(HA on me! It’s Mangum, not magnum. But now I can’t do the Dirty Harry part, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t realize my mistake.)

This morning I saw one of the Bayou Billy mugs that we have picked up over the years at the Apple Festival here in Kendallville; I prefer the Cherry Wine flavor, although I have branched out to try lemonade and grape. I thought I’d just check the site and see make certain they would be coming this year – and  check if they might be at the county fair.  So, here I am, scrolling down the calendar when I see Waynoka Snake Hunt. Nooooooooo! I have already given myself nightmares by stumbling on the Waurika Snake Hunt event.

For some reason, on this rattlesnake site, there is a picture of a python or anaconda . . . but since you know it is a rattlesnake site and you are thinking that way, when you first glance at the picture of that huge snake, you stop breathing. Of course, you start again because it’s only a picture and part of your mind is yelling, “not a rattlesnake, not a rattlesnake, not a rattlesnake.” Not a cool visual experience. I quickly clicked on the “About” page and saw this photo:

Bayou Billy . . . what are you doing to me?

BUT WAIT.

Bayou Billy’s calendar also shows this event: Mangum Snake Hunt. These folks (Shortgrass Rattlesnake Association) have been doing this since 1966. And the picture on the main page is not a python. It is this one and it totally scares me.

They do have a nice, informative site and I found this phrase in the history section: “when snakes begin to slither out from their dens.”  I don’t know . . .  I think I would want Dirty Harry with me . . . with his Magnum, you know, the 44 one. The most powerful handgun one.

Bayou Billy apparently has a special brew for these events – Wild West Soda.  Maybe they add whiskey and snakebite anti-venom.

I do see that they are going to be at a marshmallow festival in Ligonier, Indiana . . . that seems more my speed.

Here are the thoughts first brought about by the Waurika Round-up:

Actually, I don’t know if I would feel compelled to go if I lived close enough . . . When I was little and we would go to a zoo, I always wanted to visit the reptiles first. Was that because I was so frightened of them I wanted to get it over or because I wanted to look at something which could freeze me with terror.

I think the fact that they don’t have legs bothers me the most – the fast, fast slithering and the head and upper body being able to spring forward in the blink of an eye. I guess arms on a human could snap forward and punch me in the nose pretty fast, but I don’t think about that for some reason.

I can’t remember not knowing about the Rudyard Kipling stories of cobras and the days of ropes that could be pulled to summon servants and a murderer putting a poisonous shake through the hole in the wall so it could crawl down the rope and bite a sleeping person. See, I am upset enough to write run-on sentences again.

When my grandfather was farming and they cut and baled hay, my uncle said there would always be a rattler in one of the bails . . . that was his least favorite job on the farm – helping with the hay bales. Rattlesnakes are scarce here now – although a hundred years ago when my grandmother moved into a house by a lake, the family discovered a snake nest in the cellar. One big snake crawled up into a wall and stuck his head out a hole in that wall. My grandmother used a broom to keep hitting it back until someone came, got a shotgun and blew its head off. Wait a minute – they fired a shotgun in the house? That seems odd. Well, desperate times lead to desperate measures, I suppose.

Maybe I would be drawn to the festival as I am sometimes drawn to watch scary movies. I might have to duct tape myself to a wall for that weekend to keep me from going. Yet, I live in an old house with a fruit cellar – what if a snake gnawed a hole in the wall right where I was taped? Oh, Lordy!

Now I am thinking that these Oklahomans just go out around where they live and find these snakes for the roundup. So for me, if I lived there, every day would be snake day. I would buy a shotgun, maybe two . . . and wear boots . . . and not sit in the grass.

I am a wimp . . . or Indiana Jonesette – Snakes! Why did it have to be snakes? I hate snakes!

Now, gummy worms . . . they’re pretty cool.

If I have a spare moment and if I have the gumption, I stop by the local Kroger’s to see what the manager’s meat specials are. Today was a jackpot day. Bison meat was half-price and I made lots of patties and froze them. Der Bingle can take some to the Ohio Redoubt of the WFC and I can take some to Mother’s for when I go up and we have a bit of supper. We call it bison meat instead of buffalo meat because some of our dear friends are buffalos and. of course, Native American Poo (NaPoo) has many, many, many buff friends.

Remember NaPoo? She specializes in Great Spirit Dances, and we are trying to get her to concentrate on spring and AmeliaJake losing weight ones for now. She’s been down practicing steps in front of the fireplace in the Foo Bar and drinking sassafras to stay cool.

Last night I saw that a movie named “A House on Carroll Street” was on a cable channel and I turned it on, because, for some reason, I thought it was a re-make of a spy movie. I thought I remembered liking the original. Jessica Tandy was in this re-make. The representation of the early fifties was good, so good that as I absorbed the visual effects, I found my memory from that time being nudged. The dresses, the cars, the suits . . . I started thinking of the actors as “grown-ups” – yes, I did.

Not too far into the movie I got the idea that I was not really sure what was going on in the plot. I knew the lady was in trouble with the government and there were two sets of official agents running around, plus the police. And there was the Un-American Activities Committee. But, hey, the background scenery was good.

“Who is this actress?” I kept wondering that. Having it in my head the re-make was about ten years ago, I am trying to think of names. Quentin called about then and I told him what I’d written here. I suggested the name of a “new” actress and he responded, “Is she still alive?”  I was still having trouble with the plot; its Hitchcockian echoes were dimming – maybe they were being absorbed by that great background. I don’t know.

After a while, it ended. I told Quentin the bad guy was splatted on the floor of a major New York landmark.

So we talked of some other stuff, and after we hung up, I looked up information on the movie. HA, the joke’s on me. Wait while I scrape it off. Oh, no. It’s sticking.

It wasn’t a re-make, according to info on the internet. There was only one little reference to a previous movie with a similar plot but with another name – and that name wasn’t mentioned. Most reviewers panned it . . . but liked the scenery. It wasn’t too old of a re-make . . . for me; it was filmed in 1886 and released to theaters in 1988. It is “a little seen film”.

The actress? Kelly McGillis. Heavens to Betsey! That would be an expression appropriate to my time period. Rats and Ack!

Kelly McGillis was born in 1957; she is only 9 years younger than I am. I have lost sight of the mainstream current and am floating on a bayou.

A few days ago Alison asked me why I had  brown light bulbs on a table out here on the porch. Well, when they are lit, they are amber and they are here for when Thomas’ light burns out. This morning it went dark and a little while ago I realized it. So the light bulb is replaced. And it shines.

It is a very good thing Oreos are not made by elves because a certain person here might be in for quite an attack of irate Keebs:

(My grandson brought me the evidence – Oreos with naked middles – and suggested I post a picture on “The Mad Cow”.)