Catch Up

Many moons have passed since my last words, and many situations have arisen. Let's take it from the top, shall we? If you have followed this blog, you know that rain came like mad last week. Without question something must get stuck, sink, or fall apart. Picture it: Wade and I embarked upon a pasture run Sunday afternoon. We needed to clear out feeders so the deer could have fresh non-molded vittles. All was well until we came across one that sank. No problem, right? We'll just saunter out there, hoist it back on its legs, and none the wiser. Luckily, I wore work boots for this daunting task. I stepped out onto the ground and immediately sunk. As the mud rose up around my ankle, I realized that something not pleasant permeated the moist, stagnant air. Imagine the smell of deer feed mixed with pooey and rain. Swirl it all together in a bowl and that's the smell. Ghastly! Once over the initial shock, I sashayed on over to assist Wade with the recon mission. The soles of my boots have absolutely no traction whatsoever, which made for a lot of slippin' and slidin'. We finally got that sucker upright, but were both covered in this unruly substance. I consider myself to be fairly cultured. Not cultured in the way of hiking the Appalachian, sipping espresso at a Paris cafe, and reading Tolstoy. Cultured in the Lonesome Dove, country roots, put your big girl pants on and deal with it kind of way. Even still, the task I completed merits a shout out to Dirty Jobs. Maybe I should phone Mike Rowe and have him come on down to slop around in the filth!

Shortly after this feeder debacle, I managed to bury the ranch suburban...literally. It was already stuck in the middle of the pasture. Wade managed to finagle it out, then wanted me to drive it to the main road. He thought it was in 4WD. Duh. Any self respecting Texan would assume that a truck that's stuck would be in 4WD. I hauled off and plowed into this gargantuan puddle. I felt the wheels slipping and got a sinking notion in my gut. I hammered the gas, threw it in reverse, and hammered it again. I peered down at the shifter only to see the blazing orange indicator pointing straight at 2H. Nice. I stuck that hoopty clear up to the door. If you're going to do something, might as well do it right. We managed to tow it out...surprisingly the engine didn't blow with the amount of torque I willed through that motor. I couldn't help but think of the phrase, "don't send a woman to do a man's job". I believe in equal opportunity for all, but I also know my limits. I should stick to dry land and a desk job!

The rest of the weekend was swell. We cruised over to Corpus yesterday to do some shopping and piddling. Feeling refreshed from the weekend, I woke up this morning ready to conquer the day. As a side note, you must know that I still have this insanely annoying cough that simply will not leave me be. Last night I literally thought I was going to choke myself out. I could not stop coughing! Wade brought me a hug dose of cough syrup in an attempt to get somewhat of a good night's sleep. I think that's what caused my demise this special day. A tiny warning label sits quietly on the bottom of the bottle- excess dosage may have laxative effect. Really? I'm sorry but when hacking up a lung, the fine print seems trivial. I assure you, there's nothing trivial about it. If ever tempted to take the more than recommended dosage, don't do it. Step away from the bottle!

I guess the thought/moral for the day is simply stated: some rules just aren't meant to be broken!

Wishing you a stellar evening and candy-coated dreams!