An Apology, of sorts...

Yes, we have been away...

for awhile, now. Thought we were going to attend one or two of them big fancy schools back east on line for free. I reckon it is true, you get what you pay for. 

But we're back to blogging. I began this piece some weeks back as an apology to my follower. It's been sitting in 'Draft' so long now, it's dated. Or, at the very least, several days behind...

Starting over...again....

Looking to clean out the shed on a brisk Sunday morning.

May have found me another dog, but keep it under your hat. I haven't told Anniepie, yet.

Hello, and welcome back. This is our third or fourth post in recent days after a months' long absence. I'm not sure I want to get into where we were and what we were doing while on hiatus. Let's just leave it at reconsidering, regrouping and relaunching.

A couple of things followers--if any are hanging with us--might want to know:

• In addition to learning to blog, I'm doing some six hours a day at PATTERSON'S, valeting and schmoozing in the service dept. Cut an old journalist a break, and let me know when you're in the market for a new (to you) vehicle, would ya? 
• Anniepie got a pacemaker to kick start her heart. I'm not supposed to write about that for some reason or other. She's doin', "Jus' fine."
• No, I have not abandoned returning to The Northwest, but it appears highly unlikely that will happen before 2016. Seems I've got a race for the governorship of Texas to help Wendy Davis win.

One corner done! Hope reinforcements arrive soon!!

Meanwhile, back in the shed....

Progress, of sorts, is being made. Reinforcements are here, and we've got the start of a cooking fire, burning down to coals.... Tales will be told around that fire, and some of 'em may even find their way into these files....

But I wouldn't hold my breath in anticipation.

October passed the Rolling Plains, leaving crisp mornings, teasing showers and transforming trees for November. After yet another summer burn out--our third straight--we have reconsidered our decision to throw in the towel on the fight to garden.

October infected the Back Yard Boys with the urge to merge with wilderness. Camping fever is chronic and acute. Work obligations being what they were (and remain), even a weekend two-nighter was not possible

Y'all come back, now, hear?

9 Things You Probably Don't Know About Me

Having been assigned the number NINE by California cousin-in-law Mary, here's my list. No doubt you know the rule; If you "like", I will assign a number to you, too.

9. I still have not finished that g**d*** degree!!

8. Once cut my hair (blunt-nosed scissors) in the style of then President Ike Eisenhower after seeing him on the TV. Hey, if it's good enough for the President....!

7. My Best Man (twice), wing man and all-around brother-by-another-mother has had my six for a freaking 50 years. Clear on the right!!

6. When my birth parents split, back in '57, Mom actually opened the discussion with me by asking, "How would you like to have a horse?"

5. I'm a dog man. Period. At least, I like to think that I am. But back in the day of "Gene and Tex, and Roy and Rex, the Durango Kid" it was all about horses!

4. If you really want to get my motor running, take me to a good old Rolling Plains thunderstorm. Let 'er RIP, Tater Chip!!

3. From the time I noticed differences between boys and girls and up to the first flush of hormones kicking in, I wanted to be a girl. 

2. I was gonna be a "Hardshell" Primitive Baptist preacher. Yeah, really! I even supplied for a small church in Abilene, Texas, for nigh on to a year as "training" prior to official ordination as an elder. Imagine, this left handed wing nut liberal coming out of the depths of fundamentalist conservatism. Did ya know that the late Sam Rayburn, legendary Speaker of the House of Representatives, was one of us? My Ma'maw and Gran'dad went to Mr. Sam's funeral and sat right behind the Johnsons and the Kennedys.

1. My alter ego, David Forest, is alive and living in an unpublished desk-drawer novel for, Lo, these past 33 years. He, too, has survived to the Age of Medicare, so there is no way now that he will ever accomplish all that we set out to do when his tale began.

BONUS FACTOID: I began writing formulaic, pulp fiction in the eighth grade at Barwise Jr. High to impress a girl in Mr. Conway's art class. As it turned out, she published long before I did. Still love ya, Karen!!

The Cat Who Wouldn't Come in From the Cold

Annie doesn't take kindly to "Stinky", our #2 cat, being called "Stanky", and therein hangs a cat tale.

Stinky Miller in his younger, domestic days

Stinky was a rescue cat who rode into downtown Henrietta from Fort Worth in the front fender well of an 18-wheeler cab. How the hell he managed to survive up there for a hundred miles is beyond me, but the trip twisted his feline psyche.

Look at 'im over there. Looks normal enough, doesn't he. Yet, even at that young stage, there was something not quite right about that cat, something suggesting a Jeckel-and-Hyde kink.

Relocation aside, this oreo wound up at the home of the village cat lady. Bless her heart! For the cats, it must have been a nightmare straight out of a Dickens' orphanage. 

Cat Lady's daughter found Annie through our local want ads. Daughter wanted--above all else!--to divest mother of the clowder of mostly feral cats before further destruction of the family homestead. 

Fortunately, we escaped the cat house with ONE scared-shitless cat vocalizing in a borrowed carrier! One smelly cat, at that. Thus, Stinky.

My lovely life partner believes...firmly...in cats being kept inside. Let's 'em on the furniture, even. So it was, initially, this black-and-white newbie gained a roof over his head, all the kibble he could hope for and access to furniture. He did have to share a litter box with one other, much older, half blind tom with attitude AND got his balls whacked off in the bargain!

Several months (years?) our household had grown to four cats, a cockatiel and Beano, a boglen terrier. We lucked into a three-bedroom rental with a fully-fenced back yard and infinitely patient, understanding landlady and lord.

In the new (to us) home, the litter box found a permanent home beside the back door. While the other three cats were curious about "OUT THERE!", Stinky was the only one to chance it.

He had been born a feral cat, after all.

The first time was like, "STINKY'S OUT!! OMG, DO SOMETHING!" After the first dozen or so escapes, it was nearer "Stinky's out again...." So it was that Stinky morphed into Stanky.

Beano and Stanky, waiting at the gate

Initially, Stinky only became Stanky for odd periods during daylight. He was content with the inside-the-fence back yard, showing little inclination to venture beyond his home turf. 

Inside Stinky was skittish, suspicious of others, selfish and seemingly starved for attention but on his terms. Outside Stanky became cautious, confident, aware and watchful of others, and starved for attention but on his terms. In the course of the transition, it became increasingly clear that Stanky was a happier cat than was Stinky.