"Where do I begin... to tell the story...?"

"have visited your blog and i got a reliable and megnificent information with your post.Thanks for sharing useful information with us.Great!!!!"  (blog comment)

In an ever-escalating attempt to provide "a reliable and  megnificent information" to the nameless masses, I, Madhadder, will now tell you a love story.  This story doesn't begin in a high school chemistry class or even a BYU Home Evening family.  It doesn't have a prom in it or a shy blushing bride.  The story I am about to tell is about Madhadder and Paco.  It will begin in cyberspace, circle down through China, wind its way through New Jersey, make a brief pit stop in Nebraska, and then drop with a dusty thud on a charming little 8 acre hobby farm 6,000 feet above sea level in the Great State of Idaho.  Our story isn't about walking babies in the night or waiting up for teen-agers.  It is short on fast-moving drama but hopefully long on emotion.  I will tell it in an as of yet undetermined number of posts through letters mostly--13 bound volumes--and a few pictures. It's time.  Only just not right now.

Shhhh!!! What was that??

I make no pretense about country living.  It can be gritty and unsettling.  For instance, at the moment two dead birds are decomposing under our crabapple tree.  Inevitably I will put on my "big girl jammies", shut my eyes, plug my nose, and hope that the direction I've pointed myself in and the movements I've made with my arms and a dustpan will result in contact and subsequent disposal.  If I calculate steps correctly I can fling the birds over the fence away from the house with my eyes shut and my nose incapacitated.  I've practiced a few times.  Earlier in the summer the neighbor's dog (Dear Santa, Please bring me an airgun.) feasted on another dead bird spewing feathers, carcasses, and small birdie feet all over  the lawn.  Before I could clean that up, she'd added a half-eaten raccoon to the mix.  Picture me green.  Her beagle counterpart regularly knocks over the trash and rummages for delicacies--boule (look it up, and you'll be flabbergasted that a beagle would have a taste for such), decaying meat from refrigerator cleaning day, a whole bag of catsup and mustard samples from Subway, and yes...diapers.  Mayhem.  Decay.  Dung.  Like I say--gritty and unsettling.  And THAT'S outside!!!  Inside is not much better.  I've posted about scratching noises under the floorboards beneath this computer, a walking talking SCRATCHING SQUEEKING oven, a bird who flew down from the library (origin still unknown), flies ad nauseum, mice taking up residency, and bats from HELL!!!  We actually went 4 years without bats, but this year they are back.  Of course they are.  I'm bunking in the loft this summer because I gave my 5 week guests the bedroom.  The scratch scratch scratch up there within the walls or under the eaves or behind the filing cabinet curls my skin!!!!  I KNOW it is bats!!!!!  Bats in the attic, bats in the fireplace, bats in the belfry!!!!  And then there's the mouse.  Not the one who died feet up on the kitchen floor, not the one who staggered into the middle of the family room and collapsed, not the one who cowered to his death facing the corner of the library bathroom.  THIS mouse is bold.  He STRUTS around the family room between the entertainment center and some drawers by the woodstove.  He sickens me with his nonchalance!!!!!!  The least he could do is scurry!!!!  I surrounded him tonight with poison bait.  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT FORCE ME TO SET A TRAP!!!!  Just take the bait and die.  Smell a few days if you must, but just die--preferably far far away.  I profess to be genteel.  I read a lot of books, knit quietly, sip tea, watch British series, vote conservatively.  Carnage?  Not so much.  Decomposition?  Keep it in the compost bin.  Bird parts?  Just cooked chicken ones.  Raccoons?  Just Rocky.  Bats??  Inside quilts and dugouts.  Mice?  At the side of my computer, thank you.  Scratching??????  Inside my longjohns.  Oh, and then there was the day I dscovered a pulsing afterbirth at the side of the water trough, and the day,Talia, our mother alpaca, was frothing at the mouth...and the day...

The Prodigal

Do you remember jump rope in grade school?  I was a passionate jumper and can still recall at least a dozen chants AND how to spell M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I and O-H-I-O with my feet while I jumped.  I liked to be a turner, and I really really liked red hot Peppers!!!  High waters, not so much. The part that DID make me nervous was waiting by the edge of the rope while it went by, went by, went by.  My arms would make the rotation movement of the rope as I looked for an opportune time to jump in.  If you misjudged, the rope hit your leg, and you were out.  After almost 2 months of blogging hiatus, that's how I feel.  Like I'm waiting for just the perfect height of the rope, perfect tilt of the planet, perfect timing just after the rope hits the pavement.  At the risk of getting a leg whip, I'm just going to jump in.  I readily admit that this blog of mine serves really no purpose  except to allow me to indulge myself and try and make some order out of the chaos of just living.  I wish I had a really smashing excuse for my silence--"All 10 fingers were cut off in a meat carving event run horribly amok!"  "The doctor prescribed complete bedrest for my hands due to an unforeseen blood malady that erupted due to lack of rain!"  "I took a bet!"  "Aliens!!  Lots of them with a weird weird agenda!"  Actually my best excuse is 6 weeks of computer downtime.  I took a smashing trip to the East coast.  I went to camp.  And I've done more weeding than could possibly be healthy.  But I digress.  Once I start into the weeds and flies, I know my readers (all 3 of you) nod off...zzzzzz....

Actually I am brimming over with things to write about!!  Pictures?  Oh yes, I have them!  Adventures?  By the score (or at least by the scorelette).  Alpacas running wild in the streets?  I DO need to post all of this and more!  So...can we just forgive and forget?  Make up?  There.  I've jumped in.  The turners have a good rhythm going.  Not quite ready for Double Dutch, but jumping, nevertheless...