I hate this time of year. Oh, you can't imagine how much I hate it. And yet, in one of those weird little twists of weirdness that is me, I also love this time of year.
Spring has sprung! There are birds and flowers and the squirrels are chittering and fighting and carrying on outside my house. Kitty Dos is merrily bringing me birds heads, which she's so carefully removed from the bird's bodies. My front porch looks like the scene of a satanic bird sacrifice ritual. (Teo, my sick and dying big ol' boy, wasn't a great hunter, but he'd bring me cicadas. He would carry them inside, and carefully stack the bodies of these insects up in the dining room. If, say, I were sweeping, and I moved those bugs, Teo would come running, and would shove his bugs right back away from the broom, trying to save them. Doggone it, he wanted them arranged in a pile, right there, and he did NOT want me to sweep these nasty bugs away. Teo. The Great Bug Hunter.)
I want to plant flowers and tomatoes and kale and squash. I want to walk at the Environmental Center. All the windows are open to the warm air and to the...
Loud squeals and yelling of kids, and sometimes of their parents.
Fuzz Dawg, like me, doesn't like people much. She doesn't like them making noise outside our home. In fact, she doesn't like the fact that there MIGHT be noise or people out there, so sometimes she barks just to let nobody know that she's there, protecting this house. Of course, when she barks, BDG has to bark, too. When we had Binnie Boo here, it used to crack me up because one dog would be facing the stairs as she barked hysterically, one would be facing the door, and one would be facing the dining room. These idiots have NO idea why they bark, they just bark.
BDG, though, will bark, and I can tell when he's really agitated, because his bark goes up 3 octaves, and he starts to sound like a panicked girly opera singer when he's scared. Lately whenever someone speaks crossly to him, or he hears something scary outside (imaginary or not), or too many people are milling about, BDG comes running over to me, pressing his 100 plus golden retriever body against my legs in his effort to mold himself to me for protection.
He's not really bright.
But I love him anyway.
With the advent of spring, I always want to plant a garden. I did it the first year we lived here, and it was lovely and I had so many nice vegetables growing (and I was so proud of my beautiful, heirloom tomatoes), when my neighbor (the idiot behind me, whose nickname is so foul I'll just leave it out), sprayed a bunch of weed killer in his yard. There was nothing to stop the poison from coming into my yard, so my vegetables, particularly the tomatoes, were hit by this nasty crap. We couldn't eat the tomatoes, and I wasn't even sure about saving the seeds, so I pitched everything. I still have a few seeds from my Abraham Lincoln and Green Zebra tomatoes, but we haven't have a garden since that time. First, I was having too many surgeries and was too disabled to have a garden, and second, we'd had some pets die and the garden became a cemetery.
Yesterday, though, I was reading about in the bag gardening, and I thought, "I can do that!!"
I can make a garden with the bags of topsoil, mulch, and plants, and this way, I can have my garden without the risk of digging up a long dead pet. We can also turn the bag up on it's end, so that I can grow potatoes or tomatoes and there's no bending. Gardening in the bag like this eliminates the weeds. There are, of course, good things and bad things about this, but in researching all this for the 4.8 seconds I did before I was distracted by the settling of Macon County, this seems like the best, and cheapest option for us.
I'll keep you posted.
Saige is back home, after a quick trip down to see her big brother. I missed her, and am glad she's back.
The other night I heard someone skulking outside the house. Yesterday, I was picking up some of the trash that's blown in from neighbors' garbage cans, and found a jacket and hat, folded up nicely, but on the ground next to our shed. The jacket smelled horribly of body odor, but these things here make me worried that someone has been living in our shed or our old car. The old car is small, but it would make some shelter for someone who wanted to get out of the cold or the rain.
Just kind of gave me the heebie jeebies, and it makes me wonder if Fuzz Dawg was really barking at something, not nothing, the way I assumed. Maybe some homeless person was squatting in the car, and I didn't realize it.
I hope it's not Raingauge, one of Lamp's old friends. Rain has gone through some very, VERY rough times, and I know he was homeless for a time. The jacket we found was a large, and Rain is very thin now, so I don't think it's him.
Agnes, I don't know why this thing keeps making me moderate comments. I set it up so that I wouldn't have to do that, and people could merrily comment and I would be happy. It makes me happy to know people are reading this journal.
Anyway, I think it's a good idea for me to make an entry about my fake kids. My orphans. I will do that soon. Heck, I would make that post now, but I'm in a huge hurry.
So, that's it for now, just a quick post to touch base with everyone. I promise, I promise, soon I will do a real post with photos and writing that has been thought over before I put the words on this screen, and, you know, it will be wonderful and meaningful and might change your life.
And one quick note, I saw that Elizabeth Taylor died today.
Now I can't just end this normally, with, Go in peace, be warm and filled, after saying that Elizabeth Taylor died, can I? So I'll just say this:
"Yep, he's dead! Can we go look at the fish now??"