THE ORDER OF THE ARROW

Not much in this life is more wonderful than a good night's sleep. It slips between our fingers as we age and we sleeplessly worry over a myriad of circumstances and concerns that occupy our lives and our minds. We toss and turn and finally surrender to the break of day and trudge forth again through our somewhat regular routine looking forward to the soft pillow to rest our heads upon when the day is done, and then, again move forward with an odd Blue Plate Special Combo of Optimism with a Side of Grim Palor.

This past Saturday night, I slept so very well, it was almost a crime. Slumber, peaceful sleep and an overall feeling of well-being when I awakened. What, I wondered, was the key to this peaceful sleep!, Can I bottle it, market it and make a fortune? My brow was less furrowed and my teeth less gritted. What was the source of this feeling?, this feeling of that long-gone stranger "HOPE"!

The source was, in a way, the Fountain of Youth. I had the privilege of spending some time with the Boy Scout Troop # 652, bravely camping out in our Lovely Village at the Most Admired Estate of our Neighbor and friend, in an effort to earn their bicycling badge by cycling 25 miles in one day. Also scheduled was an Archery Event, but the inclimate weather shut that part down.

Given the interruption in the programmed events, I figured it would be interesting to visit with these Future Bearers of the Torch Of Freedom about the state of our Nation. Certainly, we can make no mistake how the Boomers and Seniors feel about all this, but the Town Halls and the Tea Parties don't often put their ear to the ground on what the young folks have to say. With all the talk about 'Its about the Children' and 'The Children are our Future', and 'It takes a Village...' Has anybody bothered to ask these fine young kids what they think?! I dusted off the crystal ball and gazed into the minds of the Future Leaders To- Be- In Training. After all, the Boy Scouts is a renowned organization promoting leardership,honesty and responsibility and it would appear that those qualities will be vital to our country.

At first, I paused, and figured I would get a bunch of "I dunno" and "WHATEVER"...BOY was I wrong!

These boys, aged 12-15 years old,( actually on average 13.5 years old, as I was corrected) were not only delightful,well-mannered, informed and well-educated; but more than anxious to be heard about the condition of our country and where its going.

When I began to ask the group some non-leading questions, their individual and collective personalties emerged. None were overly influenced by the others and all seemed to have their feet squarely planted on the ground.

I queried, "What do you like best about coming out to Our Lovely Village? It was a close tie between the scenery, the hills, the variety of road-kill and, oh yeah, the Bluebonnets!

When the topic of discussion focused on more serious issues, I was frankly amazed. These kids KNOW what they're up against. When I asked, "How do you feel about how our goverment system works?" One future torch bearer and his friend gave a friendly punch in the arm to each other and said "Hey, look at us!, We're from different schools. We're rivals! I'm wearing my school shirt and he's wearing his, but we're friends! Why can't the Government work that way?" My heart swelled with the notion that these two can compete and yet find a commonality without rancor.

Daring into deeper issues, the question was how did they forsee themselves repaying the debt accrued by the government, left and waiting for the time when they are young adults and are saddled with the whole mess. How did they feel about the government mortgaging their future with about as much care as a bunch of louts leaving the cracked peanut shells on the bar room floor while feeding themselves on the free pick-up peanuts and washing it down with a cold one. Somebody else will clean it up, right? Some of the scouts were staggered by the numbers but each had a response. Some were very witty and some were rather serious...a range of ideas from "killing all the politicians", "overthrowing the Government", "Texas seceeding" and one comment from no doubt a budding young lawyer who's answer to repaying the debt was,"Simple. Sue the Government". And then there was the scout who clearly had given these topics alot of thought. His facts were correct and he had answers that were cogent and well-delivered. Not surprisingly, this scout is a leader among the troop. Tall, easy on the eye, and an air of professionalism. For a moment I wondered if we had a soon-to-be politician on our hands. So well spoken, and he gave a very straight-foward minor discertation on the evils of Socialism. His position was to stop all government spending and had an expanded view on why Socialism, or in his words, Communism won't work. He said,"A free market can solve problems the government can't". I couldn't resist asking him what he wanted to be when he got through with school. Certain I would hear him placing dubs on some public office, he surpised me. He aims to become a Vegetarian Veternarian. In a confusing way, I felt a little relieved although sharp, bright minds infused into the political arena may be necessary, particulary if the politicians are all killed. I wondered silently how he would cope with the inevitable euthenasia of an animal too badly injured or terminally ill to survive. I surmised he would not indulge in a Death Panel.

We moved on to the topic of End of Life Counseling, and the response was unaminous: "Oh my God, that is SOOO stupid". One young scout of local note declared it wasn't fair for everbody else to pay for "Some bum sitting around watching TV". (I double checked the zipper on my purse to make sure my copy of TV Guide was out of sight!).

We talked about the Cash for Clunkers program, most thought it was a failure, scoffed and laughed at the Cash for Appliances idea and one even suggested a Bucks for Blenders program.

On the issue of the 2nd Amendment, the group became more animated. They were talking mostly all at once on this point but I did catch something about the difference between a bear with a baseball bat and a baby with a spoon. Your guess is as good as mine on that one. And a comparison was made between the innocents having the right to protect and/or defend themselves but that there will always be "malfactors" and banning something only makes it more desirable and will create a dangerous underground market. One pointed out and challenged the others to remember Prohibition and what a huge rebellion it created. I asked if any had read or heard about Speakeasys. One of the younger ones said, "Speakeasy...Yeah that's when your Mom's not yellin' at you". A literal translation, I suppose, but maybe the simple truth in his world.

Anyway, the dicussion trailed off at this point but these young minds were invigorated and they began to bounce their ideas off each other. That made me happy. Its the only place to start with this generation and I hope they will continue to think and exchange ideas and formulate potential solutions for the future that awaits them.

It had been raining most the day and the day before but these guys didn't seem to mind, ankle deep in mud and short of an archery event and no bon-fire. I asked one the adults how they all made it through the rain storms. I was told the young scouts jumped on it and set up camp despite the weather.That's the spirit! As I was leaving, they got back on their bikes for another ride down Old Chappell Hill Road. The 700 or so big-time cyclists attending the annual annual Chappell Hill Bike Ride sponsored by Chappell Hill Bank were gone with their fancy bicycle stuff and their sea of spandex and brightly colored helmets that sort of make them look like a carton of Easter eggs. These young scouts didn't mind, even the one in second-hand tennis shoes with the 25 cent price tag still stuck to the toe. They carried on beaming smiles and echoing laughter and jokes and a little bit of "What's for supper?". Knowing the Host of this event, I'm sure it had something to do with Fajitas, and alot of it, painstakingly grilled, in the rain, in his lean-to smokehouse. A round of applause for the tireless Host and his fellow Troop Leaders/Volunteers!

I really did sleep well that night. With a deep sigh of relaxation I thought, ya know?...there is hope for our civilzation, society, especially with such bright, intellegent and strong young boys like the ones I met from Troop 652, poised to inherit the future. Us older ones should have confidence and reassurance in the eventual passing of the Torch of Freedom and Protection of our Constitutional Rights to individuals such as these. Far as I could see, these are capable hands, thinking, paying attention and straight as an arrow. When they do get that archery badge, we can proudly call them Arrowheads!

Oh, and if I ever have to pitch a tent in the rain, I want these guys on my side, or at least on my speed dial. I'm sorry their archery match was rained out, but make no mistake about these guys; their AIM is true! And in my book, that's a Bull's Eye!
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GREENSLEEVES:

Once upon a time, 'green' was a simple idea. When most of us were comin' up, there was only one green in the Crayola box. We were spared from the confusion, frustration and anxiety of having to discern the difference between Blue Green, Hunter Green, Fir Green, Olive Green, Lime Green, Grass Green, Green Shoots and so on.

Back then, the only words of warning and wisdom about 'green' were delivered in terms like Green with Envy, The Green Eyed Monster, "Don't get on that horse, he's only Green Broke ( which is a couple of bucks short of being broke) and that slimy stuff on whatever it was in the refrigerator that was too old to eat.

Then things changed. Plopped down in front of the color TV, us kids found a deep and abiding affection for Kermit the Frog, a charming, yet woe-begone little green frog with a heart frought with unrequited love for Miss Piggy (a diva-bankster, truly a Material Pig), through Sesame Street and sang along to the sit-com music of Green Acres. And who can forget that first or second guitar lesson where we learned the first few chords of GreenSleeves, which endures even today.

And while some of us felt empathy for poor little Kermit when he crooned "It's Not Easy Being Green" little did we know, or could even imagine, just how true his lament was to become in the case of the current Green Czarist Incarnation.

Today we find ourselves not only still befuddled by the different shades of green, but our Fearless Leader and Champion of Change has provided our country with, what does He call it, The Czar of Green Jobs? If we were to actually have a viable job market not attached to some dwindling life support system, we could call it a Green Jobs Bizarre! Used to be, green jobs meant mowing the lawn or pruning the trees, planting a vegetable garden...honest, wholesome work that would earn you a green back.

Now, not to put too fine a point on it, first off, I'm kinda uncomfortable with this whole Czar thing...(or in this case, this A**hole Czar thing). Do we really need Czars green or otherwise? More importantly, do we need or want such a Czar clearly crippled with the lack of articulation and a pronounced dependence on profanity and vulgarity when referring to others? How does such a person ascend to such a position within the Administration of Complete Salvation and Redemption, Oh, and "CHANGE". Perhaps he has climbed the political ladder or alternatively the proverbial (GREEN) Bean Stalk that Jack did. (No offense intended to JFK).

In our Nation's capital, will we soon be calling the house on Pennsylvania Ave. the GREEN HOUSE? Could this be part of the Green House Effect or is it the source of it?

Kermit was right. It's Not Easy Being Green! And now, our young school children are not struggling over which green Crayon to pull from the box but are further charged with sign painting flattering images of The Fearless Leader, composing letters to themselves on "How Can I Help The President" and memorizing the words to insipid sing-along songs exhaulting the President.

An old cowboy once said "I don't buy green bananas". Good advice it would seem in retrospect. Thankfully, in our Lovely Village, we tend to understand that being green is alot more about protecting our children, preserving our Constitutional rights, standing up for what's right and barking at that which is wrong. Perhaps the Crayola folks can come up with a new color for the box; True Blue-Green.

Listen carefully to what's goin' on. All that glitters is not GREEN!

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P.S. Whatever happened to Mr. GREENspam?
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BURNING CANDLES AT BOTH ENDS:

A Cake Walk.


So much in this life happens that we wish with all our heart we could take back, change or live-down. Far too much time spent in regret, in my view, but nevertheless, its part and parcel to our "experience".

For instance, on one occasion of the birthday of my Most Cherished Mother, (the actual year of her birth we are not privy to), my sisters and I, with the treasured help of our Nanny, secretly baked her a cake. It was such an event, my sisters fluttering about and our Dear Lannie making sure the frosting was just right. The cake was completed, candles and all, and stowed away in a cabinet in the kitchen awaiting the big moment. All was going well, everyone was prepared and the four of us girls waited with grand anticipation for Mother to return home from the Beauty Shop.

We had it all timed out. Well, really and truly Lannie and my sisters had it all timed out, and when Daddy arrived, his job was to contain the "wild card". Meaning 4 year old me. He came in the front door, glee and excitement all over my sisters' faces, and he immediately scooped me up in his arms in an effort to squelch the enthusiasm. My Mother arrived home, fresh from the Beauty Shop, coifed and curled and sprayed and the moment arrived. Perched on the steps to the breakfast room and kitchen, my sisters prepared for the presentation of the cake. Daddy had a momentary lapse and failed to halt the spontanious outburst of his youngest girl: "I SMELL CAKE!! I SMELL BIRTHDAY CAKE!!!" That was it. Can never be taken back and a surprise Birthday party ruined single-handedly by a four year old.

I'll never live that one down and I am frequently reminded of it...So here's what I suggest:
NO MORE BIRTHDAYS! In fact, as Mayor, I propose a moratorium on birthdays, surprise or otherwise.

*PROCLAMATION AND ORDER*

As of this date, all birthdays beyond the actaul age of 45 shall be

eliminated,unrecognized and regarded as unlawful and without merit of any sort. All good

citizens shall remain 45 years old in perpetua given the age of 45 is just sufficiently beyond

the carelessness and wrecklessness of youth and sufficiently steeped in some wisdom minus

the synicism of a more advanced age.


It is further Decreed and Declared that all Driver's licenses and passports shall be renewed

retroactively and shall report year of birth as 1964. This will eliminate the reviled, of late, so

to speak, proposal of subjecting aging and/or ailing citizens to "End of

Life Options and Counseling".


Alternatively, "Endless Life Options and Counseling" shall be made available through

qualified professionals with services including, but not limited to, "The Proper Use of

Sunscreen"; "Maintaining That Youthful Glow"; "Gray! Gray! Go Away" (a home study

tutorial) and a special series, "The Eternal Flame: How To Keep The Love-Lamp On".(also

available on DVD with musical soundtrack featuring Barry White and Marvin Gaye).


Further Ordered and Decreed, any individual requiring attention to special needs, whether

physical, visual or mental, that are not "age appropriate" will be dealt with with the utmost

consideration and complete discretion.

With regard to Birthday Cake, no restrictions, except the number of birthday candles which

shall not exceed 45.

It is further Ordered that the actual counting of the number of candles be prohibited.

Birthday candles can continue to be "blown out".


Requests for birthdates prior to 1964 shall be considered and contemplated on a case by case

basis. For obvious reasons, this shall be treated as a request for assisted suicide, "first come, first serve", as this can be construed as a time sensitive issue.

SO ORDERED AND DECREED BY THE OFFICE OF THE MAYOR
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(Ladies!, Think of the money we'll save on anti-aging eye cream and face lifts!! 75 will be the new 45! Hey, the Guvmint lies all the time, we can surely take a dusty leaf from that book and lie about our age and I, for one, will want to see proof of just how old this "counselor" is while advising me of the most cost-effective way to die! I suspect he or she will be somewhere in the neighborhood of 45-ish.

Go on and celebrate your birthdays, but don't COUNT those candles before you blow them out! Be judicious and modest or else they could wind up as simply Candles in the Wind. In this case, less is truly more.

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FISH OR CUT BAIT

When I was just a kid, my Dad used to tug me out of bed at the un-christian, yet crisp hour of 3:00 a.m. to go fishin'. He always made me eat a peach in an effort to stave off sea-sickness. It never worked and without going into detail, it is the reason I cannot stand peaches. Even today, lo these many years later, the sheer sight of a peach or the scent of a peach flavored candle can send me to the rail. But by the time we got out of the bay and into the Gulf of Mexico, all was right again with the world. Great therapy; lapis blue water, endless sky, a nice fishin' pole and rod n' reel, a can of worms and some chum and hours to spend with my Dad perfecting my cast. I got pretty good at it, the casting and catching part, but deferred to my father to do the scaling and all that other surgical stuff. "I'll catch 'em if you clean 'em" we used to banter back and forth and it always made us chuckle. Sometimes, if luck was on our side, we'd catch enough to snack on Ceviche with some Saltine crackers. We'd get back to the bay house and my mother would complain about how sunburned I was and fussed my Dad to hurry and shower to get that fishy smell off of him. Best fish dinners I can ever recall.

But, nowadays, goin' fishin' has taken on a more decidedly sinister meaning. We are now apparently supposed to report any communication, by e-mail or an off-hand comment made at the grocery store or by any other means anything that might be "fishy" with regard to the policies of our Guvmint ; turn that hapless person into some Guvmint agency, providing them with email addresses, content and identity. WHERE ARE WE? That this notion could even be bandied about is pretty frightening. WHAT IS THIS? Some Maritime version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"?

I smell peaches, where's the rail?!

I am reminded of the one time my fishin' trip with my Dad turned ugly (not counting the peach ritual). We were way out in the Gulf, and since my Dad had caught a beautiful Blue Marlin and had it mounted, I wanted one, too. At last, I hooked a big one! I pursed my lips and gritted my teeth and fought that fish for what seemed like hours. My arms were tired and heavy but the dream of a Blue Marlin was motivation enough. Well, that and the fact my father wouldn't let me quit. That rascal fish darted under the boat more than once and my fear was my fishin' pole would snap. Exhausted, but exhilerated, I got the fish to the surface and Daddy lept to the side of the boat with the net. I had gotten lucky because the fish had swallowed the hook and had no escape but to break the line or the pole. Daddy reached down and netted the fish. Mopping sweat, I was sure my eyes were foolin' me. That fish was no Blue Marlin. In fact it was the ugliest creature I had ever seen; a Hammerhead Shark. Daddy cut the line and said " Maybe next time". I curled up and cried all the way back to the bay.

Anyway, I guess I tell you this because I am concerned with all this reporting of anything "fishy". Sometimes what you believe is a Blue Marlin is actually a Hammerhead Shark. Don't take the hook, I say, and by all means don't swallow it.

But if you find yourself 'wishy to report something fishy' , remember the old sayin', "A fish stinks from the head down". Start there.

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TOWN HALL ENVY

FELLOW VILLAGERS:

I'm sure you all have been watching and/or reading about the TOWN HALL phenomena moving across our Nation over this Healthcare business and our Congress responding to our right to free speech with schoolyard name calling the fine folks an Angry Mob. I, too, have been covered with it like Grandma's Smothered Steak and at one point, I really thought I had had enough. But even with all the redundant reporting, it began to stir up something else and it got me to thinkin'.

Why can't WE have a TOWN HALL? Do we have to be incorporated to have a TOWN HALL? We have Banquet Halls, Fellowship Halls and have oftentimes used the Catholic church, Museum and Rock Store for occasions of import for our citizens. We can't have a City Hall, but couldn't we have a TOWN HALL, as long as we don't stutter and accidently call it a City Hall? A place for gatherings, a source of pride and, well, dignity, a symbol of substance. We could use it for all kinds of things and events, meetings, classes, presentations and so on. And, if our Great Villagers should decide decades from now that they do want to incorporate, it could be converted into a City Hall! UH-OH. ( Simmer down, I'm not tryin' to open old wounds, I'm entirely nuetral on that issue). We could hold fundraisers to help get it off the ground; and we all know how successful our Wonderful Community is at fundraising. ( just ask the CHVFD and my Dear Husband).

And really, truth be told, haven't we all deep down, secretly wanted to be part of an real Angry Mob? Ya know, a real Rebel Rouser, a Freedom Fighter...somewhere inside all of us want to be "The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance"; righting wrong despite the name-calling. I know some of you remember the 60's and 70's, well, maybe you can't remember everything, but I'm bettin' you were out there protesting something, civil rights, war, women's rights and so on. Lookin' back on it, it was kinda fun, being part of a movement. We wore P.O.W. bracelets, developed the peace symbol, slogans and songs forever memorializing the culture. And some women even burned their bras! (In my view, that's a real bail-out! One alot of us could get behind, or wait, in front of, no, wait....oh nevermind!).

Oh well. I guess we'll have to make do with the media coverage. Unless.....How about a Virtual Town Hall? With a Virtual Angry Mob, sleeves rolled up and fists all balled up in a collective effort, non-violent, of course, to alter this slow slide down a razor blade into a pool of rubbin' alcohol; refusing to ride shot-gun down the avalanche. A civil but unignorable act of defiance. We could get us a Virtual politician to come our Virtual Town Hall meeting and we could ask Virtual and poignant questions and maybe get some Virtual answers. All in one most appropriate Virtual structure in a most appropriate Virtual location.

At the end of the day, I am still completely content to live in our Lovely Village Respecting Chickens, with or without a TOWN HALL. We're good folks and life is too short to shout. Besides, think of all that Virtual BBQ we'd have to impose on our friend and neighbor, the Royal King of BBQ and his wonderful Queen to prepare for such a Virtual event. And I'm guessin' Virtual beer isn't too tasty.

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GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

The intersection of Hwy 290 and FM 1155 has become so mercurial, quick and changeable, it is difficult to understand what is going on.

First the advent of the Mighty Shell station buzzing with commuters and Kolkhorst fuel trucks filling the pumps as fast as they can, the wonderful blended aroma of diesel and hamburgers hanging stagnant in the hot summer air and a bank.
Speaking of empty tanks, Robbie left town but left his butt-ugly building behind much to the delight of the daytime drunks, hobos and others applying their somewhat dubious skills in sales. Not only is this fossilized former fuel stop and C-store an outright eyesore but a hazard to our Lovely Community.

Now, I genuinely understand the owners of that corner wanting to hold onto the lot, but what, pray tell, intrinsic value is there in that run-down building? Guys! Robbie is gone! He's not coming back! Even Robbie didn't want that hunk-a-junk building and it had his NAME on it! At the very least, I would've taken my name off of such a disgrace before leaving town. Or maybe it was Robbie's way of thumbing his nose at the Shell 24-7. A most noted resident, who possesses an acute observational acumen, reports that as of this very morning the name Robbie's has been painted over. A beginning I suppose, but better to have let the name fall into debris and rubble during demolition of the whole rat-hole. Have they even vacuumed out the old fuel? I guess its another case of GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN. Or perhaps in this instance its gone AND forgotten.

I remember the slow and painful death the Mexican food restaurant suffered there where the Shell etc... now resides. Plans were made, deals agreed upon, handshakes, all fell through and it took years to resuscitate that corner. We just didn't know it would come back to life with such a Belch! For some reason, the street urchins, at least not to my knowledge, never adopted the abandoned Mexican restaurant. There must be some kind of magic at the empty Robbie's because the stoop is filled with "the regulars".

I just don't get it! There are plenty of possibilities for that corner, saving another gas station or bank or burger joint or cafe or meat market. Okay, so there aren't plenty of possibilities but surely another "visionary" will emerge and do something! (Save your rotten tomatoes folks, we might need 'em if another visionary shows up with a bad idea!)

Maybe there have been some ideas tossed about; perhaps the terms were too tight or could be the reticence on the part of investors given the disappearing dollar and its mystical way of cloning itself into more worthless paper. I dunno, but I, for one, am sick of looking at it and watching it decay along with its unfortunate evolution into the decadent haven it provides for the unsavory characters that "hang" there. It is downright irresponsible to do nothing.

Also still empty, is the once highly anticipated business going in the new building just down from the Chappell Hill Cafe and Meat Market. Our Beautiful Village was all a twitter with the rumor of a new BBQ spot, complete with sausage and jerky and baked goods, maybe even some dry goods. A lot of us Villagers already had imaginary BBQ sauce on our shirts and could visualize ourselves workin' on the fourth napkin. But alas, we still are waiting, clinging to our smoked, grilled dreams. We think we know one thing about this endeavor and its possibilities. Judging from the color of the structure, it must be the dream of a Longhorn fan with grace and welcome extended to Aggies and all other Alma Maters and current co-eds from any and all institutions of higher learning. I hope it succeeds and I know some, including my Dear Husband, imagines he could purchase the steak of his choice at the Chappell Hill Meat Market, then walk it next door and have it grilled at the BBQ place. What a deal that would be!

But keep your eyes peeled, maybe something good will happen there at the old Robbie's, maybe not. Just don't peel your rotten tomatoes! It’s always good to have a back-up plan.
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Big Cloud No Rain

There's an old sayin' "Long summer without rain". It means different things depending on the context. For those of us living in our Beautiful Village, it is quite literal. Trees are dying, even the commercially irrigated ones, and the land is so dry its practically barren in some places. Average temperatures have been well into the 100's for more than two months now. And the heat index even higher, 105-110°.

Seems like alot is drying up, in the landscape of our Lovely Community as well as the seemingly Evergreen Landscape of our Nation's Lawn. Things once alive and well, made worse by the Drought, now being pulled up by their their withering roots, like unemployed auto workers. All the hope and promise will die on the vine, and the next elixir or snake oil won't make anything grow, no matter how much "watering" gets done.

Gardeners will become rich and most of us won't be able to afford Re-Landscaping. We'll probably have to try to do it ourselves and run the risk of getting sick from the heat. With some luck, we'll have a friendly neighbor nearby with some ice water to soothe our scorched throats and burnt skin. Its good to know who your neighbors are, and for that matter who they aren't, you just never know how far this can go, this Drought, and we all know that the longer the Land is stressed, the more likely an opportunity for a GRASSFIRE. In some places, crops are frequently burned intentionally to kill off the weeds, bol weevils, grasshoppers and insects to eliminate pests and promote proper growth.

Perhaps next go-round, we should put a Weatherman on the ballot...not necessarily a Meterologist, that's just too elite. No, just a good old fashioned Weatherman, totin' a Farmer's Almanac. Seems predicting the weather is a somewhat more "exact" science than predicting the Atmospheric Conditions in our Guvmint and the wind-shears and the pop-up twisters that exist there.

Contrary to the empty promises of "Blue Skies" as far as the eye can see we hear so much of, the Weatherman will say with considerably more dignity, honesty and reliabily, "20% chaince of rain with partly (not to be confused with party) sunny skies, Tuesday, 30% with thunderstorms likely in the evening".

Ya know, now that gives ya some time to get your livestock and equipment moved and such. I think I'd rather listen to the Weatherman than some bloated dignitary tellin' me how its gonna be. Shoot, Bang! All you really have to do is look out your window or walk outside to get the view of it; use your noodle, assuming its not overcooked. Its "right there",as I tell my Bird Dawg. He uses his nose and finds it everytime.

Seems the forecast in our Nation's capital of late is almost never good and I don't know anybody who appreciates havin' to scramble with little, very little, notice that the weather is going to CHANGE, dramatically.

I am reminded of the Wizard Of Oz; those poor folks hunkered down in the storm cellar with their potatos and such while Dorothy braves the impending storm for her beloved pet. Then it comes, the Big Twister and some weird, wild-eyed woman pumpin' those bicycle peddles with "dawgged" determination, "And your little Dawg, too!" All in pursuit of those RED shoes! (who wears those kinda shoes anyway? they cramp your feet and will leave you crippled. Best to go with a nice, attractive FLAT).

'Course, that whole saga began when a House fell and a glass of water melted the threat. But I digress.

Anyway, GRASSFIRE can be a force to be reckoned with because it can result in a HOUSE-a-fire! And I guess its better than being stuck in a storm cellar eating potatos, hoping the storm will pass.

We could sure use some rain, the real kind.

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