Noon

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.
The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." -Nelson Mandela

For over a month I have been consumed by action that betters my family's life, and my own. In any department that we can foster optimism, there has been progress. Bad habits are being shredded like the paid bills. The new habits are being nurtured. So, change feels good. It really does.

"You cannot in human experience, rush into the light.
You have to go through the twilight into the
broadening day before noon comes and the full sun
 is upon the landscape". -Woodrow Wilson
 

Hope is in the air, because we recognize there is something new on the horizon. For me, Blondie's Laundry Service is but a small piece of the triple layer fudge cake I have had my eye on, and might just sneak out of my "Auntie's" back door.

Some revelations are like a thunder storm which blast across the desert. Lately I try to padlock my emotion so I can fully process my passion and give it direction.

But, my time, subject to this locked down excitement, is full of suspense. Like I am waiting for my turn at an old fashioned shoot-em-up.

I know the intensity of this emotion is driven by this new horizon, and any fears are related to not knowing what will come of  my actions, or role I will play in it.

But, if I must attend this shoot-out, then I must win. They say when a cowgirl is down on her luck, she plays her heart, and so my plan is to do as the cowgirls I worship, do. As in love it, and love as hard as I can.

Before I lose you with mushy love talk, know I speak of the love that puts your feet in the stirrups and after your daily bacon, and not romantic love. I speak of the love we have for that "pile" of things which move our human heart to song and our feet to dance.

I know what moves me to dance. I created a persona, and the tumbleweed feed so I would have a way to nurture it. And it has been a good place for me to practice, with my weapon, and pretend I am as cowgirl-tough as any man. 

These days it has been easy to buckle these leather chaps around my hips. I am excited to put on my work boots and my leather gloves. I have checked to see my pistol is in condition and loaded. You might catch me practice a a few quick draws and then holster my weapon for later, but I know I am ready. And able.

 

Like the cowgirls I worship I pull my hat low so that when I walk into the light I will not be distracted by the reflective light. I set one foot on to this boardwalk, because I cannot go back. Then I plant the other boot right beside it, because I might have to fight for what is right.

The other day I was linking up to the "professional world" via Linked in. I did not know what to expect, so with an open mind, I began to build a summary of myself. While I explored this process I felt like I was being forced toward, a very small definition of what was my experience or ability. I could not seem to "get it right" no matter how much I edited. 

 

Naively, I did not realize these revisions were sent to all my "connections." I was trying to put my best foot on to the boardwalk but I just slipped on a banana peel. I am not sure how it looked to the other guy and was just about to say to hell with it, and update some feed to read: "I know what I know because I went to school and then worked my ass off for it."

 

I mean, how do you summarize almost two decades of jack-of-all-trades service experience (some of which actually does involve poo)? How do point out the Nevada Press Association awards and not bring up that they never gained acceptance by my peers? And what words should I use to describe the need inside me to find the road less traveled, explore every inch of wild Nevada and then liken those emotions to that of a wild mustang, who is after mares?
 

I found it difficult to tell those who are Linked In, that I have learned and laid down character since I was "hard at work," and found plenty to be scared of in this big beautiful world. Where do I point out that I learn the hard way, and the long way. That I have came to know that the ground is not flat, or even, and it no where near fair or forgiving.

I have survived birth. And death. And being screwed by a big bank and lost faith in government, and now I find bureaucracy stretches from here into eternity.

I say real gumption comes when you deny yourself a prescription to somebody else's point of view; or yourself a handout when you needy. I learned from these life experiences that I am not just a survivor, but a fighter.

 

And then there are the sins of my past. How do I show people the brazen sins of my youth were recognized in the aftermath; and that now I keep a fresh set of rules on board so that I am able to walk a more deliberate path.

But, what about the path? How do we go about expressing that the path I walk is never going to be the path you might expect... That, if I were an empty old whore house, I would be one with a fresh coat of red paint on the fence.

 

Dear future employer,

My intent is to take the scenic route; or the long way; or the road less traveled to my own conclusion. My abilities may not exceed, but will not be limited to the size of a box. I do not have time to define my direction because North, South, East or West are all as good a direction as any to travel. And direction is nothing when I have already decided to have one adventure after another until my body is thoroughly used up.

This way of thinking surely presents a problem. After sending shrapnel into cyberspace for a couple of days I had to ask myself, who am I after? And who is going to hire me? Well, for this wild Wednesday I found my solution. I cut and pasted "Creed," by Dean Alfange into the Linked In summary of myself, and was done with it.


Creed, by Dean Alfange, goes like this:
 I do not choose to be a common man.
It  is my right to be uncommon--if I can.
I seek opportunity--not security.
I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me...

Then I gave myself a #2 certification as Queen of Poo, because I have been weighed and measured and found myself wanting (even on the holidays) a lot more out of my life. 

I figure the poo certs will get it across that I am willing to get down and get dirty to get where I am going. The place I want to be is as wild as Nevada and has everything to do with my living, loving and laughing my ass off. So, I guess Linked In made sure I was finally ready to part from the herd, and proclaim my intent to set sail on the sea of sagebrush and celebrate it here.
 

While there is much to be afraid for, I will not mind the hardships because I want, and will have, my triple layer fudge cake (my dream). I am not afraid to learn what I do not know and and take a stand using the information I already possess. I know I am different. And I know fear still has a thing or two to teach me. 

Furthermore, it is time for me to fight the cowgirl fight for what is right. It is time to utilize my Queen of Poo certs to FLUSH disappointment to the poop pond where the rest of the turds go.

 

Regret is not needed here. I was patient, diligent, and even deliberate. I stood still. I waited for morning to turn to noon so I could pull my cowgirl hat down and step onto the boardwalk. If it is a gunfight they want then I will oblige them. While I was checking my pistol I found the door to my dreams unlocked and within reach.

Now I have something to fight for. And a place to unleash the passion I had to put a padlock on before.

So what exactly is it I am after? Can the adventures of this blog afford me more than mere adventures? Eventually it will. It will take some planning, and a lot of hard work. But, I intend to make the tumbleweed feed my bacon.

So yea, I know where I am going. I am hell bent for Sunday and my triple layer fudge cake with two kinds of frosting!

It just looks like a tumbleweed dancing because I found the light of noon and the courage to fight for it, and I am inspired by all the love I have inside or has been shown to me.  

 

Are you as excited as I am? Well, to link up, or read "Creed," check out my Linked In profile. I hope it will bring lunchtime to your otherwise unfun Wednesday. Also, please share, share, share these blog posts because this wildnevadan girl wants to go somewhere! Thank you for reading.

Until next time.

Loves,

HjB

I had help with the hump (day)

Wednesday was wild. Ye Haw. Ain't it always? I made it over the hump I think. But, it is still a long time to bedtime. Was it just last week I posted a picture like this? I think it was.

I'm posting this new and almost identical one just for giggles. And so you know the wind is blowing again. If it ever died down.

I'm trying to convince myself it builds character. So if being slowly sand-blasted to death builds character then, hell, I'm all for it. Okay, not really. If I make it to 40 without looking like the Marlobro Man then I will be happy.

On a side note I adore the "wild" yellow roses in full bloom all around the old part of town. Especially, when they are but what's left of what once was an old miner's ramshackle cabin. (To think the treasures that might have been lost beneath those owie bushes and never retrieved!) Even though the scent has been wiped out by the Gail, the sunny little balls give me a tumbleweed tickle.

Wow. What a week. You won't believe this yarn. Especially after I swore off U-haling my ass around about six months ago. This past weekend it just so happened I was party to renting another Uhal. And loading and unloading. Whew. I wore myself out again, but I managed stay married.

Right now my kids have been fed and bathed but they are only half dressed and want to run around the house with a water gun that has been confiscated twice. I'm hiding in my office in the dark trying to get my blog. The laundry room is overfull and the dryer is buzzing for me to fluff or fold. Again.

All of this has my eyes wild open. I mean, it took every bit of sense in my head to make it to work today. I really wanted to call in sick, and slip off the pavement.

Alright. I had help getting through my hump day.

In my wild mind is a dream that has been there since it began to dance. Lately, my wild mind has been at work with a wild idea to get the ball rolling. Again.

Today, whenever I was overwhelmed I thought about this lovely little stack of paper work I also acquired this week. My wild mind has it set to fill them out and, one at a time if I must, send them off to the proper authorities with the fee associated.

It is but the beginning. Ha. But it is finially time to grow a business! My excitement abounds. I just might blow through every single caution cone my business partner lays in the road. 

So loves to you all this Wednesday and congrats on making it over that hump. P.S. Gale is the only way wind should be.
Goodnight ya'll, HjB.

On baking wild cake

Life has been a blur. Just like this picture. The earth is in the sky, and who knows where or when the particles will settle. The wind is, if anything, persistent. So here we are, wild as Wednesday. And it comes once a week. You know, it gives me a star to which to aim at.

So life is a blur and time marchy march. I am hectic and nuts. Life hands me wild moments all the day through. I bull doze through like this:

The most wild thing to happen to me this week is my wee Wild-Nevadan-in-Training has turned five. This was like graduation for me.

I remember those first days and months when I handled him so carefully. I remember when rogue germs terrified my every being. And, when I was driven to pack something into every single pocket of the diaper bag, no matter how short the errand.

Five years later my heart swells. It was a major accomplishement.

But, as you know, things went wild:

The fifth birthday came with the responsibility of baking a birthday cake and 25 cupcakes... Baking being outside my realm of talents, I bulldozed into the project with good intentions. I was pretending confidence, but worry sprinkles were floating in the air. Even in the begining it seemed a recipe for disaster.

Somehow I made it through the entire baking process without a mishap. And, the cupcakes turned out pretty good even after I frosted them.

While the cake was cooling and while the boys bathed I went to check on it and found the crust layer of the top partially gone.

Hm. It looked like somebody stuck a lid to the top of the cake and pulled it off and some of the warm cake stuck. It also looked like maybe the cat had come along and skimmed off a layer. About 1/3 of the surface area had been comprimised.
At this point, I have baked three boxes of cupcakes (with filling) and frosted 25 cupcakes and baked one cake, and I am not in the mood for any more of it. After I think about it for a while I decide I will just frost the living crap out of the birthday cake and pretend nothing happened. This is when, aparently, my Karma starts rolling.

So I frost and sparsely decorate the cake before anyone sees it; and because cake decorating is also outside my realm of talents I keep it simple. With little candies it says "5." Big woopie. And, as I finish it up I feel a little guilty about this little cover up I now have going. Well, then some motherly activity calls my attention away, and again I leave the cake unsupervised and uncovered on the counter.

Brilliance. These are the moments that make me feel proud I kept my son alive for five years and I deserve some kind of graduation recognition...but I digress.

Maybe 15 minutes later I remember the cake, and rush to the kitchen to find the cat in the actual act of  licking the frosting off the cake. Seriously?

I tuck that cake in the cold oven to protect it from the cat and kids while I am at work. I am trying to figure out what to do. So, I say nothing to the rest of the family. I mean, hell, if it is the same cat and the same kitty germs I already frosted then what is it going to hurt if the cat added a few more?

Sadly, that is not even the end of my Wild Wednesday story. When my Hon gives me a ride at lunch-time that day, he says he has run into trouble with the birthday cake. He tells me that he pre-heated the oven for a pizza. And, the rolling smoke alerted him to an almost-disaster. There is terror in my eyes.

"It's not too bad." he tells me.

When I get home I find the frosting is melted down into the sides of the cake dish. The five I was so careful with, now looks like a five in one of those Internet password protection prompts. It is smushy.

Now, this is where most mothers would dump the cake that cannot go right, and go down to the store and see if they can find a replacement cake for their five-year-old son. On that particular day I was a bit too busy. I was trying to catch the dust particles loose in the atmosphere. Mostly the ones that came with the birthday. The bubbles and water guns. And, there were no less than four water guns!

You probably already know what Heathen Heidi did with that cake. But, in my defense let me say maybe it was because they acted as if they could not hear me when I tried to herd their squirting bubble party to the out of doors? Or maybe it was because they did not say anything about the smelty cake, and I was too tired from catching dust particles to consider plan B.

Yes. I did it. I let them eat a piece of the kitty germified, smelty cake, after a hearty birthday song. Just like there was nothing wrong. Ha! So you also may have guessed there is just no birthday cake pictures this year!

Bad mom? Well, lets just say while time marchy marchy and my son grew from defensless infant to a sturdy five-year-old Wild-Nevadan-in-Training, this mom has evolved too. Into what I am not always sure. But, wild is Wednesday. Happy Hump Day.

Loves,
HjB

There once was an old ironing board

Last weekend I followed my Mom out to Big Smoky Valley and Kingston to go over what to do with furniture left at Grammie's house.

I'm an expert mover so my advice is highly sought after...

Upon going over the things I shall hoard off to my own domicile we came across an old ironing board.

My Mom looks at me, and with a giggle says, "You aren't going to take the ironing board are you."

Ha ha. Less accurate observations have been made.
She was spot on.

It was a mother daughter moment in which I felt, ahh this woman really knows me.

Here's to Moms. Especially mine.
And have a wild Wednesday!
Loves, HjB.

Go for It, Girl. It is Wednesday.

I have twiddled myself down to 15 minutes on the clock. I have exactly that long until the rice needs to go on; I have 45 minutes until dinner about finishes. For the sake of Wild Wednesday I said, "Go for it girl."

Confession # 1: I have not brushed my hair (and nobody noticed) for about 3-5 days. Depending on what you consider hair brushing.

Confession # 2: I spent the entire day on my Internet. I transferred my entire blog, even some pretty lame posts to a new site. Did you notice things looked weird? It was the fun part of my day--the wildly not going to get dressed because it is the National first time I have had Internet in FOREVER day.
~  WELCOME ~ and I'll explain more later...
Confession # 3: I am not entirely impressed by my obsession with: the comma, the semi-colon, the run on sentence and misspelling of things; ie the complete lack of ability to edit in face of my little "publish" high. It is my nerdy girl thing. Wildnevadan girl like wifi... yes I can hear my 9th grade English teacher saying, "When in doubt, leave it out."

Confession subanomoly # 1.2.3.4.5.6... Things look bright for tomorrow but the wind is kind of blowing right now. I had plans for a pie chart from the old website that gave me hope about moving the cheese to a free blog spot. I have dinner to cook and the timer has gone MISSING. I guess nerdy gir, ahem The Wild Nevadan HjB, l will return with some kind of traffic report at a later date....So, Wild Wednesday to you my loveys. And, just keep on reading...
Loves,
a tumbleweed dancing... The Wild Nevadan HjB

Just Another Wild Wednesday

You know that Cindy song, "Just another manic Monday?" So far today, I have had, "just another wild Wednesday." My day, my typical; (atypical) Wednesday has the exact same beat. It is not a surprise. Sunday has blended all the way into Wednesday with my eyes open all wild like I am going to make a break for it.

 

I spent the morning on the chain. A team mate in the project that is yanking railroad ties ahem, fence posts, out of a giant suction of sogginess.

 

The very first link up I inserted my leg in the hole and I was suctioned to it like the stupid rail road tie. Now my Wednesday is  one leg wet.

 

In between the chain yanking I wildly made fly a hammer and made use of a crow bar to remove nails and stack boards. It was a wild whack fest. I will tell you right now, I am more handy with a shovel than a hammer.

 

If I take 10 swings at a nail I might hit it twice. I burnt a lot of calories before I finally resorted to my talent, which is bend them over...then, flip the board over so nobody could see, fall on or step on and require a tetanus shot. It was only a couple!

 

We came in for lunch hot and sweaty. I am sucking down half brewed sun tea, trying to catch a second wind when my man says to me, "You look kind of sexy all dirty."

 

"Well I am glad I can pull that off." I had sweat stains and hat head and my neck, which is naturally pink, is red. 

 

Good thing I pull off dirty. Since I spend a good portion of my time in such a state. No tiaras for me, not on any day of the week. 

 

Then, my karma reminds me thereafter that I do still reign as the Queen of Poo. (I will save the story for how I got my royal station for when it is over.)

 

After lunch I watched Lady Hawk make a few rounds and call to her almost grown babies, who must be in the grass around here somewhere.

 

They are between not knowing and knowing how to fly. I have not seen much of them since the chickens are not free.

 

The sight of her on the wind made my eyes open just a little bit wilder; my ranging bone is very itchy...

 

So, to save a little time and blur the lines a little I will tell you how my week came to be so wild eyed and whooly that my typical (or atypical) Wednesday was blurred that way since Sunday and the whole thing feels like a song.

 

Without my knowing how it was, the wild yellow roses in the area began to bloom. And, apparently, before I even had caught sight and smell of them in person, the affect was upon me.

 

Picture it:

 

It was the eve of their discovery, so it was Sunday, and the Lamoille County fair was F.U.N. Not kidding. The boys were cautiously envious of the giant jumpy slide and I knew there was no way by themselves. We played in the small jumpy house and we all watched scores of kids trade tickets for a slide ride.

I watched for some time and no adults took a turn, just kids.

 

Well, it came time to either poop or get off the pot and so I took the boys and the three tickets and we got in line. They were sooooooo excited. The worst that can happen is the lady says no, right?

 

We get past the ticket lady and about four inches up the jumpy slide ladder both kids have their breaks on. I mean totally froze up.

 

So, causing a traffic jam, I sort of leap frog them over each other, and while grabbing the ropes and climbing up, myself.

 

I don't look back and I can only imagine what kind of scene this is all causing.

 

I can only imagine if a crowd is getting larger in the spectators area.

I won't lie. There was just a little bit of adrenaline coursing through me by now. I am sweating and breathing hard from the exertion of forcing them upward and onward.

 

Just as we get to the top, one of the boys is kind of frightened by the thought of the slide ride, and lets out a huge,"I wanna goo home."

 

Both of them tried to head back toward the ladder, which was blocked by other kids by now.

 

So, I scooped them both in my arms, and with the, "I hope this does not go terribly wrong," thought in my head, I let it slide for the bottom!

 

After the shock wore off and we were back in the car on our way home I asked them, what was their favorite thing that day. Their answer: "The jumpy slide!"

 

I'm not kidding. They squealed. Three tickets and three minutes, and it set the wild tone for my wild week that is so far half way over.

 

This wild Wednesday would be just another typical (atypical) wild Wednesday, but for one thing was different.

 

The patch of wild yellow roses in the ranch yard has bloomed. Their fragrant smell is has made its way inside my window on a gentle summer breeze.

 

It has effectively done what half brewed sun tea cannot. It has given me my second wind. So I better get a move on, and that chicken out of the oven for dinner!

 

I love this life and I love my wild Wednesdays, be they typical (or atypical?) or soaked in a wild sunny scent. Thanks for sharing them with me. And, have a wild Wednesday, y'all.

HjB

June 29, 2011

Old Biker Babes and These Three Jeans

 

Not much changes around here in a week. It is Wild Wednesday again and I am still trying to put as large a space as humanly possible between myself and the laundry. I cannot understand how it is, my kids always seem to run a muck half naked, and still there is a turn-over of muddy outfits like it is nobody's business.

 

I am between cycles so now is a good time to explain the concept behind wild Wednesdays. Because, my mind is fresh on bikes and bikers and old biker babes, from that little visit to the Elko Jamboree last week, a favorite wild woman/Wednesday story of mine comes to mind. Picture this...

 

It is the middle of summer in the middle of the Midwest and I am in the middle of my second pregnancy. I find myself in the truck outside a store that faces a river tavern, which banks the Mississippi.

 

I am alone in the hot stickiness except an acquaintance, whose acquaintence has gone in after ice, beer, I have no idea what else. Everybody else on earth is at work or whatnot, because it is probably Wednesday.

 

Anyhow, I have a hot thirsty eye on the bar, and was halfway through a tumbleweed wish that I was not pregnant. Out comes this older woman (over 65) in full biker babe regalia. She has the whitest hair you ever saw, black chaps, the leather jacket, the black tank top minus a bra, a little-bit leathery skin, and a big old tasseled biker babe purse. In one hand she carries her drink, which has been put into a "to go" plastic cup. Her friends, are sort of holding on to her, and kind of guiding her toward a vehicle.

 

I say, sort of because, just as I took notice of this woman and her obvious merriment, she bit dust. Her knee high leather boots gave way to the gravel parking lot. She lay flat on her back, head laying on a rock and her giant purse is now 15 feet away. Her friends stood over her, probably looking for blood. In her hand was the cocktail, which was at the end of an arm that was strait up in the air. I am sure she had to be bleeding about the elbows, but she flops herself over and manages to somehow stand back up.

 

She holds out her drink to her friends as if to make a toast. "I did int spill!" I can hear her across the street. And, I think, what a morning the group must have had, if to judge the spectacle, debacle and debochery that has now peaked before the sun even.

 

I was just getting ready to yell out the window, "You go girl!" when the acquaintence next to me said, "Oh, that poor woman!"

 

Poor woman? O my gosh that woman was having a freaking blast! I was probably glowing nuclear green from jealousy. Did I mention I was half pregnant and it was mid-way through summer in the mid-west? Yes, there was sweat pouring out of places on my body that no human sweats from!

 

"Well, I better be having that much fun when I am that age," I told the acquaintance, "Because, I am NOT having ANY fun right now."

 

Years have gone by and I still think about that wild woman outside that riverside tavern every so often. I love old biker babes and their audacious way they carry on the unexpected while the rest of us are headed to the laundry room or cubicle land.

 

It also brings about what should be wild on Wednesday and why we are set to celebrate wild Wednesdays as often as Wednesdays come, here on the Dancing Tumbleweed Blog.

 

Life being mostly work is not usually fun. Even though I do not have a regular work week, it is not impossible for me to feel frayed by Wednesday. I have been to the office so I know some of you will be out to a meeting or other enterprise until dusk. Wednesdays are long and most of life being driven by unfun work, it is good to take a minute, between cycles, to just be wild on Wednesdays.

 

So, on wild Wednesdays at the Wild Nevadan HjB, anything goes. Wild Wednesday posts are for you to enjoy an unexpected break from your day with one of my wild moments. It is a mini decompression machine. It is hump day, wildnevadan style.

 

So where did I leave that old biker babe? Not in the gravel parking lot! Back to her: she was right in the middle of a wild Wednesday but I would hazard, regret came later or the next day. So, as sad as this sounds, wild Wednesday is not about going hog-wild. Dang it.

 

 Alright, its todays wild Wednesday confession time. 

I'm calling it "these three jeans."

 

Did I mention I have an overwhelming pile of laundry which multiplies within the confines of my laundry room? Well, I do.

 

Have I mentioned before how much I hate laundry? Well, I do. (Sometimes, when I hit the button on the dryer I fantasize that I dropped a match on that load instead).

 

And part of this huge mess that seems to always be my Wednesday is these three jeans.

 

I do not think anyone will argue that I have not worn them out past their usefulness. The knees and asses are g.o.n.e.

 

I took a good look at them this morning and figured  one more time through the cycle of life that leads to the washing machine and dryer will vaporize them into jean dust. And, an unexpected thought came to my wild mind...

 

 

Yes I did!

Because, it is Wednesday and I am wild like that!

And now there are three less jeans to wash!

Have a wild Wednesday and thanks for reading,

HjB

June 22, 2011

Wild Women Do and They Don't Regret It Wednesday

He says: Ain't I big? Don't you want to dance with me?

She says: Hmmm. I guess. It is hump day, ahem, I mean wild Wednesday, and they say wild women do, and they don't regret it.

 

I had a serious case of "dragon ass" this morning. That is, I was dragging my ass around drinking coffee trying to wake up to no avail. And, this afternoon I should be tending to the laundry and the inside of my house wile the boys nap. But, I am not.

I am blogging.

 

Wild women do and they don't regret it...

 

So this morning. In my dragon ass state, I was hanging around the kitchen, avoiding the sunscreen and bug spray ritual I guess, and I finally got up the gumption to cut into the pineapples.

 

Alright. I'm going to admit this wild girl woman has never once cut open a pineapple on her own.

 

Ahem. I really never knew I liked pineapple until I was pregnant and my mom popped open a fresh one and I stood over the kitchen sink and gobbled the whole thing. I had a pretty big appetite with the second kid--it scared my family members...but, wild women do and they don't regret it.

 

One was just right, and the other one one was rotten so it was designated chicken fodder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, the trick to a pineapple is not how you slice it. It is about how ripe it is. So, now I think I know all about pineapples. And the rotten one was not wasted. Wild women do and they don't regret it.

 

Then, I was invited to help with some business of diverting the rage of water by my man before the third cup of coffee kicked in. Outside, it is obvious the snow has started to melt of the mountains. The sound of rushing water can be heard not too far off in the distance, and just about every place you walk is squishy.

 

Winter, ahem spring, is over and summer is here. The choke cherry blossoms were in full glory and the wild snap dragons popped against the green backdrop. And, there was no time to take pictures.

 

Ever since it peaked 75 degrees there is just too much business to tend to. So, I am beat up from my feet up. I have cuts and bug bites from all this time spent in the garden, yard and mowing...ahem I mean, generally existing outside the house, and as far away from the biggest laundry pile you can imagine, as I can get.

 

Wild women do and they don't regret it.

 

After the water business I was wet to my gizzard, so I went for a second set of clothes and mowed until I broke the mower. Ahem. I like to go off road. I am inside now, and past the vibrating hell that has been attached to may hands for two days. And, since my man fixed my mess, the wild woman is not regretting it. Ha. I have flexed my biceps twice and admired them! LOL.

 

Ah, and so we arrive at nap time, the holiest of times in my day.

 

Today I wore those boys out to the point they could barely carry themselves back to the house for lunch and dry clothes.

 

And a double nap is the most sacred types of naps that exist on my earth.

 

So, the wild woman does not regret it.

 

Can you tell which angel I would be if I were lucky enough to be an angel? Yes. The one with the crooked hailo praying extra hard! I pray this garden takes off and kicks some booty. I pray the laundry goddess does not take my outside privlidges away. And, I pray this awesome double nap lasts long enough for me to have a Pepsi and a smile all by myself.

 

I'm a wild woman and I won't regret it.

Have a wild Wednesday, y'all.

HjB.

June 15, 2011