Cowboy here. Taking a few moments to reflect. The past year was a series of ups/downs, indescribable joy, deep regret. Like so many other folks – worldwide – my wife and I have folks that are dear to us in war zones. That said, we are blessed that many have come home alive, some with serious injuries but alive.
We are grateful for each one's service.
Joy: Sar and I travelled extensively this past year. The imp says we had to do this while I was still physically capable of getting around. Yeah, she got a swat for that. Contrary to the imp's testament that I am 0-l-d, I still manage to chase her down when the chasing is necessary.
We spent Christmas Eve alone. We try to do this every year; it's a special time for us. I'm happy to report that my 1st gift was my beautiful wife under the tree, wrapped in red ribbon. The unwrapping was as it has always been each Christmas – complete joy.
This morning, a wide-eyed young girl inside the mature sexy body of my wife slid down the banister. No matter how many Christmases we have shared, Sar still approaches Christmas morning the same way she did when she was 10. That was her first real Christmas. As a small reminder of the years she lived on the streets, there's a bowl of hard candy on the coffee table. The look on her face when the imp saw what was under the tree is more Christmas joy than I can describe.
Santa had delivered! Her belief in Santa Claus isn't so much the man as it is the spirit of the season. However—the look currently on the imp's face is one I know only too well. Tomorrow is the 1st day of a few days where more mischief than normal happens. Sar calls it the days in which she can run amok. I call it the days of unbelievably imaginative mischief. I'm certain I will enjoy more than a bit of it if the good Lord gives me strength to get through it. Knowing my wife's penchant for all things naughty, I trust she has convinced a number of you to follow in her footsteps.
Fortunately, Sar also has a penchant for all things sweet. Hopefully the rest of your holiday season will be as sweet as I intend for ours to be.
Happy holidays from both of us to you and yours.
Cowboy
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Mr. Grumpy!
When I married the giant squid many years ago, it didn't take me long to realize he was descended from Neanderthal stock. Egads! The real shocker came when I discovered Neanderthals had several personality quirks that no one ever mentioned, mainly… in addition to being spank-happy, Neanderthals pout! I don’t care how much he denies it – Neanderthals pout! They don't pout like cultured ladies pout; they pout like 8-year old boys. They get grumpy. I've lived with Mr. Grumpy for a lot of years. I can attest that his bouts of grumpy pouts are few and far between but when they happen… Get Out of his LINE OF FIRE!
When Mr. Grumpy is grumpy, he grumps about EVERYTHING!
Just because I happened to be cleaning out the hall closet and had to use a ladder to get to the top shelf… where there is a ceiling door to the attic… and there was dust up there… I mean… no one likes to see dust at the top of the closet… so I decided to push that door aside to get the dust out of all the cracks… and guess what! Santa had made an early delivery! Shocked! That was me. Uh huh, shocked.
… and stunned when I was suddenly no longer on top of the ladder in the closet and over Mr. Grumpy's shoulder… He sure can grump at the slightest things! I think he might have needed a glass of wine and maybe, a nap… or two.
SWAT!
Tsk.
I spotted the Rott snoozing in the hallway and yelled "KILL!" but the beast just yawned and went back to snoozing. Why oh why did I ever let that ferocious canine bond with Mr. Grumpy?
Later, I made chocolate pecan pie and after you-know-who ate about half of it, he wanted to know if I made peach cobbler, too. I didn't, so he grumped about that. Maybe two glasses of wine was needed and a very long nap.
SWAT!
Tsk.
Since Mr. Grumpy is so o-l-d…. I thought I'd better remind him that RUN AMOK WEEK is only FIVE days away! I don't want to spring it on him in case he's forgotten…
SWAT!
LOL!
He responded with… you won't believe this… NO MISCHIEF IMP!
Honestly… No mischief and imp in the same sentence just doesn't make any sense to me. Not to you either, right? Tsk. I told you he was o-l-d.
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
When Mr. Grumpy is grumpy, he grumps about EVERYTHING!
Just because I happened to be cleaning out the hall closet and had to use a ladder to get to the top shelf… where there is a ceiling door to the attic… and there was dust up there… I mean… no one likes to see dust at the top of the closet… so I decided to push that door aside to get the dust out of all the cracks… and guess what! Santa had made an early delivery! Shocked! That was me. Uh huh, shocked.
… and stunned when I was suddenly no longer on top of the ladder in the closet and over Mr. Grumpy's shoulder… He sure can grump at the slightest things! I think he might have needed a glass of wine and maybe, a nap… or two.
SWAT!
Tsk.
I spotted the Rott snoozing in the hallway and yelled "KILL!" but the beast just yawned and went back to snoozing. Why oh why did I ever let that ferocious canine bond with Mr. Grumpy?
Later, I made chocolate pecan pie and after you-know-who ate about half of it, he wanted to know if I made peach cobbler, too. I didn't, so he grumped about that. Maybe two glasses of wine was needed and a very long nap.
SWAT!
Tsk.
Since Mr. Grumpy is so o-l-d…. I thought I'd better remind him that RUN AMOK WEEK is only FIVE days away! I don't want to spring it on him in case he's forgotten…
SWAT!
LOL!
He responded with… you won't believe this… NO MISCHIEF IMP!
Honestly… No mischief and imp in the same sentence just doesn't make any sense to me. Not to you either, right? Tsk. I told you he was o-l-d.
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Checking My Lists
First: That jolly ol fat man in the red suit is supposed to make an appearance in 9 days. I have it on good authority that Mrs. Claus is about to bust her buttons. St. Nick is still studying the global maps and he hasn't begun to pack his sleigh. It seems the world has changed the names of so many countries in the last few years that the giant elf (not to be confused with the giant squid…) is making sure his route is correct so no one on his "nice" list gets a lump of coal instead of socks and underwear. The giant squid told me Santa is giving ME socks and underwear.
I've never had enough socks in my entire life – I go through them much too quickly so socks are ok with me. (Leg warmers for dancing under a full moon are also socks…) As for underwear, for folks like me, underwear = lingerie! I'm good with this.
Next: And "most" important, it's only 11 days until RUN AMOK WEEK! I'd like to go outside and shout HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! but that would be redundant. Also, it's very chilly out there right now. We had Arctic winds, snow, sleet and freezing rain in the last day or so. Personally, I was snug and warm and very happy to watch WEATHER happening but you-know-who was grumbling and growling about pee-numonia and bronchitis and fevers, etc. The pups were fascinated by all that growling since they weren't doing it. I reminded them that in order to become a U.S. Naval officer, the giant squid had to take Growling 101 as part of his training.
When he heard this, the giant squid muttered something in Italian so all of us innocents were spared hearing the message. (I need to get a pocket-size English/Italian dictionary.)
The words I hear most frequently these days are: "Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Laughing… After all the years we've been together, you'd think Cowboy would know that I don't have to PLAN anything. Mischief just sort of happens. What? You didn't know that either? Tsk.
SWAT!
Still laughing… Back to my list: The stockings are up, the tree is up, the menorah is still lit, cookies in the oven, hot chocolate on the stove, raspberry chocolate mousse in the works, and someone is making cream cheese omelets so I'll eat something that has protein in it.
Tsk. He really is an old-fashioned kind of guy. I was planning to eat tiramisu for breakfast.
I found a bunch of "wrapped goodies" in the attic space above the garage. I just happened to be looking there to see if Cowboy needed to change the mouse traps… I couldn't reach the goodies but I think if I put the ladder on top of a chair and…
A huge vat of chocolate paint arrived yesterday. I plan to use it during RUN AMOK week. I've also stashed a bit of catnip in Cowboy's bedroom slippers. I have a feeling DomTom, Miss Emmy and Pipsqueak will be rubbing all over the giant squid's ankles for days. I think it's good when cats and their humans bond, don't you? Henry, our Canuck cat is above these things. That feline is more interested in the raspberry mousse.
Last, for the record, I'm running out of "goodness." Mischief is really calling my name - actually, it's shouting at me.
~Sar~
I've never had enough socks in my entire life – I go through them much too quickly so socks are ok with me. (Leg warmers for dancing under a full moon are also socks…) As for underwear, for folks like me, underwear = lingerie! I'm good with this.
Next: And "most" important, it's only 11 days until RUN AMOK WEEK! I'd like to go outside and shout HAPPY! HAPPY! JOY! JOY! but that would be redundant. Also, it's very chilly out there right now. We had Arctic winds, snow, sleet and freezing rain in the last day or so. Personally, I was snug and warm and very happy to watch WEATHER happening but you-know-who was grumbling and growling about pee-numonia and bronchitis and fevers, etc. The pups were fascinated by all that growling since they weren't doing it. I reminded them that in order to become a U.S. Naval officer, the giant squid had to take Growling 101 as part of his training.
When he heard this, the giant squid muttered something in Italian so all of us innocents were spared hearing the message. (I need to get a pocket-size English/Italian dictionary.)
The words I hear most frequently these days are: "Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Laughing… After all the years we've been together, you'd think Cowboy would know that I don't have to PLAN anything. Mischief just sort of happens. What? You didn't know that either? Tsk.
SWAT!
Still laughing… Back to my list: The stockings are up, the tree is up, the menorah is still lit, cookies in the oven, hot chocolate on the stove, raspberry chocolate mousse in the works, and someone is making cream cheese omelets so I'll eat something that has protein in it.
Tsk. He really is an old-fashioned kind of guy. I was planning to eat tiramisu for breakfast.
I found a bunch of "wrapped goodies" in the attic space above the garage. I just happened to be looking there to see if Cowboy needed to change the mouse traps… I couldn't reach the goodies but I think if I put the ladder on top of a chair and…
A huge vat of chocolate paint arrived yesterday. I plan to use it during RUN AMOK week. I've also stashed a bit of catnip in Cowboy's bedroom slippers. I have a feeling DomTom, Miss Emmy and Pipsqueak will be rubbing all over the giant squid's ankles for days. I think it's good when cats and their humans bond, don't you? Henry, our Canuck cat is above these things. That feline is more interested in the raspberry mousse.
Last, for the record, I'm running out of "goodness." Mischief is really calling my name - actually, it's shouting at me.
~Sar~
Saturday, December 11, 2010
15 Days!
If you've been checking the calendar regularly, you know that Christmas Eve is only 13 days away. That means RUN AMOK Week is only 15 days away! Oh JOY!
People! You need to make your plans early! Don't be caught wondering what to do when Dec. 26 rolls around. Plan now! It's never too early to get those plans in shape. Trust me. I know these things. (Even the giant squid knows these things because he's already growling about it.)
"Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk. I think His Holiness could use a nap. (He's o-l-d, you know.)
SWAT!
laughing softly
I decided not to do Christmas cards this year. I usually send them out day after Thanksgiving but life jumped down my throat and I had other distractions to keep me off schedule. So, this year I'll send New Year's cards instead. I've started creating my own cards – fabric cards, quilted, embellished, painted, whatever medium comes to mind. I make some year-round, then write a note to whoever the card is going to. For David, I made a hula dancing lady; on the inside the note says "too bad you can no longer keep up with me." I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment; he's getting o-l-d too.
I can't tell you what Cowboy's card says; he has a habit of reading this blog. His short term memory is still working…
SWAT!
Cowboy says I should send a card to all the docs that have to put up with me. That would take a lot of thought. Do I send a blood sample for them to suck up? Do I send a hypodermic and hope they stick themselves? A tray of my "special" brownies? A note that says "be sick and see what it feels like to be on the receiving end?" Maybe, an invitation to be billeted elsewhere? Like Somalia? So many possibilities.
I did send a box of water taffy to the dentist.
I sent an old pair of Cowboy's night vision goggles to the eye doc and a box of shell casings (empty bullets) to one of the drill instructors on the base. I hope that confuses him.
The K-9 team got giant boxes of dog biscuits and a 10-lb bag of dried liver. Animals and I get along better than most other relationships I have. Hmmm… I wonder if that comes from living with a giant squid?
My neighbor, MsHairUpHerAss, also got taffy – she's just had new dentures made.
MsKeptWoman who lives down the block got a really pretty blue teddy. Thinking about buying another in XXXXXL size for a marine I know.
I just can't stand how thoughtful I've been. Will have to make up for all this goodness during RUN AMOK Week.
I sent Santa my last letter for this year. I reminded him I had been good ALL year. I omitted which year I was referring to…
Cowboy said if I combined all the 15-minute stretches of good I've been in all the years we've been together I might have accumulated a couple of months of goodness. Truly, that man needs a nap!
Adding insult to injury, I bet he read my email to Santa! Is nothing sacred in this world?
Cowboy is getting soooooooooo o-l-d I may have to give him a sweater with elbow patches… a walker for when the time comes that he needs one… extra warm socks and slippers with bunny ears. I made peach cobbler the other night and mushed it up so he wouldn't have to chew so hard. Was he appreciative of my thoughtfulness?
SWAT!
Tsk. Did I mention the man needs a nap?
~Sar~
People! You need to make your plans early! Don't be caught wondering what to do when Dec. 26 rolls around. Plan now! It's never too early to get those plans in shape. Trust me. I know these things. (Even the giant squid knows these things because he's already growling about it.)
"Better not be planning mischief, imp!"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk. I think His Holiness could use a nap. (He's o-l-d, you know.)
SWAT!
laughing softly
I decided not to do Christmas cards this year. I usually send them out day after Thanksgiving but life jumped down my throat and I had other distractions to keep me off schedule. So, this year I'll send New Year's cards instead. I've started creating my own cards – fabric cards, quilted, embellished, painted, whatever medium comes to mind. I make some year-round, then write a note to whoever the card is going to. For David, I made a hula dancing lady; on the inside the note says "too bad you can no longer keep up with me." I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment; he's getting o-l-d too.
I can't tell you what Cowboy's card says; he has a habit of reading this blog. His short term memory is still working…
SWAT!
Cowboy says I should send a card to all the docs that have to put up with me. That would take a lot of thought. Do I send a blood sample for them to suck up? Do I send a hypodermic and hope they stick themselves? A tray of my "special" brownies? A note that says "be sick and see what it feels like to be on the receiving end?" Maybe, an invitation to be billeted elsewhere? Like Somalia? So many possibilities.
I did send a box of water taffy to the dentist.
I sent an old pair of Cowboy's night vision goggles to the eye doc and a box of shell casings (empty bullets) to one of the drill instructors on the base. I hope that confuses him.
The K-9 team got giant boxes of dog biscuits and a 10-lb bag of dried liver. Animals and I get along better than most other relationships I have. Hmmm… I wonder if that comes from living with a giant squid?
My neighbor, MsHairUpHerAss, also got taffy – she's just had new dentures made.
MsKeptWoman who lives down the block got a really pretty blue teddy. Thinking about buying another in XXXXXL size for a marine I know.
I just can't stand how thoughtful I've been. Will have to make up for all this goodness during RUN AMOK Week.
I sent Santa my last letter for this year. I reminded him I had been good ALL year. I omitted which year I was referring to…
Cowboy said if I combined all the 15-minute stretches of good I've been in all the years we've been together I might have accumulated a couple of months of goodness. Truly, that man needs a nap!
Adding insult to injury, I bet he read my email to Santa! Is nothing sacred in this world?
Cowboy is getting soooooooooo o-l-d I may have to give him a sweater with elbow patches… a walker for when the time comes that he needs one… extra warm socks and slippers with bunny ears. I made peach cobbler the other night and mushed it up so he wouldn't have to chew so hard. Was he appreciative of my thoughtfulness?
SWAT!
Tsk. Did I mention the man needs a nap?
~Sar~
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Send Help!
Cowboy here. How long have I been married to a naughty birbantella? Sorry, that's redundant. A birbantella implies the imp is naughty. Not just naughty, but capable of black ops stealth, cunning, sneaky, generally successful. A lot of years of wedded bliss for the two of us, a lot of sores, bruises, much worse for the medics that have treated her.
Sar knew there were some medical appointments coming up. Among them, an MRI, other scans, some invasive stuff. Enough going on, the docs suggested an overnight stay, get it all done. Despite the thick file they have on mia bambina, they continue to neglect the basics: mainly, Sar is an escape artist. Won't tolerate unnecessary touching, won't wear a hospital gown, knows every nook/cranny of the local clinic, a whiz kid at jamming computer monitoring, takes advantage of whatever is available to be taken advantage of. Ergo: my escape artist pulled the plug on the computer, hit the security lights on the electrical panel which released locks on the secure doors, climbed out a window, was home eating cake when I finally caught up with her. Not sure the medics realize the imp escaped—again.
Somebody send help.
Announced I was going to burn that little butt. The imp looked up, smiled, offered a glass of peach brandy. Like a rookie, I reached for it; that's when she kicked me.
Mata Hari
Chased her through the house, up the stairs, got to the bedroom, tripped over the mastiff, got the door slammed in my face. Mastiff attacked, pushed me over, drooled on my face.
I need professional help.
Got the dog off, got the door open, faced a large Rottweiler showing off his big teeth. The imp laughed.
Threatened dire retribution. Sar plays dirty. She stripped, jumped my bones. Band tuned up, etc.
A couple of swats, much laughter, another successful medical evasion. Thinking about handcuffing the imp to the bed.
Doc called, wanted to know if Sar was home. I said no. Now I'm a co-conspirator.
Send help.
Cowboy
Sar knew there were some medical appointments coming up. Among them, an MRI, other scans, some invasive stuff. Enough going on, the docs suggested an overnight stay, get it all done. Despite the thick file they have on mia bambina, they continue to neglect the basics: mainly, Sar is an escape artist. Won't tolerate unnecessary touching, won't wear a hospital gown, knows every nook/cranny of the local clinic, a whiz kid at jamming computer monitoring, takes advantage of whatever is available to be taken advantage of. Ergo: my escape artist pulled the plug on the computer, hit the security lights on the electrical panel which released locks on the secure doors, climbed out a window, was home eating cake when I finally caught up with her. Not sure the medics realize the imp escaped—again.
Somebody send help.
Announced I was going to burn that little butt. The imp looked up, smiled, offered a glass of peach brandy. Like a rookie, I reached for it; that's when she kicked me.
Mata Hari
Chased her through the house, up the stairs, got to the bedroom, tripped over the mastiff, got the door slammed in my face. Mastiff attacked, pushed me over, drooled on my face.
I need professional help.
Got the dog off, got the door open, faced a large Rottweiler showing off his big teeth. The imp laughed.
Threatened dire retribution. Sar plays dirty. She stripped, jumped my bones. Band tuned up, etc.
A couple of swats, much laughter, another successful medical evasion. Thinking about handcuffing the imp to the bed.
Doc called, wanted to know if Sar was home. I said no. Now I'm a co-conspirator.
Send help.
Cowboy
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