I did not expect THIS. But, okay. I guess “one calf nut at a time” can get to you.

Yes, that fella we know in Georgia sent us a link to this website and we are committing to memory the ten words below:

Frenchify Bescumber Microphallus Coccydynia Ninnyhammer Buncombe Hircismus Corpulent Feist (or Fice) Cacafuego

Because of my difficulty with pronunciation, I think I will stick with Ninnyhammer.

Well, I do not know what is going on out there  – what with Bill Clinton coming to town (Kendallville) just this past Friday . . . and one guy telling the local newspaper he was going to vote for Hillary since his house is right across the street from the fire station where Bill appeared and he made $34 for parking.

I don’t get a Democratic ballot, so it’s not quite so exciting on this side. Mitch is running unopposed for the governor’s nomination and I am feeling not happy about him. He did NOT –  and neither did any of his staff – refer to complaints from my mother’s and my email about DST.  FIE ON YOU, MITCH.

ACK!! I spent a great deal of time fooling around with Quicktime to edit this to a short three seconds of Syndey . . . and then WordPress wouldn’t upload it – said it was too big. So I went over to YouTube and uploaded the shortened version and here it is in all its blurring around and waving glory. RATS, Quicktime, what did I do wrong.?

On May 5th, I thought, “Gee, I haven’t featured any of many bears we named eight years ago.” No, actually, I did not think that concisely. I believe I stumbled on this blue bear, wondered if her were named, flipped him over to look at his butt . . . and saw his label: Sadistic Blue. Then I thought, “Aha, I’ve been lax and now I can catch up a little on bear butt listing.” Well, I thought something like that.

So I photographed his face which inspired his name and his butt with the label and posted the pictures.

Later I went to the store and got dye to cover the gray in my hair. We left it on and I think it is too dark . . . and shows the classic red flashes of “I colored my hair and goofed up syndrome.” So now I am more aware of it – and more aware of it’s limpness, thinness and very skinny (what they call ‘fine’ ) texture.

Yesterday was a bummer on many levels and on top of it – sort of literally – hung my limp hair.

I happened to spy Sadistic Blue sometime in the afternoon – and I wonder if showing his butt photo had been a grave error. Maybe he had a hand in the coloring being less than optimal. Can you piss off a stuffed bear?

Oh, rats, I did not know he was reading over my shoulder.

“STUFFED!!!” he yelled and gave my hair a jerk. I think I need to be careful today.

The picture below in from Instapundit, Glenn Reynold’s blog, and shows some cows near Dayton, Tennessee. We are looking to see how many, if any, are leaning. And if one is, leaning that is . . . then who stole our cow? Or is a new fashion trend?

Back to the time when we named bears – and labelled them:

As I type, a concocted gel-like substance that started out green is working on my hair to color the gray and make me look younger and beautiful and so attractive you can’t believe it. Well . . . as Ronald Reagan was known to drawl, that may not turn out to be the case. Right now we’re hoping my hair won’t remain green.

My scalp is actually tingling. Oh, well. Summer insisted that I get light golden brown; I think if I am going to do this, I should have a new and thrilling color. Or what about those ladies who have a shock of white running through their hair.

Now Summer is filming me with a camcorder – the cassette type. We are going to see if we can find a cable that will allow me to transfer the “movie” from VCR to the computer and then, look out world, on to YouTube and mega views as America goes wild over AmeliaJake.

UPDATE UPDATE  UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE

The timer got goofed up and we think the stuff was on my hair way too long. I am not looking in the mirror. Maybe tomorrow I will go to the store (wearing a hat, of course) and get a nice red color. Let’s not panic; I am an older woman, after all. It can’t be the end of the world.

But if I die tonight and my mother insists that I be buried and not cremated, please, please somebody do something about my hair.

Summer and I mowed the front yard – we don’t really have a lawn, but there doesn’t seem to be a word “yardmowing” . . . not that that has stopped me before. We picked up sticks and she mowed and then I mowed and then she mowed and then I mowed. When we were in the non-mowing phase, we pulled and cut little Christmas lights off of the two huge bushes by the front door.

The Christmas light thing isn’t as bad as it seems; they wind all around the branches and the wind rearranges them and makes certain they are caught up on several branches at once. They freeze like that; they get iced over; they get buried in snow . . . and fortunately they blend in with the dense leafless sticks that make up our winter bushes. Usually, we cut them off much earlier than this, but for some reason we didn’t get around to it as soon this year . . . Perhaps because days of sun didn’t get around to us for a long time this year?

Whatever, they are down now, but as my husband says, “It is almost time to put them up again.” Well, not really, but before we get too far into winter. I know what it is like to stand out there in December with a bitter wind, low temperatures and sometimes snowflakes. Oh, it’s fun to laugh about it in memory mode, but while you are doing it, it can be brutal – especially if a string goes defective not before it is put up, but right after. Swearing during the Christmas season . . . tsk, tsk.

I have wandered a far piece from the mowing theme. Well, it was the first of the season . . . and we still have the back to do. I am thinking of the days when it will be HOT out there, and HUMID. Those are the times I imagine a bunch of people with lawnmowers lined up. They start their engines; they march across the yard side-by-side and finish it just that fast. They kind of look like that network group that shows up in one of the cellphone company commercials . . .

I guess there are a group of people called Mommy Bloggers who are affiliated with an ad group called Blogher. I am very sketchy about this, but stumbled onto one of them in Boston a while back and occasionally check in to see what she is writing. She said she was awarding a “perfect post” to another blogger, Mrs. Chicken at Chicken and Cheese. So I read it and because Mrs. Chicken has a nickname for her daughter – The Poo, which connects us by coincidence of family nicknames – I read more.

Part of what I read was that this is her private writing space where she can make remarks about people, but she did mention one of those people had found her already so she had to change locations. Well, okay . . . except with my curiosity piqued and with only a few references in the blog, I soon knew all about it her.

Now, if I can do it so quickly, does she not think these folks who found her once before won’t be able to do the same thing again? I’m thinking, oh, the revealing web we weave when we when first we a blog do conceive.