Tough Crow

Folk Art Crow-Seven Roads Gallery, 2011

So many piles of dog poop, so little room in the scooper.

My neighbor in AZ used a plastic bag from his Wall St. Journal to pick up Who-Do Wunderdawg's dookie. Yow. The thought of grabbing a warm pile of poop with my hand bothers me.  Mandy has acres and acres of room to crap. The cat regularly uses the sand pile in the old house foundation. I don't have to watch where I step because he goes... and it disappears. The cat is good at covering his mess.  The next door neighbors to Harvey Bartlett, the AZ prankster, had two little yippers. They had no yard, except a walled in patio.  You could smell bleach fumes over our cul-de-sac when it was patio cleaning day. I'm glad I don't have a Great Dane, Malamute or St.Bernard.

I have cleverly introduced the topic.  Yesterday was one crappy day.

I don't prepare this stuff in another program and import it to blogger. I proofread, edit and re-edit on the spot.  I should learn to be brief.   It causes  technical problems for which I do not have the patience.  I use my own images. Yesterday importing images from a free site caused me time and a loss of what little patience I possess.  Then I got the bright idea to begin a post as a draft, spending more time as the ideas unfolded.  In the end, the post got stuck. I saw a red blurb on the bottom of the screen that said something like "error in saving"  If I left the program, I'd lose any unsaved changes.  I tried that and , aha, I lost half of what I'd written.Crap.

 Even images I'd imported from my pictures file disappeared. Like this one of Scratchy. The stray I found and gave away to a migrant family who lived behind us across the river.

Scratchy

This is their house.  It wasn't habitable when they lived there. It's worse now.

For Sale.40 acres and a mule

This is the flag I've been restoring. While I have been paid handsomely in haircuts and offers of sexual favors for my work as a art restoration specialist, I do not take on new work. Don't ask. It, too, was a PIA, dripping glue when I turned the piece over to install a hanger.

Antique Flag-Seven Roads Gallery,2011

At the end of the afternoon, I possessed a real sense of accomplishment after downloading multiple images, such as this one of my tiny cold frame of fresh oregano here at the cusp of the arctic circle.

When Dawn returned home from her job at the old folks home, she told me her sister had left a voice mail message in response to multiple calls to check on Dad who lives with the sister.  Against the advice of a certified health care professional with over ten years of experience (Dawn), her sister decides to care for their elderly father at home after Mom died.

As dementia approached on its silent paws, Dad became more dependent upon specialized care.  When the sister had a personal emergency, she asked Dawn, with little advance notice, to drop everything and drive the 4 hours to the Southeast part of the state to care for Dad. Dawn refused, without doing an "I told you so,"  retort.  Sisty Ugler had to hire a caregiver to come in  for Dad. It was expensive. Sister was pissed. 

In the voice mail message, Sisty tells Dawn that Dad was moved to a care facility over a month ago. He's in the last stages of Alzheimer's and doesn't have much time left. In a phone conversation with her brother, Dawn relates the details.  Brother dryly says, "It was nice of her to let us know." It'd be easy to import an image of the sister since we're so close to Halloween.

I wake up in the middle of the night with the Anxiteers pounding at the bedroom door. They're ecstatic.

You have no friends. You are wasting you time on building a greenhouse. It's going to snow and won't stop until March. You find a hit man for Sisty Ugler and are sentenced to life in prison.  The library will run out of new books and the new director will concentrate on Amish romance books and detective novels.  People only love you for your potatoes.  Your cat allergy is terminal.  You will become a house husband reserving Mondays for laundry, Wednesday for scrubbing floors and Thursday for washing walls like your stepmother.  In a recall election Wisconsin Governor Skippy Walker reports a landslide victory after the State Supreme court clears him for election fraud.  Prohibition becomes the rule of law, again.  The local Republican boss wants you to give him protection money.  The gravel haulers clog the highway spewing diesel fumes.  Mandy runs away.

Sigh.