tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90249919679885577352024-02-06T22:05:19.853-08:00Movin' On ...Life goes on amidst change. Finding the laughter one day at a time...Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.comBlogger538125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-33478327726559322092022-05-02T17:20:00.002-07:002022-05-02T17:20:23.934-07:00It's MINE!!!<p> Did you ever fight over the one of these with your siblings when you were a kid?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzktIMtaw3r1VGr1ND6Paa-o4OGiQ0Pz8MbmfmdppeZUbCYMUUPZoIpQLscS4B6M-zw4-3Zi4vFCZdvkSCPCnxJFNS2eSoKQVvMYzOEZblrNeaGlKk4IOWUExNQNIWRKL93n3ds2Sc-5zITCkGeAWU6iBhpPJYKilrI9xgfMXdkqMlZR40CEPwZBh/s5184/Wishbone.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzktIMtaw3r1VGr1ND6Paa-o4OGiQ0Pz8MbmfmdppeZUbCYMUUPZoIpQLscS4B6M-zw4-3Zi4vFCZdvkSCPCnxJFNS2eSoKQVvMYzOEZblrNeaGlKk4IOWUExNQNIWRKL93n3ds2Sc-5zITCkGeAWU6iBhpPJYKilrI9xgfMXdkqMlZR40CEPwZBh/s320/Wishbone.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Well, Okay. Maybe yours wasn't exactly like this one, but still ... back then the exchange probably went something like this ...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJny2ZP3OWvJrMmVw4ONB-LbUfEJOgA9XOAirEOXSCT96EPnqv4s1lxDewm2Udo06W4dmCia7SvogaiHFF-Ed6rd-zY0v-Gnb493rDgYnN2kbnFopjjnp_gqze5jI0Z51B-JOKJWLcemRcz8dwHjLCtE1PbKrRRbdAfYSmNt0dBendVavob2ZTgyL/s5184/WIshboneIt'sMine.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJny2ZP3OWvJrMmVw4ONB-LbUfEJOgA9XOAirEOXSCT96EPnqv4s1lxDewm2Udo06W4dmCia7SvogaiHFF-Ed6rd-zY0v-Gnb493rDgYnN2kbnFopjjnp_gqze5jI0Z51B-JOKJWLcemRcz8dwHjLCtE1PbKrRRbdAfYSmNt0dBendVavob2ZTgyL/s320/WIshboneIt'sMine.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>"Okay, you hold onto that end, and I'll take this end ... We'll just see who gets that wish!"<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSPevwDt0-1qlqDFx-wIWBdyS5B1N4F4FY0C97ltgiqMrxCcQUSH6HQyvUJptzFp2QB1pyvwjXM2A7cp-zI9TNkLWVLcjEGJ2MYSSe8bquVxQmPtTmM6Zkd-ut1_uXOBTkYeBqZaon4e96Avae08Sv_l3HFXDB-M8k1qsS9G5ZYSoaBLptTpuqiRa/s5184/WishboneOkayPull.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSPevwDt0-1qlqDFx-wIWBdyS5B1N4F4FY0C97ltgiqMrxCcQUSH6HQyvUJptzFp2QB1pyvwjXM2A7cp-zI9TNkLWVLcjEGJ2MYSSe8bquVxQmPtTmM6Zkd-ut1_uXOBTkYeBqZaon4e96Avae08Sv_l3HFXDB-M8k1qsS9G5ZYSoaBLptTpuqiRa/s320/WishboneOkayPull.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>"Okay. Now PULL!!!"</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauvoXIg2ZO4MnPJaDagezLb2iknAHsDogaRJoJmWc5Q4Dl0curSjl_8TmpLs9qRc6Kv1CkaNSpQqrTpHnWyMONVTrZFiwTzWwmqc4AUOX3PpdtpKxgBaDCVaTOByux2pCRAyPsP__KPcu7UUY2P8OW-BkF08lHvfQeuIP36_nVFxosNZsE2kkcdbs/s5184/WishboneIt'sNotWorking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauvoXIg2ZO4MnPJaDagezLb2iknAHsDogaRJoJmWc5Q4Dl0curSjl_8TmpLs9qRc6Kv1CkaNSpQqrTpHnWyMONVTrZFiwTzWwmqc4AUOX3PpdtpKxgBaDCVaTOByux2pCRAyPsP__KPcu7UUY2P8OW-BkF08lHvfQeuIP36_nVFxosNZsE2kkcdbs/s320/WishboneIt'sNotWorking.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>"Ugh. This isn't working. It's your fault, you know. You pulled and I wasn't ready yet."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrh7LBLHxR-XHNQADVBo6rFS8KcSUJmQFcKuworz2-Rn2pquO0Rm_vGC2e9ZhIru7ZTmwSIYlfqYGXvp0TnilMkzTuKXu1EqSPlj5m3KKd5uCoda0mudxevUWHplahQrqLBPJEQbp9DIKDwKB_IOMUXTSSc9Q_xOmm5QZHB8z1TbsVDilcLI-OmhNw/s5184/WishboneLetMeGetBetterGrip.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrh7LBLHxR-XHNQADVBo6rFS8KcSUJmQFcKuworz2-Rn2pquO0Rm_vGC2e9ZhIru7ZTmwSIYlfqYGXvp0TnilMkzTuKXu1EqSPlj5m3KKd5uCoda0mudxevUWHplahQrqLBPJEQbp9DIKDwKB_IOMUXTSSc9Q_xOmm5QZHB8z1TbsVDilcLI-OmhNw/s320/WishboneLetMeGetBetterGrip.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>"Okay, just let me get a better grip. Now DON'T pull till I say so this time."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02tIRyLYANAXmplL522IRay6ctnN9hD6YDXL7I2ajfUfc20pW1BXyMf_9njPYoCwgGpe1cn5l8OPjBmaxcvGJnNZx2Fi1Q1T-ePwVUD0QdK1G308YcVHINcldx7C3pT_ugQhwSpi3R8vXqvdfKimTMxt2hL2jUXF0bi1IF7nS_3mqb419UaOIqkoB/s5184/WishboneOkayPullAgain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02tIRyLYANAXmplL522IRay6ctnN9hD6YDXL7I2ajfUfc20pW1BXyMf_9njPYoCwgGpe1cn5l8OPjBmaxcvGJnNZx2Fi1Q1T-ePwVUD0QdK1G308YcVHINcldx7C3pT_ugQhwSpi3R8vXqvdfKimTMxt2hL2jUXF0bi1IF7nS_3mqb419UaOIqkoB/s320/WishboneOkayPullAgain.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>"I got it! I got it! I <b>gooo-ot </b>it!!!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttorcVDz8GjCZZC8UkBIC3N4LvSyq6GuZD1aRISB14XVHbMTsK3PuK5zdDeWcll-bkuCnW55qddcFhngJS6ZjcTL6Offz8P3zhvsyeNl2tBkRblc9SURFXq7hL1YaiTClNmGKWMHWLPijgDJS08o0J7psZ4-gZ0AA-ePXraNdewJORZPgnvqLfGCm/s5184/WishboneJustGiveItBack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttorcVDz8GjCZZC8UkBIC3N4LvSyq6GuZD1aRISB14XVHbMTsK3PuK5zdDeWcll-bkuCnW55qddcFhngJS6ZjcTL6Offz8P3zhvsyeNl2tBkRblc9SURFXq7hL1YaiTClNmGKWMHWLPijgDJS08o0J7psZ4-gZ0AA-ePXraNdewJORZPgnvqLfGCm/s320/WishboneJustGiveItBack.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><b>"STOP </b>pulling!!! Give it back!!!!!! <b>Give</b>. <b>It</b>. <b>BACK</b>! Arghhhhh!!!!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtnAy1JDJWhMNJYFxr-zDKI9S_JqszJ4btQutSN1YkNVFTJ9BoOMD3LJ6DOORB6leU0mXrkAeVcuNf2kxnC9bi1iR82m7v0gBSGpRZ1hoEnMMBydl3eDg427Tj42QVE5dioqDDVq9nHO5cExhcd-q_1r2D6ScWMeNcoXRyA0CMcYeG5KQVdyyXbev/s5184/WishboneThisIsn'tWorking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtnAy1JDJWhMNJYFxr-zDKI9S_JqszJ4btQutSN1YkNVFTJ9BoOMD3LJ6DOORB6leU0mXrkAeVcuNf2kxnC9bi1iR82m7v0gBSGpRZ1hoEnMMBydl3eDg427Tj42QVE5dioqDDVq9nHO5cExhcd-q_1r2D6ScWMeNcoXRyA0CMcYeG5KQVdyyXbev/s320/WishboneThisIsn'tWorking.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>"Poop. This isn't working ... I really wanted that wish too."<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEy49n9Pc-jj5RfXhAYn9rL5c_TLNE-j8DLATPuhsDxqueWCOzvlLhoI_fBmS17geBQL3IDSVpm9vf2gR_ES1iP0ulrrzbS7SwIJ30_e_2sew_0kI_YgeegePkkv4Z2YEsQ9s4mS-MZGv6qp1roGFH8fLz7TP3CMikdS6u9h1IDbbqiThiu73ohmgO/s5184/WishboneMaybeWeCanShare.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEy49n9Pc-jj5RfXhAYn9rL5c_TLNE-j8DLATPuhsDxqueWCOzvlLhoI_fBmS17geBQL3IDSVpm9vf2gR_ES1iP0ulrrzbS7SwIJ30_e_2sew_0kI_YgeegePkkv4Z2YEsQ9s4mS-MZGv6qp1roGFH8fLz7TP3CMikdS6u9h1IDbbqiThiu73ohmgO/s320/WishboneMaybeWeCanShare.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>"Oh, come on. Maybe we can just share ... Huh??? <br /><p><i>“Do not let us mistake necessary evils for good.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
C.S. Lewis
</span></i></p><p><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-20472835833369897022022-04-08T07:31:00.000-07:002022-04-08T07:31:38.248-07:00You've Come A Long Way, Baby<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnrqkfGn4qutZKH9k7-6a2CS1kMBUIsmQDI25pe0n1NIFidd1mo9Q_szCmAjt3n-YbAwyC705UEVH8Jhi49_SRigstsjG8kDBzQq5kgbIU_5IwuqEtqVE5Utyx4qz8oc9jeeRKhw9WS6Qaad8sbaccZfCozjTxaQZlTtNP6IDY5YIhsSs6TyR49d6/s4000/20220407_094040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnrqkfGn4qutZKH9k7-6a2CS1kMBUIsmQDI25pe0n1NIFidd1mo9Q_szCmAjt3n-YbAwyC705UEVH8Jhi49_SRigstsjG8kDBzQq5kgbIU_5IwuqEtqVE5Utyx4qz8oc9jeeRKhw9WS6Qaad8sbaccZfCozjTxaQZlTtNP6IDY5YIhsSs6TyR49d6/s320/20220407_094040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i>“The world is quiet here.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Lemony Snicket </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span class="authorOrTitle"> </span></i><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiId9HFpsInFqClFjv_zZ-4kSNxWG5IpmCuAKRGZUGoT95upwQVUjGQqq_a4rZ7OkFtZtON5yxDMwfmvTJvd6wvjdDHfnmWuNCTa2z61nd9quUn8-RL1aH2wq5OQ7OSJCntmQ4M-MH-_LzpbGEo65rmu3nfci_CQE8nYzLe5C0EtDNANB9Ljcj6m78z/s4000/20220407_093609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiId9HFpsInFqClFjv_zZ-4kSNxWG5IpmCuAKRGZUGoT95upwQVUjGQqq_a4rZ7OkFtZtON5yxDMwfmvTJvd6wvjdDHfnmWuNCTa2z61nd9quUn8-RL1aH2wq5OQ7OSJCntmQ4M-MH-_LzpbGEo65rmu3nfci_CQE8nYzLe5C0EtDNANB9Ljcj6m78z/s320/20220407_093609.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <i>“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or
discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is
to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Milan Kundera
</span></i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49YGzGhie_mfnAZJ-rV7tB0T_KLNapNVSetO0VeJLBft-v39UIWD3vuV9CGPajx0pnW5AJI8AY-U5NSL50Br0oEScrprJokumu3kJQ77oQWcNsl6XtMnl3lBLg-1n7yGohTpnlRa-GY7Rio_tsFT9oPgocyldODyszJDXuvwd9-QCvKhei76VrKIn/s4000/20220407_093924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49YGzGhie_mfnAZJ-rV7tB0T_KLNapNVSetO0VeJLBft-v39UIWD3vuV9CGPajx0pnW5AJI8AY-U5NSL50Br0oEScrprJokumu3kJQ77oQWcNsl6XtMnl3lBLg-1n7yGohTpnlRa-GY7Rio_tsFT9oPgocyldODyszJDXuvwd9-QCvKhei76VrKIn/s320/20220407_093924.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> But don't expect it to last. I'm just sayin' ...<br /><p></p><p> </p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-83907988266852070552022-03-31T09:11:00.001-07:002022-03-31T09:11:37.556-07:00007 <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGsutaDbmCT--523daO9W7ibH8UU7MGznpfPkbVPl-P5ZsK8x-8B1v_aPKpAtdaI0IFYqKOMAwHSQDHR_Qx2-is6iCZoLhm34PhMVRfPkOZv_GPNOCVPuiiWG_YckdhA6x8LDZwDNDn1_YweCw1leceBNhl6qcvLqKpf2tub1xxFAwyTS0OCglbks/s3864/BowTieMochiBond.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWGsutaDbmCT--523daO9W7ibH8UU7MGznpfPkbVPl-P5ZsK8x-8B1v_aPKpAtdaI0IFYqKOMAwHSQDHR_Qx2-is6iCZoLhm34PhMVRfPkOZv_GPNOCVPuiiWG_YckdhA6x8LDZwDNDn1_YweCw1leceBNhl6qcvLqKpf2tub1xxFAwyTS0OCglbks/s320/BowTieMochiBond.JPG" width="236" /></a></div><br /> The name's Bond ... Mochi Bond.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5b0LO84PWEJWissI1s1mfgH63BB6qZgVG2q3FkXfRmdYI_BoOsclrDfsVdWVKcfg0JGZBJArtBcKhHoPFYKhZLv-sdotRr7k7K_OFt7bYd4QUkwAgtcL0cq3TqpoEsWzU7aSNdVnDxImhplq2t1sHtPwpA0_WCdKTDMwHBSsqzoYZ98DbRE10uyO/s3905/BowTIeSIde.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3366" data-original-width="3905" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5b0LO84PWEJWissI1s1mfgH63BB6qZgVG2q3FkXfRmdYI_BoOsclrDfsVdWVKcfg0JGZBJArtBcKhHoPFYKhZLv-sdotRr7k7K_OFt7bYd4QUkwAgtcL0cq3TqpoEsWzU7aSNdVnDxImhplq2t1sHtPwpA0_WCdKTDMwHBSsqzoYZ98DbRE10uyO/s320/BowTIeSIde.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><i>“I was just running away from the person I'd been for the past five
years. I wasn't particularly pleased with the person I was now, but I
had hated and despised the other one ..." ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Ian Fleming,
</span>
<span id="quote_book_link_18455">
<a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/23841328">The Spy Who Loved Me</a> </span></i></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_18455"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikENOo4U_tLcUrhSOjQgrwCyGPH6UfQHLm5M_aIUBNvgE9bWKKEK1SEtNscWVViIfESI4Mo1Jtz8P5kaxBUbTlL8dN_AwUmpdsNtCugSzt2VvK4eXP8JmAgClI84ZxCfqF3p_u7gUrW_Bexz33XOQCgZoL3Ze2wD8LY1k5gJbyYxnqFL8ayYBANSII/s5184/BowTieMochiDebonair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikENOo4U_tLcUrhSOjQgrwCyGPH6UfQHLm5M_aIUBNvgE9bWKKEK1SEtNscWVViIfESI4Mo1Jtz8P5kaxBUbTlL8dN_AwUmpdsNtCugSzt2VvK4eXP8JmAgClI84ZxCfqF3p_u7gUrW_Bexz33XOQCgZoL3Ze2wD8LY1k5gJbyYxnqFL8ayYBANSII/s320/BowTieMochiDebonair.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /> Still, this new me ... so handsome ... <b>so </b>debonair ...<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHRsyQHcPfXAS3nPGd5AsaADSa-Bk66tdOdP-wVOFyw_h5qL7-6YmvP-NLSZK_6H_PSy5qLOa1CBRpA5Fcmry0-IurddKAvF8Mwww5_5UZaw9R4HrAI3En6ap3Q8XN3Gp46DL7hQS81_SBPuTv0EO9oBeDKsvCU4CXuviPhDOrSdtQxuQKojwkX_C/s3728/BowTieMochistanding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3728" data-original-width="2744" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHRsyQHcPfXAS3nPGd5AsaADSa-Bk66tdOdP-wVOFyw_h5qL7-6YmvP-NLSZK_6H_PSy5qLOa1CBRpA5Fcmry0-IurddKAvF8Mwww5_5UZaw9R4HrAI3En6ap3Q8XN3Gp46DL7hQS81_SBPuTv0EO9oBeDKsvCU4CXuviPhDOrSdtQxuQKojwkX_C/s320/BowTieMochistanding.JPG" width="236" /></a></div><br /><i><span id="quote_book_link_18455">Yet...</span>“All the greatest men are maniacs. They are possessed by a mania which
drives them forward towards their goal. The great scientists, the
philosophers, the religious leaders - all maniacs. What else but a blind
single nee of purpose could have given focus to their genius, would have
kept them in the groove of purpose. Mania ... is as priceless as
genius.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Ian Fleming,
</span>
<span id="quote_book_link_3757">
<a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3131771">Doctor No</a></span></i><p></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_3757"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dTai_aHswzkRVa_Vs6woTy-517v316KVZgCAB3cXToTQOyoCZvPEowVaqkINzdnuxYKDrWr8-dEIjw9njp1VL5EBj42Tgql1QlV-j4fPbFeoN4C8R_4NBq1mBz0JD6Ucn3EZyn1e6MEKhwkeFhYLbJc4HZATpROVGRL6WX7tr75CfyFjRIKSkwM1/s4037/BowTieMochiWhat'sThis.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2987" data-original-width="4037" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dTai_aHswzkRVa_Vs6woTy-517v316KVZgCAB3cXToTQOyoCZvPEowVaqkINzdnuxYKDrWr8-dEIjw9njp1VL5EBj42Tgql1QlV-j4fPbFeoN4C8R_4NBq1mBz0JD6Ucn3EZyn1e6MEKhwkeFhYLbJc4HZATpROVGRL6WX7tr75CfyFjRIKSkwM1/s320/BowTieMochiWhat'sThis.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> That being said ... wait! What have we here???<p></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_3757"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd9yh1rbQQQbREDxaZg0HrW2Yn1sopxyQtHyczsdS4-jRLMLXOYHwKqH-S3ofqU3uQGUhELxejSvXc2SaBkkzoiRf3Ujhs7Br45UgrfO17wGbySvnBcHzl6JwCIzCxoTkjHQMf_V0XeZSMifKaNXoUCeNsjfrdbg7huv2QU8glAmerBUZXPpjllqQ/s4279/BowTieMochiStick2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3086" data-original-width="4279" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd9yh1rbQQQbREDxaZg0HrW2Yn1sopxyQtHyczsdS4-jRLMLXOYHwKqH-S3ofqU3uQGUhELxejSvXc2SaBkkzoiRf3Ujhs7Br45UgrfO17wGbySvnBcHzl6JwCIzCxoTkjHQMf_V0XeZSMifKaNXoUCeNsjfrdbg7huv2QU8glAmerBUZXPpjllqQ/s320/BowTieMochiStick2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Why it's a STICK!!!<p></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_3757"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNIKw5kIzPfuk0m1TS9CXsO8FPbFa5g-WEIqqlyLu7pmCWPgWomzapYMAVmLuObAhTWIyO0U-DQ2igsYsNWW9jsr_qkKxod0KFEztn3ndXOV8FBYzixWoNe_8MqVOqNBKeMAd2ZZY-qMSjJ4vJii8TlJvVVHDeMZxyKfljjkG96S10SLG337KG2di/s3933/BowTieMochiGotIt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3382" data-original-width="3933" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNIKw5kIzPfuk0m1TS9CXsO8FPbFa5g-WEIqqlyLu7pmCWPgWomzapYMAVmLuObAhTWIyO0U-DQ2igsYsNWW9jsr_qkKxod0KFEztn3ndXOV8FBYzixWoNe_8MqVOqNBKeMAd2ZZY-qMSjJ4vJii8TlJvVVHDeMZxyKfljjkG96S10SLG337KG2di/s320/BowTieMochiGotIt.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Oh, well, sauvity. Who needs it. <i>"A [stick], shaken ... not stirred ... "</i><br /><p></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_3757"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMTrgJSkKQYYXMEcC2lmQwIMwq6TJfAL2jLCEEV1_W9x5wjLm9uBssyfkXINQK3y3MR0zpI9k4mxxO3Tyef1MAA55FU2eOd5zjqZrb8w2XAhe-R7AhVjFZhMBcyjqEX9VmqjDuV44IK_3qavZ1fsCkwaGL5H3Te6vwoJQUO7vEHYciwYayLMluw-N/s4448/BowTieMochiEnd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4448" data-original-width="2896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMTrgJSkKQYYXMEcC2lmQwIMwq6TJfAL2jLCEEV1_W9x5wjLm9uBssyfkXINQK3y3MR0zpI9k4mxxO3Tyef1MAA55FU2eOd5zjqZrb8w2XAhe-R7AhVjFZhMBcyjqEX9VmqjDuV44IK_3qavZ1fsCkwaGL5H3Te6vwoJQUO7vEHYciwYayLMluw-N/s320/BowTieMochiEnd.JPG" width="208" /></a></div><br /> <i>"Bow ties are <b>cool</b>!" - The Eleventh Doctor, Dr Who</i><span id="quote_book_link_18455"></span><p></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-41809463356196221242022-03-19T07:51:00.002-07:002022-03-19T07:57:58.265-07:00Where Is Marigold Holmes When You Need Her?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSip_uQja-vwY3kC4BBAGOafpvzehDb8Jq5kOuc8XFyQMrGblx94bDjiA9XXoWj3JpZE4mkuDu1nzwdK2Tt-qGRhIA3oR0pWicBC9a37J-jWvkUV-bWADoe0TGRlh4-iWfol3rh0foK57a1m4LpPcO1MXjLZC6lC6GYJFfBC_idTYQsrzvsdgYeGNI=s1685" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1330" data-original-width="1685" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSip_uQja-vwY3kC4BBAGOafpvzehDb8Jq5kOuc8XFyQMrGblx94bDjiA9XXoWj3JpZE4mkuDu1nzwdK2Tt-qGRhIA3oR0pWicBC9a37J-jWvkUV-bWADoe0TGRlh4-iWfol3rh0foK57a1m4LpPcO1MXjLZC6lC6GYJFfBC_idTYQsrzvsdgYeGNI=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I have discovered that pooping causes Mr. Hyde to come out. No, it is not what you are thinking, though indeed something does come out. I mean it in the sense that the action of pooping causes the Mr. Hyde half of Mochi's personality to come to the fore. Hyde shows no mercy, zooming here and there, willfully attacking toys, Cabra, anything, really, that has the misfortune to be caught in his wake. And yet I don't think it is something we can reasonably avoid. I ask you, where is Marigold Holmes when you need her? She even had 'experience' in the matter, to whit <a href="https://marigold-goatphilosophy101.blogspot.com/search?q=The+Case+of+the+Perfectly+Positioned+Poop">this post</a>. Or <a href="https://marigold-goatphilosophy101.blogspot.com/2007/12/case-of-plopping-poop.html">this one</a>. <br /></p><p>Oh, what may be the cause of this rakehellish debauchery? Or is it simply a fact of life to be endured?<br /></p><p> <i>“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Arthur Conan Doyle,
</span>
<span id="quote_book_link_6637180">
<a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1214700">The Boscombe Valley Mystery - a Sherlock Holmes Short Story</a></span></i></p><p><span id="quote_book_link_6637180"> </span><span id="quote_book_link_6637180">Hmmm ...
</span></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-14141585513358116752022-03-12T10:43:00.004-08:002022-03-13T17:07:02.174-07:00Dr Jekyll, Meet Mr. Hyde<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigDoTvD4E6P7Bl7as5KZZwuIA8Lhj1CdvSWH_8JOP_PHRR1lrySiWVG0xZSK_bm964iQjnNxvTnZ2ZQ_dQmKDyRzeqOgqVasSajuEK5OUHcadMUhNocVwU1Swg6mBnsI7Jv1VSq3rrJ_FtBOpnmFU3WE-O0qNEzz4OmVboob7ZoFASPxtZKvDR16wO=s2926" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2722" data-original-width="2926" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigDoTvD4E6P7Bl7as5KZZwuIA8Lhj1CdvSWH_8JOP_PHRR1lrySiWVG0xZSK_bm964iQjnNxvTnZ2ZQ_dQmKDyRzeqOgqVasSajuEK5OUHcadMUhNocVwU1Swg6mBnsI7Jv1VSq3rrJ_FtBOpnmFU3WE-O0qNEzz4OmVboob7ZoFASPxtZKvDR16wO=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p> </p><p>Remember this cute little bundle of loving fuzz? So cute. So affectionate. So adorable. Until ...</p><p></p><p>Yes. Who knew puppies experience that span of notable juvenile malfeasance known as the Terrible Twos? Okay, he isn't two years old, but let me tell you this. There are times when there is a question about whether he will actually make it to <b>one</b>. Well, maybe it isn't quite that bad. Still ...</p><p>First, and foremost, Mochi is going through the dreaded 'No' stage. You remember that stage, don't you? The one that entails things like, 'No, I won't come, and you can't make me.', 'No, I don't want to eat. I would rather play.', 'No, I don't want to go to bed now. I need to pester Cabra.', No, I don't want to go pee. I am too busy with this stick.' And so forth and so on ... and on ... and on .... and on ...<br /></p><p>Of course he has his good moments. Sometimes that affectionate little Dr. Jekyll snuggles up to you, or licks your face, or actually comes running when he is called. But then that evil miscreant, Hyde, takes over, prompting fits of the Zoomies (Remember those?) through every muddy puddle in sight, or, to Cabra's dismay, inducing drive-bys while she is trying to do, as they say in Texas, her 'bidness'. </p><p>But the worst?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNjRsmGMLIcFIsPq73rWrw-2c1mfT3DGhj7nOJfcqaED5blF28Xax9T9HKtZkWwMHSfjQPq87tkZIxIiDqeHyC-HOsOJrYaSl2QTuy9xm-pxNQBnww2hrRZTwHHcidcXiNgm1LiKyRET8f52D2FBNiZixx-rgXebS_WSaPl2d7ZLNrBhccyiNHBxPu=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNjRsmGMLIcFIsPq73rWrw-2c1mfT3DGhj7nOJfcqaED5blF28Xax9T9HKtZkWwMHSfjQPq87tkZIxIiDqeHyC-HOsOJrYaSl2QTuy9xm-pxNQBnww2hrRZTwHHcidcXiNgm1LiKyRET8f52D2FBNiZixx-rgXebS_WSaPl2d7ZLNrBhccyiNHBxPu=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Mochi discovered the U'r Duck Hai. And it is another of those situations fraught with indecision. On the one hand he is consumed by a curiosity driving him to expand his boundaries. On the other, he is still that scared little puppy man. What to do? Enter the doggie version of the Terrible Twos. We run at them so they scatter and fly and <b>then</b> we drop back. You know. Just to be on the safe side. Oy, as Marigold would say.</p><p>I have read this stage lasts perhaps until they are nine months old. Well, hey, at least it isn't two years. Nine months or two years, as Jerry Seinfeld said, "Having a two year old is like having a blender without a lid." </p><p>Uh. Huh.<br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-15134631594244687742022-03-04T16:50:00.004-08:002022-03-05T08:49:41.775-08:00Ever Had One Of Those Days???<p>Last night, both goats were up near the house in the pasture. Seeing that, I thought, 'Hmmm...., now might be a good time to introduce Mochi to the goats.' So off I went down the driveway inviting both dogs to come along. </p><p>All was copacetic until puppy man realized there were two large, never before seen, LIVE creatures in front of him. Friends, it was a sight to behold. Imagine, if you will, someone simultaneously scared out of their wits and yet so consumed by curiosity they can't resist going forward. You know, kind of like those horror movies where the person just HAS to go down in that basement? That was Mochi. His back legs were furiously scrabbling to gain purchase and move him backward while his front legs were simultaneously trying to propel him forward. Who knew that was even possible? There were huffs and growls, and lots of flying gravel. Finally, laughing, (I know. I'm sorry, but it <b>was</b> funny.) I picked him up. Of all the times not to have the camera with me. </p><p>Yes, yesterday was quite a big day. So you can imagine what idea popped into my head this morning when I looked out and saw both goats again near the driveway. Ah, ha! So I went back into the house and said to the Goatfather, 'Gee, both goats are up here again. Why don't we grab the camera and see if Mochi has the same reaction?'</p><p>This is how it went:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVLGIK9y59K-cLaDx9kPRULi4js1YTHZsnmuwtB0M2SaIl5GsSoZoJ-Kr21LY_WK3mjZ8H9ZHRhHz42zAk-y_IMyaNpO4KRfwqkSx6oqlHe0jMMNHMaUTfOh-H2oiJE7LAaGBFnp1Fmz7GgE_XkGir-EwBfV7X-ph6XtOC08W2wDFqAzi5C0nMgU7I=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVLGIK9y59K-cLaDx9kPRULi4js1YTHZsnmuwtB0M2SaIl5GsSoZoJ-Kr21LY_WK3mjZ8H9ZHRhHz42zAk-y_IMyaNpO4KRfwqkSx6oqlHe0jMMNHMaUTfOh-H2oiJE7LAaGBFnp1Fmz7GgE_XkGir-EwBfV7X-ph6XtOC08W2wDFqAzi5C0nMgU7I=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><i>"Oh, look! It's one of those <b>things</b> again."</i></p><p>No reaction. Really? He was just curious. I was so disappointed. By this time both goats had gotten bored and wandered back to the barn lot. So, me and my ever-churning mind thought, 'Hmmm.... Well, let's just take him up to the barn lot.' Uh. Huh.<i> <br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKunzORJ93rYPOyMqW_cG4fyNnfSz_T1o-394aNoycNYbZggdtqSegmSWWplqM_XXh_eWX6Y11lycozQZzve6aNWXmEh_C_BfFw-s6ZcdhXOunT6mPCYrvF0tx6PB3ARD2HV4k96x9LTsGSH9m6tradkj-uxxYJ30RPHk4Bfqr-o2-_kQ53Z66fpYz=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKunzORJ93rYPOyMqW_cG4fyNnfSz_T1o-394aNoycNYbZggdtqSegmSWWplqM_XXh_eWX6Y11lycozQZzve6aNWXmEh_C_BfFw-s6ZcdhXOunT6mPCYrvF0tx6PB3ARD2HV4k96x9LTsGSH9m6tradkj-uxxYJ30RPHk4Bfqr-o2-_kQ53Z66fpYz=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i>"<i>Okay, is this where they went? I think this is where they went!"</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiu5StVZFS8vDLqtp38FdHzrBjy--JGeqrHgVIYDmrYSgYuLBK16mk5z_Tnq4FBikeTNeOrBMMN1e_6MlxwgOGpx4H9q__hK30n4S3DpnC05IRFI5b-kOLPxONjXfa8a7T4r5Ws2i31qI3vAlAFqtGKKE30SoZOR6W1BBTy0ZFn0NuEfKbcWfQ3KGM=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiu5StVZFS8vDLqtp38FdHzrBjy--JGeqrHgVIYDmrYSgYuLBK16mk5z_Tnq4FBikeTNeOrBMMN1e_6MlxwgOGpx4H9q__hK30n4S3DpnC05IRFI5b-kOLPxONjXfa8a7T4r5Ws2i31qI3vAlAFqtGKKE30SoZOR6W1BBTy0ZFn0NuEfKbcWfQ3KGM=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Yep. This is it! I see them in there!"</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt1hxYHHb2zPVPBH0vwF2AUWQX29Qf4ErH0AGjCRg4rYf70-OC4s6gs-mDvHVU-JDRJGWTPNtBor-BPuNeIpi3mgS3CeL8_WL-8bQOWTyXl3d-AwHAw9YCcRBopRcGXWT4z4Mqum4yDgCKnIQfK3GP9M_6y2VRutBOWtcPkAmp8G9dPBBGfMxTHvu8=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt1hxYHHb2zPVPBH0vwF2AUWQX29Qf4ErH0AGjCRg4rYf70-OC4s6gs-mDvHVU-JDRJGWTPNtBor-BPuNeIpi3mgS3CeL8_WL-8bQOWTyXl3d-AwHAw9YCcRBopRcGXWT4z4Mqum4yDgCKnIQfK3GP9M_6y2VRutBOWtcPkAmp8G9dPBBGfMxTHvu8=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "I can't quite see ... if I could just get a little bit closer ..."</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3Li_q3B7Kx58POhi1JxwMXSMo9F5QRo8QE4TPNfEZT0Fy_cmljkX_ochdoG98MlwMqXquwNzEr08RltaiMgYDef2pCDM07K4zUapNCuZkyk-AdkieRgaawnKtItkqj0m1-XhMj4BxVvADNz1sB7s_lweO5ZzkkS36-yeg8uTz2e7gGKb6HeWLmQCK=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3Li_q3B7Kx58POhi1JxwMXSMo9F5QRo8QE4TPNfEZT0Fy_cmljkX_ochdoG98MlwMqXquwNzEr08RltaiMgYDef2pCDM07K4zUapNCuZkyk-AdkieRgaawnKtItkqj0m1-XhMj4BxVvADNz1sB7s_lweO5ZzkkS36-yeg8uTz2e7gGKb6HeWLmQCK=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> " ... but this darned fence is in the way ..."</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZcHgp3Xcxor8AEYPTSkQEbRxkXVDY061iGBkJ9YhdgVIIVBWZIAFNPA5mK-HZ8cF7hDYzMZxmhx-wuqxdjYsmrqHsOvPSS8Yxp-FegwGeDDWVpEbL3KC6zJCV8k865Cv5Tu1U_O1SKXGRW49iP7XsP9l8l_jqIPJyRgC-Zr5qolTVIFdzI6wCAusu=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZcHgp3Xcxor8AEYPTSkQEbRxkXVDY061iGBkJ9YhdgVIIVBWZIAFNPA5mK-HZ8cF7hDYzMZxmhx-wuqxdjYsmrqHsOvPSS8Yxp-FegwGeDDWVpEbL3KC6zJCV8k865Cv5Tu1U_O1SKXGRW49iP7XsP9l8l_jqIPJyRgC-Zr5qolTVIFdzI6wCAusu=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "If I could <b>just</b> get my head in ... "</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPM0iXHerTkrXIBi7TEc6XtlGCRFplhWtQOe4hkfY-Oiuu5bSv8cyGwtCIMUU4xn31ymP3NCskC5bpA8wFXqV-NOhz1k2M2IK_qd5zFjP6zjxYQSDK7X0Jb5tZvqf7Ts_KsTO7twVWHzcjCKuFpxV6XfZeKfeqEZdxQ0tUqybHXQZfoT6_SueXmIgZ=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPM0iXHerTkrXIBi7TEc6XtlGCRFplhWtQOe4hkfY-Oiuu5bSv8cyGwtCIMUU4xn31ymP3NCskC5bpA8wFXqV-NOhz1k2M2IK_qd5zFjP6zjxYQSDK7X0Jb5tZvqf7Ts_KsTO7twVWHzcjCKuFpxV6XfZeKfeqEZdxQ0tUqybHXQZfoT6_SueXmIgZ=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "There! I think I can ... "</i><p></p><p>Now the squares in field fencing, at least mine, are just 5"x6". No problem, right? But at this point, all photographic event recording was cut short because all of a sudden not only was his head through, but somehow the entire body! My friends, have you ever seen an overweight woman of a certain age make it over a four and a half foot fence yelling 'Here,Goatfather! Take this camera!' in under ten seconds? Because if you haven't, you would have seen it this morning. It was one for the record books, I can tell you. And as if that weren't enough, to make matters even worse, the game was on! Catch me if you can, Goatmother!!!! Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!!!!</p><p>Thanks to the Goatfather's fortuitously having had 'special' treats in his pocket, I was finally able to capture the little miscreant before Peanut figured out he was within butting distance. Whew! </p><p>After that great sigh of relief, I had to get ready to go to the grocery store where I managed to drop an entire container of fresh blueberries all over the floor at the checkout. They went everywhere, even out into the main aisle. A lady passing by looked down and said, 'If these were M&Ms everyone would be picking them up!' There's always one.</p><p>So have you ever had one of those days? I haven't yet noticed any physical signs of my foray into the world of Olympic hurdling. Somehow, though, I think tonight Ibuprofen and I may have a special relationship.</p><p><i>“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t
walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving
forward.”—Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></p><p>Okay, remind me of this tomorrow.<br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-91456644713015957252022-03-03T08:38:00.001-08:002022-03-03T08:38:19.736-08:00I'm A Big Kid Now!<p>You remember it, right? That commercial a few years back for some brand of 'pull ups' where the child dons the diaper-like underpant product and sings 'I'm a big kid now!'? Remember? I sure do, but perhaps I date myself. It was a commercial that portrayed a passage. A passage from babyhood to youngpersonhood (there's a word for you). A passage from complete dependence to semi-autonomy. In short, one step forward in the growing up process. Was that child's mother sad that her 'baby' wasn't a baby anymore? Was she disheartened thinking 'where has he gone'? Or was she just relieved on some level?</p><p>Mochi went to the groomer on Tuesday for his first hair cut. Some part of me is glad he can now actually see me, not to mention the world, without having to peek through a tangled jungle. The other part of me, however, is just <b>so</b> sad that my little fuzzball is gone. Oh, yes. Hair grows. Still, it will never be quite the same. Kind of like that first time your son goes for a real haircut (one minus the bowl look) and comes back a freshly combed and slicked down 'young man'. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJJOqZETFYtVNOM9NpHo3ecu-QacLVyZOC5Y8H20hQJTrMIr0lWAhrs41adtorpGHsDCuBQJA2shBuIyOnV3Mlyro1Kscx9OJ8a9iEYCDn2o3R3Hsl_xhQb4OykNqYl-WPl6DklWJW9KNvaJ904TOB9w_BFy_f7-KQCgGzVdt6zDe_yd006rb86a_z=s1647" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1647" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJJOqZETFYtVNOM9NpHo3ecu-QacLVyZOC5Y8H20hQJTrMIr0lWAhrs41adtorpGHsDCuBQJA2shBuIyOnV3Mlyro1Kscx9OJ8a9iEYCDn2o3R3Hsl_xhQb4OykNqYl-WPl6DklWJW9KNvaJ904TOB9w_BFy_f7-KQCgGzVdt6zDe_yd006rb86a_z=s320" width="249" /></a></div><p><i>"A tie. Really? What was that groomer thinking?"</i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8lF4f9pe5YY7mubPfdIuNn1KXUGscDJVeWjs9SSqnMoSy7vxW5XVH00dR8VgH0pnHj63yh_QECuKjLKOL-qlnTCwR1TrCD7-Rvb96ZqwTtcx15Xv20K-Jad-DUE_jwgFM4wh03m9JcJt-9meJ66Pb0z2JUiVDOSfjCzh-RgTREG8xD2jsyW79hsqO=s3912" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3912" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8lF4f9pe5YY7mubPfdIuNn1KXUGscDJVeWjs9SSqnMoSy7vxW5XVH00dR8VgH0pnHj63yh_QECuKjLKOL-qlnTCwR1TrCD7-Rvb96ZqwTtcx15Xv20K-Jad-DUE_jwgFM4wh03m9JcJt-9meJ66Pb0z2JUiVDOSfjCzh-RgTREG8xD2jsyW79hsqO=s320" width="234" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "This is <b>too</b> humiliating.</i><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEkbIzUECdvv-E6NlS93Gdkc_DkYzjW-EwYNpjUcl4Gf8QRXYb9fLXotS4heasUJjTASXZIyTpuhNe4dGeCfQMM59meQz7k5UNxYllqixe7x6vCzw8VPSpQaI2z2EgeE0mjzY-dEK95QnSL-yXDTWGCylOxtMJd8Jkpj_kdm6wBSst-2ki9Bi-ueU0=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1258" data-original-width="1280" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEkbIzUECdvv-E6NlS93Gdkc_DkYzjW-EwYNpjUcl4Gf8QRXYb9fLXotS4heasUJjTASXZIyTpuhNe4dGeCfQMM59meQz7k5UNxYllqixe7x6vCzw8VPSpQaI2z2EgeE0mjzY-dEK95QnSL-yXDTWGCylOxtMJd8Jkpj_kdm6wBSst-2ki9Bi-ueU0=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><i>"Harrumph. Surely there is a bright side. Surely!"</i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMNf8byHF9KaCzVTngmwjUWcXVX58Ko4qTIx7S_jZY0xCQ760IQhWDfrNLZudPK0OSkF3NaeOfd6CE-EyEjMPQzKm72en9u5n6wPWdIWTaFHHkFgv5WycF8jW0-usPVXnIPUn-ygU6x20wP_lzMd9hSFxmIJ5qKVoGPlyvM3NS9hlEu1Sdq1Z-OXhf=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="1280" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMNf8byHF9KaCzVTngmwjUWcXVX58Ko4qTIx7S_jZY0xCQ760IQhWDfrNLZudPK0OSkF3NaeOfd6CE-EyEjMPQzKm72en9u5n6wPWdIWTaFHHkFgv5WycF8jW0-usPVXnIPUn-ygU6x20wP_lzMd9hSFxmIJ5qKVoGPlyvM3NS9hlEu1Sdq1Z-OXhf=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Oh, look! I can actually get this thing in my mouth! Who knew???"</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0ANRJxrdLx1N_n-WoEaHT1wsCVeI2o_JwLOUf6Ur4uYNVEM9mVAz06lbMSzxvVr_RYhSluBNrnv7GIFHRx_OGULBqg9idVLzXUdOpCCoPaS3gx72-GNmBw3zdsFVEXCSDKC8YRKMDIjAQoSqC1yyxKOIxIzwIF5j4UCUQb8uSq_trxYoORwL_GNq7=s1362" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0ANRJxrdLx1N_n-WoEaHT1wsCVeI2o_JwLOUf6Ur4uYNVEM9mVAz06lbMSzxvVr_RYhSluBNrnv7GIFHRx_OGULBqg9idVLzXUdOpCCoPaS3gx72-GNmBw3zdsFVEXCSDKC8YRKMDIjAQoSqC1yyxKOIxIzwIF5j4UCUQb8uSq_trxYoORwL_GNq7=s320" width="301" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i>" <i>Hmm... Doesn't taste <b>too</b> bad. Now what can I <b>do</b> with this thing?"</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgTvxXi98qC8s7T0dvHoF_GMBnqhXVeJrjT6P7r4Fovh-fN8Ty6FKlWsxMirJw5iG7_M-pCu-oiA1aul1RpWKuWMuYQ7RbM_zxDA45hAlLsziMZH3-t6vx09n42-SkT6t3Y8G6MUPIjsTYgYPGe591PEVzhkiAt73Z5qEWjba5CJYNlZeI2o3Trhus=s1502" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1502" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgTvxXi98qC8s7T0dvHoF_GMBnqhXVeJrjT6P7r4Fovh-fN8Ty6FKlWsxMirJw5iG7_M-pCu-oiA1aul1RpWKuWMuYQ7RbM_zxDA45hAlLsziMZH3-t6vx09n42-SkT6t3Y8G6MUPIjsTYgYPGe591PEVzhkiAt73Z5qEWjba5CJYNlZeI2o3Trhus=s320" width="273" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Wheeeee! I <b>knew </b>there was an upside!"</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTAXQYQfOFY9f3Lg3ly1I4N8kvlTARl3FxefnipxNZgTgw7BUcPsS7WiYxcthCb3iUMUD-CAW-_7RZa4jYUKJ4HbfaB-DokOOgU7c1qiBCGoI_YtHAfyhrz3_Dc3k_DD8s7LDnWSYw3sgscd-VTJ-kJiQJf5uB-c9F0CFO-c0vAiPjxcMfNA06aYOA=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1280" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTAXQYQfOFY9f3Lg3ly1I4N8kvlTARl3FxefnipxNZgTgw7BUcPsS7WiYxcthCb3iUMUD-CAW-_7RZa4jYUKJ4HbfaB-DokOOgU7c1qiBCGoI_YtHAfyhrz3_Dc3k_DD8s7LDnWSYw3sgscd-VTJ-kJiQJf5uB-c9F0CFO-c0vAiPjxcMfNA06aYOA=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><b><br /> </b></i><b> </b><p></p><p><b>Never give a banana to a monkey.</b><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-1742582536612523732022-02-26T14:59:00.000-08:002022-02-26T14:59:21.136-08:00The Zen Of Carrot<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_aKBKzQfHJ2I895cxwPlxhHW_jhzgDw5Arjpr9RxjX9cbgiTpUAVOcqPV7kAz9O17iLulSmjuxkAZaFGs0yRzPU1lxY6126cN5qpxVMD6HMzaqF7jx6co1CcpAF2xzlYJnayYOc-SbINIJ1R654gx2fAf7U-YONncN6GxrdDCfXIXkzjBgyXWYF48=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_aKBKzQfHJ2I895cxwPlxhHW_jhzgDw5Arjpr9RxjX9cbgiTpUAVOcqPV7kAz9O17iLulSmjuxkAZaFGs0yRzPU1lxY6126cN5qpxVMD6HMzaqF7jx6co1CcpAF2xzlYJnayYOc-SbINIJ1R654gx2fAf7U-YONncN6GxrdDCfXIXkzjBgyXWYF48=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> "<i>The mind of the beginner is empty, free of the habits of the expert,
ready to accept, to doubt, and open to all the possibilities." - Shunryu
Suzuki</i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQvPHdlLUElFng1KX1iQav6Gy25rowIClW8kbTI_28CdjD6ZZpuohwJkLSv35xQeMs9hyfEml-JLMu4LR_yS4XoYHW3RnXYbv68MqukuQJVA5fiSUoZxyoojKGuDcBkVg052eXjYtT6htDTN-peawjCOWmeA8fmJWiJDcZrQqBFMeSTyX25Lqe4IFr=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQvPHdlLUElFng1KX1iQav6Gy25rowIClW8kbTI_28CdjD6ZZpuohwJkLSv35xQeMs9hyfEml-JLMu4LR_yS4XoYHW3RnXYbv68MqukuQJVA5fiSUoZxyoojKGuDcBkVg052eXjYtT6htDTN-peawjCOWmeA8fmJWiJDcZrQqBFMeSTyX25Lqe4IFr=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <i>"When one first seeks the truth, one separates oneself from it." - Dogen</i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigdm4XpRg_U670S0Ms_7iZxBKOsweSwzSA43a-kM64QdjGbXxjcv-I9Z2qAgmmh7GQarW8bEjFGBl9qkA-w5TksHxbEARtLk9svKs1SiOJH2foB38N2QD-_EDChoYNuLJ2gAfDkEEPfA08ZvvbJgTA9b5GeRn12BdkbkR75S_9aR4KUvMBjc5AYo3x=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigdm4XpRg_U670S0Ms_7iZxBKOsweSwzSA43a-kM64QdjGbXxjcv-I9Z2qAgmmh7GQarW8bEjFGBl9qkA-w5TksHxbEARtLk9svKs1SiOJH2foB38N2QD-_EDChoYNuLJ2gAfDkEEPfA08ZvvbJgTA9b5GeRn12BdkbkR75S_9aR4KUvMBjc5AYo3x=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <i>"The true purpose [of Zen] is to see things as they are, to observe
things as they are, and to let everything go as it goes." - Shunryu Suzuki</i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIwlpAyaiSKr8xVaj4OEEMbiwM4Pn2LKERXFfT0yMxDb48w47JUWu9QJHmnQ7CTag0zaY9eO25MOOwpQfS0Wp_nxujIpODAdYPZl21oyFFEo2YpmHds3d7tawd0QVFAgSt4LtxOmzRof-mz6xxp5iQQ28-1Ji6bwnUpUjSmSYh5RkYHZQfUV0ewbZH=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIwlpAyaiSKr8xVaj4OEEMbiwM4Pn2LKERXFfT0yMxDb48w47JUWu9QJHmnQ7CTag0zaY9eO25MOOwpQfS0Wp_nxujIpODAdYPZl21oyFFEo2YpmHds3d7tawd0QVFAgSt4LtxOmzRof-mz6xxp5iQQ28-1Ji6bwnUpUjSmSYh5RkYHZQfUV0ewbZH=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><blockquote><p><i>"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is a miracle." - <a href="https://wisdomquotes.com/albert-einstein-quotes/">Albert Einstein</a></i></p></blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj5fNtYl4atpgqk-3EaDANLx7IioT6THbPr1tGvXNgFszLxSKVKec7c9G2aOCh25Ag2TK7DvmCSnpnkQG1HEAr8XBBaF9fVZbatA_8N0-EKwBiVFk3UNDPgu8VSeWZEx7l4K3Pb0jclO3GePnSM9AjtDN37qflBrQB__PXXc9xjPux2ztU4BehYTIJ=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj5fNtYl4atpgqk-3EaDANLx7IioT6THbPr1tGvXNgFszLxSKVKec7c9G2aOCh25Ag2TK7DvmCSnpnkQG1HEAr8XBBaF9fVZbatA_8N0-EKwBiVFk3UNDPgu8VSeWZEx7l4K3Pb0jclO3GePnSM9AjtDN37qflBrQB__PXXc9xjPux2ztU4BehYTIJ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <i>"Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished." - Lao Tzu</i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYKAJS2Gj4WtTU3FUvNo3BDjw-13sUXXAcx1-PUmOSyXC_iezZTeKlZnDeU-PiYttlAMSPwzxp6E3ZL4kTRsPJ6K2T85Wxq27owo-BMEXFHWUXjpva6LrgPgjaDVYuJbU1wGld3F04F5XRr3GV_pWMPDvYjkYSNVKLgKm-t37kBEPwAhjluRumQL7q=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYKAJS2Gj4WtTU3FUvNo3BDjw-13sUXXAcx1-PUmOSyXC_iezZTeKlZnDeU-PiYttlAMSPwzxp6E3ZL4kTRsPJ6K2T85Wxq27owo-BMEXFHWUXjpva6LrgPgjaDVYuJbU1wGld3F04F5XRr3GV_pWMPDvYjkYSNVKLgKm-t37kBEPwAhjluRumQL7q=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <i>"Zen teaches that if we can open up to the inevitability of our demise,
we can begin to transform and lighten up about it." - Allen Klein</i><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIANeOC9M99gNivAk0-AboSD5QWP_IuOZdisKY5x-Y9tu3iWKVV1JJQi4-m3eXq8kUStxlHMBFaqiVOtAq4vVcE6CZVf41WB8PAajiJGD5fGVSPvY_DNFAzmIZT_FyPhQume4_ViXs7rlCotpBvy_Hb2rXPZ3cnbWB87zvL07oka1UVtvaS0XxmwUU=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIANeOC9M99gNivAk0-AboSD5QWP_IuOZdisKY5x-Y9tu3iWKVV1JJQi4-m3eXq8kUStxlHMBFaqiVOtAq4vVcE6CZVf41WB8PAajiJGD5fGVSPvY_DNFAzmIZT_FyPhQume4_ViXs7rlCotpBvy_Hb2rXPZ3cnbWB87zvL07oka1UVtvaS0XxmwUU=s320" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p><i>"When thoughts arise, then do all things arise. When thoughts vanish, then do all things vanish." - Huang Po</i><br /> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc-lL5G_FnUSLV_RFFJym-mSYIcqKwwfaJ8Wt6xFE70Z21-OMIjtbixADadjciQNEag-xYOzkfyD3pwKOaF3mFIMRVNwktGm74YfM29e6bSDrf8VlwyEBC2kM0PkAjBkaPdi09ZdntnJn2Yb02eTPLq3sEENZa4Tu7ebXLZbKvMx8xaXbFnZydsQoD=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc-lL5G_FnUSLV_RFFJym-mSYIcqKwwfaJ8Wt6xFE70Z21-OMIjtbixADadjciQNEag-xYOzkfyD3pwKOaF3mFIMRVNwktGm74YfM29e6bSDrf8VlwyEBC2kM0PkAjBkaPdi09ZdntnJn2Yb02eTPLq3sEENZa4Tu7ebXLZbKvMx8xaXbFnZydsQoD=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><i>"Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know." - Pema Chödrön</i><p><br /> </p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-52909109084650363662022-02-21T11:58:00.001-08:002022-02-21T11:59:48.863-08:00Shakespeare ...<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnzIvxGH4xwKaWlEwkwzNkv6nEYzeiA0EyVMtXEddjQsJONDFa74mCL-45n3Oo74gSPt2-6lxH97EQ-y6Jum_RBZwCBIcITIoadNeAmMnOvA1XljPOE54AvqTIvnLnFkuE6o4QedwLg8CrnWf5MXIIBDZPpJLYh53P_ABBGLqAT7Bn6IvTP62Y5pCh=s3384" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3384" data-original-width="2808" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnzIvxGH4xwKaWlEwkwzNkv6nEYzeiA0EyVMtXEddjQsJONDFa74mCL-45n3Oo74gSPt2-6lxH97EQ-y6Jum_RBZwCBIcITIoadNeAmMnOvA1XljPOE54AvqTIvnLnFkuE6o4QedwLg8CrnWf5MXIIBDZPpJLYh53P_ABBGLqAT7Bn6IvTP62Y5pCh=s320" width="266" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <i>"What fresh hell is this ... !?!"</i></span></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTte61GhU9liGC7C3_w89Gt2HR-m3oZ9DHW4sLsbclX2qbQDuQirwKer2gmMn9oknHXM-HEMwIiQwRC7IMIhMMT4iYusboYKRiKbq4V8PfFDUNDll67OICBelg44apbKCNiFL2yZa52Ym6rvx634UfTMO-1NUUlnC6vzNKTO-bFDaxmF0vjf0Zp4Vj=s2508" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2260" data-original-width="2508" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTte61GhU9liGC7C3_w89Gt2HR-m3oZ9DHW4sLsbclX2qbQDuQirwKer2gmMn9oknHXM-HEMwIiQwRC7IMIhMMT4iYusboYKRiKbq4V8PfFDUNDll67OICBelg44apbKCNiFL2yZa52Ym6rvx634UfTMO-1NUUlnC6vzNKTO-bFDaxmF0vjf0Zp4Vj=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"Though now this grained face of mine be hid in sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, and all the conduits of my blood froze ... " </i> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>... whilst mentioning not mine giblets own!</i> </span><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-15340747891974919292022-02-19T12:46:00.000-08:002022-02-19T12:46:42.516-08:00Age-Old Mystery Solved ...<p> It has happened to us all. Admit it. You know it has. Laundry day comes. You gather up all those dirty clothes and throw them in the washer. Eventually they get to the dryer and spin about like happy astronauts at zero gravity. Finally that buzzer sounds and it's time to fold.</p><p>Laundry. One of those never-ending constants that 'they' keep forgetting to mention. You fold the shirts. Line up the pant legs so they can be folded nicely. Make nice squares out of those towels and wash rags. So on and so forth ad nauseam until eventually it comes down to the socks. And with equal and annoying eventuality, you inevitably end up with one sock missing. Or perhaps two. But those two socks <b>surely</b> do not match. That's how it is. <i>Where</i> do these socks go? Who knows. It is a mystery.</p><p>You go back, retracing your steps to see if somehow those miscreants jumped ship as you were ferrying them toward cleanliness. You recheck the laundry hamper in the hopes that you might have inadvertently missed picking them up. Maybe there is one lounging languidly somewhere on the floor. Nope. They have just disappeared - as if by magic. Spirited off to some unknown corner of the Universe never to be seen or heard from (not to mention worn) again. </p><p>But friends, <b>I</b> have solved the age-old mystery of the missing sock! One picture is worth a thousand words, but four! ... that's an entire dictionary! <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg800ur9xqZFvpomf1OLesUgl8tPdxMgGSgFvA_1FdjGqBBYgMxyO7UhpaSNmfSjHuiK_aQ6zG0mMz_QPdeQM_IFjo2DI2sTXteaLxFlKUndLmJY_-nmdnmVjjUh33yCted_beXcLDpXbOY4kDqVhlNJnvZ1HvxsfRfUx1_LlvkEKaZRmJvwWt8is7H=s1920" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg800ur9xqZFvpomf1OLesUgl8tPdxMgGSgFvA_1FdjGqBBYgMxyO7UhpaSNmfSjHuiK_aQ6zG0mMz_QPdeQM_IFjo2DI2sTXteaLxFlKUndLmJY_-nmdnmVjjUh33yCted_beXcLDpXbOY4kDqVhlNJnvZ1HvxsfRfUx1_LlvkEKaZRmJvwWt8is7H=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMdUrNsIWWSqhBtKY8r0BINUCHpJoLBjwcccTQFqjyaPIvZTqD3KwfNCm40dosAl0lEEDAViqq9Q84XcHszn1piYIAxr6DugGa-UppyQI1Vx2t8NtIM4k691PKYUl51p3c6ItiWwki1DyykokBr7IiWymaVInrxIBpjL8PzuBC3PtE-4GhCT1APIDV=s1920" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMdUrNsIWWSqhBtKY8r0BINUCHpJoLBjwcccTQFqjyaPIvZTqD3KwfNCm40dosAl0lEEDAViqq9Q84XcHszn1piYIAxr6DugGa-UppyQI1Vx2t8NtIM4k691PKYUl51p3c6ItiWwki1DyykokBr7IiWymaVInrxIBpjL8PzuBC3PtE-4GhCT1APIDV=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBjXNgKVM1GDljzza-DiDcmX2AihIWzJlRuHZIIQc3D93uy31QCwHjTCMM2MmK1Z63xAPzfUWVaYBlPnO71XrucRN3gI-1je4Krprod2DxbrGnihLOx1R9bWpjeV7mTZ-QgSuaOPx28uDwcxirDgUsDEuIRSFdpVmq_XHBgQ_filv2hBMtlGVKO30Y=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBjXNgKVM1GDljzza-DiDcmX2AihIWzJlRuHZIIQc3D93uy31QCwHjTCMM2MmK1Z63xAPzfUWVaYBlPnO71XrucRN3gI-1je4Krprod2DxbrGnihLOx1R9bWpjeV7mTZ-QgSuaOPx28uDwcxirDgUsDEuIRSFdpVmq_XHBgQ_filv2hBMtlGVKO30Y=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN9QFF8sUIoYHk9IXXOScKMFAHnib00eDM8m6XFHsZVtZRB26IQ9vW_1TnGPvgTXCHxEOtl7D0GaHglgr9p6gCoxgkkI1WDlXIQU9NuOpPM3f-LrAj4WTvBA4XMUoZjzz4TeNNkmT-zOsA7Kf2ewbDaqYTM5sP0BXrK68U9q2eWcXkKxsmGp5sEwLy=s2872" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2624" data-original-width="2872" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN9QFF8sUIoYHk9IXXOScKMFAHnib00eDM8m6XFHsZVtZRB26IQ9vW_1TnGPvgTXCHxEOtl7D0GaHglgr9p6gCoxgkkI1WDlXIQU9NuOpPM3f-LrAj4WTvBA4XMUoZjzz4TeNNkmT-zOsA7Kf2ewbDaqYTM5sP0BXrK68U9q2eWcXkKxsmGp5sEwLy=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>“A sockless man is not to be trusted.”
<br /> ―
<span class="authorOrTitle">
Jessi Klein,
</span>
<span id="quote_book_link_27170141">
<a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/47207022">You'll Grow Out of It</a>
</span></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-27027169635573052792022-02-15T15:04:00.000-08:002022-02-15T15:04:03.658-08:00Channeling ...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1UD02LgATTvMlchArzaZ62xzbFp0vpljmqCo_ESojjHo1TJQdHAFlxLuQ4yLwTJvcclUhefdAAEJrFW_cphPIhH7reoLgik8gXbNqj1HtUGV7EotTSjekqmIWCR384G4T_ZefBe1gliSx7p7jKfMBNZ0vugzJOPuNJRBTtM7BRKfcygCqiAUQOot9=s4040" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3256" data-original-width="4040" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1UD02LgATTvMlchArzaZ62xzbFp0vpljmqCo_ESojjHo1TJQdHAFlxLuQ4yLwTJvcclUhefdAAEJrFW_cphPIhH7reoLgik8gXbNqj1HtUGV7EotTSjekqmIWCR384G4T_ZefBe1gliSx7p7jKfMBNZ0vugzJOPuNJRBTtM7BRKfcygCqiAUQOot9=s320" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p> Mochi is channeling his inner Boris Johnson.<br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-63497020206559331852022-02-13T08:49:00.000-08:002022-02-13T08:49:32.272-08:00I Is A Frisbee Dog ...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijQN6uPJuxxp9jiALgMYkc--6GlxyXci_f2LPND8_AwoUjN76jM-dWKwDzJJASQUzjTA98WXlb8D_02KlYHnJpc7EWs_wD5XmR4DcjqJxmBO2aqR-MAdgLFWMi0rJUYJr9i79dqbUcn1keDLDWAsay4WNR2B--J5R5baZK3kKrz3nVIiPxCfCoWoj-=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijQN6uPJuxxp9jiALgMYkc--6GlxyXci_f2LPND8_AwoUjN76jM-dWKwDzJJASQUzjTA98WXlb8D_02KlYHnJpc7EWs_wD5XmR4DcjqJxmBO2aqR-MAdgLFWMi0rJUYJr9i79dqbUcn1keDLDWAsay4WNR2B--J5R5baZK3kKrz3nVIiPxCfCoWoj-=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /> "Okay, Mochi! Ready????"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGgTcYyVaEYmJK-GJkrhdh7kwiqOQt5nbYMymUTa9UyD39R2EmZN6jOqGr2CUYjfIco3uE1tv8RVdMsa9VgHfO2rIj2WwsYhCf1NmUw7pogSAnFIn9eL8MiCZL29lgmZw2KvexgHqPsazo9VkzPfz_oZwVTuuA4jqZKpxbwNmT-En1tYG92TcBvqAY=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGgTcYyVaEYmJK-GJkrhdh7kwiqOQt5nbYMymUTa9UyD39R2EmZN6jOqGr2CUYjfIco3uE1tv8RVdMsa9VgHfO2rIj2WwsYhCf1NmUw7pogSAnFIn9eL8MiCZL29lgmZw2KvexgHqPsazo9VkzPfz_oZwVTuuA4jqZKpxbwNmT-En1tYG92TcBvqAY=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>"<i>I <b>said</b> I was ready. Why is this guy not letting go???"</i></p><p><i> </i><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhX924jQbVcKWlr8pWHcAxBIImc8Kgwf7gY8nRIc-ngbL3jOfRWouZT4LrMXW7T1Oh8INL2l-oafZ1J06_C16-7XSy_txyW3A0b1gmAZIT81RVk0SRrteA64mAzP3dXzRlw42H-g_hlYliU-auBtVtg6NjlDxDs6emybmKlaR7gYG_3mTa785ffv76j=s3984" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2852" data-original-width="3984" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhX924jQbVcKWlr8pWHcAxBIImc8Kgwf7gY8nRIc-ngbL3jOfRWouZT4LrMXW7T1Oh8INL2l-oafZ1J06_C16-7XSy_txyW3A0b1gmAZIT81RVk0SRrteA64mAzP3dXzRlw42H-g_hlYliU-auBtVtg6NjlDxDs6emybmKlaR7gYG_3mTa785ffv76j=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><i>"<b>Finally! </b>Now we're talking ... "</i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq-Nh8589t0MbIaKpzbHnx8LmDcgcDvEfI8zF15IEtG4dfYE81XZnPac8hxOgPQNuUXX6wWLIbUj2nR2JuShuudqt44E51uqo9MRsNoEhGVMiWqmjkJUndwAqdqs3QSylHE1ELKBIZZQyfTZHwnr5b3eX1yv_J4-HMNpdUn0dIxL2lcLNseuzgs1m_=s914" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="914" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq-Nh8589t0MbIaKpzbHnx8LmDcgcDvEfI8zF15IEtG4dfYE81XZnPac8hxOgPQNuUXX6wWLIbUj2nR2JuShuudqt44E51uqo9MRsNoEhGVMiWqmjkJUndwAqdqs3QSylHE1ELKBIZZQyfTZHwnr5b3eX1yv_J4-HMNpdUn0dIxL2lcLNseuzgs1m_=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Oops! Overshot. Should have kept the flaps down ... "</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLGlipPlRAf1m-ZBT_BHw-8uxCZd3gbb4mIwCMMe2cupDq7a_Dx-hEPibnCXaZQ8rPp3nfa5FTvTtp-1Xz4Tq7zRz8ujTAh_TgOWZVIuSWbnJqk1lN9E9sPj-Q1eyAToBTq818p2KkPbAvHashzCxTNlkl30bU16APphp_NEnOBe6PB6orcQfnZ6ZL=s1471" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1471" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLGlipPlRAf1m-ZBT_BHw-8uxCZd3gbb4mIwCMMe2cupDq7a_Dx-hEPibnCXaZQ8rPp3nfa5FTvTtp-1Xz4Tq7zRz8ujTAh_TgOWZVIuSWbnJqk1lN9E9sPj-Q1eyAToBTq818p2KkPbAvHashzCxTNlkl30bU16APphp_NEnOBe6PB6orcQfnZ6ZL=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> " Ah! <b>Nice </b>correction! I got this!!!! "</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpSQHOvXzsBpo1XEU_p064BmRoOX_M3QiBF0ypLawG756x7LmBfJVVYLoif682I3cy8GFn539QtXYfVKLciZEFLJfE_S2-h5uK-DQ0X9dYJpVME6BhnlYVh7MOT3g43N4RDAhoeEGxe-sqIANACYwg48wqHdnW34uf2BQtorBRgM-X5ND94hLMyd5p=s3760" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3052" data-original-width="3760" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpSQHOvXzsBpo1XEU_p064BmRoOX_M3QiBF0ypLawG756x7LmBfJVVYLoif682I3cy8GFn539QtXYfVKLciZEFLJfE_S2-h5uK-DQ0X9dYJpVME6BhnlYVh7MOT3g43N4RDAhoeEGxe-sqIANACYwg48wqHdnW34uf2BQtorBRgM-X5ND94hLMyd5p=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Don't drop it ... don't drop it ... don't drop it ..."</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrbJjX4fq1Bzx5PKTXvV-d_mIzTjmxmztI5NmnmKDuOWzF4L8xXQ_8upA_uwgUIVq5tYYMBU4L3170rFLZ7zHldiRFV_L5YMAasgQmhxiCW4juHDR0EEw-99nqI_9mtiEbDg5mqvQ8EI1LDySE-5Nq-58eB2dGPfuu6acvfWLHaU5NjyzKmefjsAZd=s4952" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3044" data-original-width="4952" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrbJjX4fq1Bzx5PKTXvV-d_mIzTjmxmztI5NmnmKDuOWzF4L8xXQ_8upA_uwgUIVq5tYYMBU4L3170rFLZ7zHldiRFV_L5YMAasgQmhxiCW4juHDR0EEw-99nqI_9mtiEbDg5mqvQ8EI1LDySE-5Nq-58eB2dGPfuu6acvfWLHaU5NjyzKmefjsAZd=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "Game, set, match! Moch, my man, you got it goin' <b>ON</b>! ..."</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIVoH4sLI-6VTRU8mPMYnc6arPoCO-6dzwLoZDHJL0q4Q5w7vGsWCRuWRdHrSDojzFKV3iWI6x6jKYoDxA5ftXRLg22OFs2jv16IApJh_nDe3dc3nijcZ73jfFWVedwukNz4CCisbjK4PowWTtX8Ebl2PZE2iQQ32wQJDdRsMglgwNN-nxhIIqrrEc=s5184" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIVoH4sLI-6VTRU8mPMYnc6arPoCO-6dzwLoZDHJL0q4Q5w7vGsWCRuWRdHrSDojzFKV3iWI6x6jKYoDxA5ftXRLg22OFs2jv16IApJh_nDe3dc3nijcZ73jfFWVedwukNz4CCisbjK4PowWTtX8Ebl2PZE2iQQ32wQJDdRsMglgwNN-nxhIIqrrEc=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> " That was a lot of hard work. I need a little break. Now where was that big clump of grass? Ahhh ... "</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUpzOJDmW4VJdVxXpfX4MXvK9PBREFiaforN5ng4DJhfjTGj52KpuYfLjrnTBy-MNkMCf1gL9CpKQ7ll3ILxbAp87LtXKv0zRVa_hTxbfMutgyWYBGlD8qLz6xAr5UMYy0WI6E2_lEDZt623pSvpCqdNjarjtSBEn1HtWf1mqx4T49vqoDyyD-5YLT=s2776" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1978" data-original-width="2776" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUpzOJDmW4VJdVxXpfX4MXvK9PBREFiaforN5ng4DJhfjTGj52KpuYfLjrnTBy-MNkMCf1gL9CpKQ7ll3ILxbAp87LtXKv0zRVa_hTxbfMutgyWYBGlD8qLz6xAr5UMYy0WI6E2_lEDZt623pSvpCqdNjarjtSBEn1HtWf1mqx4T49vqoDyyD-5YLT=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> "You did <b>NOT </b>just take that picture?!!!! "<br /></i><p></p><p><i> </i><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-89758350709230795802022-02-11T16:23:00.003-08:002022-02-11T16:42:54.629-08:00How Fast They Grow ...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcOXiDtH3sPrResCtHuvHr_LAgMR6Ex7NHatk2QtLlrDIFP6S_xVbn_RLXdVLnKjgInQhoz3cZLxzK_DokpbHnkohTF52cQpk-myZHjPtIZoPhYbGoUTmWaUcH8bECMqLirgbpVmJI40H5Oe2CBOzm1SBMeB2lcFe1YqpfdBGzPdB2NhX2lNtWV7vu=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcOXiDtH3sPrResCtHuvHr_LAgMR6Ex7NHatk2QtLlrDIFP6S_xVbn_RLXdVLnKjgInQhoz3cZLxzK_DokpbHnkohTF52cQpk-myZHjPtIZoPhYbGoUTmWaUcH8bECMqLirgbpVmJI40H5Oe2CBOzm1SBMeB2lcFe1YqpfdBGzPdB2NhX2lNtWV7vu=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Well, Mochi was 5 months old as of yesterday. One would not think that a milestone and yet it was. For you see, Mochi, that cute little fuzzball, sort of figured out he is a guy. Yes, my friends, Mochi, hiked his leg. I think the first time was an accident. Kind of one of those knee-jerk reactions. But he was so thrilled with this obvious display of manhood that he ran about hither and yon hiking his leg on anything he could find. Of course when you are as short as that, even a large clump of grass will do. And indeed it did. First was a tree, then the large clump of grass ... and each time he lifted his leg <b>so</b> high he knocked himself over. Ever the optimist, he kept trying.<i> "Never, never, never give up!"</i> Even if you don't really need to go! So while I'm sorry to see him growing up, I am thrilled to see him gaining some sort of maturity. Ah, <b>change</b>...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgPBOa6AMc7t4ywe2Za8CYXaYpm_Qpc3vn6pkbAAQuAhtjhIYjUMTzqmUKhWsiLZs7VbVqrM0zQwUWiP-w6Y2oyub-sKaGZnj3eWnzTQXiXbBNSIJfoE2XmPw0ODLFFJvWeikvO-yZzP1DI24-80qAkUkmE_z7OPT5-RD8LOGCC9nwwK4pOEpODzSW=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgPBOa6AMc7t4ywe2Za8CYXaYpm_Qpc3vn6pkbAAQuAhtjhIYjUMTzqmUKhWsiLZs7VbVqrM0zQwUWiP-w6Y2oyub-sKaGZnj3eWnzTQXiXbBNSIJfoE2XmPw0ODLFFJvWeikvO-yZzP1DI24-80qAkUkmE_z7OPT5-RD8LOGCC9nwwK4pOEpODzSW=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>And you know what else? The lamb lay down with the lion ... and there was peace in the valley. (*Disclaimer: peace was short lived, as peace often is. Still it is a beginning. I'll take it.)</p><p>“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist
them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow
naturally forward in whatever way they like.” ― <a href="https://everydaypower.com/lao-tzu-quotes/"><b>Lao Tzu</b></a><b> </b></p><p>I'm in.<b> </b><br /><b></b></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-49763776233540817112022-02-10T15:01:00.007-08:002022-02-11T16:38:22.927-08:00A Queen In Her Own Right<p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy7EfPqpK0-65t8C9lpBG_6cs0bvRmaxDm3Q2UP0sTW2KLD2JjdAbi8o2YaGuUCPp4Dr8jGMEWaWPdfG06R-CsX6JBQ20v1SRF6rSlGjYZHf-_NfDFcO1hxuKKwQZWwF3LYPsoS5CInyTQttVL7aAaH9sfPnDo-_odC7wFYBxyUhFoW93wNc2SGTFl=s4160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy7EfPqpK0-65t8C9lpBG_6cs0bvRmaxDm3Q2UP0sTW2KLD2JjdAbi8o2YaGuUCPp4Dr8jGMEWaWPdfG06R-CsX6JBQ20v1SRF6rSlGjYZHf-_NfDFcO1hxuKKwQZWwF3LYPsoS5CInyTQttVL7aAaH9sfPnDo-_odC7wFYBxyUhFoW93wNc2SGTFl=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p> </p><p>This is Edna. Edna was born in Wales and emigrated to the U.S. She loved it here, but her heart held a special fondness for the place of her birth. She was a quintessential 'Brit'. She was my friend.</p><p></p><p>She was fiercely conservative to my moderately liberal. Yet we always managed to discuss things and found common ground on quite a few fronts. We always said we could solve the problems of the world if only anyone would listen.</p><p>We met about 9 years ago while we were both volunteering. She held a morning shift on two separate days and we would meet at the proverbial 'Changing of the Guard'. Eventually we became such fast friends that she would just stay over and talk to me. As time progressed, it became more like Edna holding court surrounded by her loyal subjects. Edna had so many friends in the community, and everyone working in the establishment where we volunteered loved her too. She was just that kind of person. Always laughing. Always joking. Because, as she said, if you can't have fun, why do it?</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdQZon-speyrdsPPoNrdpJJpnoKnYZm7MvChwpx0-Yl4oZyvaBOoMA-n_ZBhbGSVHBp6aewj2-6W5ea9c-7KCnAgLZsJVWwDJrM6NBdNoYNKgfFNwBzvvF83DJrE5GahYOKPnMQ_jKNyxFg-gEexkQYEH4-S8l-qhjVDkn1d3bnLkUbnAL0VksULei=s4160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdQZon-speyrdsPPoNrdpJJpnoKnYZm7MvChwpx0-Yl4oZyvaBOoMA-n_ZBhbGSVHBp6aewj2-6W5ea9c-7KCnAgLZsJVWwDJrM6NBdNoYNKgfFNwBzvvF83DJrE5GahYOKPnMQ_jKNyxFg-gEexkQYEH4-S8l-qhjVDkn1d3bnLkUbnAL0VksULei=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /> As I said, Edna was the quintessential 'Brit'. Always proper and always with an opinion on the 'right' way. Witness the look on her face when, having ordered Fish and Chips, the waitress brought out malt vinegar and, heaven forbid!, Catsup. It is simply NOT done! She loved all things tea and many's the discussion we had over the merits of Yorkshire Gold (the Queen's favorite) and how you could actually get more than one good 'cuppa' out of just one tea bag. We went to high tea together. We ate lunch at her house. "Do you want a bikkie?", she would ask. "Proper orange marmalade simply MUST contain Seville oranges." "People say I am opinionated ... and I am!" ... followed by an infectious laugh. <p></p><p>Edna was feisty, kind, and most always had something nice to say about everyone. She treated people as she would like to be treated and expected the same in return. And she thought Emmanuel Macron was about the cutest thing on two legs. "I may be old, but I'm not dead", she would grin.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzFt3BTeRDfpbunliS6DwgcoqbmwiIDOTKAYFkKZvG-_RwtjaYRPSyItbWZ-GjPw0GiJB3YVyVwPZQ_Mp6oh_6Mw7u2shRhf7QLdGM5tkhYRq7KxW80IeXiPbccJHL2XX-6lhzpBfiCOQsO_xO65_SGQc0Z8DuLb5UjxZsALNPnpzD_iZSar5klHxp=s4160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzFt3BTeRDfpbunliS6DwgcoqbmwiIDOTKAYFkKZvG-_RwtjaYRPSyItbWZ-GjPw0GiJB3YVyVwPZQ_Mp6oh_6Mw7u2shRhf7QLdGM5tkhYRq7KxW80IeXiPbccJHL2XX-6lhzpBfiCOQsO_xO65_SGQc0Z8DuLb5UjxZsALNPnpzD_iZSar5klHxp=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>Last week Edna left us. She was 89 years young, as they like to say. In this case it was true. She had a brighter mind and a more youthful outlook than a lot of 50 year olds I know. She lived on simple means but she loved to enjoy the best she could...like French butter. "It is just so much better", she would say, "and I'm worth it." Followed by that infectious little giggle. She was a baker supreme, making the most decadent Dundee fruit cake at Christmas, topped with royal icing, and sporting not only a layer of apricot preserves, but a layer of almond paste. It was no mean feat to make either, taking hours to put together and then having to sit for weeks to be just right. And come Christmas you were lucky indeed if you happened to be one of the recipients. Tarts ... lemon, mince (using specially made mince made and sent to her from California because it was just SO much better than anything you could buy in a grocery store...) and fresh fruit were often gifted to her friends. Generous to a fault and so appreciative of anything someone did for her. That was Edna.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJPQLP9_QXNoEV2V9Miitqdt-IYwtbaAQW77BcHt7TaVRkND9CrRlIWuQjpA089hLKwZM0U4ppg-dvGAcLQWPqo8cGWfg-hYhCHTlVR6IoLwlKjuUZ1KqZSHWBjNJPeUm_OPlM-j38kRIkLXWQWr2ZRpPn2GPxeGbeyTg30h2AGDKlIDFgq9MwxGPR=s4160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJPQLP9_QXNoEV2V9Miitqdt-IYwtbaAQW77BcHt7TaVRkND9CrRlIWuQjpA089hLKwZM0U4ppg-dvGAcLQWPqo8cGWfg-hYhCHTlVR6IoLwlKjuUZ1KqZSHWBjNJPeUm_OPlM-j38kRIkLXWQWr2ZRpPn2GPxeGbeyTg30h2AGDKlIDFgq9MwxGPR=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I will miss her terribly. Who will I have now with whom to discuss the state of the Royals? She wanted to outlive the Queen. I guess it was not to be. But Edna has the last laugh. Betty White was quoted as saying: <i>"My mother had a wonderful approach to death. She always
thought of it as — she said, 'We know we have managed to find out almost
anything that exists, but nobody knows ... what happens at that moment
when it's over.' And she said, 'It's the one secret that we don't know.' So whenever we
would lose somebody very close and very dear, she would always say,
'Well, now he knows the secret.' And it took the curse off of it
somehow."</i> Now, Edna, you know the secret.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-54933922278629048902022-02-05T16:54:00.002-08:002022-02-06T07:05:19.496-08:00"Hey, Hey, He-ey, What About Me ...?"<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqAerTDgQi8OlNB7h4CMFzx0FwtwjwVnQRbxHDoNTYq74I7ghD3w8IQVC0LZtNWJFE-c-CugLFSlTXQJmXSSDpb9_e8yec-Lb0E0k_iK0zRI07FqYvS62uhlZz4lS7MJhwV1Y7PDFXqQARShemegW2k5vQfEGMbBcOefXaOoARHfy85h4Q2qYDLklu=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqAerTDgQi8OlNB7h4CMFzx0FwtwjwVnQRbxHDoNTYq74I7ghD3w8IQVC0LZtNWJFE-c-CugLFSlTXQJmXSSDpb9_e8yec-Lb0E0k_iK0zRI07FqYvS62uhlZz4lS7MJhwV1Y7PDFXqQARShemegW2k5vQfEGMbBcOefXaOoARHfy85h4Q2qYDLklu=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p> </p><p>Remember Cabra? Remember I said before that when we decided to get Mochi we forgot to ask her? I mean <i><b>we</b> </i>thought it was such a good idea. <b><i>We</i></b> thought having a companion would be such a great thing. <i><b>We</b> </i>thought it would be just the ticket for giving her a new lease on life. That was the trouble. <b><i>We</i></b> thought. And we forgot to ask what <i><b>she</b> </i>thought.</p><p></p><p>Okay, admittedly, when we brought Mochi home, things did not go quite as well as we had hoped. Sure <i><b>we</b> </i>thought things might be a bit rocky at first until she got used to him. But there <b><i>we</i></b> went thinking again. I learned a lesson. Don't just think. Ask. Asking is good. Yes, asking is HUGE. Take my advice. Don't be a non-asker.</p><p>So what was so bad? Well, we did, after all, expect there to be a few snaps and growls. I mean this IS a puppy and everyone knows puppies, like children, don't come into this world automatically exhibiting social decorum. The trouble was, well, Cabra is 14 years old. Plus, Mochi, being a puppy no longer with his mother or siblings, saw a dog! Another dog! Oh, boy!!!! He would try to play and she just wasn't having any of that. He couldn't understand. She wouldn't.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA0xjIsLCOdzIwEAru5fjVfWHXoofgkaVLxDgfpArZ3TteW1eUvCpkk9n2aWbvEZJdzzLosO3nAkMNxfo_XDnzNoOIV1mbIbchDoXgrFfcsq2wW_JV33YjBjPkABZIjc_FwXicJIpeGvRdL1KbFTuQ7FA3lCSPlOrjxpqo-Xn0e7EOMAw4KVH6UDuX=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA0xjIsLCOdzIwEAru5fjVfWHXoofgkaVLxDgfpArZ3TteW1eUvCpkk9n2aWbvEZJdzzLosO3nAkMNxfo_XDnzNoOIV1mbIbchDoXgrFfcsq2wW_JV33YjBjPkABZIjc_FwXicJIpeGvRdL1KbFTuQ7FA3lCSPlOrjxpqo-Xn0e7EOMAw4KVH6UDuX=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Had we asked, it probably would have gone something like this:</p><p> "Cabra, guess what? We are going to get a puppy!!"</p><p><i> "A WHAT?!! No. You did NOT just say a puppy. Did you? I'm too old for this ... Shih Tzu "</i></p><p> "No, really, Cabra. You don't have to be lonely for Quinn anymore. And a puppy will give you a new lease on life!"</p><p><i> "A puppy will give me Weltschmerz." (I know...I had to look that up too.)</i></p><p>Anyway, long story short, it has taken two months to get to a point where Cabra deigns to mostly tolerate Mochi. One decided point of contention has not been oh, say, food, as one might think. Possessiveness of people or toys comes to mind. No, the point of contention has been this:</p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJDjpKDor--PdxUpNo5sqN2h3ZaX3pXuK_8EfcMqkAwsdDAO6WjPw-EMg0stIQMnkOFM4RqEGy4sBjogcMW1jELdqECKTkP34lCEiK8pbtQU50UxxmfECY7FnzovcvjR3x7Pu_ILnLTibGi5hp0Gl5d6-sEvhkDp3MZ8-S2PkwgQociE5_UGJTdo2A=s5184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJDjpKDor--PdxUpNo5sqN2h3ZaX3pXuK_8EfcMqkAwsdDAO6WjPw-EMg0stIQMnkOFM4RqEGy4sBjogcMW1jELdqECKTkP34lCEiK8pbtQU50UxxmfECY7FnzovcvjR3x7Pu_ILnLTibGi5hp0Gl5d6-sEvhkDp3MZ8-S2PkwgQociE5_UGJTdo2A=s320" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i>See that magnificent plume of a tail?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj_BMq2S4OXmnzoRTzmktOYJjYh0WleXeKwRo2snZN0u7DXXvWvBiA--zJrXoo-O47YZpvIgBv8noD-EEZKGy2_3K4ib-r5GZIBfifMobu6xsS3ZTnza6sk_mQ8cUH1W4p_dGNkUrf_yUh7FDhx5Xjf9H_3VVr-VklcF8TqlPqQQyhQgyVwojs5KAB=s2068" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2068" data-original-width="1523" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj_BMq2S4OXmnzoRTzmktOYJjYh0WleXeKwRo2snZN0u7DXXvWvBiA--zJrXoo-O47YZpvIgBv8noD-EEZKGy2_3K4ib-r5GZIBfifMobu6xsS3ZTnza6sk_mQ8cUH1W4p_dGNkUrf_yUh7FDhx5Xjf9H_3VVr-VklcF8TqlPqQQyhQgyVwojs5KAB=s320" width="236" /></a></div><br /><p>How about now? </p><p>You see, from day one, Mochi saw this tail and the quest was on. Any time Cabra would jump down from the ottoman (no, not the goat), it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Grab for ze tail! Step to ze side. Olé!!! Finally it got to the point where Cabra gave up and just allowed him to grab her tail and as long as he didn't bite down things went pretty well. But he would grab her tail and then act as though he were shredding the hair. I have been amazed at not finding hair lying about everywhere unattended, and I am still not sure exactly how this is so. <br /></p><p>After awhile, snaps and snarls began to lessen and eventually Cabra learned that if she just sat down, he simply couldn't get to her tail. Little by little she actually began to play with him. We still have moments when things devolve into chaos and Mochi gets reprimanded, usually after the dreaded Zoomies have taken possession of his soul. (Remember the Zoomies?) Yet, ever so slowly, day by day, we are gaining ground toward a place of complacency. A place where conflict arises only on occasion and peace abides. Is there such a place? I don't know about you, but considering the last few years I'm not sure it exists. Still, it is our <i>holy grail</i>. </p><p>Okay, initially we forgot to ask. But Cabra has risen to the occasion like the trooper she is. And when she's not? Well, she just thumbs her nose at Mochi and says, <i>“I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough water! I fart in your general direction!” – French Soldier, Monty Python and The Holy Grail. </i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-9732978715450418132022-01-31T14:35:00.001-08:002022-02-01T07:06:31.628-08:00The Face of Change<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPcihCdwq-cnXWXA_zhGAP5Psxt-80gMzHB_S-usE7jSTpAPBM19UoX-QVaaoifjjd21Vbhuo5i7GrdoqAbrhb_a2uAyEr8NgspZX47VB21a9omGH0V_elaFkXTW1V9YAVWNrtXsRWsu0lnBP6x3qYTx7XmmM4a_C8b6pUWZzGFEW8vp9cJWPk5Q8I=s864" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPcihCdwq-cnXWXA_zhGAP5Psxt-80gMzHB_S-usE7jSTpAPBM19UoX-QVaaoifjjd21Vbhuo5i7GrdoqAbrhb_a2uAyEr8NgspZX47VB21a9omGH0V_elaFkXTW1V9YAVWNrtXsRWsu0lnBP6x3qYTx7XmmM4a_C8b6pUWZzGFEW8vp9cJWPk5Q8I=s320" width="296" /></a></div><p>What we have here might possibly be the biggest change that has happened around here in a long, long while. As I said before, we lost the Mighty Quinn. To be exact, it was on Halloween day and has been quite the seismic upheaval in our lives. After all, the Mighty Quinn was with us for almost 15 years. Like Betty White, he didn't quite make it to the mark, but we cherished every single moment we had. We are so lucky to have been able to share our world with such an exceptional guy. <br /></p><p></p><p>Cabra adjusted, but was fairly subdued. So after the shock wore off a bit, I began to consider two things: 1) <i>Maybe </i>another dog would help Cabra. You know, give her a new lease on life sort of like The Ottoman had done for Peanut. Cabra is just a year younger than Quinn, so she is 14. I hated the thought of her spending time alone when she had been with a companion virtually her entire life; and 2) <i>Maybe </i>it would help the Goatfather and I. There would never be another Quinn, but perhaps it would help to somehow fill in a bit of that huge hole in our lives. <i>Maybe</i>.</p><p>So the search began. We didn't want to find another Australian Shepherd because it would never measure up to Quinn. Plus, well, there is that whole thing about not being as young as we used to be. (Now I've done it. I've actually admitted this twice now. Is this becoming a habit? Oh, crap.) No, we decided. We can't keep up with another Australian Shepherd. What we need is a 'lap dog'. <b>Uh. Huh.</b></p><p>After awhile, I happened to see an ad in the paper for Shih Tzu puppies. Hmmm...we actually had owned a Shih Tzu in the past. His name was Chester. He was never the brightest bulb, but he was terribly loyal and loving. Hmmm... And maybe being a puppy, and being more like her, as in another 'mop' dog (Cabra is 1/2 Bichon and 1/2 Havanese), as well as more her size, Cabra would readily accept such a dog. Trouble with that was, we forgot to consult Cabra. (More on this later... is your curiosity piqued?)<br /></p><p>Long story short, enter Mochi, the Shih Tzu, with 1/4 Havanese mixed in. Have you ever gone to a Japanese restaurant and had Mochi for dessert? If you don't know what it is and have never tasted it, you are missing out! Mochi is an umbrella term for all kinds of Japanese rice cakes, but usually, in a Japanese restaurant, it means a small ball of ice cream (green tea, red bean, or mango) covered with a sweet glutinous rice flour<i><b>.</b></i><b><i> </i></b>It just seemed to fit this little guy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0MX-4jhSMHy_CIQnFyWowGw17mnh3hhyJXbhPV38Vbe6WCj7vWU_5cItdnXx75_o1Mriu51QO_sX5rLbEA6YJYwM2dA80cyfF1FwEkNjVo1sWgTC1xSwspwvSviQ-xIKFYO3z8JwVIYBCzOuRjmGqPbLvi9VuaKyPNDHQCGdmzE6B80YhfyinyUbq=s997" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0MX-4jhSMHy_CIQnFyWowGw17mnh3hhyJXbhPV38Vbe6WCj7vWU_5cItdnXx75_o1Mriu51QO_sX5rLbEA6YJYwM2dA80cyfF1FwEkNjVo1sWgTC1xSwspwvSviQ-xIKFYO3z8JwVIYBCzOuRjmGqPbLvi9VuaKyPNDHQCGdmzE6B80YhfyinyUbq=s320" width="257" /></a></div><br /><p>Of course he is a bit bigger in this picture, but when we brought him home, he weighed a mere 4 pounds. So far he has been quite an adventure. At times he is incredibly sweet and loving and at others it seems the demons are at his heels as he races hither and yon in fits of the 'zoomies'. (Really. 'The Zoomies' is a bona fide term. I Shih Tzu not. Google it.)</p><p>Remarkably, Mochi has many traits that the Mighty Quinn possessed. Who knew? I don't know if this is because he is a male or if somehow the Universe has a sense of humor. Like the Mighty Quinn, Mochi started playing fetch almost immediately (so much for not having to keep up). And, like Quinn, if you get ready to throw the fetchable object, he runs about half way and stops, looking into the distance for said object to come zooming over his head and land. Plus, Mochi cocks his head to the side when he recognizes a word ... Just. Like. Quinn. Coincidence? Hmmm....<br /></p><p>Mochi has more than met our expectations. He is cute, outgoing and friendly. He has quite the personality. So much so that on a recent visit to the vet, when I called to say Mochi was here for his appointment, the response I got was a resounding 'Yay!'. Everyone loves Mochi. I just wish people could figure out how to pronounce his name. We have heard everything from 'Moh-kee (like Mocha but with the ee on the end), Moo-chee (wasn't that a Disney kid??), Mo-gee (as in emoji?). Nope. It is Moh-chee. Just like the Japanese treat. </p><p>So, yeah. This has been quite the <b>change</b>. Once again change created a loss but at the same time, created a space. One available to be filled with something new. "Loss is nothing else but change and change is Nature's delight". - Marcus Aurelius<br /><b></b></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-10078109875278293062022-01-29T14:16:00.001-08:002022-01-29T14:18:27.920-08:00The Loaner Goat<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqOkjjrCwPk5mP6C6DJ-yqAwKQ4HhtisapXccCnxfhAjm_HoOnnSBJrdwkFzfxKmeq0coMW1u1CH3liXFg1sPJnFSLbuuKrKKHc0gJbAEsWDSMf6dxjK8wdPBUVs3ztEmnO6Nb36pTjY74dCqyjlCu7ATlGbx27XErc9QzjjNj4yqszBdJQODGAe-b=s1920" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqOkjjrCwPk5mP6C6DJ-yqAwKQ4HhtisapXccCnxfhAjm_HoOnnSBJrdwkFzfxKmeq0coMW1u1CH3liXFg1sPJnFSLbuuKrKKHc0gJbAEsWDSMf6dxjK8wdPBUVs3ztEmnO6Nb36pTjY74dCqyjlCu7ATlGbx27XErc9QzjjNj4yqszBdJQODGAe-b=s320" width="213" /></a></div> <p></p><p>When Ella went to butt ... I mean be with Boo, Marigold and Watson, Peanut was distraught. <b>Change</b> with a capital C - that nasty word reared its ugly little head once again. Suddenly the youngest member of the troop and the littlest kid to have ever been born at his former home (though I expect that record has since been broken) was utterly alone. It was very sad. He wouldn't even venture out of the barn. After all, as Bilbo Baggins said, “It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door, ... You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is
no knowing where you might be swept off to." </p><p>So after a lot of serious thinking, wailing and gnashing of teeth, and a whole lot anxious consulting by me, Peanut and Marigold's former Goatfarmer, over at <a href="https://goatcentral.blogspot.com/">Heron Hill Dairy</a>, offered a 'loaner' goat. What in the world is that, you might wonder? Well, a 'loaner' goat would be one that is graciously loaned until such time as the remaining resident goat (that would be Peanut) passes on to that great peanut factory in the sky. Said loaned goat then goes back from whence it came thereby eliminating the perpetual cycle of one goat alone. For all my love of goats and the many wonderful adventures we have had together, alas, I am not as young as I used to be. (Did I really just admit that? Talk about change!<b> </b>OY, indeed.)<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlXX4RbhP---ZTjgMGjGIOMYta4RWWRTVdJ11vBtxHJ1ciYhg9vt6-JoYftXBoVbwlbaMQQj2U7UxUppfDV_Rp8Wx9WAi3XxeIZsf6uAGrc3hSXLlDf5bWW8UHJAjGPfRIvHbczDhhyhxE5bVZO8tfVqbX1IUDg8yXtuY5XAro5VsBQZDzLXrV_0d0=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlXX4RbhP---ZTjgMGjGIOMYta4RWWRTVdJ11vBtxHJ1ciYhg9vt6-JoYftXBoVbwlbaMQQj2U7UxUppfDV_Rp8Wx9WAi3XxeIZsf6uAGrc3hSXLlDf5bWW8UHJAjGPfRIvHbczDhhyhxE5bVZO8tfVqbX1IUDg8yXtuY5XAro5VsBQZDzLXrV_0d0=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Anyway, now, about 'The Ottoman'. That is a strange name for a goat. But after all, one must understand that her sister <b>is</b> The Footstool. What can you expect? Apparently The Ottoman was fatter. The Ottoman was deemed the best choice for a 'loaner' because she likes people and would likely follow me (the Goatmother) out of the barn. Peanut, definitely not fond of being left alone, would thus be lured outside. And it worked. Mostly. If it is a just a little bit too cold, or a little too damp, or just a wee bit early or a tad too late, The Ottoman has to go it on her own. Apparently some things <b>don't</b> change.<b> </b>A man has to have his standards.<br /><p></p><p>The Ottoman is much smaller than Peanut (if you can imagine). A veritable lightweight weighing in somewhere in the range of 65ish pounds on a fat day. (You know about those. We all have them. The day after you had that one piece of cake that turned into two, or those three, or four or five ... maybe that<u> </u><strike> six</strike>th ...whole bag of cookies?) Let's just say she is small enough that, upon arriving home, I was able to lift her out of the back of the truck and carry her to the pen. Who knew? ( You still got it goin' on, Goatmother! ☺) And after Ella the Giant, well, The Ottoman's size took a bit of getting used to.</p><p>All in all, Peanut has come to accept her, though he learned his lessons well from Ella. He really gave The Ottoman 'hay', as Marigold would say, for the first few weeks. <b>Change. </b>There it is again. After years of being last at everything, Peanut was now first. Still, gradually he slacked off his reign of terror, and The Ottoman began to give back as good as she got. Yet another change. Peanut has regained his former zest for life and will probably outlive us all. Sometimes change is a good thing.</p><p>So there you have it. The Ottoman: a change<b> </b>of the auspicious variety. Peanut is no longer lonely and no longer last. He is first for treats, the best places to lay in the sun (if there ever were any sun), and first for Nacho flavored Doritoes. He has learned all too well:<br /></p><h3> <span style="font-weight: normal;">"Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by </span><i>change</i>.<span style="font-weight: normal;">" —Jim Rohn</span></h3>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-62423563513080695402022-01-28T15:00:00.001-08:002022-02-06T07:11:38.357-08:00Change<p>
</p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>C </b>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">leverly
</span></span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>H
</b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">idden</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>A
</b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">uspicious</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>N
</b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ever-ending</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>G
</b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">rowth</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>E
</b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">vents</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Good day! It is I, the Goatmother... Well, former Goatmother... Well, maybe <i>still </i>a Goatmother... Of sorts. But I digress. Since the passing of our beloved Marigold , there have been many changes. I don't know about you, but I am not overly fond of that word.. Change. It seems a bit of a pox. Yet, it is the only constant in life. Or so they say. But then they never seem to remember laundry or dishes. Still there you have it. Change.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the passing of Marigold, you may remember our dear Watson tried, or maybe didn't try so hard, to be a conduit for Marigold's wise and instructive thoughts from beyond. I guess she made the afterlife sound a bit too enticing for not long after, Watson joined her. He was followed by Ella and I do so hope the great beyond was prepared for her. Alas, poor Peanut was left all alone. He refused to even venture out of the barn. Taking pity, Marigold and Peanut's former <a href="https://goatcentral.blogspot.com/">Goatfarmer</a> gave us a 'loaner' goat in the form of The Ottoman. (more on this at a later date). After a period of adjustment, Peanut finally quit butting her all over the place and things settled down to a tenuous calm. At any rate, this is why I am a former, but still sorta' kinda', Goatmother.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Things weren't too bad until our equally beloved Mighty Quinn developed heart problems. We managed things for quite awhile, but last Halloween, he too went to join the others. I imagine the goats are none to happy about this since there are no electric fences across the Rainbow Bridge and the Mighty Quinn is no longer hindered by that fear. I am quite sure his natural herding instincts are now in full force and the goats' only hope of respite lies in somehow managing to figure out how to throw a frisbee.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So there you have it. That dirty little word - Change. No one likes it, but I guess we need to somehow learn to accept it. And maybe even laugh about it while we're at it. In the time since Marigold's passing I have decided two things: </span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1) Llfe goes on and we need to look for the good. As the late Thich Nhat Hahn, Buddhist monk, wrote: "No mud, no lotus". The beautiful lotus flower blossoms, transcending the tenacious and unforgiving mud from which it grows. Perhaps, as my wise neighbor says, the lotus flower is always there and we are like the m</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">an</span></span></span></span></span> thirsting but up to his neck in fresh water. Hmmm....</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2) Change is simply an acronym for what appears at the beginning of this post - <b>C</b> leverly, <b>H </b>idden, <b>A </b>uspicious, <b>N </b>ever-ending, <b>G </b>rowth, <b>E </b>vents. Things that occur to challenge us to become better. To find the joy in our life instead of constantly ruminating over what we <i>think</i> isn't now, or hasn't ever been, right. Joy is contagious, just like laughter. If we find it in our life, it will fan out away from us just like ripples on the water.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So stay tuned, please, because I'm <i><b>Movin' On</b></i>. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Chilanka;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></p>
<p><style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.1in; line-height: 115%; background: transparent }</style></p>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-77356630256670647652017-11-06T15:54:00.000-08:002017-11-07T08:46:44.808-08:00Never Say Die ...Hallooo! It is I, Watson. You haven't forgotten me, have you? Well, come to think of it, maybe you never really knew me? I am Watson. I am a fainting goat and I was Marigold's right hand goat ever since I came to live in Washington - and that was ever so long, and so many Peanuts ago. I was born in Boring, OR (Really. There is such a place. Seriously. Look it up.), but that doesn't have any bearing on my personality. Whatsoever. I don't think so anyway.<br />
<br />
Now you are probably wondering why I am even writing anything at all on this blog. After all, Marigold has gone on to greener pastures (so to speak) and this was <b>her</b> vehicle of self-expression for something on the order of ten years. But the truth of the matter is, I felt compelled to write. And when I say compelled, I mean that in the strictest sense of the word. In fact, <b>impelled</b> might be a better term.<br />
But perhaps I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. Allow me to impart to you a tale of the most strange and extraordinary kind.<br />
<br />
Being a fainting goat, I am prone to well, fainting. I've gotten better over the years. When I was a kid, I used to faint if a bird flew over. Now I pretty much just freeze in the hindquarters. Still, once in a great while, something (like an Alpine) catches me off guard and over I go. What can I say? It goes with the job. So shortly after Marigold passed from this world, I was out grazing when Ella saw her chance and came at me. Being an outright onslaught, I naturally lost all semblance of control in my haste to get the hay out of the way. And that is when my life changed. Utterly and oh so completely.<br />
<br />
After the blitzkrieg, I stirred and began to rise. Once on my feet, and realizing Ella had thankfully become distracted by something else, I put my head down (with a wary eye) and began to graze again.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Pssstttt ....</i></span></b><br />
<br />
What the hay was that????<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pssstttt .... Watson!</span></b></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Who said that???!!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Pssstttt .... Watson! It's me, MARIGOLD!</b></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">What!!!???? I must be going in-<b><u>sane</u>! </b><br /><b></b></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Pssstttt ...</b></i></span>. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>WATSON!! PAY ATTENTION HERE!!!! It's ME, M.A.R.I.G.O.L.D! You wouldn't BELIEVE the Peanuts they have here. Man! Four to a shell! Every. Last. One. No kidding!!! This is THE BOMB!!!! Of course I have to try to get to them before Boo does, but what's a little head butting among friends, right? She lost weight, by the way. Looks positively svelte. Younger too. Who knew?</b></i></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Marigold??? Is that really YOU??? How can this be??? I must be losing my mind!!!</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Watson! Don't be an idiot. What mind? No, it really <u>is</u> ME. I just didn't feel like I could completely abandon the world to a life bereft of my sincere, wise<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">and witty repartee. It just wouldn't be right. Plus I always meant to stop eating and start writing again. Got kind of lax there toward the end. Then it was too late. Oy. Hay, though, multi-tasking is THE THING over here.</span></span></b></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">OY. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">You got the 'oy' part right<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b> </b></i><span style="font-size: small;">anyway.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And this is how it began - and how it continues. Every day. <b>All</b> day. Day in and day out I hear '<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Pssstttt .... Watson!' </b></i><span style="font-size: small;">My life is no longer my own and I have been called to a higher purpose. I guess I've become a <i>Medium</i> ... or at least a quasi-large. For Goats' Sake! I'm a friggin' <i><b>Channel</b></i>! Who knew a simple-mind..., uh, simple goat from Boring, OR had it in him to become a true and pure avenue to a higher plane? Never say never, I always say. And as for Marigold, well ... </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nevertheless, she persisted ...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><b> </b></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b> </b></i></span> </span></span><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></b></i>Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-87105210602161029432017-10-21T10:29:00.000-07:002017-10-21T10:31:02.985-07:00There Is Never Really An End ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimlZfEO9tZ_ageXIkFAtoqItPFZhv1aY-RpXE3BDXB8950snjjsSukdc9dKWABbhysZSVCkXavqlX0HPiqjJe9DhPJ4QXKTrphyJnoclcQLpo0RANOCGl73np9hShPP_Xjw1Bp1CplzKY/s1600/Marigold12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="930" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimlZfEO9tZ_ageXIkFAtoqItPFZhv1aY-RpXE3BDXB8950snjjsSukdc9dKWABbhysZSVCkXavqlX0HPiqjJe9DhPJ4QXKTrphyJnoclcQLpo0RANOCGl73np9hShPP_Xjw1Bp1CplzKY/s320/Marigold12.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
<br />
It is with great sadness that this will be the last entry of Marigold made by me, Watson, her long-time confidant and partner in solving the mysteries of life. She was my wise and true friend for almost 13 years. She shared her philosophy with us all and made us laugh in the process. If only the world could be as that seen through her eyes ... taking things in stride, never getting angry over little things, persevering in the face of adversity, always finding the silver lining, and above all accepting and loving others even though they are different than you - even Alpines. Going on without her will be difficult, but she will never, ever, ever be forgotten. Rest in peace my dear friend...and say hello to Boo and Cookie for us, please.<br />
<br />Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-9354026038550501762017-03-21T19:00:00.001-07:002017-03-21T19:00:34.713-07:00Perhaps You Are Wondering ...Perhaps you are wondering if I am still alive. I am. Perhaps I shall stop eating long enough to bring you up to date. Hay! It could happen. :)<br />
<br />
Yours in Peanuts,<br />
MarigoldMarigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-23384268781481603832015-03-28T16:58:00.000-07:002015-03-28T16:58:30.772-07:00The Thing Under The BarnWell, now, it is like this. Way back when winter began, something strange happened. You see the boys' side of the barn *butts* (Ha! Ha! I kill me! butts....) up against the Inner Sanctum where the hay is kept and the Holy Grail Peanuts reside. Now whoever built our barn was, I suppose, a bit on the lazy side because the Inner Sanctum is a step up from our side, leaving <b>us</b> open to the underside. I suppose one might think it a good route of escape, but trust me on this, it is much too narrow for a goat. <br />
<br />
At any rate, way back after we goats came to live here, the Goatmother decided this open space just bothered her. It bothered her a lot. You might say it offended her aesthetic sensibilities. You know how she is. And once she gets an idea in her head there is no turning back. So, she enlisted the help of the Goatfather to place boards along this unsightly gap. The trouble is, like everything else the former owners built, it is not level. Surprise, surprise and what else is new? So the back portion of said gap is pretty wide and it extends forward to become nonexistent at the front. A novel concept in architecture to be sure. But the Goatfather, being the master craftsman he thinks he is, didn't let that deter him and nailed in lengths of board to cover the gap. <br />
<br />
All was well. The Goatmother was satisfied. (Another novel concept ... oops. Did I say that out loud?) Life went on ... <i>until</i>. Until what, you ask? Well, until this last winter. One morning, the Goatmother walked out into the barn to find a nice hole dug under the properly placed length of board into the boys' side. Hmmm ... says she. The hole wasn't merely a hole, but a tunnel, absolutely smooth and quite a good size. Now why would something want to dig <b>into</b> the goats' side of the barn? What could possibly be there to attract anyone? Of course it had to be the hay, right? I'm here to tell you, those boys <b>are</b> messy eaters, not like we dainty girls. (Okay, like Boo and I because there is<b> nothing</b> dainty about Ella.) And since Boo developed a mineral deficiency last year, we have been getting hay of the highest quality. I mean this is <b>good</b> stuff and has a price tag to match. It is like Neiman Marcus blades of grass interspersed with golden bits of Saks Fifth Avenue alfalfa. Primo. What tunneling-type worth his salt wouldn't want to nick any chance at something like that?<br />
<br />
So the Goatmother filled the hole, and guess what? In a day or two there was another one. She filled more holes. She even filled holes with rocks only to come out and find the hole dug around them. And so this whole dance ( or was it a 'hole dance'? ) went on for weeks. Holes being dug, holes being filled. Like a beautiful orchestration. Hole in ... hole out! Mr. Miyagi would have been so proud! <i>Until</i> ... the Goatmother got tired of filling holes. I <i>suppose</i> it wouldn't have been so bad, except we goats are locked in at night in order to avoid chance meetings with things like, oh, say, cougars. It just didn't seem like a good idea for anything to be intruding in an enclosed space with no avenue of goatly escape. <br />
<br />
And <b>this</b> led to the whole question of just who <b>was</b> going to such great lengths to intrude? If the boys knew, they weren't telling. It had to be someone who either liked hay or goats. It seemed quite unlikely it was the latter since civet cats, weasels and big hairy rats aren't known to be great snugglers, so the Goatmother surmised primo hay must be the draw. But who exactly would be <b>that</b> interested in hay? Well, there were only two possibilities the Goatmother could think of right off the top of her head. A mountain beaver or a rabbit. A rabbit might not be so bad, but mountain beavers are known to have nasty tempers. And since it wasn't Ella over there in the ring, it seemed highly likely any confrontation would end in a TKO. Intruder, 1, Goat, 0.<br />
<br />
So the Goatmother got this bright idea. (I know. Goatmother and bright idea should NOT be in the same sentence,, should they? Oy.) She purchased enough patio bricks (the long flat ones, not the building kind.) to go along the accursed line of demarcation. Then she painstakingly too a pick axe and dug a deep trench. She first placed a length of wire and then artfully lined the patio bricks (remember that whole aesthetics thing?) along the expanse. THEN she put large rocks along the bricks to hold them in place and filled in around them with dirt. And guess what? You thought it didn't work, right? Well it did ... <i>until</i> ... one day it didn't.<br />
<br />
The intruder dug under the upper part toward the front of the barn and then under the big rubber mat. This angered the Goatmother. (No. Really? You thought the Goatmother never got angry? Oh, ye of little faith ... and brains.) The Goatmother had not placed patio bricks at the upper part where the big rubber mat is. She learned her lesson. She bought MORE bricks, dug another trench, more rocks, etc. etc. And it worked! ... <i>until</i> ... a hole appeared from UNDER one of the patio bricks. Now the Goatmother's friend told her that if you disturb a mountain beaver's den, the mountain beaver will leave. Certainly the den had been disturbed. Many times. A <b>great</b> many times. No sane mountain beaver would put up with that much disturbance. It had become a contest of wills, much like occurs when the Goatmother trims hooves. The intruder was NOT going to win. <i>But</i> ... what if it were just a nice, hungry little bunny? <br />
<br />
So the Goatmother got another bright idea (Oh, Heaven help us!) At the other end of the Inner Sanctum of the barn, when you open the door, there is a space that can be seen between the board the floor is laid on and underneath the floor. What if? What IF, she were to take some hay and stuff it in that space, effectively feeding whoever is under that barn? Then they wouldn't have a need to dig into the goats' side, would they? So she tried it. She stuffed that space full of the primo Cadillac hay, and lo and behold, the digging stopped! Every so often the space under the door would become empty and the Goatmother would dutifully re stuff it. The rest of the winter passed uneventfully. Relief. She had won ... <i>until </i>..<br />
<br />
Last week the not-so-bright Goatmother was carrying a large cache of tree limbs to get chipped. She managed to give herself a severe case of tendinitis in her hip joint. Life being what it is and Mr. Murphy being ever the opportunist, guess who decided the meager proffering under the door was no longer adequate? You guessed it. The Goatmother hobbled out to the barn to find one of the patio bricks completely pushed aside. With a great deal of ouching, grouching and fanfare, the Goatmother managed to dig out beneath the brick, place rocks UNDER it as well as behind it and get it back into place. SO FAR no further occurrences have manifested. Wanna' take bets on whose going to win this one? <br />
<br />
<i>"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You don't quit when you're tired. You quit when the gorilla is tired.”
<br /> ―
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/284272.Robert_Strauss">Robert Strauss</a></i>
<br />
<br />
That is nice, but I sure hope there isn't a gorilla under there. Oy.<br />
<br />
<br />Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-35021656786926164982015-02-19T14:44:00.000-08:002015-02-19T14:49:53.044-08:00Happy Year of the Goat!!!!Happy Year of the Goat!!!!! Let the Peanut munching begin!!!!!!<br />
<br />
Oh, sorry. I got carried away. Well, okay then. Let me get back to the third and final installment of the Year of the Goat trilogy. Doesn't that sound exciting? I mean it is like you expect a goat to come marching out followed by Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Hey, it could happen. Unfortunately, around here all you're gonna' get is one beautiful goat followed by Arrogantform the Alpine, LegsofLess the Nigerian, and Gimpy the Nubian.<br />
<br />
But back to my treatise on qualities abounding in Year of the Goatees. Let's see now, where was I? Oh, yes, I remember (which is thanks to the fact that I am only half Nubian and the Nigerian half won out.) All Sunday Paper retrievals aside, the information I found goes on to say that 'due to their indecisive nature (Hay! Indecisive? Who is indecisive? I know exactly what I'm about and it's all about the Peanuts.) goats like to study the esoteric to know more about the unknown.' Well, OF COURSE! Why do you think I like philosophy and why in the hay do you think I'm so blasted <b>good</b> at it? Oy. But esoteric? Well, now, I can't see that I'm all that 'woo-woo'. Llamas are more into the 'woo-woo'. Ever look one in the eye? Now that is esoteric. And as for the unknown, there just isn't any unknown for a goat because we already know everything. Just ask one.<br />
<br />
At any rate, it goes on. 'They enjoy reading books about horoscope and fortune-telling. Therefore, it will not be unusual to find Goats working as astrologers or fortune tellers.' This is completely erroneous information. I have never met one goat astrologer and the only fortune telling I've ever seen going on is when Ella looks up and says, 'today is <b>not</b> your lucky day'. Let me tell you, literally every one in sight believes her prognostication and moves just as far away as possible. Even the hordendous Ur Duck H'ai, in their ever growing masses, move. It is written on the wind, grasshopper, that when the almighty Alpine speaks, it is to be assimilated and acted upon immediately. No rumination necessary. Or prudent for that matter. In fact, even a moment's hesitation or indecision is downright stupid. (There goes that all important indecisiveness factor again. Now you understand, yes? Indecisive? Ain't gonna' happen.)<br />
<br />
Year of the Goatees are also supposedly disorganized, but make good craftsmen, artists or writers. Ahem. NOT disorganized, but most definitely a good writer. I'm just sayin' ... (Disclaimer: This statement does not apply to Nubians since they usually forget they were trying to write in the first place and eat the pen. Trust me on this one.)<br />
<br />
To quote the Chinese Astrological dudes, Year of the Goatees 'are very romantic, sensitive, sweet and darling.' Well, gorsh. 'In relationships they could be sometimes a little bit bossy and lazy.' Now wait just a goat-darn minute here. <b>Who </b>exactly is bossy and lazy? That is just offensive and I <b>demand</b> that you consider disregarding this information. I'm just gonna' rest my eyes here while you are considering that. Not napping, just resting my eyes ...<br />
<br />
What, what??? Oh, you done? Okay. Well, then. At least they end their synopsis by saying that Goatees are 'gentle and caring in nature and hard to resist.' Darned right! Resistance is futile and I <i>care</i> very much that you understand that. Otherwise I may not get my Peanuts and I shall remind you with an ever-so-slight and <i>gentle</i> butt. Yep. Caring-and-Gentle-R-Us<br />
<br />
So there you have it! Now that you have been duly enlightened, I can go back to eating with a light heart. On with the celebration! Do you suppose they make Peanut flavored Moon Cakes? Now <b>that </b>would be an auspicious beginning to a fantastic year! But whatever the Year of the Goat may bring, remember this:<br />
<div class="quote mediumText ">
<div class="quoteDetails ">
<div class="quoteText">
</div>
<div class="quoteText">
<i>“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.<br /><br />Because
if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new
things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing
your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more
importantly, you're <b>Doing Something.</b><br />So that's my wish for you,
and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious,
amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't
freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't
perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.<br /><br />Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.<br /><br />Make your mistakes, next year and forever.”
―
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1221698.Neil_Gaiman">Neil Gaiman</a></i></div>
<div class="quoteText">
</div>
<div class="quoteText">
<b>Happy Year of the Goat!!!!<i> </i></b>
</div>
<b></b></div>
</div>
Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-35603121744909187962015-02-17T07:00:00.000-08:002015-02-17T07:00:07.154-08:00The Year of the Goat (Part 2)Okay, back to the Year of the Goat! (See? I <i>promised.</i>.. and I'm nothing if not true to my word!) So the information I found goes on to say that Year of the Goatees 'are dreamers, sometimes, they are pessimistic, hesitant and over-anxious worriers!' Well, now, in our defense, of course we are dreamers. Isn't everyone? Do <b>you</b> dream at night? Well, sure you do. And so do I. I dream a <b>lot</b> about Peanuts. What do you dream about? It should be Peanuts. I'm just sayin' ... And don't ask the Goatmother what her dreams are like. You do NOT want to go there. Can you spell b-i-z-a-r-r-e? Oy.<br />
<br />
As for pessimistic, hesitant, over-anxious worriers? Shoot. Wouldn't you be if you had to share a barn with an Alpine? Nothing wrong with a little pessimism either. I mean you <b>know</b> she's gonna' have a snit of some sort or another. So why not just accept that it is coming? No matter what. It is as sure a thing as the sun rising in the morning. Oh, wait ... this is Washington. Okay, it's as sure a thing as the sun rising in the morning but you can't always see it. How's that? But honestly, that whole over-anxious worrier thing is better applied to Fainting Goats. Of course it is a whole matter of survival (not to mention staying upright) in the face of Alpine onslaught when she realizes you freeze. So don't be putting no exclamation point on that, Chinese Astrological dudes, until you've walked a mile in, or fallen a mile (whichever comes first) in a Fainting Goat's shoes. Ah. So. There.<br />
<br />
Now then, further reading uncovers this: 'They can be lazy sometimes. If Goats have any choices, they would definitely choose to marry a wealthy person and sit back for the rest of the lives'. Now wait. Lazy? Come. On. Just because we lay around and chew our cud, you want to call us lazy? It is a simple matter of proper digestion. Cud happens. And as for me, I'm not marrying any wealthy person. I prefer a wealthy Goatmother, but unfortunately I don't have one of those, so I have to make do with what I have. She kind of allows me to sit back. Unless she doesn't. And then I better get moving or I don't get any Peanuts. And we all know <b>that</b> isn't going to happen. And what about this 'for the rest of the lives'? You thought that was a typo, didn't you? Just because I have four feet instead of two ... and hooves. Oy. Nope, not me. What do these Chinese Astrological dudes think we are, cats? Like we have 9 lives, or 14, or 54? Sheesh. If you have to live with an Alpine, ONE is enough! Trust me on that. Well, come to think of it, maybe this explains why those guys can't tell the difference between a goat and a sheep.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the last part says 'they are obsessed with appearance. This plays an enormous part in their sense of personal stability. If they don't look their best, they may be afraid to go out the door to pick up the Sunday papers'. Now, you know, never having eaten a Sunday paper, I can't really say whether I would be afraid to go out the door and get it or not. It might depend on whether or not it was raining. Or it might depend a lot on how it tasted. But come to think of it, paper comes from trees and I loves me a good tree now and then. Still, to say we are 'obsessed' with appearance is going a bit far. We don't have any mirrors in the barn so the only way anyone ever knows how they look is to ask someone else. Which never works out very well, especially if you ask Boo because, being a Nubian, by the time she opens her mouth, she has forgotten what the question was and usually you get some reply like, 'I saw a bird' in answer. No, I can't say any of us are obsessed with our appearance except if it is wet. We don't do wet. And as far as that playing a part in personal stability, well, that, of course, only applies to Watson. His personal stability is very important to him. Mostly because he doesn't particularly care for looking at the world from ground level.<br />
<br />
So, this is part two. Believe it or not, those Chinese dudes still have more to say about the Year of the Goat. Isn't that special? But until next time, I shall leave you with one last thought: "<i>I think most of us are raised with
preconceived notions of the choices we're supposed to make. We waste so
much time making decisions based on someone else's idea of our happiness
- what will make you a good citizen or a good wife or daughter or
actress. Nobody says, 'Just be happy - go be a cobbler or go live with
goats." - Sandra Bullock. </i><br />
<div class="copy-paste-block">
<div class="bq_fq_a">
<a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/s/sandra_bullock.html">
</a></div>
<span></span></div>
<div class="copy-paste-block">
<span><br /></span></div>
Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9024991967988557735.post-687008181350054452015-02-15T15:00:00.000-08:002015-02-15T15:00:27.499-08:00The Year of the GoatWell, well, well. I suppose it is time I rear my head from the hay feeder and start philosophizing again. It has only been, what? ... a year? Oy. How time flies when the food is good. How the goat flies when there is an Alpine on their tail ... well, that goes without saying. So, no explanations and no excuses. I'm hopping right back in here with all four dainty feet. Although, with all the food I've been eating, I guess perhaps my feet are the only dainty part left these days. Ask me if I care?<br />
<br />
At any rate, February 19th is just four days away. Now why, you ask, is this a significant date? Because, my friends, this marks the beginning of the Year of the Goat! Let me say that again. The <b>Year of the Goat</b>. Oh, wow. The. Year. Of. The. Goat. Doesn't that have a nice ring to it? "It is the Year of the Sheep", would-be usurping Ovine types spout. But alas, I say to you, it all depends! You see, apparently the Chinese word 'yáng' refers to both goats <b>and</b> sheep. Who knew? Maybe the Chinese need glasses? No matter. Some cultures celebrate the Year of the Goat, some the Year of the Sheep and some define it as the Year of the Ram. Go figure. Must be like the difference between Santa Claus, St. Nick and St. Magnus Peanutos. (<a href="http://marigold-goatphilosophy101.blogspot.com/2007/12/very-merry-christmas.html">Don't ask ...</a> ) Naturally, <b>I</b> choose to celebrate the Year of the Goat and what better time for me to get back to my stump? Plus the weather is good today and I'm not stuck in the barn with Ella. Best to get goin' while the goin's good I always say.<br />
<br />
Supposedly, if you are from the Year of the Goat, there a 'lucky' things that go along with it. Lucky colors are supposed to be brown, red and purple. Brown I can see ... Peanuts are brown. But red and purple? The only red is the Goatmother's barn cleaning bucket and occasionally her nose. The only purple is that stuff she puts on our hooves to keep the hoof rot at bay. None of those things seems especially lucky to me. And lucky flowers for the Year of the Goat are said to be Carnations and Primroses. I've never eaten a Carnation. They may be tasty. Come to think of it, I've never eaten a Primrose. But our weather has been uncharacteristically warm and I saw some Primroses blooming over in the Goatmother's yard. They <i>might</i> be good. I'll get back to you on that one ... And lastly, lucky numbers for the Year of the Goat are the number 2 and the number 7. Now 2 is definitely not enough Peanuts, so I'm goin' with 7. Yes. Seven is a good number. Feels really lucky.<br />
<br />
But what are the characteristics one possesses in the Year of the Goat? Well, I found some information on this subject, and Year of the Goatees are said to be 'elegant, charming, artistic, gifted and fond of nature'. So far so good. They are said to be 'creative and very delicate, their good manners and charms always bringing them many admirers and friends'. Yes, Yes. Indeed this fits. But then it says Goats are 'insecure'. <b> What?!</b> 'They need to feel loved and protected and are easily drawn into complex predicaments'. Oh, goat grief. Well, who wouldn't be a bit insecure about whether or not some stupid Alpine is going to be in one of her 'moods' and decide to slam you? And, yeah, sometimes those Alpines can draw you in, promising you can have the Peanuts first and without spit or having fallen on the floor or anything. That kind of thing would turn anyone's head. And of course it is never true and you always end up T-boned. But caught up in any promise involving Peanuts like that, wouldn't anyone be duped? And then it goes on to say that goats 'usually shy from confrontation, pull back when faced with heavy decision-making and blatantly refuse to take an unpopular stand in a conflict'. Now, Hold. The. Phone. Louise!!! First off, do you think I'm stupid? You bet your sweet bippy I'm going to back off if Ella comes at me head first! Ain't no heavy decision-making involved there. I'm gettin' the hay out of dodge before the iron-but-brainless-head comes a crashing. And what is more, I can tell you that our stand isn't popular with anyone. We see the Goatmother coming with those orange-handled hoof-trimming shears headed for that stand, and we are all gone in the opposite direction post haste. There is definitely conflict in the offing<b> </b>and there is no thinking, let alone decision-making, to it. So, hay, no. We don't 'shy' from confrontation, we RUN from it, baby! Warp 7, please, Scotty! Oy. <b>Who</b> comes up with this stuff?<br />
<br />
Okay, well, there is more, but I've probably bored you enough for one read. After all, it has been a long time and you're probably out of practice. I wouldn't want you to 'pull back' from any 'heavy decision-making' about whether or not to read on. <br />
<br />
<div align="Left">
So with that, until next time (and there WILL be a next time...it is, after all, my New Year's resolution.) I will leave you with this. Year of the Goat or Year of the Sheep? If you 'pull back' from making a decision, just remember: "It is the theory that decides what can be observed."<em> - Albert Einstein </em></div>
<div align="Left">
Think about it...<em> </em></div>
Marigoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109785080000770963noreply@blogger.com6