Welp, there goes my hearing.

Excuse me while I peel my heart out of my throat.




It's lightning. And thundering. Very loudly.

Me: "I suppose every conversation has a purpose."

Mama: "Yeah. Most of the time it's to make you hold your tongue better next time. But sometimes there's enlightenment."

In Which I Became a Cat-Hater.

We have four kittens. We don't want four kittens. Based on that fact, I set out on an adventure today. I was going to go door to door in Falkner and the outlying houses and give them away. Nothing could be easier, right?

Wrong.

Ho, boy, was I ever wrong.

At the first three houses, I couldn't get anybody to the door. At two of those houses, dogs exploded into barking when I rang the doorbell. So, I'm betting those people wouldn't have wanted a free kitten anyway. At the fourth place, there were about six kittens running around. Darn. I decided to try in spite of appearances being definitely against me. A nice man came to the door, and a nice woman followed. No, they didn't want another kitten. "This is sort of a drop off place," the lady said. "People just leave their kittens on our road. Can you imagine that?"
Me: (thinking, of course,) "Dadgummit, why did I have to knock on the door and ask? If I'd known that you considered yourself kitten haven, I sure would have been here sooner. Here, as in, here on your road, not here at your door." But I didn't say that, because I was still laboring under the delusion that I would find some eager cat adorer who wanted four kittens really badly. I wasn't desperate. Yet.

Did I mention that getting the two kittens, (I decided to just try two, since it was hard enough getting them in the box for me to know I didn't want to maneuver four,) in and out at each place was maddeningly difficult? And painful? I have a lovely red scratch on my left hand from one of their desperate attempts to crawl over the steering wheel and onto the dashboard. If it hadn't been Laura's car, I would've let them go where e'er their scared little hearts wished. But it was, so I didn't. Every time we got back in the car after a rejection, we had a little routine going. I slid in with the kittens still in my hands. I shut the door with my foot. I cranked the car, and on cue one of them screeched and clawed his way up my front, leaving precious reminders of his presence at every step. From their howls, you would've thought I was proposing to set them loose in a room full of wild jaguars. Or was ramming splinters under their nails. (That actually happened to me yesterday. A large, thick splinter went in all the way down to the bottom of my nail. It hurt like crazy. And bled when Mama wrenched it out with tweezers. Yes, tweezers. Underneath my fingernail.)

Let me just tell you, it was miserable. The kitten maneuvering and the splinter. But right now I'm telling about the kitten maneuvering.

We pulled up to another house. Oh, there's two dog statues on the porch. Yeah, I'm guessing they don't want a cat. Another house. The nice man said he'd love a kitten, but he and his wife are truck drivers and are gone for long stretches of time. Thanks alot, buddy. Yet another house. This lady asked me if I was Kathy Nutt's daughter. Yes, I am. She knew mama and I looked just like her. (That was the bright spot of this whole day, in case you're wondering whether there was one.) Now up we go to a junky place. The man says he doesn't even like cats. I assure him I don't either. (which isn't even close to a lie by this point.) At the next house, my presence causes the owner's tied up dog to half strangle himself in his chain. She, (the owner,) isn't very happy with me. Sorry! Nobody's home at the next, but there are two dishes of cat food sitting on the front porch. I seriously consider leaving the imps, (who have by this time figured out how to lift the lid on their plastic container all the way off, even when it's latched,) as a little surprise for the people, but decency prevails. Barely.

Then, the crowning event of the entire day. At the last house, I ring the doorbell. Cue about five inside dogs barking. Okay, just kidding. Sir, I'm sorry to bother you. Probably don't want a free kitten, do you? No? I didn't think so. Bye!

::get into car, pull door shut with foot, cat claws up my front, turn key:: ::tired, depressed noise from engine - doesn't crank::

NO! NO! Please, please, don't do this to me!

That's right. Laura's car wouldn't start. And my cell phone was at Anna's. And Mama was in Corinth. Laura and Trey? In south Mississippi. So, even if I borrow the man's phone, who on earth will I call? And I'm at a stranger's house, with two kittens. I almost plunked my head down and cried. Almost. I'm saved by the grizzled man in a dirty tank coming out. He heard the sorry, nasty, mean, ugly engine refuse to perform like a good engine should, and he tells me not to worry. He hooks up the battery cables and jumps off the car, as calmly and politely as if teenage girls with screeching cats in tow have car trouble in his yard every day. He was so nice. And he had a high pitched voice, which I would have found amusing at any other time, given that he was a good sized hulk of a man.

I drove home as fast as I could with the dastardly beasts clawing me; the box wherein they should have been safely enclosed being absolutely no good by this time.

I dumped them out on the front porch, from whence they immediately scampered to their mama.

And I now know what my calling in life isn't.

Giving away cute, free kittens.

I'm a failure at it.





Oh, and Laura? Your car needs some major help.

The stork is paying a visit to a Strevel home soon!

I have only just been authorized to announce to the world, (at least, the part of the world that hasn't already heard, which isn't a large part,) that my big brother, Joseph, and his wife, Andrea, are expecting their second baby. Yay! So, look out for Mr. Stork winging his way to New Albany, MS in about eight months.

Speaking of which, has that ever bothered anyone else? Those pictures of the gangly, awkward birds with the strings on which the babies' lives depend carelessly twisted 'round their beaks, transporting delicate infants whose toes and hands and sometimes very heads can be seen peeking from the swing? Yeah. That bothers me. Who on earth came up with that idea? Storks? How random can you get? And how unsafe? Also, you know how in the movies and books the storks often fly the baby to the wrong house? And look at a map while they're flying with the baby? Good grief! Oh, yeah, let's feed that to our innocent kids.

Small child: "How did I get here, Mommy?"

Ridiculous Mommy: "Oh, a clumsy white bird who has problems following directions brought you here in a loose sheet he held in his beak."

I guess I can understand not needing to go into a lot of detail about birth to small children, but how on this good green earth did storks get saddled with the delivery? You could at least pick a reliable bird without super long legs, (which just have to mess with the bird's flight pattern,) and give your kids the assurance that they arrived with little danger. Or, you could just not lie at all. Why bring storks into it?

You may be rolling your eyes at me, but someone, somewhere, sometime, had to have started that erroneous tale. Was she an inmate of an insane asylum? Someone with a really, really twisted sense of humour? I'm curious. Maybe I'll look it up on Wikipedia. Because Wikipedia is always reliable.



Anyway... Joseph, Andrea, and dearest Charlie: I am so, so excited about the baby! I can't wait to hold her, (or him, of course, but I'm just going to call it "her" for convenience,) and kiss and cuddle and love her. Actually, I already love her. Very much.

Congratulations.



p.s. If you want, go here to see where my stork misgivings began. Do you see how they just toss the bundles out of their beaks a looong way from the ground and leave them to the mercies of parachutes? Dude, those parachutes malfunction sometimes!

The Three Musketeers take on Atlanta. Or The Three Stooges take on Atlanta. whichever you prefer.

Mama, Mamaw, and I did something bold and daring and fearless today. We left the house at 8:15, (a feat in and of itself, since it's easier to move heffalumps than get us out the door at a decent hour. We're always sprinting back in for "just one more thing!" Call it a curse, call it a talent. Daddy called it a curse. And we still manage to forget things. Oh, well.)

Anyhow, we drove to my brother's in Atlanta today. By ourselves. As in, drove the seven hours from Mississippi to Atlanta without getting lost one single time, without any wrecks, without killing each other, without spilling hot liquid all over ourselves, (though I did burn the skin completely off my tongue drinking my hot tea in a travel mug - yes, I know it's desecrating to the tea to put it in a travel mug, but that's the price to pay for getting out the door at 8:15,) and without any speeding tickets.

Wait.

You don't look nearly as impressed as you should be.

Believe me.

And you know what a trip means for this humble bit of cyber space. A list.

1. I drove from home all the way through Birmingham. And I actually enjoyed driving in four lanes of traffic.

2. Miraculous thing about that is, Mama didn't have a heart attack. Not even a little one.

3. We arrived on the other side in one piece. Ha!

4. I love to play freeze tag, hide and seek, and free-for-all-tackle with my nephews. Because they're the best. (The best, as in, the funniest best. Not the gentlest best. Oh, no.)

5. Mamaw has some killer skills bowling on the wii. She got a strike her very first toss.

6. But far surpassing her bowling skills are her boxing skills. She's got some moves. Her dude totally laid the other dude flat. If she ever needs a part time job...

7. I am really bad at wii baseball. Big surprise, right? Since I'm so fantastically good at regular baseball and all. Stop snickering. Now.

8. I really, really hope that hitting-the-target ability on the wii doesn't carry over into real life. Because Mama and I are dead meat if we have to rely on our shooting capabilities to protect ourselves or feed ourselves. (Not that the last would ever happen, since we would be much closer to digging up roots to eat than hunting wild game, but still.)

9. I notice that this list has a lot to do with the wii. I'm not addicted, I promise. But my darlin' nephews are. (Please, please, if you value my reputation, do not tell either of those little boys that I called them darlin'. To say they wouldn't forgive me for a long time is an understatement. At least, not until I played freeze tag with them.)

10. Nephews are the best. Long distances that separate aren't.

Jacob was reading in Genesis chapter 2 to Jackson, who's 6.

Jacob: "... so, it didn't rain at first in the world. When do you think the first rain was?"

Jackson: "Ummm... 1861?"

oh, how i do love her.

Mama: "Aaaahhh!! I'm having a flashlight!"



::pause::



Me: "A flashlight?"

Mama: "No! I mean a hot flash!"

oh, goody.

I like my house. It's beautiful, and the yard is even prettier. Mama and Daddy have spent countless hours working to make our home what it is, and the result is amazing, in my opinion.

But.

(Bet you didn't see that "but" coming, did you?)

There's a problem with having such a nice yard and pleasant house. Other things take a liking to them. Other things, as in, animals. Not welcome animals. There was the yellow cat Darrin paralyzed with the bb gun, there was the hound dog that kept getting into our trash, there was the possum that got fried in the wires behind the meat freezer in the shop and stunk up the entire building before we discovered him, and various and sundry other critters along the way. But those were small and insignificant compared to who has fallen in love with our place now.

A large, filthy, nasty, smelly, smelly, smelly, skunk.

I don't like snakes. At all. I don't like pigs. At all. I don't like spiders. At all. But I like all of them put together better than a skunk. You can kill snakes and spiders, and you can choose not to have pigs. But skunks don't wait for an engraved invitation; they just move into the neighborhood like they own the place, and if you kill skunks you smell indescribably horrible for a really, really long time, and your house and yard and pets smell worse. For even longer. (Since you can't wash your house, yard, and pets in tomato juice and burn their in-contact-with-skunk clothes.)

Thanks to this delightful newcomer, our house now has a pleasing scent which has spread to every room, every corner, ever so faintly in some places, then blast-your-nose-out strong in others.

Anyone want to come and have a sleep-over?

Come on, you know you do.

And you'll go home smelling just wonderful. Everyone will be dying to know where you found that awesome new perfume. So they can avoid that store like the plague.

Fun times

You know what's not a good idea? At all? Taking a long, very, very hot shower without eating any breakfast first. You start to feel really light. Then really happy. As if you have not a care in the world. You begin to have that peculiar sensation that perhaps your head isn't connected to the rest of you at all, but is floating gently through space and time.

Then everything goes black.

I'm gonna have a bruise or two from this one.

There's magic in the Wind today

I absolutely love seeing all the yellow, red, and brown leaves swirling and dancing around the yard, carried hither and thither by every puff and huff of the Wind. If I peer very carefully, (which is rather difficult, seeing as how they're twirling at the rate of nobody's business,) I can spot a tiny, laughing fairy wrapped in each leaf. Seriously. Go look, if you don't believe me.

And if you don't see one, don't blame me. It's your faulty imagination that's to blame.




After a while, all those dancing leaves will come to rest in great sheets all over the yard and under the trees, and the bushes will be submerged 'neath a thick blanket. But have you ever stopped to think about the leaves that fall in the road? What is that like for them? It must be traumatizing. And depressing.

Little Leaf: "Oooohh... I finally made the scary journey down from the tip top of that big oak tree. Boy, I am so ready for a rest." (little leaf settles down to sleep)

Then suddenly, WHOOOSHHH, a monstrous, gas blowing machine zooms through and picks up all the resting leaves and spins them through the air. After they gather their scattered wits and breathe a sigh of relief, what should happen but another monstrous, gas blowing machine that spins them all through the air again. And then again. And again. No rest. No lying in heaps, gently stirred by passing breezes. Nope.

It's like the twilight zone for leaves.

Isaiah is currently wearing: a one piece baseball suit, two necklaces, a pink, flowery barrette in his wild hair, yellow rainboots, and to top it all off, he's enthusiastically brandishing a silver and red wooden sword.

I love him so much.

About a dear little dollhouse

A tousle haired, harum-scarum little girl was given a dear little dollhouse for her fourth birthday. It was a wonderful, two story dollhouse, lovingly built by her daddy and beautifully painted and decorated by her mother. It was almost taller than this little girl; she could just peep over the blue ridgepole.

The tousle haired little girl and the dear little dollhouse spent countless hours together. The dollhouse was moved into the little girl's room, and any time she wanted, she could disappear for long stretches of time into the world inhabited by her dollhouse and its family, falling under a peculiarly sweet spell known only to children who can really make believe.

This particular dollhouse had five people belonging to it: Father and Mother, Jim and Betsy, and Baby. Father and Mother existed to fix meals and go to work, care for Baby, (except when Betsy looked after her for Mother to take a nap or go visiting,) and occasionally spank their offspring, who, I regret to say, developed quite a tendency towards disobedience. (It may be remarked that this tendency in the children was especially strong after the little girl herself had been naughty and suitably punished. We shall not go so far as to suggest that the little girl took out her own wrongs upon the unsuspecting inhabitants of the dollhouse.)

Betsy and Jim shared a room, her bedspread being trimmed with white lace and his plain, so as to tell them apart. They also shared in grand adventures, which mostly consisted of doing their schoolwork under Mother's watchful eye or attempting to climb all the way up on the roof. (This they never actually accomplished, since there were no ladders nearby, and they not infrequently were seized by careful parents in the act of scaling the vines which grew up the house.) If trouble was made, it was Jim who made it, and then poor Betsy got dragged in as well, as a result of being so close in age and proximity to her wretch of a brother, but never thinking of mischief herself. Perhaps we may safely assume that Betsy was the model child our little girl wished to be, but was always much too naughty to become.

Baby was simply herself, a gentle, non-troublesome darling who was held a great deal and calmly slept in her bassinet whenever was convenient.

And so they continued for not a few years, the little girl and her dear little dollhouse and her little people, over whom she ruled with a kind, yet firm hand.

Then other past-times began to creep in. The little girl grew bigger. Now she could look down on the dollhouse, instead of barely peeping over the ridgepole.

There came a day when she didn't play with her dollhouse very much anymore.

Soon, there just wasn't room in the girl's room for such a dear little dollhouse which wasn't really all that little when it came to conveniently sitting in a corner. So, the little girl, with a few tears, (after all, she loved the dear little dollhouse very much indeed, even though she was becoming occupied by other things,) tucked her smiling dolls snugly in their cozy beds, with Baby's cunning white bassinet close by Mother and Father so that they could reach her easily when she cried, and the dollhouse went to live in the spare room closet.

There it stayed for a long, long time, thinking about the days gone by, or quietly sleeping like its family. It only saw the little girl when she came into the spare room closet to get sheets or suitcases, and the little girl sometimes fondly remembered the dollhouse and its people as pleasant companions of the past.

Then one night, the little girl, mostly grown up now, was told that her small niece had played with the dollhouse a few days before and had left the contents in disarray. The girl climbed the stairs and opened the closet door, thinking to quickly put things to rights. But as she sat Indian style before the dear little dollhouse, handling the people and furniture which had beguiled so many hours of her childhood, she felt the old spell falling, and for a while she was a tousled haired little girl, arranging furniture and setting to rights the affairs of the dear little dollhouse and its family. (Such things do pile up tremendously after years of uninterrupted quiet, you know.)

And both the dollhouse and the girl were happy.