Them shiny new Ford trucks sure are pretty.

BUT I LOVE MY NASTY OL GMC!

I turn left, away from the Ford dealership with its line up of gorgeous new machines, onto the highway and blast up the hill with my arm out the window, dressed in my Receptionist Clothes, which I really had to dig for, and I think to myself what a bitchin' ride I got here.

One hubcab missing, paint flaking off the front fender, rodeo bumper stickers and all.

Step my purty high heeled shoe into the pedal.

She goes just as well, if not better, with a boot holding that pedal down.

I seriously never want to get rid of this truck.  Even when I finally do get a shiny new one or more likely a shiny "new" one, I want to keep the old Mothertrucker.  It's my farm truck.  I can easily get 35 hay bales in the box.  It used to be shiny.  Twice.  It was shiny 22 years ago when it was new, and it was seven years ago when it got a paint job.  It's just gnarly looking now.  It's been weathered.  I love it.

This is the longest I've kept a vehicle of my own.

So it's lasted this far.

I loooooooove my bitchin' nasty, paid-for, basically functional, 8 cylinder, X cab, long box, gnarly ol' truck.

IT'S HUNKY BASS PLAYER DAY!

I've been working, like 3 or 7 different gigs this week and I don't want to think about phones, paint rollers, or horse chiropractors.  What better way to cleanse the mind than...MUSICIANS!  Yay!

To celebrate HUNKY BASS PLAYER DAY I've asked my daughter Annyong The Muser to provide me with some pix of our Hunky Bass Player of the Day.

Chris Wolstenholme of Muse

This man is so BEAST.  

Yes, that's right.  Wolstenbeast. 

The above picture made me actually forget what I was saying mid-sentence when the kid showed it to me on the iGadget.  

(Bonus: Bass Face.  Much more serious than Guitar Face.)

Not only is he a slammin' bass player...  

...he's also got those teardrop shaped eyes that knock me over every time.

And also, well, this.

He's quite capable of rocking the handlebar mustache.  That takes some pretty manly style. 

He's also got a wife and FIVE KIDS plus another one on the way.  

Any questions?

And on top of all that, you can always trust a man in a plaid shirt.  Even if it's a slightly hideous plaid shirt.  It still counts.  

Happy "Hunky Bass Player Day" to you!!!

ps go check out the WATCH SOME MUSIC page (top of the blog here) and watch the Knights Of Cydonia video.  It's awesome.  And Chris has a big cowboy mustache and is wearing a black T shirt and a cowboy hat.  I'm just saying.  

Here's a weird thing about having an office job.

This week I get clean BEFORE going to work instead of needing a shower AFTER working.

Here's another weird thing: I'm getting paid to pick up the phone.  It took me until two hours into the first shift before I realized that I actually... kind of...hate picking up the phone.

But it's not calling for me and they don't want anything from me and I only have to push a few buttons to send the phone call to where it needs to go.  And they're paying me.  So it's okay.

Another weird thing: I'm answering phones while the salesmen are selling cars.  You know what?  I could do what they do.  I could sell pickup trucks.  I love trucks.  You might already know that about me.  I love all trucks.  GMC, Dodge, Ford.  All the trucks.

I could sell you an F-150.

One of the guys decided I'm his good luck charm because I referred to him as The F-150 Guy after he sold one, and then went and sold another one the next day.

See?  I'm good with trucks.

And here's one thing that I don't think is weird at all:

I am wearing platform wedge slingback black and white gingham shoes to work.

Now you might thing it's weird, because I wear boots a lot, and I feel like me when I'm in boots.  But I'm wearing high heels and I'm walking in them.  I am driving my truck in them.  I put 'em on and I leave 'em on.  Because you know what?  I COMMIT.

Also, they're GINGHAM.  What good country girl doesn't love gingham eh?

And they were only twelve bucks.  So I gotta wear them to justify that huge extravagant expense.

Well, that and we've only got a few nice days left before fall hits hard, so I'd like to be able to see my toes.  Soon it'll be woolly socks and I won't see my toes until, like, next May.

It's kind of interesting, doing this little temporary gig.  It's been about eighteen years since I had a job like this.  I do believe this could all come out in a book someday.  That's what happens with fiction writers. Everything in life becomes potential fiction fodder.

I don't have any Receptionist Clothes.

I'll have to fake it when I go answer phones next week.

Hey I know it's weird, me in an.... office... but they're paying me so, okay!

In my other job, I haven't started primer because I have to sand the sponge painting off the walls in the bathroom, which I'm still cleaning daily.  Just because.  The amount of nail holes in the walls is staggering.  What the heck was he doing up there in that apartment?  Actually I don't wanna know.

In my other, other job, my horses haven't been doing much this week.  I'm not sure if it's a good thing I had other work this week because I didn't have much for lessons, but I guess the timing's good.

And in my other, other, other job, I'm just burning away on my novel-in-progress like, one paragraph per day.  Okay that's not true.  It's more like one sentence at a time.  But it's in progress and I'm still fired up for it!

Also I apparently still have children!

Might not be able to blog much, but then again, I might surprise you.  I do that sometimes.

Hand me a friggen paint brush and STAND THE HECK BACK.

It's like this:  things to pay for.

I'm starting my second painting job of the last two weeks.  This one is cool because I'm being given a lot more control of the project.  I get to have canvas drop sheets instead of plastic!  Plastic is slippery and therefore not good.  Unfortunately I also have to do all the prep work.  I hate prep.  Gahhhhh.  I hate sanding.  It's messy and bad for my wrists.  But it's so worth it.  Putting a paint job on a crappy wall sucks.

Also I have to scrape a layer of filth off the whole place.  Did the guy clean at all, even once, in the four years he lived in that apartment????  (shudder)  I can hardly even talk about it.

I fork up about a hundred pounds of horse manure every day and I'm cool with it but I'm horrified by the bathroom in the apartment I'm painting.  Makes sense.



OH AND ALSO I've got this new writing project, which I am totally AMPED about!  I have to squeeze in time to write!  Looks like somebody else is going to be sweeping the floors and vacuuming around here too.  Of course, this fantastic writing project is not paying very well.  At this time.

I can hardly talk about it.

In other news:  all three of my horses have physical issues of some kind, but it's all being taken care of.  Copper is putting weight on That Leg, and although she's really short-strided on that side, she doesn't appear to be bothered by it.  Oakie needs some exercise.  And Phoenix is too fat.  Ha!

Alright.  That was your news report.  I'm not really sure why I felt compelled to share all that.  Oh - I know- because when I blog again and can't put a sentence together and read much write spell tired good babble droop, then you'll know why.

When it comes to this little horse, any shred of logic I've ever had disappears.

So I've been really busy this week. 

My tiny mare came up lame last weekend.  She walked past me Saturday evening totally normal, got a drink at the trough, and came back with her right hind sort of... dangling.  She's had her hind legs wrapped up good and tight since then.  

And she's walking on it.  Trotting and loping too, actually.  

The thing about Copper is that she's been a strange combo of fragile and resilient her whole life.  And we are stupefyingly in love with her.  She's so cute.  Look at her up there.  Everything about her is short and compact.  We joke that she's got a big head compared to the rest of her, but that big head is little compared to any other horse.  I buy stuff for her in the pony section which suits me fine, cuz I buy my clothes in the kid section sometimes.  

The kid section?  She belongs to my kids.  This summer we've had to finally admit that they have both grown out of her.  We knew it would happen.  So what?  She stays.  I'm not outgrowing her.  She's got a home for life. If I'm the only person who ever gets on her back from now on, that's fine.  

I decided years ago I'd probably not use her in lessons, partly because she is ridiculously sensitive and responsive.  I can stop her without touching the reins, just a shift of my weight and a quiet "whoa."  She moves from a walk to a jog and back again the same way, just with me shifting my seat.  Having an inexperienced rider would frazzle her.  She kind of spoiled my kids, having learned to ride with her, because they can't get why every horse isn't like that.  I'm not saying she's easy to ride; you have to be on top of every cue or she gets confused.  She's so eager to please she almost turns herself inside out to get it right for you.  But it's not work to ride her.  

I'd also not use her for lessons because she's had problems with That Leg before. 

I mentioned fragile and resilient.  

She's had all kinds of crap to deal with.  As a weanling, the other two foals in the herd only let her up to the feeder for leftovers.  Last year I figured out that her new bitchy snappy behaviour was due to a stomach ulcer.  She got a nail in her hoof a couple years ago and before that had to have stitches in her forehead.  (See why I'm paranoid about sharp things???)  And before that, when she was a yearling, soon after she arrived at the Ol Homestead here, she had a broken leg. 

Yep.  Right hind.  

We fixed her up the best we could.  Our vet couldn't promise anything.  We knew that... and decided to keep her anyways.  She healed up quite well, and I went ahead and saddle broke her when she was three, always keeping an eye on That Leg. She didn't take a wrong step, although her back end has always been a little... swishy.  I don't know how else to describe it.  She would probably have a little swagger anyways but it seems like her stride is just a tiny bit shorter on one side.  But then, I admit that I am looking for it.  Always looking for it.

We have enjoyed nine years with her.  She taught my kids to ride, which I would never recommend - young green horse plus little kids?  Nooooo! - but under my watchful eye they all thrived together.  

For nine years, it never left my mind that she could possibly end up really, terribly lame again.  I was always looking for that limp. Time bomb.

All the crap this horse had dealt with, and she just goes with it.  She still wants her forehead rubbed. She's always happy to see us.

When Dr Rob the Vet came to look at her on Tuesday, after I'd been wrapping her for a few days, I opted not to do the $200 Xray.  What difference does it make if it's cracked or sprained?  The treatment is the same:  wrap her legs, keep her still as possible, mild exercise, a little bute for painkiller, some mineral ice gel to help with the swelling... and no promises.     

I lived over an hour away the first time she was damaged, and had two small kids, and couldn't do much to care for her.  Copper got put on stall rest and got walked twice a day, usually by my dad.  Dr Glen the Vet was amazed at how this little yearling filly walked at the end of the lead rope with her head level, well behaved after being in her stall all day.  I wasn't there: no bandages and no fussing.  Now, at the age of ten, I don't know if she'll heal as well as she did then.  I'm cautiously optimistic.  

Part of our decision all those years ago to give her a chance, was that we would NEVER sell her.  I mean, you could tell a buyer that she has a healed injury and should not be worked hard - no jumping, no barrel racing - and after she appeared sound, it might be, oh heck, she's fine, let's take her to the rodeo, and then a few months or weeks or years later she's ruined and suffering.  It didn't matter because the kids wouldn't consider selling her in any case.  But, we also had to think about... the end.  I told the kids she might not live to be an old horse.  If she is suffering and I can't help her, we have to make The Hard Decision.  

I don't wanna talk about that right now.  Like I said, cautiously optimistic. 

Look at the muscles on this little fart.  

If she hadn't been injured, I think she would have been one hell of a competition horse.  She is blindingly fast, and can turn on a dime.  Just plant one hind hoof and pivot.  (Hmmm.  Wonder how she hurt herself this time?)

I've been putting her in a stall overnight, with the top of the barn door open so she can get lots of fresh air and see the other two, who are in the corral overnight.  During the day, they go in the pasture and she stays in the corral.  They have to be in her sight or she'll go berserk.  She can't function unless she knows where they are.  She'd hurt herself worse if she's left to spin and fret in her stall, worrying about the other two.  

This way she can see them, without them pushing her around, and also get some exercise as she walks in the corral.  

I make no money with this horse.  I can't afford to spend a whole lot on these horses at all but it's especially hard to justify for the little pet here.  I don't care.  For the cost of a few bags of shavings to bed her stall, I'll stable her at night for stall rest.  It doesn't cost anything but time to wrap those legs until I see the limp go away.  Maybe it's a stupid priority to keep feeding her when she's not the most useful horse in the herd, when I've got debts to pay and a truck that needs work, a husband who needs to go to the dentist and kids who need to go to college some day.  I don't know... My farmer's daughter practicality tells me it's foolish.  My foolish heart tells me I can't let her down.  She deserves to be taken care of.  

...those blinky eyes and brown ears, and that soft pink muzzle... 

Oh hell, what's a few hundred bucks a year for a couple hoof trims, a few squirts of dewormer and a  rabies shot?  

She's priceless.

The Last Gasp of Summer

That's always how the long weekend feels. 

Jethro and I took the kids and the dog up to Lake Huron.  

Everything cooled suddenly the last couple days, which was a bit of an adjustment after a pretty darn hot summer.  On our way up Highway 8, just as we went through Seaforth, we got pelted with rain.  I mean, raindrops this big (hold your thumb and forefinger together), and with great force. It turned into an epic experience... we were listening to Apocalyptica, and it was during "Helden" which is actually a cover of David Bowie's "Heroes" but trust me, waaaay heavier (seriously?  The frontman from Rammstein singing in German over cello metal?  YES)  when the torrential downpour happened. The storm was about as long as the song, and peaked when the song was ripping through a climactic thunder clap of shrieking distorted strings.  You know what it was?  It was awesome.  Truly.  Then on our way out of town, the clouds sort of gave up and the sun came out - just as the song was ending!  I know- TIMING.  It was incredible.  

Annyong declared that she would totally remember that for the rest of her life.  

We went to Goderich.

A couple weeks ago, a tornado took out the town square.  

I didn't want to be a gawker.  But Jethro insisted on putting some money into the local economy... tourism will be taking a beating these days.  He just wanted to show Goderich a little love. 

It's so easy to love.  

 In the background, you can see the part of the salt mine that didn't get hit by the twister.

Geez, Bucky is getting shoulders on him like his father.  

Annyong and Bucky both had to check out the playground.  Why not, nobody else was.  

And here in the background you can see where the twister did hit the salt mine.  Looks like it's been crumbling for 30 years.  Nope.  Less than ten minutes.  Less than five, probably.

We never know when Nature is gonna come along and kick us in the teeth.  

Count your blessings every time you're spared the wrath.  

She even takes arty pictures with an iPhone.  

Eventually we stopped by for a nice meal at a place with an outdoor patio, where The Pug was sort of allowed but not really.  He had to stay outside the fence, where he alternated between crying for Mommy (that'd be me) and greeting restaurant patrons as they came by the front entrance. 

I leaned over and stuffed fries into his mouth.  Look, I never do that, okay?  But they were really tasty, and he'd been quiet for a few minutes, so I figured, aw heck.  Last weekend of summer.  Have a fry.  

Seeing the damage in the town was...heartbreaking... yet hopeful.  There are so many trees lying on their sides, with their roots gone vertical because of the way they were lifted out of the earth.  Trees with nothing left but spikes of thick branches because the funnel cloud stripped everything else away. Piles of rubble stacked neatly at the curb.  

Windows boarded over with plywood, spray painted with messages:

Thank you volunteers

We will rebuild

We'll be "The Prettiest Town in Canada" again!

All choked up.

I wouldn't have recognized the town square, which was all fenced off.  It didn't look right.  Totally unfamiliar.  It wasn't just the boarded up windows and missing walls.  I couldn't quite place the wrongness... it was the trees.  They're gone.  The inner square was like a park, and all of those trees are gone.  What's left of them has been cut up and taken away already, probably done while the hydro crews worked.  It was eery.  

Tornadoes are so unfair.  

But it's amazing how people can band together, help each other, and overcome.  Do some grieving, and get to work.  Move on.

Summer's gone.

This morning, I sent my younguns off to school.  

Every year I take a picture on the first day of school.  This is her last year.  Oh my gosh.  

I think next weekend we'll take the pool down...

Swagger and Spit: A Hick Chic Guide

Cute Stuff, who lived a few houses away from us when we lived in town, brought his Mom out to the Ol' Homestead for a visit this week. 

Cute Stuff knows where I keep the extra cowboy boots in the barn.  

Here we are going out to catch a horse.  He is wearing cowboy boots.  I am wearing chicken-white legs.

He had to swagger.  It's what you do when you're rocking the cowboy boots.  

The kid's a natural.  

Cute Stuff started talking about spurs.  He asked me if I have spurs.  Yeah I have spurs.  His green eyes got real big.  Do you USE them?  Not very often.  Only on Phoenix.  Cute stuff had this idea that I get on my horse and jab him in the guts repeatedly.  So I asked him where he's getting his info from and got reminded that I am totally unhip when he told me about a video game called Red Dead Redemption.  

Yay, another source of western stereotype misinformation.  But guess what - Cute Stuff can now tell the vid-kids that he has actually worn spurs.  For real, dude.

I wouldn't let him ride my horses with spurs.  Nobody uses spurs on them but me, and no, I don't stab them.  They're just reminders, which I explained to him.  But heck, spurs are good for photo- ops!

And while we're at it, let's get you a hat.

Mine's already too small for him.

I handed him Jethro's.  He set my teensy hat on top of my head while I buckled up my spur straps.  

This led to a very important lesson:  How To Wear A Stetson.  As you can see in the above pic, he first put it on set back on his head.  Can't do that.  You'll look like a NOOB, I told him.  Dead giveaway that you're new at this.  

You gotta hold the crease in your hand like this and then set the sweatband, that leather strip inside the hat, right on your forehead.  Then slide it down onto your head.  It's gotta be right on your forehead.  And don't jam it down by grabbing the brim by the sides.  And it's a real Stetson so careful, cowpoke.

He got it down right quick.  Like he's been wearing it for years.  

Like a cow-boss. 

Seriously, he wasn't even posing for that picture.  

Of course, once you've got the hat, the boots, the spurs and the swagger, all that's left (besides the horse) is the spit.  It's dusty out there.  You gotta spit.  

And of course it's best if your thumbs are hooked in your belt buckle.  If you had a belt buckle.  

SPURS.

And attitude.

Hadda hock up a few good loogies.  (Do you call 'em loogies out west???)

He's very good at spitting.  I hardly had to teach him anything.  

I'm telling you, even if he only gets out here once a year, it's worth it.  He needs to reach his Inner Cowboy.  

And we have one more horse to cuddle now.

The spurs came off.  We swapped out the Stetson for a Troxel  (what, it's Ontario, we can't cowboy-up all the time.  And also legally I have to slap a helmet on anybody under 18) and put Cute Stuff on a horse.  He still looks cool.  

Look at him, sitting there like he does this all the time.

He'll grow into the boots and the hat. 

And I've got bigger boots, so he can keep visiting for years to come!