notinKansasanymore

Yes, long posts, please. That way, I won't be the only one. Bill Nay?

At first I thought Bill Fury, because he's in Texas (hand over my heart) but our Mr. Rev. Dr. T. Strangelove admits to being single, and I believe that Mr. FuriouslyFunny is married. Let's see; we could take all of the golf courses in Texas, and eliminate them one by one. No, that won't work. Whoever you are, welcome to the party. It's largely BYOB, the pie is pretty good, and the conversation runs from stoooopid to scintillating. We like it that way. There's dancing in the kitchen on Friday nights, or whenever folks decide to take off their shoes and cut a rug. Coffee and popcorn-sprinkled ice cream are at the top of the menu, but you will also find gorp, borscht, and Wowburgers. Watch out for Tick; he may be gone in the physical world, but this is cyberspace, and that old hound will try to steal your burger if you turn your head. Adolph's is also here; the table in the back kind of reminds me of my regular place here at the Greasespot; maybe one of the booths, also; we may have to pull a couple of tables together if enough folks show up.

By the way, the cat's name is "Brother." I don't think that it reads "Brother of Satan" in the original, but we're working on a modern translation, according to usage.

speaking of projectiles from Hell, our yard cat got in the house yesterday morning. I was bringing a large stray dog into the kitchen, to lead him down to the basement (it's the only safe place to keep them while their owners are being contacted) and this cat launched himself at the dog from about six feet away. I swear, the thing went horizontal like a torpedo. Hissing black flash with teeth and claws. Dog turns out to live with cats. Dog likes and admires cats. Dog was confused. Husband tried to protect cat from dog. Husband ended up with the cat hanging by its teeth from his hand. And gyrating, still trying to get at the dog. Does anybody want a reeeeeallly sweeeeeet kittycat? He'll let you hold him in your lap, and keep your yard clear of other cats, large dogs, and anything else that he thinks he can take on. Remember the line from the second "Lord of the Rings" movie? "Come on, we can take 'em! Toss me!"

Sorry, no MotorcoachMommas here. Somebody once told me that "the detail of a hangover is to run." He actually advocated going running when your head feels like it's a projectile to Hell. Guy must've been in a cult, or sumpin'.

By the way, is anybody here going to buy Hillary's book?

Simon, you trippin'?

But it is a shame for women not to speak in the church. You go, girl.

One of my greatest sports-spectating thrills was to see Sammy Sosa break a bat in Candlestick Park, the last year the park was open; we were there for my husband's work. Now, I'm wondering if the reason some of those bat pieces flew all the way past the pitcher's mound was because they were cork! One of my former students just got drafted by the NY Yankees; he's a pitcher. I hope that he gets to pitch to Sosa next season.

If there's any justice in the world, there is a very special Hell for people like the Phoenix guy. Maybe when he ends up there, he can give our regards to VPW. Sorry for sugarcoating that; it's a bad habit of mine.

FORMER head guy in Phoenix, as of late yesterday. These people are giving folks who scoff at God more and more amunition. I have to say that even though his pre-Kindergarten teacher was wonderful, I'm a bit relieved that my son is no longer attending Catholic school.

So, when's the reunion? I might be able to host a couple of families, say, the first weekend in August (Aug. 2nd and 3rd). We could set up a flatbed in the backyard, and get Pressed Down to shake out a few tunes. (geez, are they all even still alive?) Mebbe we'd better go with a sound system, instead. There will be a tolerable number of homegrown tomatoes in the garden at that time, and the yard cat will let you hold him in your lap. But this time, let's be really sure before we say "Amen," and then let's really do it. So, should we say that the floor is open for suggestions as to places and times? I could travel on that weekend, and come to your place, if that's better. I live in Norman, OK, which is about twenty minutes from the OKC airport. The Heartland Flyer train stops here, as well. ???

Wow, talk about the sixties . . .. You folks are having a psychodelic porkodelic physiological phantasy. Just reading that makes me reach for another cup of coffee . . ..

Sogwap, I just e-mailed you. There's a garden chair warmed up for Dana. Hey, something cool happened last week. My mother-in-law did some geneaology for my side of the family; it turns out that I have Revolutionary soldiers on both Mom's and Dad's sides of the family; missionaries to the Choctaw, also beginners of some offshoot churches where they all went out to the middle of nowhere (I'm talking mid-1800s, to the woods) and built their own communities in the name of "doing their own thing" spiritually. And then, there was the time when all of the men in the family were off fighting in the Revolutionary war, and the Mom was attempting to defend her home from a raiding party of Tories; they threw her off of her porch, and it broke her hip; she was crippled for the rest of her life. A few years after the war, her second-oldest son happened to see the only surving member of that Torie raiding party, on the street in Nashville. He shot the Torie dead, right on the street, and the good people of Nashville refused to prosecute him. Also, lots and lots of Civil War soldiers, on both sides. Mostly dead, because they were all Confederates. In fact, the one thing that really surprised my mother-in-law was the fact that in all those generations, in all those family branches, there was "not a single Yankee." I guess I could have told her that.

All I know is that somewhere in Colorado are some brookies who feel loved . . .. Maybe it's a sixties thing.

Well, I did give the fish a little kiss, right on the head, before I either let them go or slipped them into the plastic bag of no return, where they were destined for the dinner table . . . does that count for the love of God in renewed-mind manifestation? Or, maybe it was my husband who renewed his mind, after I warned him that I'd been kissing fish . . ..

Miss me? I've been somewhere else. What that place lacks in telephones, it makes up for in fish. Even my four-year-old caught a salmon. I have been to the mountaintop, loShanta, and I have walked down the mountain ten or fifteen feet at a time, stopping to fish likely brooktrout holes in the stream. Mine husband was my companion in fishery, and it was good. But it sure as heck took a long time to get down that mountain, and we both took a pile of Ibuprofen that night! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. (yes, we caught fish, too.)

BrotherSimon, you take such good care of me. I was up late to work my work, as it is the work of my hands. Now, I am up early, because I have cuuuuute little kids. I am now only on my second cup of coffee, ohShanta. It is still raining, and I'd like it to stop, so that I can vacuum out the van. LoShanta Kirbyshanta. My brother e-mailed me last night; he's gone back to the NRA shooting contests. He's been back and forth living and working in two states this past year, and his scores have suffered; he is only the second-place conventional pistol shooter this year. Bummer. He once awoke to find his apartment on fire. He lived on the second floor, and access to the stairs was blocked. He jumped out of the second-story window. What did he grab, you ask? His pants? No, not my big brother. He had his Bible in one hand, and his rifle in the other. Later, standing there in his underwear as the firemen put out the house, and all of the neighbors gathered around, I don't think that he had a single regret. That's one of my favorite how-do-you-know-when-somebody-is-from-Texas stories. Excuse me; I have to go and nod off while pretending to be absorbed in Journey to Ernie, on Sesame Street. Love, niKa

I think, a good thing. I liked the way that he talked about how men and women see the world in completely different ways; at first, he saw this as a liability, but in the end, it was almost a necessity. I like how this poem makes two or three transitions like that. Dan Keyes is still the king of poetry, though: Quoth the firkin, "give me more." Wish I had the text of that one.

Rained quite a bit of the day, today, here. Gonna rain most of the day tomorrow. It's been cool and shady, and it sounds soft when you walk around outside. The outside cats are hanging around the mudroom all day, just sleeping it off, and waiting until the tall grasses at the edges of the yard are dry again; it's where they like to chase bugs. Even the bugs are under umbrellas today. The tomato plants are starting to get lots of blossoms. We can hardly wait for homegrown tomatoes. The mulberry trees have covered the ground with sweet little purple dyebombs, and there are about a billion green blackberries on the bushes. They'll be ripe in a couple of weeks, but it takes a brave soul to go in after them; our blackberry bushes have thorns the size of schoolbusses, and they can sense you coming. By the way, I heard a good poem on the radio the other day. Garrison Keillor does a short thing called "Writer's Almanac" on NPR, and about three weeks ago, on a Thursday, he read this one; maybe you'll like it. Poem: "Wedding Poem, for Schele and Phil," by Bill Holm. ***** Wedding Poem For Schele and Phil A marriage is risky business these days Says some old and prudent voice inside. We don't need twenty children anymore To keep the family line alive, Or gather up the hay before the rain. No law demands respectability. Love can arrive without certificate or cash. History and experience both make clear That men and women do not hear The music of the world in the same key, Rather rolling dissonances doomed to clash. So what is left to justify a marriage? *** Maybe only the hunch that half the world Will ever be present in any room With just a single pair of eyes to see it. Whatever is invisible to one Is to the other an enormous golden lion Calm and sleeping in the easy chair. After many years, if things go right Both lion and emptiness are always there; The one never true without the other. **** But the dark secret of the ones long married, A pleasure never mentioned to the young, Is the sweet heat made from two bodies in a bed Curled together on a winter night, The smell of the other always in the quilt, The hand set quietly on the other's flank That carries news from another world Light-years away from the one inside That you always thought you inhabited alone. The heat in that hand could melt a stone.

Next thing you know, I'll be baking you cookies, and sending you socks for Christmas.

Wahoooo! What good news. Now, be vewwy, vewwy sure that you make sure to provide every jot and tittle of whatever visitation your ex is supposed to have. Keep a log, and make records of when your daughter has telephone and in-person visitations with her Mom. Make a note of homey, family-type activities you and your daughter do together, and on what days they took place. I'm sure that you already do this record-keeping stuff, but in case not, this is the time to make sure that you can account for everything, in case somebody tries to say that you have not fulfilled your court-ordered duties. Make sure, for instance, to inform your ex (in writing, and keep a copy, as well as by telephone, and make a record of the day and time) of upcoming back-to-school activities, any illnesses, sporting events, and major milestones. Love, niKa

I was thinking this morning about Don Brunelle,and what a sweet man he was. We need to get Bill Fury up and running on this thread. Somehow, when I think of one, I can always see the other, standing next to him. And both of them with those big grins, like they've been up to something. I think they must have kept one another sane.

OhShantaShakes come in three flavors: Revelation Rasperry Manifestation Mango, and Booooooorschtberry. Each of these mouth-watering flavors is also avaliable in the LoShanta version, if you're watching your weight. I nominate the entire OhShanta line of fine foods for inclusion in the Greasespot Cafe Menu!

And don't forget OhShantaShanties, our construction company, not to be outdone by OhShantaShameless, our new line of racy underthings. And every Thanksgiving, we have the OhShantaShootout, which is really a turkeyshoot. (Does anybody else here remember turkeyshoots? They were marksmanship contests, generally held in mid-November, with the prize being a turkey.) Also, OhShantaHaunta, at Halloween, where the kids stick their hand into bowls of cold spaghetti. Maybe I need a beer and an OhShantaShot to calm me down . . ..