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Saturday, April 9, 2011

When the Moon Shines Over the Cow Shed...

Currently, clarity of expression is not my forte. This is a normal occurrence during the months of April-June. I'm feeling stressed to get taxes finished for my clients (and myself), I'm usually accompanying numerous soloists and music groups for festivals and competitions, as well as for juries, recitals, and concerts, and I usually have a recital of my own in May. Often I adjudicate for festivals and/or present workshops, as well. I get caught up in work and tucking in a bazillion practices and rehearsals and ultimately lose the power of speech. I'm not sure why this happens, but I think my brain says, "Hey! Enough! I can't juggle everything! Don't you dare add one more thing or I'm not speaking to you anymore!" Naturally, I don't listen--I never do--one more thing is added and my brain goes on communication hiatus. Fortunately it's a forgiving body part. We're usually back on speaking terms by July.

Earlier this week I witnessed an accident involving a car and a prairie dog. I don't think the car knows about it yet, and it made me giggle (please--do not judge--everyone knows the line between tragedy and comedy is so fine as to be nearly nonexistent). It happened this way:

Two young prairie dogs were out playing near the side of the road even though their mother had told them millions of times not to do so. Mother was busy with the other twenty-two siblings and can be forgiven for not noticing the errant two who were disregarding her repeated warnings. One delinquent prairie dog said to the the other, "We run pretty fast. I'll bet we can get to the other side of the road before those fast wheelie things come back." The other DPD said, "Well, of course we can, don't be ridiculous," and immediately propelled himself onto the pavement. The DPD sibling, not to be outdone, ran to catch up and nearly did so--just in time to see the first DPD pop 18 inches into the air after being flattened by one of those fast wheelie things. The still-alive DPD stopped short, paused for a nanosecond, then turned and ran back to the roadside thinking, "Hmmm...maybe we're not as fast as we thought we were."

Alternate ending 1: The still-alive DPD stopped short, paused for a nanosecond, then turned and ran back to the roadside thinking, "One down, twenty-two to go!"

Alternate ending 2: The still-alive DPD stopped short, paused for a nanosecond, then turned and ran back to the roadside thinking, "I'm going to need my superhero cape for this."

See...this is simply a case of live (or not) and learn.

My garden is a riot of bright yellow dandelions interspersed with gorgeous deep purple pansies. Darrin keeps threatening to kill it. I've put up signs that say, "Please do not kill the pretty yellow noxious weeds." He doesn't think it's funny. Neither do his allergies, which means I shall have to concede so Darrin can breathe again. But I think if I ever have to get married again (because Darrin will die of allergy), I'm marrying someone who can enjoy dandelions without getting stuffed up and looking like a martyr all day. Also, I want new-and-improved-spouse to be able to go running with me and not snore loudly at night and not have high cholesterol and blood pressure, poor liver and kidney function, and thyroid problems. I don't think this is too much to ask. I don't have those things, I don't snore, and I don't have allergies.

Sigh...I suppose a better solution would be to get rid of the dandelions and keep the Darrin. He's a lot more fun and actually smells better (dandelions do not smell nice).

Adam keeps trying to sleep in the entry way of our house, which sort of grosses me out because this is not an area that gets mopped often enough. The first time I found him there I thought it was odd, but Adam is growing and sleeps all the time now, so I figured maybe he was going outside but decided he was too tired and took a nap instead. But last night he went to sleep there again and this time he brought his alarm clock. Obviously this was a planned adventure. I'm going to have to talk to him to find out why he's acting like a weirdo when he has a perfectly good bed in his room (and floor, if that's what he prefers). I am seriously considering selling the boy.

And now I must go play with the ledger of one of my clients--such fun!!

Oh! And ten points to anyone who can tell me where the title of this post comes from.


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