Fields, Drips and Toilet Seats

There is a field along I29 in North Fargo that I love.

I've been meaning to stop for ... oh, about six years now, with the idea to stop and snap a few photos.

It's beauty always grabs me.

Sometimes it's foggy.

Sometimes cows are grazing.

Sometimes it's holding up a sunset.

And sometimes it's just still.

I love it in all its forms.

The tree line along the avenue is gorgeous, and I've always wondered what lay on the other side, hidden from view as I drive to and from work and all points southwest.

Turns out, it was a gate.

And another treeline.

And apparently, a discarded toilet seat.

Who knew?

Realizing the field shots weren't really that interesting, I glanced around for inspiration.

It wasn't until the drive out that I noticed the dripping.

Ladies and gentlemen?

I give you ... the dripping.

After that toilet seat, I bet you were worried about exactly what was dripping, weren't ya?

You're welcome.

When Amos Attacks

Amos has a very specific foot-attacking methodology.

First, he tests each foot. 

Presumably, this is for tenderness.

Or perhaps for mobility. 

(Ya gotta choose the slower limb when you're little and the chosen limbs are bigger than you.)

Then he braces himself against the rejected limb, and begins to gnaw on whatever's at the end of the limb he has deemed worthy. (foot, hand, head ... it doesn't much matter)

(note the amount of top left fang, and how much of it is buried)

Once he gnaws on the target, and it's the desired consistency (ground beef, for example), he abandons the rejected foot, swings his rear legs to the front, and adds the age-old 'rabbit kick' technique to the beatdown. 

Eventually, your screams of anguish break through his focus, and he conveys the one and only thought in his mind at that moment.

What's wrong?

Damn cat.

Just What I Needed

Now, I'm not a fan of talking about the weather.

It's petty.

And pointless.

The weather is the weather. Deal with it.

That said, I have to talk about the weather to talk about where I want to go with this.

Last week, the weather got downright summer-like.

Temps in the 70's, and sunshine that is very much the light at the end of the tunnel after even the shortest of a winter here in the Northland.

It made all of us think spring had fast-forwarded and that summer was upon us.

There was grilling.

And shorts-wearing.

The number of pedicures skyrocketed.

Yard work was attacked with a joyful vengeance.

(There wasn't yard work at my house. If you thought that was possible, you're clearly drunk or new here.)

Since I was (am?) recovering from pneumonia, and Lee himself was ill and taking care of me, none of the above happened in our house.

(But especially not the yard work. Seriously.) <shudder>

One of those glorious days happened to be my first day back to work in a week.

As I settled in to my office, I was warmed to the bone by sunlight steaming through the windows.

And I had the place to myself.

So I did what any red-blooded girl would do in the same circumstances.

I picked a favorite Spotify playlist and turned it up.

I grabbed an enormous stack of mail and my letter opener, and headed to the meeting table next to the window.

And made myself a glass of iced tea.

Those were the best 15 minutes I've ever given myself.

All with just a hint of mint.

The Coolest Thing Ever

When something like this ... 

Can become something like this in a matter of seconds ...

That I can make into something like this ... 

 Well, that's just a beautiful damned thing. Don't you think?

(Now I just need to perfect my peanut sauce.)

That Time Amos Ruined Something (Alternate Title: That Damned Cat)

Mike's friend, Tess, made him a piece of artwork. 

Mike brought it home for safe-keeping.

I fell in love. 

Everything about that piece says, "Mike."

I asked if I could hang it in my office.

He said, "sure". 

Me being me, I wanted to shoot it first.

So I propped it up on a stool near the window and started the process. 

I liked the texture of the blue and black drippy-thingies. 

I loved that his posture, down to the way his mouth looks, was so much my boy I could almost feel him. 

And that's when kitty disaster struck. 

Amos, racing around, decided the stool would be the perfect place to zoom over on his way to the window. 

And the artwork wound up on the floor.

Broken. 

It happened so fast, and I didn't have my camera anywhere near ready to shoot.

The only evidence I have of that cat's culpability is this, the Steve Urkel, "Did I do that?" sniff.

That's a cup one of the kids made in art class years ago. It's lumpy. I love it.

And so I'm left with part of a piece of artwork.

That damned cat.

Caught Laughing: Kerron

This Ain't Your Mama's Needlepoint

As you likely know by now, I ain't from around here. 

Being from another part of the country allows me to notice things the natives don't necessarily give a moment's consideration. 

The subtle accent. 

The taking off of shoes whenever a carpeted surface looms. 

Scoffing at people who wind up driving into a ditch during a blizzard.

An abundance of needlepoint and other needlecraft objects. 

When you're from elsewhere, you really just want to fit in.

Which is why I've spent the last fifteen years working on the accent.

And remembering to wear "nice socks" so I can confidently remove my shoes in other folks' homes. 

And calling the drivers on "Ice Road Truckers" pansies for ever being worried as they haul a load on glare ice in sub-zero temperatures. 

Needlecraft, however, continues to stymie me. 

I just don't get it.

Other folks do. 

Bible passages. 

Optimistic quotes. 

Comforting scenes of home and hearth. 

Not me. 

I look at needlepoint, and all I can think is, "wouldn't it be funny to have something dirty in needlepoint?"

Which is where my friends come in.

Sticking with the beaver theme, I'm going to expose a little more of myself to you. 

Something a friend who knows me well created. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a peak at something extraordinary. 

Something that warms my heart. 

And makes my chest and stomach hurt from laughing. 

Want to see the whole thing?

You've been warned.

Wanna See My Beaver?

I got a rock-awesome birthday present this year. 

It hangs in my office, where I can gaze upon it whenever I have the urge.

And giggle.

Maniacally. 

I know what you're thinking.

And you're right.

It is SO me!

Hallmark Just Isn't Weird Enough

You know that friend that has their own spot on the couch?

The one that will come to your house to borrow your internet while you're at work and start the dishwasher for you?

The one that's been around for so long, they're family? They know most of your secrets and has certainly heard all the stories and seen all the quirks? Yeah. Hallmark doesn't have a card for that friend.(HI, GREENER!)

So I had to make one.

I should likely tell you this friend is a major fan of the Bob(cat).

She knows his secrets, too.

Which means she needed a card that would acknowledge her place in our family.

Our tight, strange, kitty-centric family.

Mission accomplished.

Asphalt? Nah, It's Nobody's Fault.

I like to make my own taco seasoning.

As evidenced above, asphalt is a key ingredient.

Finely ground asphalt.

LIES!

All lies.

I really use good ol' fine-ground black pepper.

OK.

Good talk.