"Your Not Stella"

Living with Himself these many years has been an adventure.
You see Himself is a type A diabetic. He's lived with it since he was 10, against the odds. Often he has a low blood sugar reaction, and that usually at night.
One night, kids tucked in, ranch chores done, he went off to bed, and proceeded to have a bad reaction. 
Now we lived outside a small rural town, everyone pretty much knew everyone else. So, when I called 911, three of the four volunteer firemen that came, worked with me at the school district. The two EMT's that came knew Himself from past encounters. The two county mounties that showed up were having a slow night and knew us, when they heard the call on the radio. 
Now you've got eight guys, our kids, myself and Himself all in our bedroom. I'm in the middle of the bed trying to get glucose gel down Himself, while our audience is considering the best course of action. 
 When suddenly Himself opens his eyes, gives me a startled look and loudly says "Where's Stella?", "right here babe" cause I'd agree to most anything to keep him alive, where upon Himself glares a me and says, "Your Not Stella". 
 I look around in the total silence that follows his proclamation, to find ten faces staring back at me. Because you see they all know I'm Not Stella, too.

Not So Bright

Sixty+ can't be too old to start down a new career path, do you think. Being given unrequested early "retirement" from my job, and finding it not living friendly to be unemployed, I'm back at college. Scary that. The following is a sign of how things are going, and classes haven't even started yet. I was in the registrar's office enrolling, and told the registrar I needed to put on my goggles to read the forms. As I was digging thru my purse, she looked at me rather funny, and said "but their on top of your head." "Oh no, I said, those are my sunglasses." She said "I think they are your reading goggles." and darned if they weren't.

Call me Lonesome

It is too hot to even think around here. There is a long list of chores that need doing, too hot. Guess I will drag out the little purple wading pool, filler up, and then the dogs, chickens, myself, and who ever else is interested can have a pool party. No diving. Snorkel at your own risk. It's strictly BYOB.

Does your vehicle have a name? Seems I've always named our pickups & cars and given them a gender. There was the time I had Rice Rocket, for his oriental origins. Then I had Whitey,(a white pickup). He was ranch raised and did not like to go to town. The Bomber, (a big ol yellow station wagon). Do they make station wagons anymore? Cow Hauler,(the only New pickup we ever had), I hauled sooo many cows with that thing. Cow Hauler, always knew his way home. Butt Burner, had black leather with metal buckles on the seats, not a good choice for somewhere that gets 110 in the summer. Granny, was given to me by my mother-in-love and was a dear. She just sort of lost her will to live after the second engine transplant. And now Bessie, who came to me used, but still has served me well these many years. My ex-Brit neighbor has a pickup named, Henry, he's a dependable ol fellow. What say you.

Missing in Action

I cannot find it, I have looked everywhere I can think of, in the frig, in the hall closet, under the desk. I've even looked in the hen house. Called my brother, e-mailed my crazy Brit neighbor, texted my friend, they haven't seen it either. Searched in the emergency kit in the ol' suv. Not there, where in heck is it? Maybe it's in the box of pictures, the craft box, the box of rocks, nope not there either. This is driving me round the bend, I miss it, I need it. If you find my sense of humor please, please send it back to me.

Homeland Security

There we were, all six of us, Little B's wheel chair, and twelve suit cases stuffed into the rental mini van. Heading out from El Paso across the badlands of New Mexico on our way to Tuscon. "Isn't this fun?" No" came an answer from somewhere in the far back. "I have Issues" said the little voice. I must admit after you have seen one coyote, and thousands of cacti, you've pretty much seen them all.

My Sean had been driving the groaning mini van for sometime, when we spotted the border patrol. I waved at them as we started thru the check point. Just as we got even with them, Sean unintentional pressed a button and the windshield wipers came on, water squirting everywhere, and the wipers going like mad. He couldn't find the off button. I'm pretty sure the border patrol officers were laughing at us. As was I. (Because the same thing had happened to Marymine on our Chicago trip. Everytime she stopped the washers came on, and drenched anyone near us. If I remember correctly, we are now banned from the rental return area at o'hare.) We seem to have our own form of homeland security.