Calming. Soothing. Peaceful. Yep, That's me.

After scaring myself with yesterday's post, I decided today's post would be calming. Soothing. Peaceful. Sadly, I don't have any photos that meet that criteria from my artsy fartsy photo excursion last week. 

I had to go back in my picture archives. 

Way back.

All the way back to my sunflower days.

I like this picture. I like the color of the flower, the color of the stem, and the color of the sky.

And I really like Mr. and Mrs. Bee meeting for a late lunch on the sunflower. At least, I hope they are Mr. and Mrs. Bee and not Mr. Bee and some floozy shacked up together on my flower. Some floozy would harsh my mellow.

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Artsy Fartsy Turned Scary

It had been a while and I was feeling the itch last week. The itch to get my artsy-fartsy on. And I drafted a friend to go with me.

Look what we found:

A red barn! In Indiana! We were just so … shocked at seeing a red barn in the Hoosier state that I just had to hang out the window of the mini van and snap a photo. I'm such a daredevil, I know.

All joking aside, it's a right purty barn.

I don't know what the painted white circle on the front is, but I'm guessing it's a guide for making bales of hay the desired size. Think kitchen doodad that helps you measure out the correct amount of uncooked spaghetti noodles for four people.

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Fire and Ice

On Sundays, I usually roast a chicken. On really lucky Sundays, my husband grills the chicken out on the charcoal grill.

It's delicious.

Getting the charcoal going without using lighter fluid is a process. I don't know the intricacies of the process because I'm inside fussing with other things like hoping I have enough butter for the mashed potatoes and making sure my yeast rolls are rising. I'm sure you agree that both are legitimate concerns.

Taking a break from fussing around the kitchen, I popped outside to see this on the back patio:

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Corn Kinda Scares Me

When exercising (99 percent of the time that means running a couple of miles), I prefer to be distracted. Otherwise, I will talk myself right out of getting a good workout. This probably isn't surprising to you, but I am easily distracted. I either listen to a wide variety of cheesy pop tunes or (if down in my basement) I will watch life enhancing television like Real Housewives of Orange County. I get so caught up in either singing along with the Bee Gees or watching Gretchen, Tamara, and Vickie bicker on Housewives, that my thirty minute run zips by very quickly.

What can I say? Sometimes it is awesome to be me.

For the past couple of months, I've taken (almost exclusively) to running outside. I still listen to my cheesy pop tunes and I really dig watching the scenery go by. Although running outside isn't without it's down side (like dead animal carcases and vultures circling over head), I find it enjoyable and on par with watching Real Housewives. 

Since I live in the country, there is little to no traffic on the roads in which I run. Seriously. During a thirty minute run I might encounter four cars. The odds of me seeing a coyote are as good as me seeing a Buick. Really. I looked it up. 

No, not really. But it sounded good.

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Pico? Si. Pico.

There are a lot of tomatoes growing in my garden this year. I do not enjoy the tomato.

There are a lot of jalapeños growing in my neighbor's garden this year. I do not enjoy the jalapeño.

There are a lot of onions growing in my garden this year. I enjoy the heck out of the onion.

One might look at all the absurdly fresh produce available in my backyard and immediately think to make salsa. Pronounced sal-SAAAAAA, of course. Lord, I do love to say it that way.

Go ahead. Try it.

I will now let you in on a little known fact: making sal-SAAAAAA will use up the tomatoes in your garden, but little else.

Si, is true. (that's Spanish for Hoosier lady speaks the truth. I'm multi-lingual you know)

Instead, make pico de gallo. Personally, I believe that pico and sal-SAAAAAA are cousins, only one is chunkier and uses more junk from my garden. That would be the pico.

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A Newer, Fresher Semi True Story

Instead of writing a new post for Friday, I spent some time updating my blog. Did you notice? Please humor me and tell me you noticed the changes right away.

I'll be crushed if you don't. I'll get over it much like I got over the break up of Wham! in 1986 - with help from Breyer's all natural vanilla ice cream topped with Hershey's chocolate syrup - but it'll be much better if you just lie to me.

The first of my jaw dropping changes is on the home page. The home page has always contained every new blog post, but now it features other pages, like 'About Me' and 'Horse Stories'. 'About Me' is a very lengthy, vividly recalled, detailed account of my thirty-eight (almost thirty-nine) year old history. And it is completely accurate with absolutely no fabrications or embellishments whatsoever.

No, not really. This is me we are talking about, but it does contain certain very, very true elements to my autobiography. Check it out by clicking on the About Me tab under the title bar. Remember, the 'About Me' tab is totally, 100 percent true.

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More News From the Garden

Remember this picture from about a month ago?

It's the pumpkin patch. Now look:

We have blooms!

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I Have a New Love ...

… and he's awesome. No, he's not replacing my two previous loves:

 

     and

Nope. Nothing could replace my nightly date with them. I will love those two together forever. It's totally and seriously TLF. For those of you not fluent in 80s speak, that's True Love Forever. And I mean it. But my new guy? Well, he's in addition to those guys. 

And hons, he's heavenly. 

Seriously, deliciously heavenly. He goes with almost anything. Strawberries. Ice cream. Bananas. Double Stuf Oreos. Brownies. But not Cheetos 'cause that's nasty. I said almost anything.

Are you ready to meet him? Buckle up and brace yourselves.

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I'm Like, So Famous

Last week, my area of the world had a pretty terrific thunderstorm roll through and I snapped a few (forty-one) photos of it.

I shared this one with you guys 'cause it's my favorite.

On a whim, I sent the photo into the local TV station as a "Weather Pic of the Day" to be featured on the news later that night. We watched the 11:00 news broadcast (unusual since I'm normally watching something else that is equally as informative, like Teen Mom or Toddlers and Tiaras). My photo wasn't picked to be on the news that night.

Boo.

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Check Out My Husband's Onions!

Saturday evening, my husband rushed in the back door of the house and demanded that I come out to the garden to see his onions. I will admit I thought that sounded a lot like a euphemism for something else and gave him a very stern "DUDE! The kids are right here" look accompanied by an irritated crossing of my arms.

Then I looked outside.

Here's a sentence that I never thought I would say:

Check out my husband's onions!

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My Super Deluxe Port-A-Potty

Last weekend I encountered something unexpected and wonderful. It was a port-a-potty.

A super deluxe port-a-potty.

Deluxe meaning, of course, that it had toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and proper ventilation.

Super deluxe meaning tp, aired out, hand sanitizer, a purse hook, and a mirror. That's right. I said a purse hook and a mirror.

Take a moment to be jealous of me.

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Meet My Grandmother

Meet my Grandmother. She's ninety-six years old, lives in her own house, drives her own car (hereafter referred to as her "wheels"), and power walks the mall like nobody's business.

* side note: I feel like such a slug. A jiggly, jiggly slug.

You should know that my Grandmother has always been and will always be referred to as Grandmother. Not Grandma. Not Nana. And never, ever Meemaw. For the love of all that is holy, do not call this woman Meemaw. 

The woman is amazing. Simply, unequivocally amazing.

While in her 80s, she was in two separate but horrific car accidents, battled colon cancer, and broke her hip while at work. Let that last one sink in for a bit. While at work, people. Like, at a job. I kid you not. Her reason for being at work at age eighty-five? She's a nurse and nursing is what nurses do. My favorite part about her working until age eighty-five? Her grousing about all the "old" people she took care of. Oh the irony - those old people were twenty years younger than her.

Besides being a nurse, there are three things that my Grandmother truly, deeply loves: God, Oldsmobile, and Taco Bell. Probably in that order.

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Word of the Day: Jump

I get up, and nothing gets me down.

You got it tough. I've seen the toughest around.

And I know, baby, just how you feel.

You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real.

Oh, can't you see me standing here?

I've back my back against the record machine

I ain't the worst that you've seen.

Oh, can't you see what I mean?

Ah … I might as well jump. Jump!

Might as well jump.

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A List of Updates

I've had a lot going on in my life lately and I feel that you, my people, my eight (eight!) followers, need to be updated.

1. My water softener or water heater has a leak and the repairman is here this morning to replace it. He said he doesn't need my assistance, but I think he does. Once I determine if it's the softener or the heater, my help will be golden.

2. My jiggle. It's still there.

3. The sunflowers. They are starting to die and become bug infested. It's pretty gross. I really hope this phenomenon does not happen to me any time soon.

4. The severe lack of rainfall in my area came to a grinding halt last night around 8:15.

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Traffic signals? In the Backyard?

I was meandering through the garden this weekend, trying to make it look like I was weeding. 

Or watering. 

Or squishing tomato worms. 

Or teaching Ninja Kitty how to squish tomato worms. 

Or being productive in general. 

But I was really out there with my camera, avoiding manual labor like the plague and looking for some good photos.

In my quest of cool photo ops, I never guessed that I would find traffic signals.

Wait … what? Traffic signals? In the garden?

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My 20th High School Reunion Part II: The Reunion

Ahh … the reunion. It was fun and I'm glad I went. If you ever get the chance, you should go to your high school reunion. You won't regret it.

It amazed me to see how many people looked basically the same, only with better hair. There were far fewer mullets in the crowd than the last time this group was together and the girls' hair? It was visibly lacking in both height and volume. This is a good thing. All in all, we looked danged spiffy.

My only complaint about the reunion was that I didn't get to chat with everyone. Several people came and went before I had an opportunity to catch up with them.

Phooey.

That really irked me, so I came up with a plan. And it's a good one, too.

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My 20th High School Reunion Part I: The Search for the Right Outfit

I know what you're thinking. "Shut the front door! There's no way she's been outta school for twenty years!"

Alas, it is true.

It is also true that I was seven when I graduated, which makes me all of twenty-seven now.

Okay … I might have made up that last part.

Maybe.

The truth is that I went to my reunion and I had a great time.

My great time started around 11 a.m with a text from my friend asking if I wanted to shop the mall for a cute top for her to wear to the reunion. I agreed to the top shop extravaganza, but also wanted to find a stunning, clearance rack, $9.99 or less prom dress for myself to wear to the reunion.

Ideally I wanted to wear my own prom dress, but that ain't happening, folks. It shrunk while being boxed up in my basement. It's the darndest thing.

I had a back up plan of khaki capris and a turquoise shirt if needed. I am nothing if not practical in my apparel.

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The Difference Between Indiana and Other Exotic States

I live in Indiana. This shouldn't be news to me since I've lived here my entire life. But sometimes I forget this fact and think that every state in the United States is basically like mine. However, it became very apparent to me when the fam and I were driving to the beach last week that my drive to an Indiana beach  doesn't contain the same scenery as the drive to beaches in other, more exotic states. 

When gazing out the window of my Honda on the way to the beach, I did not see palm trees. Or surf shacks.  Or Hawaiian shave ice huts. Or waves crashing. Or scantily clad muscle bound young men doing weird things with coconuts.

Instead, I saw this: 

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The Return of Ninja Kitty

This was the all-powerful, all-seeing, omnipotent Ninja Kitty in the backyard last night. The parched, parched backyard.  We haven't had any rain for days. 

Ninja Kitty is almost asleep.

But something grabs his attention.

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