic "oooh-kay" and took over from there being careful to warn against the use of "episode" and "fit."

Yeah, spells are for witches. Apparently heart attacks are being passed around freely like the flu. I know I've had at least one, maybe two today alone. A myriad of wrinkles, a fresh shock of gray hair. And...probably a few years shaved off my life.

I need a nap, an anti-psychotic, or a very, very strong drink. I'm gonna sit...for a spell.

Scat

No Fruit, No Nuts, Just Networks

I must say from the start that this entire weekend has been a total marvel in technological failure and planning run amok. "Amok, amok, amok!" (Does anyone remember Hocus Pocus with Bette Midler? OK, so it's just me...love that).

The office at Green Acres that supports our family's seismic oil and gas prospecting business was, well, having "technical difficulties" all week. No, I do not (TECHNICALLY!) work there anymore. However, no one left there can really do what I did, so the "deal" is that the phone is going to occasionally ring. It rang Wednesday while I was here at the Bunker (Attrition's house). That took about two hours and I thought it was a tough fix, but a solid one. Problem is, it wasn't really my fix to make and therein lies the REAL problem.

Green Acres is in the boonies. The thing with the boonies is that only just this month have we had more than one option for an Internet service provider. We've been a captive of the phone company (who I'd love to name, but won't) for years now and typically pay about $185/mo (or higher when we need other services) for a variable IP DSL service that's slow as Christmas. On top of that, no one at their Internet help desk really knows how to configure the service properly. In fact, they don't even attempt to keep access to their network configuration utilities secure...which is...well, stupid. I don't even think they know how to view your configuration w/o you knowing--they have you bring it up at home and read what's in the blanks to them. That's just bizarre!

So, the "fix" always starts with a phone call. During which I play very, very stupid. And I make sure their adminstrative login and password are the same and that the IP address is the same and I pay attention to anything else that they may have changed or seems to look different and try to ask well-directed, but stupid-sounding questions.

For some reason, no one at this particular telephone company ISP seems to understand that if my "Internet" is "down" but I can still navigate to THEIR server (which I am ONLY connected to via the Internet) to access the configuration applications using MY modem, then, in fact, it is a configuration problem and my modem is not broken. However, they conclude each five minute phone call with "Well, it sounds like your modem is broken. We'll send a new one out with a service person on Monday."

Cripes.

After the call, I'm on my own. More often than not, the problem is caused by an actual outage after which they bring service back online, but do so incorrectly, so the error could be anywhere and like any sort of scientifically methodical effort you can only alter one thing at a time if you are to solve the problem in any sort of sane manner.

So, in lieu of going to the plant sale on Saturday (Yes! I missed it!!!!), I dinked with someone else's network (just my little part in it). And eventually gave up. I have never given up before. Ever...

Attrition tried. He gave up. He never gives up. Ever...

We watched war movies, went to bed, couldn't fall asleep, both met on the porch, listened to weird noises and almost re-educated the idiot neighbor who decided to cross our land with a (very bouncy) flashlight at midnight (yes, he shined it in the living room), got up early, went to church, hauled tree parts to the fire, passed a very happy and ash-covered Squib to his grandparents for shuttling to his dad and finally dragged our aching bodies back into the office.

I said something colorful and plugged everything back in. We tried again. Someone at my favorite telephone company had reset SOMETHING again because one of the logical fixes that I tried yesterday actually worked today. Go figure. It's not my win, though, 'cause Attrition was actually the one at the keyboard. THAT is how it always works out...he is SO...something...

Wow, what a rant...

Finito.

Scat

We Lost a BIG Tree!!!!

Lest you think we sit around twiddling our thumbs with no entertainment around here, I thought I'd show you our latest bit of excitement. "The tree" has occupied all our free time (as though we have copious amounts of it) for the last week. It came down last weekend with a terrifying CA-WHUMPH! The house, she DID tremble and shake.

After measuring the footprint of the disaster and determining the fact that it would have demolished a good portion of our roof and who knows what else--well I know what else...my kids are in that corner of the house--we're very happy that it landed in the empty spot next to the house that used to be a pond (a whole other story).

For perspective, that's my dad standing next to the trunk of the tree. Not a shabby little pine tree. He's 5'11". We had some local guys saw it up into pieces for us and dad has been using chains and his little pick-up to drag the pieces of the trunk up to his "new" fire ring. OK, so there are several fire rings. We, uh, like fire around here...

Here's the stump...we've been talking about dendrochronology...that's dead-ro-nology for those of you who are trying to figure out what my youngest is talking about. Yes, he has speech issues, but no, it doesn't slow him down. That's my Bic pen...we were using it to mark the rings.

Surveying "the damage." That's what Squib actually calls it now. He even says it with a little growl...the damaaaaggggeeee!!!!!! This is outdoor heaven.

A sawdust, bark, and mud war ensues and we are all forced to strip before we can enter the house. Sorry, no pictures of THAT!

:)

Scat

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Something is going bump in the night around here! Actually, it's going bump and snorting a little. So far, not a night has passed in my traipsing back and forth from the office to the house that I haven't heard the large, snuffling noise behind the garage proper.

And like so many other noises--knocks and bangs of cars, etc.--I thought this would be just another thing I could never prove. I thought it would be a snuffling snort noise that would stop each time I brought someone out to hear it.

This time, though, it isn't.

Twice now, Attrition and Buddy have told me about the sounds coming from behind the garage and in what was our corn field. Sounds like those of a large animal.

I'm hoping it's the mate of Cosmo the pig (LOOOONG story) but we've been generating other scenarios. I have yet to go out and look for tracks or any other evidence of animal activity...I'll save that information for tomorrow.

Never a dull moment,

Scat

Friday...not much to report...

Fortunately, Friday is here!

I really don't have any reason for that to excite or relax me because I really don't get weekends off! I work all day Saturday and I work Sunday afternoons, too. I may work slower and with more breaks, but nonetheless, still work. No real TGIF feelings or parties. No bar hopping, no staying up any later than usual, and no change in plans.

Friday is just another day.

Wednesday...Quit Throwing Knives Around!!!

Wednesday at the Scat household.

Hump Day. And I really do wonder where that term originates from. 'nough on that.

By as early as 8:30 this morning the arguments were already breaking out....Squib and Mimi were arguing about exactly how and where a toddler should be when he is being dried off and dressed. I am happy to report that she won via sheer force of will and muscle. Buddy was kinda like me, ducking under the bullets of "wheuhr my sots?!" and "I wan dis, no dat, no dis, no dat!" Step through to the kitchen and Papa was being stared down to the bone by Baba who was waving a turquoise piece of paper at him and emphasizing very heavily that "this time she REALLY wanted him to send in the warranty information and NOT LOSE IT!" That she's about three inches taller than him commands a lot of presence when she chooses to use that. (BTW, he NEVER sent this in and the fridge made an epic fail not three days after the warranty lapsed. Which is probably why he has me do "this" now...whatever "this" happens to be.)

Okay, I'm checking horoscopes now and planning my escape to the office.

Which isn't such a huge elopement because the office is at the end of the driveway. And I got things squared away there and by the time I went back in to see if SqB had done away with the human race, everyone had retreated to their corners and were all quietly stewing in their own juices.

Things are tense, though. So I checked the weather and the phase of the moon before I got to work on the workstation that I single-handedly cratered the night before. I had managed to get it back to where I was at 9:30 pm last night by 12:30 am the night before, but that's a three hour loss and I'm feelin' it. Am I going to mention it? Not amongst this lot!

This morning was a repeat of yesterday, almost ("ohmost" is Squib's favorite word). He, I think, is suffering from terminal PMS. No, I am not stupid. Yes, I know that stands for pre-menstrual syndrome. And terminal refers to death. I mean what I say...the child can't make a decision and commit to it for more than one second. The second, no the millisecond, I start one movie, he wants to watch another....I'd still be there switching movies (which he can do himself but has decided I'm "just bettuh add it."). I stopped that business after our third choice and now NO ONE is watching ANYTHING. You'd think I'd killed him with all the animated and repentant weeping and gnashing of teeth.

"Oh momma, Oh momma. dust fwow me in da twash."

(That last line is his most recent quip).

My Aunt Fanny. Bite me kid. Bring it on. I brought you into this world and I sure will take away your "memote" and your "wovies," too! GO and READ a BOOK. If you've got a problem with that, call CPS! Tell them I'm teaching you to read and I need to go to jail! Music is next, so they'll need reinforcements...that's right! There will be singing and dancing and maybe a craft. Holy cow!

The drama continued through lunch and seemed to always center around the knives people kept handing him. Squib is four. He can learn to use a butter knife or any other kind of knife, but the absolute key is SUPERVISION! And, on the whole, he doesn't really use them (yet), so once the knife-throwing begins there is NO reason to give the knife back to him and I really have no compunction to feel badly for the person who rearms my son when they know for a fact he is in a knife-throwing mood. It was bad today. Like a little chimpanzee at the lunch table and finally Baba could take it no longer and screamed:

"QUIT THROWING KNIVES AROUND!"

I would have added a good solid expletive to the end, but my child was present and I'm controlling myself. Instead I just ducked the out-going knife which (butter-loaded) hit her square in the pants. I stifled myself and made a REALLY feeble try at disciplining young Knife-Thrower. I think I said something like "It's not nice to throw knives AT people" which sparked a lot of questions about what you COULD throw knives at.....Scorpions are definitely at the top of the Knife 'Em List.

Then, as if in a dream, SqB pops up and says "Momma, wut time id it?"

NAP TIME!!!!!! And off he went. See? Mood swings. Definitely PMS!

It was a really short nap. Need I say more?

I was rudely interrupted while trying to make a pit stop in the front bathroom because, "You need to hurry up and help me with the TB NOW, Momma. NOW!" Can't you see I'm bare-a@@ to the wind here? Obviously not, because he waltzed right in to hand me toilet paper, shove me off the stool and flush while pushing me out the door. GEEZ! Like we're saving the world every time we turn on the DVD player!? Glad I was finished doing my business!

Which brings me to another topic...the video babysitter. Yes, I have a confession to make. The TV? Yes, it pretty much runs from the time Squib gets up to the time he goes to bed with few exceptions. Now, we don't have cable or mainstream TV. He may only watch DVDs that we select and purchase for him. So that's only a slight advantage over the completely committed TV-sitter, but he's really always doing something else, too....trains, cars, coloring, spelling, reading (which he insists on doing from one of my novels and does turn off the TV for = scary), and most recently writing. And he sorta "minds the farm."

He's the social director. Knows where everyone is. Greets everyone as they come and go. Gets the low down on the incoming purchases and outgoing shipments. Goes to the mailbox with Buddy. Helps dole things out and distributes TP and mail to their rightful owners (Does TP have an "owner?" Apparently it does. It is always kept in...balance). He'll even gladly tell you when it is you should make your bed--though he neglects to mention this to me :) He knows where his bread gets buttered. Sort of. Well, he at least knows who will feed him "real" Doritos.

But all is not gloom, doom, and arguments around here. I will admit to you, my ether audience, that there are friends and loved ones that make my existence quite wonderful! My weekend with Attrition here was great as usual. I had an awesome dinner with friends Sunday evening. I am actively messaging with a couple friends that keep my heart full and my mind fresh. They challenge me to be a better friend, mom, or whatever-I-am.

Both Squash Blossom and Beanstalk have their great moments, too--more often than not. I love that Squib insists on "fwee (3) kisses" each time we part ( nap, bedtime, Sunday School, going to dad's, moving three feet to the left) one on each cheek and one on the forehead. Beanstalk is growing by leaps and bounds and his love for me is abundant. Full body hugs from Beanstalk are a little hard 'cause he's just gettin' heavier, but I'm gonna give and receive until I just cain't walk no more! My quiver is full so-to-speak and though there are areas that are empty, the emptiness is not so noticeable some of the time because other things overflow and fill it. I can see the day when the holes are full and I believe God will make good on His promises to me. It's so awesome to be loved.

Love covers a multitude of sins,

Scat

Trumpet Vine

Always thought it wasd rather pretty for such an advantageous viney looking thing...and usually (until the whole garden thingy) being of the brown-thumbed variety of human, anything that dares show it's face, turn green for the most part and trail over my fences and sport some sort of bloom is somewhat welcome. Trumpet vine even sounds nice. At least it did.

How would I know?

Then I let things go and the side entrance to the deck became blockaded in a frenzy of uncontrolled trumpet vine and what I stupidly call "brambles" but probably have some other innocent and beautiful name. And then I acquired more books...another disease I have in spades. And I then "needed" the armoire.

I really did scour the place for all the "poisons" ivy, oak, and sumac. I know them well and they actually seek me out by name. I've taken my required botany class and I'm pretty much ok when I KNOW a plant is gonna take me hook, line, and sinker for a ride down the itchy highway of dermatographic hell.

An innocent voice perked up out of the dead silence that usually accompanies my blogs and said "Any Trumpet Vine?" to which I replied "Of course!" OF COURSE!!!!!!!!

I proceeded to stomp out the deck door to the pile of near-compost that was the arching vine over my walkway and could see, even in crispy, black death, the trumpet vine laying there in dead, euphoric triumph (get it?.....triumph! just...never mind).

I "arrrrgh"-ed at the pile loudly and stomped back inside the house to nurse my wounds which are actually copious. There will be some scars on my fore arm and definitely on my psyche. Every trumpet vine alive should live in fear of my presence. I'm aware of ecosystems and all that rot, but this is one link in the chain that I'm ready to eliminate. Completely.

And just to make life weirder...guess what has helped the most? A friend brought me some Claraderm. In addition to frankincense and myrrh (very aromatic) it contains other essential plant oils!!!! Kinda like fighting fire with fire.....or fire with other fire, I don't know. But this stuff works and I slept more in one night last night than I have in the last three nights put together. And, boy, was that ever nice!!! Ya'll know me, I'll probably update this and let you know what kinda gunk I'm soakin' in, but it's awesome!

Attrition has the nerve to say maybe I should retake botany or go to Merriwether's edible plant class....

.....whhaa....

....like I'm gonna stick a plant in my mouth after these last two weeks if it doesn't come from the store labeled "Spinach?"

Give it some time, Attrition,

Scat

Dermatographia

Translation: Itching all over due to something that you have so thoroughly thrashed in that it's coming out your pores.

Obviously the medical definition left something to be desired, so I wrote a first-hand-experience definition. Poison Sumac being the probable culprit, I am now suffering first-hand from the plague.

Not bubonic or anything, but I'm wondering whether itching to death is worse?

If you read Totally Itchified, then you know all about this junk I STILL HAVE. And you'll apppreciate the fact that I STILL DON'T HAVE my armoire!

And today, I cancelled plans and shuffled kids off to their dads' 'cause I'm not supposed to touch them. "No, really, they can stay with you!" said the doc who obviously did NONE of the childrearing in the house. "Just don't touch their skin directly, bathe them, change them, or use your hands when preparing their food." I went ahead and let my eyes bug out and shook my head.

Squib said, "Just throw me in the trash mom." right at that second and then everyone in the room had an excellent concept of just exactly how things proceed at my house. There was no laughter even when I put my face in my hands and made mental note to do exactly as Squib had suggested.

The remaining instructions were just as ludacrous and included not sweating or going out in the heat/sun, no warm showers/baths......unbelievable!!!! Follow that up with a shot, pills, and MORE cream....

To heck with that armoire.

Function Over Form,

Scat

Totally Itchified

This all started with an armoire.

Or maybe it started with all the books I have that I want to put in the armoire. Egg, chicken, you decide.

Nevertheless, last Monday, Buddy and I decided to go get the armoire out of storage, clean it up, and put it back into circulation. But the house (being designed by a certain member of the Scat family who shall remain NAMELESS) is a logistical nightmare when it comes to maneuvering furniture through it. So, we decided it was best to take it in the "back way" which entailed getting through this twist of vines, brambles (seriously, not just because that's my name), nettles, and what-have-you. Then, past the sand box (and across the Sahara my kids have made) and through the back entrance to the West Wing as I jokingly call it. Easy, right? Just need to trim back the vegetation. No problem.

I didn't think it mattered what color my thumb was or anything like that. I had shears and I was on a decorative mission! So, in the interest of interior design, I grabbed some garden shears and went postal on the foliage blockade. I chopped a nice armoire-sized passage and went about my way. I had a few scratches, but that was nothing compared to what I'd done to those plants, ha-ha-ha!!!!

So, Dad and I hopped in the truck and sped off to the storage building only to find one of those "ha ha you didn't pay your bill" locks on it. Sped home only to hear from NAMELESS that "Oh, yeah, I haven't paid that in months!"

I think I made some scrunched up face with a little eeked out noise, but I can't be sure. It just sounded like waterfalls pounding in my ears and I lost contact with the real world (it had been a VERY long two weeks) for a second or two and came to very quickly when it was suggested that I call the storage owner and "try to work something out." Me??! No-no. I organize, type, count, balance, and general provide a good target for poop-flinging. I don't bargain with the local flora and fauna. NAMELESS pull the deaf card on me. *ooooy*

So I tried. And the whole time, my right arm was a little itchy at the elbow. Found out two things: 1) We were, in fact, several months late on our rent, and 2) The owner was out of town and his 2nd "in charge" would go ahead and unlock the locker when he could get around to it. Translation: Pay me my money and I'll let you in on my own sweet time. In his shoes, I'd probably have said that very thing, but he was, to his credit, in fact, very accommodating, polite, and helpful.

Nevertheless, I was and am and probably will be without armoire until.....well....until I am no longer capable of making these decisions. But I was getting itchier by the minute.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a minimally itchy state, but I was goin' nuts...by Thursday, all the scratches from all the work I did outside and under the house had (and STILL have) raised, clear blisters with pink around the base and this stuff gets anywhere that arm touches. It's not like poisons ivy, oak, or sumac and I found nothing in the remaining vegetation that resembled either of the three. Thus exhausteth my knowledge of poisonous or irritating Texas plant life.

I barely made it through the Leadership Summit on Thursday and Friday...this speaks to T's awesome plant oils that she hauls around and the excellence of the summit. But now? Now I'm considering amputation and chuggin' Benedryl like it's sugar pills...got an oatmeal wash that helps for about 20-30 min after a wash (and I think it's helpful in preventing the spread), topical Benedryl, and hydrocortisone....thinking of crawling my little itchy self over to T's for a Claraderm spray (whatever the heck that is). AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

I WANT TO SCRATCH AND I WANT TO SCRATCH NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (and I want my armoire)

You can look, but you can't touch,

Scat

East Texas Night Life

Last night, I gave up working on my impending deadline at about 9:30p and decided to head to bed a little early and get a good night’s sleep. The idea was my eyes needed refreshing after staring at three screens of squiggle all day. So, tell me, why is it that every time I try to do this every wild animal in the county sees fit to hide under my house as though it were their only safe haven?

The house is built on piers primarily due to the slope of the land, but also due to the nature of the ground on which it is built. There are advantages to having your house on piers…but somehow after last night I can't think of one to save my life.

As I stood today looking into the cavern beneath my bedroom, I instantly got a flashback of all the dry shelter caves I have seen when exploring/hiking throughout the West and Mid-West United States and the Ozarks. They look exactly the same. And in looking about the neighborhood, I’ve found that all the other homes on piers are UP on piers….usually to create parking and/or boat storage. At our house, we’ve made a safe haven for animals of all kinds!!! And most of these animals being nocturnal, well, that goes a long way toward explaining the interest all the dogs have in our house. It must look like a midnight McDonalds to them!

 

Then there are the snakes. Squash Blossom and I were making our way to the Scat Family Trio offices one morning and darn near stepped upon what we later thought to be a very young rattle snake. It was gorgeous, actually. A pale, but rich greenish-gold with a diamond blue-black pattern stretching all the way down it’s back. It hissed and jumped, but no rattle, so I assumed it was a Copperhead—even though it didn’t look it. Nevertheless, I lobbed SqB about 20yds away and told him to go into the house and STAY THERE!!!! For once, he obeyed. Single machete to the neck and Mr. Snake was no more. His head remained, but his body went through all the throes of trying to attack and finally crawled off. I remain a little leery of his brothers and sisters….and parents for that matter. We’ve also found Corral snakes here recently and have been unable to trap them or render them headless.

Mimi and I are here for the weekend alone (alone  alone  alone  can you hear that? it's nooothing!)…quite a refreshing time. No panicking octogenarians, no harassment or sarcasm (which is the way of things in this family). Not even any kids. I intend to go back in and sleep like a baby! The only reason for this blog is to let you in on the night life I experience and give you an update. Buddy and the Grand Scats had a great meeting and it sounds like the Scat family trio is going to get off the ground in a serious way here in the next months! That would really be something. Wow.

We shall see.

Scat.