Bet you don't have an outfit like this anymore...

That's ok, niether do I.

I am eleven years old in this (goofy) picture.

1988.

It was a huge year for me.

I went through a lot of changes.

I hit puberty.

We moved from our sweet little ranch

in Kerrville, Texas

to the big city,

Austin, Texas.

I had to start a new school.

I hit puberty.

I had to make all new friends.

I hit puberty.

HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW YOUR BLOGGERS?

Most of us have spots in the Bloggy-Sphere that we visit on a regular basis. We develop an interest – perhaps even an affection – for certain writers’ styles and peculiarities. Over time, however, our memories become foggy and details get “lost in the sauce.” Take the following quiz and see how well you know your bloggers!

1.  Laurence Simon says that he’s “so full of crap, his eyes are brown.” What’s the name of his main blog?
     a.  This Blog Is Packed With Excrement
     b.  This Website Is Crammed With Dookie
     c.  What The Deuce?
     d.  This Blog Is Full Of Crap

2.  Mac, who writes over at pesky’apostrophe, claims that her site is
     a.  more pleasant than parentheses
     b.  now with more ampersands!
     c.  better than an unexpected period
     d.  better than not getting a period when you’re expecting one

3.  The term “cock ring” is most likely to be found at:
     a.  Boudicca’s Voice
     b.  Velociworld
     c.  Shadowscope
     d.  Instapundit

4.  Denny, the Grouchy Old Cripple, would probably describe himself as:
     a.  a libertarian atheist
     b.  a Eugene McCarthy Democrat
     c.  an old school socialist in the style of Norman Thomas
     d.  a crotchety, superannuated paraplegic

5.  Jim of Parkway Rest Stop prides himself on one of his notable physical characteristics. What is it?
     a.  Fareekin’ Silky Thighs
     b.  Farookin’ Great Hair
     c.  Frickin’ Ripped Abs
     d.  Fungus-catchin’ Innie Navel

6.  Harvey calls his blog “Bad Example.” But it didn’t start out that way. What was it originally called?
     a.  Cautionary Tale
     b.  Sad Grandpa
     c.  This Blog Sucks
     d.  Bad Money

7.  Eric, the Straight White Guy, is sometimes known as Eric the
     a.  Tactical Nuclear Weapon
     b.  Pigsticker
     c.  Zombie
     d.  Blade

8.  At Erica’s Blog, you may find snide references to a neighboring state. You may also find the following epithet:
     a.  Kooshball
     b.  Douche-Bag
     c.  Dooshbag
     d.  Fatoushbagge

9.  At sisu, Sissy Willis often combines incisive political commentary with extraordinary photographs of her two cats. The Chelsea Grays, as she calls them, are named:
     a.  Hakuna and Matata
     b.  Baby Cakes and Tiny
     c.  Tig and Gracie
     d.  Tuck and Goomp

10.  “Indiana Jones” is to “fedora” as “Elisson” is to:
     a.  “beret”
     b.  “Panama hat”
     c.  “colander”
     d.  “gimme cap”

I’ll post the all-too-obvious answers in a couple of days. Meanwhile, show us your Big Bloggity Brains by sticking your answers in the comments...or on your own site. Winners will be rewarded with effusive and fulsome praise.

Trio

Late hydrangeas --
Heavy storm clouds billowing
Over my table . . .

By the mountain road,
Toadstools stand silent sentry;
Drenching rain passes . . .

Orange rosehips dangle,
Swollen fat with summer sun --
Last day of July . . .


Accept these pictures and these few words -- all the chicken talk from yesterday's post has plumb wore me out . . . and there's still the Goodweather Report to send tonight.

Did your mother ever do this to you?

Sound of Music curtain dress?

Do you like our big bows?

I'm the older one,

The Bug's the cute one.

WHERE NO CAT HAS GONE BEFORE

Neighbor communes with Ceiling Cat.

Neighbor continues to surprise us, parking her Kitty Butt in places where Hakuna and (the late) Matata would never think to go.

She’s the Captain Kirk of Kitties, boldly going where no cat has gone before.

Here, she sits atop a tall bookcase in my office. At first, I didn’t notice her there as I toiled away...but after a while, I began to get the feeling that I was being...supervised. Looking up, I saw Neighbor’s familiar silhouette in an altogether unfamiliar place.

She stayed long enough for me to grab my camera. Then she jumped down gracefully, using the top of the piano as a stair-tread. Presumably, that’s how she got up there in the first place.

Maybe Neighbor is getting religion. After all, where else would you go to seek Ceiling Cat but right up there next to the ceiling?

Weird Hair

I went through a weird hair period in high school.

It did some really weird things.

Hormones.

BOU-DICULOUS

The Mistress of Sarcasm, SWMBO, Boudicca, and Morrigan.

Sometimes, madness is hereditary.

But sometimes, it’s not madness. Just a bunch of people acting Bou-Diculous.

Chicken Tractor

The chicks have moved (well, been moved, squawking and protesting) into their fancy new chicken tractor, built by my husband John. In the UK it's called a chicken ark and we first saw one in the side garden of a Stately Home (to which we had paid admission) in the Cotswolds a few years ago. We were entranced; John took pictures and we thought someday . . .

It's an elegant system for keeping chickens out of trouble and on green grass. They peck and scratch, eat bugs and green stuff, leave their droppings, and when the grassy spot has been thoroughly worked over, you move the tractor to another spot. (I have a tier in the garden where fat bugs of some sort -- maybe sowbugs -- have wiped out my squash and I'd love to put these biddies there.)

There's chick food and water and at night they can trundle up the ramp to the sleeping quarters (I've removed a panel so you can see) where there's a roost awaiting them. There are also nest boxes at either end when they get old enough to lay.

The chicks are happy to be out of the box and in more natural surroundings and Ali Ali seems to have decided that he's a chicken guard -- he's run off the other dogs when they've tried to investigate.

We still have the chicken house and the five old hens and Gregory Peck, the rooster. As these young pullets reach full size, we'll move some to the chicken yard -- 6 t0 8 is probably maximum capacity for the chicken tractor.

If you're interested in backyard chickens, this is a great solution. More and more communities are allowing chickens in backyards (not roosters, however.) There are any number of websites with plans and advice on chicken tractors. We even found a site where we could buy one just like the one we saw at the Stately Home -- for the stately price of about $1500 -- plus shipping from the UK.

This one looks just the same (John found the plans on the Internet), cost about $150 in materials (including the feeder and waterer), and features some small improvements. It's a lot fancier than it needs to be (here's a cheaper easier one) -- you can find plans for building a perfectly nice chicken tractor using recycled pallets -- but what a lovely addition to the garden of our stately home!

DECADE IN THE DOMICILE

Chez Elisson, October 2006.

Today marks the tenth year of our residence in Chez Elisson, Atlanta. It was ten years ago that we signed the closing papers on this, our current home.

It’s the longest time we’ve ever spent in one house as a married couple, the previous record having been our immediately prior stint in west Houston. That one lasted seven-and-a-half years.

[For that matter, it’s the longest time I’ve lived in a single house since I was a kid growing up in my childhood home on Lawn Guyland, where we moved when I was nine months old. We spent the next fourteen years there.]

Seven houses in thirty-one years, an average of four-and-a-half years in each house. That’s what happens when you sign on for a career with a big multinational corporation, and they don’t come much bigger than the Great Corporate Salt Mine. But we decided many years ago that once we reached our fifties, we were not going to still be traipsing about the country like all too many of my Corporate Colleagues, trying to reestablish ourselves in a new and unfamiliar landscape at the whim of the Salt Mine. And so once we got back to Atlanta after an absence of twelve years, we dug our heels in. It was our favorite among all the places we had lived, and we wanted to stay.

Ten years.

A lot has changed here in ten years. More traffic, more growth. New shopping centers sprouting up to replace land once used for driving ranges, farm stands, and Christmas tree saleslots. New homes with price tags in the seven figures.

We’ve changed, too. Ten years ago, Elder Daughter had completed her freshman year at Boston University, and the Mistress of Sarcasm was midway through her high school career. Unlike me, they never had a chance to get too accustomed to one place growing up, although their Rootless Upbringing inculcated in them both a certain adaptability that I envy. Now they’re Grown-Ups, out on their own. And we’ve had the chance to reconnect with our old friends while making new friends, sinking our Familial Roots into the community.

I’m looking forward to seeing what the next ten years will bring...kein ayin hora.

From my soul to your sole.

Every summer, a large part of our family flies and drives to the Texas Hill Country, deep in the heart of Texas, to renew our souls.

I grew up on a ranch here. My memories and my heart will always have a home in the country.

And this week, as we drive six hours to the Guadalupe River to swim and be with family, we will once again pass this familiar landmark...the fence of boots.

My mom stopped one year and took pictures, so here they are to share with you.

This isn't something you see in many other places...

Which is your favorite?

I've seen lamps made out of boots and purses made out of boots,

but fence art is pretty unusual.

Inside out?

Remy, my 6-year-old, asked me first thing this morning, "Can you turn a sheep inside out? With magic?"

Ummm, excuse me, can you repeat that?

I don't even begin to know how to answer this question.

Sheep: He said what?!

Late July

Late July is a celebration of yellow- a myriad of tiny suns warm the earth -- black eyed susan, marigold, tickweed, hawkweed, sunflower, and coreopsis -- they beam from every garden corner, every field and roadside . . .

Late July is a surfeit of freshness, a ton of tomatoes, a cornucopia of cukes, a maze of maize, a battery of beans . . .

Late July is a pollen-blessed cat, basking in the sunflower's warmth . . .

Late July is a tired woman, a fading beauty
Worn out with all that bearing.
Her back bends; her hair trails down.
She holds the latest babe
And dreams of snow.

THE NEW KID ON THE BLOCK

There has been a change in the local Breakfast Dynamic in the past few weeks. Goldberg’s, a local chain of bagel shops, has opened an outpost nearby - just down Johnson Ferry road from Bagelicious, AKA the Local Bagel and Smoked Fish Emporium.

While our little corner of East Cobb County is not exactly crawling with restaurants, there’s no shortage of places to grab a bite for breakfast. There are the usual chain operations: Einstein Bros. Bagels, Dunkin’ Donuts, IHOP, La Madeleine, Waffle House, etc., etc. There’s J. Christopher’s and the Flying Biscuit Cafe, two more chains, albeit ones that originated in Atlanta.

Some of these places sell bagels. Or what passes for bagels, anyway. Anyone familiar with the Real Thing knows a genuine bagel from an Einstein Bros. impostor. When it comes to the Real Thing, the Local Bagel and Smoked Fish Emporium - Bagelicious - was the only game in town. This part of town, anyway.

And then there’s the matter of the Smoked Fish. If you wanted real Nova Scotia smoked salmon... belly lox... sable... kippered salmon... whitefish... there was only one place to go. If you had a jones for a hot pastrami and corned beef sandwich and didn’t want to drive down into Sandy Springs, there was only one option.

So what if the coffee was - is - hit or miss? So what if the place is a little down-at-the-heels in appearance, with every square inch of wall space covered in Yankees memorabilia or banners and photos of local Little League, soccer, and Pop Warner teams? It may not pass muster with the frou-frou Interior Decorator crowd, but in what other restaurant could you see Gravel-Voice Larry’s walking stick hanging on the wall, mute testament to his prodigious abilities as a Fish-Maven?

Now here comes the New Kid on the Block.

Goldberg’s, it should be pointed out, is “new” only in the sense of “new to this area.” They’re a venerable operation. Back when we first moved here in the early 1980’s, Goldberg’s was where you went if you wanted real New York-style bagels...or smoked fish. You had to drive fifteen miles to get there, but they were the only option.

For years, Goldberg’s was in no hurry to move to East Cobb. Now they’re here in full force, and the Local Bagel Emporium is scared shitless, facing the first straight-up competitive battle of their life. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out. Bagel versus bagel. Bialy versus bialy.

The newcomer’s place is big, glitzy, staffed with an army of servitors. It’s decorated with three-dimensional dioramae illustrating scenes from popular Broadway musicals and Hollywood films. It’s spotless. It’s bustling. It’s expensive. And on Sundays, it’s packed with the local church crowd, fresh from the Matinée Service.

You can get a bagel with excellent smoked fish. Or you can get shrimp and grits. [Which means the new place will not be catering any functions at our synagogue.] You can get baked goods, deli takeout, all kinds of beverages. You can even use credit cards. It’s Full Service!

But you won’t find everything at the New Place.

You won’t find the guys playing Liar’s Poker with Tommy, the owner of the Local Bagel and Smoked Fish Emporium. You won’t find too many banners on the walls, emblazoned with the names of the local softball team. You won’t find pictures of Mickey Mantle or Yogi Berra. You won’t find a whole lot of haimishkeit.

And, except on rare occasions, you won’t find me there either.

Treasure Hunt

Every now and then I get the creative bug, and I come up with an idea. I decided to make up a treasure hunt for my boys.

First I made up clues...silly, rhyming phrases to help the kids guess where the next clue was hidden.

I'm not going to share all of them, because that's slightly embarrassing, but here's the first one:

We’re going to play a little game,
Because watching TV all day is really lame.

To find the treasure, follow the clues
And play fair, or everyone will lose.

The next clue is where Mama blogs,
Is she the guiltiest of being a computer hog?

Here is my pile of clues before I started taping them around the house in hidden places.

Here are the boys with their first clue, ready to go hunting for treasure! They were excited and even willing to put up with me and my camera for the occasion.

One clue led them to the mailbox.

another to the bird feeder.
and even to the recycling bin in the garage. I think I had about 15 clues in all.
Culminating to the final clue,

This is the final clue you’ve been waiting for,
Head to the place you get water on the floor.

A treasure awaits you, if you’ve been good.
In the place where you bath often, or at least you should.

which led to the master bathroom, where I had hidden the treasure in our big tub. Most of it was silly stuff from the Target dollar section, but a few bigger things, like Lego kits and the TV show Two and a Half Men on DVD.

They had a lot of fun (and so did I)!!

Answers

Potatoes!

Cookie cutters!!

Saucy Chef

I woke up this morning to find out I'm a Saucy Chef today!!

Woohoo!! Click on the logo below to see what I'm talking about:



If you haven't discovered SITS yet, you really need to stop by and check it out.

SITS stands for The Secret is in The Sauce

and was founded by Tiffany and Heather.

They have brought together the community of women (and men) bloggers in a fun way.

Check them out:

And, they're having an awesome giveaway this week, for a Apple 4G iPod Nano in Silver! Seriously cool.