Wow! Look at this!

This is the most unpredictable blog hoster. For a week I couldn't get anywhere near it. Do you suppose it was because England is a Bermuda triangle of blogs?

Our friend Graham is probably reading this with trepidation, wondering just what I'll say about our visit to his corner of the world, the lovely Yorkshire. He's wondering if I'll mention M. I won't, Graham! Your secret is safe!

A few observations about England, based on my recent personal experience:

1. Most individuals answer to either Pat or Dick.

2. Doors tend to slam shut, especially the one at the Hawes Creamery, which actually caused jars of relish and jam to topple from shelves.

3. The English seem particularly proud of having discovered the latrines of early Britons, Vikings, Romans and other medieval peoples. We toured latrines in all the castles and ruins.

4. The countryside is gorgeous, and we enjoyed what we could see when hedges and walls weren't blocking the view.

5. The cheese is great. So are the sausages, the cheese pie, the grain mustard and the chutney.

6. The word "rubbish" is used quite freely, in many contexts.

7. Some people -- notably Tony F. -- have showers in their homes!

8. They seem to think I have an accent.

9. When you go in a castle, there is no fake Cinderella sitting on a tufted chair, pretending to like children while counting the minutes until her smoke break.

10. The English are the friendliest, most fun people! I love them.

We had a loov-ly time and many thanks to Pat and Dick  for their hospitality.

We arrived home around 8 p.m. yesterday (midnight English time). Rex and Kayti went straight to bed. I, of course, had to get in a few games of Scrabble first!

Get Out and Vote

This is not a sermon on democracy. I just want to point out that if you look to the left, you will see a poll. The subject is "Are blogs narcissistic?" You will notice that only one person has voted. That was ME! So, get over there and vote, will ya? Only 15 hours remain to make your view known on this important global issue.

You Will Have Three Children

It's 6 a.m. Friday morning here in not-so-sunny England. I've been up since 4:30, checking e-mail and playing Scrabble and taking a really stupid quiz on Facebook.

Generally I avoid those quizzes. I know the kind of people who make them up (my daughter Kayti, age 10, for one) and really don't believe they're qualified to assess what characteristics make me an "E minor" personality or determine that Miss Haversham is my fictional soul buddy.

It reminds me of a Halloween party at which I was the featured gypsy fortune-teller. I was 38 at the time. Party-goers would enter my curtained-off booth, and I would read their palms. Of course, I know only the most rudimentary stuff about palm-reading, like which is the life line and which is the heart line. Beyond that, it was all guesswork. But I think I was pretty convincing, and it was very scary. Teenagers would ask me questions, and I'd make up fairly implausible (at least I thought so) answers, and they believed every word.

At the newspaper where I work, one of the editors confessed that once when the horoscope information didn't arrive in time for publication, he made it all up. Wonder how many lives he influenced that day?

Anyway, have a nice day, go in peace and don't believe a damned thing you read.

Animal Distribution

I spent the entire day outsourcing animal care. Next time I go on a trip (which will be never, if I have to do this again) I will obnoxiously demand that the people who have agreed to care for this or that animal come pick the animal up. I'm going to completely ignore that they're doing me a favor by taking the guinea pigs or parakeets or horse for a week. I want more from my friends! More!

OK, so I can hardly keep my eyes open. Walked the horse three miles. Drove all over creation, delivering cute little animals hither and thither.

Seriously, I am very grateful to those who opened their homes to my pets. I am also seriously sleep-deprived. I don't think I 'll have the energy to post tomorrow, so consider this my Oct. 21 contribution.

Yesterday's Post

You may not realize this, but I did post something yesterday (Oct. 19). I went out and took a picture of the new chicken pen, and added it to Oct. 18's post.

I remembered last night after I'd gone to bed that I'd written no entry for the 19th. I turned on the light and checked the clock. Alas, it was exactly midnight.

Still, the picture counts. I decree it.

I know what I was GOING to write about yesterday. I woke up to an NPR announcer asking me, "Do you really want to know where airlines send their planes for maintenance?"

Since I am leaving on a jet plane Wednesday to fly over the Atlantic Ocean (where, incidentally, there are no emergency landing spots), the answer was "no." I shut the radio off. Ten minutes later, thinking I was safe, I turned it back on. The first words I hear are "El Salvador," so I hurriedly shut it off again.

Bad enough that I have to take a plane to get to England, but my husband has informed me that once there, I am not going to be allowed to dress in my usual slovenly manner. Believe it or not, Rex is actually famous in his little pond of tin-cans-turned-into-radio-transmitters aficionados, and he doesn't want me wandering around the conference looking like a bag lady.

Damn, damn, damn. Gonna be a fun vacation!

The New Coop

At last, the chickens are in their new coop.

Maybe it will keep them safe, but I still don't like it. It looks too ... un-rustic. It looks like we keep chickens, while I feel that, in fact, the chickens keep us.

I wasn't quite so fond of the two buff Orpington ladies yesterday as we attempted to pressure them into the new coop. They kept ducking under our sticks and running off in unexpected directions. They're fast, too!

Now that Rex has finished the pen, I have freed him to prepare his presentation for the conference in England. He has two days. Hope he can manage his time wisely!

Savoring the Thought

I woke up with a headache this morning, and it didn't get any better when I discovered a coop door open and two more chickens spirited away and eaten.

At first, I thought maybe we had a human predator taking my chickens. How else could the door be open?

But we found a trail of feathers leading to the killing grounds, and I can't picture one of my neighbors hunkered under a tree ripping a chicken apart with his teeth. I suppose there could be a feral child out on the back four (acres), raised by coyotes.

I Googled raccoon info, and yes, they do eat chickens, people say. And I guess they're clever enough to figure out how to slide the bolt on the coop door. Plus, I know we have some raccoons around here.

I'm going to find whoever is killing my chickens. How delicious it will be to get my revenge!

A Little Overboard

You know you're upset with your electricity costs when you tell your microwave to shut its damn light off when it's not microwaving anything.

Rex just informed me that during the beep-beep-beep-beep that signals your time is up at the end of microwaving, the appliance is no longer heating your food. So the light, which stays on during the beeps, is on for NOTHING!

I'm already flummoxed enough about my September electric bill, which was $182. Seriously, I do not know why it is so high. You'd think Rex, who is an electrical engineer, could tell me. But whenever I ask things like, "Is it the LEDs that dot the house interior like tiny red stars when we shut all the lights off? Is it the two fluorescent lights and the TV you leave on constantly out in the Quonset hut where no one ever goes?" Rex says, "Oh, those use up hardly any electricity."

I suspect he's lying.

You will say, "Make Rex pay the electric bill. That'll motivate him to find out why it's so high."

Tried that. His response? He just didn't pay it at all. I'd end up forking over hundreds of dollars after getting the disconnection warning in the mail.

I am keenly disappointed that the electric company doesn't send someone to our house to figure out if our meter is defective. They did that when we had a LOWER-than-normal bill. Clearly, there's a double standard in play.

Any advice? It will be gladly accepted, mulled and possibly followed -- by ME, anyway.

Yesterday's post

Yes, I did post yesterday (Oct. 15). And this post may say Oct. 15 at the top, but I am writing it at 1:30 a.m. on Oct. 16. So the real yesterday is Thursday the 15th. For some reason, the Oct. 15 shows up a couple entries down. It's called "The Zoe Era."  What is WITH this blog site? Why can't it get the dates right?

Anyway, scroll down, kick back, and read.

Thank you.

The Management

The Heat is On

Turned on the heat yesterday. It's very early for that -- I usually shoot for November. I was worried about the parakeets, though. It was taking them longer and longer to thaw out in the morning.

So, anybody had the swine flu yet?

Is this long enough to qualify for today's post?

X-ray vision

I heard on the radio this morning that there's a new machine that uses X-rays to scan travelers at airports. No more patdowns. The people who are watching the scans are not at the security checkpoint -- they're stashed away in another room, monitoring screens, giggling over your prosthesis or breast implants or piercings or certain unusual types of jewelry.

We're supposed to be relieved that at least they can't see our blushing faces while they're checking out our hidden, personal accoutrements.

I'm not relieved. At least when someone's patting you down, you know they're awake! These people off at the remote location could be taking a nap, for all we know, surfacing from their dreamworld just long enough to push the "OK" button on the guy with the Uzi strapped to his leg, which they didn't see, because they were enjoying their fourth REM stage of the day.

Why doesn't the government think these things through? Now the TSA will have to invest in cameras to monitor the monitors. And cattle prods to wake them up. More taxpayer money down the drain!

The Zoe Era

We had our old dog Zoe "put to sleep" in July. At age 17, she had outstripped my previous black-and-white dog Gretel, who died in 1991 at the age of 16.

We were all sad about Zoe, but it was especially hard on my husband, even though Zoe was my dog before I even met Rex. Zoe really took to Rex, and vice versa, when they met in 1995.

When I was hugely pregnant with my only child, I accused Rex of being in love with Zoe. Some might think it was just hormones, but you know what? I STILL think that! The difference between now and then is that back then, the hormones made me care!

Zoe never really had a chance with me, after my golden years with Gretel, whom I perpetually referred to as "the best dog in the world." Gretel really was perfect, if smelly, as all my friends will remember. She went to college classes with me, criss-crossed the country with me, saw me through my years of angst and craziness. Even today I still often use "gretel" in some form or other for passwords. It never occurs to me to use "zoe." Probably can't anyway, since it's only three letters!

Anyway, after Zoe died, the best I could muster was, "She was a pretty good dog." My husband would bristle. "She was a GREAT dog," he'd exclaim. To which I reply, pityingly, "You didn't know Gretel."

Anyway, two black-and-white-dog eras down, probably not more than one to come. I found myself online the other day checking out rescue dogs that look just like Gretel and Zoe. (Zoe was almost a carbon copy of Gretel, just a little smaller.)

Seems I just can't have a life without one.

BTW, the dog in the picture is Gretel. But it could just as easily be Zoe. Crummy crop job, but my mouse just would not cooperate.

How 'bout those Sox?

Man, what a heartbreaker! I sure wouldn't want to be Jonathan Buckner ... er, Papelbon, right about now.

After Sunday's game ended (L.A. 7, Red Sox 6), I immediately called the sports desk at the Press Herald and suggested "Pap smeared!" for the 80-point headline. I have been waiting for just such an opportunity.

Mike agreed that it was apt, if highly tasteless.

What I've been wondering lately is, what's going to happen if the World Series is the Angels vs. the Dodgers? Will anyone watch it outside of California? Will advertisers even bother with it? I seriously doubt anyone here on the East Coast will be staying up until 1 a.m. to watch intermural L.A. games.

It's moot, anyway. It's going to be the Yankees vs. somebody. And personally, I think the umpires in the ALDS were crooked. How could they call a perfectly clear double (Twins) a foul ball? And their strike zones were like those crazy mirrors in Perry's Nuthouse -- distorted and exaggerated.

Let's use this little breather until the World Series to get our covens together and start casting spells on Derek Jeter and A-Rod. Oh, and Hideki Matsui and Johnny Damon, the traitor. And Sabathia and Pettitte, and Posada and Rivera. Next to watching the Red Sox, seeing the Yankees lose is our favorite pastime.

Back from Yarmouth

I'm sure you're amused at the idea that I think I can actually write a blog entry every day. Well, you can wipe that smile off your face! It's going to happen! 

 I have just returned to my little Limerick (Maine) farm from Yarmouth (Maine), after two days performing butler duties for Walter, a chocolate lab, and Greta, a one-eyed Jack Russell terrier. Yarmouth is much further from Limerick than the 46-odd miles that separate them. Try light years. As I told Rex tonight (Rex is my husband, not a dog), I just do not belong there. 

It's very upscale in Yarmouth. The smell of money even overpowers the scent of the sea. I look around at shoppers at Hannaford and wonder where the poor people are. In this day and economy, the only poor people in Yarmouth are those whose homes have been foreclosed on, and since they can't afford housing anywhere else in town, they have to move away. So I'm assuming that Yarmouth's poor now are ... hmmm, Limerick's poor? 

Could be. 

 It feels good to be back in Limerick, where poverty, starting with mine, is in-your-face. We don't pull any punches here. We all hit the swap shop at the dump on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. The one thing I have refused to do is apply to the Lions Club for help with the cost of eye care and spectacles. I know those people! I don't want them discussing my finances, such as they are! 

 Whoever you are, rich or poor, male or female, old or young, regular or irregular, welcome to my new blog. For more Deb writings, check out my old blog, mylittlefarm.blogspot.com, on which I would still be writing if the blogspot high mucky-mucks would let me sign into it.