Life's raining irony, and I'm knee deep in sarcasm.




Blissfully Blogfull at:
http://viewnorth40.wordpress.com


Article Samples

Re: My White Trashness

Archive of my
abject bloglessness:


June-August 2008
August-November 2008
December '08-March 2009
April-August 2009
August-December 2009
January 2010

Homepage the Diligent



They love me in print at:

Havre Daily News
Montana Woman


For permission to publish my weekly/monthly column, View from the North 40, or to reproduce any website content, written or graphic, contact:
Pam Burke (that's me) at pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com, or (406) 265-7338.

Day Fifty-eight of my Bloglessness
August 8, 2008

In a random moment of clarity the other day, I realized that I've been referring to my "white trashness" but haven't clued Readers into the reasons behind this. In a first of many efforts to rectify this oversight, I've made a new link (snaps for Pam's initiative) to an article I wrote this spring, White Trash Window Treatment, and included a "truth in humor writing" analysis.

We are having growing pains of a sort here on the White Trash Estate ...


reformation is in the works at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com



Day Fifty-five of my Bloglessness
August 5, 2008

God bless my doggy, Cooper, because he's funny and gives exuberant neck hugs, and my husband because he needs it, and my 7-year-old mare because she's gonna need it if she kicks Xena again, and my new horsey, Xena, because she's sweet and is divinely pretty:

Xena at sunset.

And bless the research scientist who discovered the lazy genes because my life makes so much better sense now.


Please pass the tater chips and the remote to: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com



Day Fifty-two of my Bloglessness
August 2, 2008

Hey, has anyone seen my magic decoder ring? I got a spam today with the subject line: "Spencerian stipend lopseed stipend stealthy." I know the sender is trying to tell me something profoundly important, but without my darn top secret decoder ring I can't tell if I won the lottery, if I need to save the world from evil-doers attempting to make weapons of mass destruction from skunk oil and nitrous oxide, or if Timmy fell in the well and I need to go fetch Gramps.

I guess if you see my ring anywhere, just let me know.


The stupid fate of the world is in my hands again at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com



Day Forty-six of my Bloglessness
July 27, 2008

I got my new horse Xena -- and yes, she is the Warrior Princess -- shod yesterday. I had the camera ready and everything, but since it was her first shoeing ever, I couldn't take very good pictures while manning the halter rope. Sorry. As a consolation prize, I'll give you this:

An image of the tail-end of a hail storm that blew through about 45 minutes after the shoer left. I would've gotten a picture sooner but was working on getting all the windows closed so the hail was less likely to break one -- and the window above the bed was jerry-rigged open from the outside, but I finally gave up on trying to rectify that problem and just threw a blanket over the bed to soak up the rain driving in between the panes. John had rushed the car to the barn and was stuck in there during the whole hail storm. Once it passed we had clear blue skies the rest of the day -- and 3-4 hours of hail berms in the shady areas.

On another note, we have another website besides this one and are in the process of switching to a different domain host because it's cheaper and, as John explained the technical stuff to me: Triangle is blah blah blah blah, so we needed to switch even if it wasn't cheaper, and since Triangle notified us this week that they were blah blah blah blah, he decided to go ahead and blah blah blah blah our blah blah. Unfortunately, because it was a Friday, the blah blah will probably take until Monday or Tuesday to switch over the blah blah blah.

My translation: Oh, LOOK! Since he had to sit down and work out some other, uh, technical stuff, I got my North 40 email set up!!


I may be selfish and blogless, still, and weeping over that, but I do have this: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com



Day Forty-three of my Bloglessness
July 24, 2008

Don't look now -- I said DON'T look!! Just act like you're scratching your nose, or cleaning your mouse, and casually glance to the left of the screen. There's a new link to some article samples. I know! It's totally weird to have, like, MORE writing on this site, but there it is for all the world to see -- as ridiculous as it is. I just so want to tell everyone at the party that it's there so everyone can turn around at once and point and laugh. That would so be, like -- hey, are you staring?! Don't STARE, or it'll notice you looking! Gawd! You are so embarrassing. Next thing I know you'll be going over there to visit it and -- hey, get back here! Don't be leaving me for that stupid LINK! HEY!! ...


Whatever. When you're done I'll still be here at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Forty-two of my Bloglessness
July 23, 2008

News of the day:

Kevin Johnson, the top Microsoft Corp. executive in charge of Windows and Web operations, is stepping down to run Juniper Networks Inc. (what's that? exactly my point) because of his failed attempt to acquire Yahoo Inc. (which actually made a deal with Google just to rub Microsoft's nose in the, uh, dirt). On the other hand, Richard Syron, Chairman and CEO of the beached and floundering Freddie Mac mortgage firm, is waiting for board approval for a big fat ol' $20 million compensation payment - and is guaranteed $8.8 million even if they think his perfomance was sub-par (um, duh) - AND is guaranteed $19.1 million dollars if they fire him.

Question of the day:

Do you think Johnson would've gotten a big fat ol' bonus if he had figured out a way to convince the government to pay Microsoft for their losses and throw a few dollars worth of bones to their customers?

Secondary question of the day:

How pissed do you think Johnson is because "life just isn't fair!!"

Pam's answers of the day:

Yes, because as Johnson said (in my version of his reality): "life just isn't fair"; and No matter what, Johnson's degree of pissed-ness is still considerably less than mine that my tax dollars are being mis-spent.


We are practicing breathing - iiinnnn with the gooood aaair, oouuut with the baaaaad at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Thirty-nine of my Bloglessness
July 20, 2008

I have a dirty little secret: I am in love with a lawnmower.

Not that I have a lawn, mind you. I'm too lazy to have a lawn - all that work to make the grass grow, just so I can go to a lot more work to cut it - and throw it away. The very idea leaves me overheated and exhausted.

Not that I don't like lawns. In fact, I adore them. Vast expanses of green with varieties of decorative accents. I would sit and play out on a lawn, and pet it and hold it, too. But the water at the White Trash Estate has a lot of this:

Sodium

And the ground is covered in this:

Yes, rocks of all sizes and types. Big ones that just sit in the way.

"Little" rocks, gravel and sand for roads.

And assorted, multi-purpose oversized rocks for jobs like this.

So, yeah, a lawn would be a lot of work. However, things still grow here, unfortunately, wherever there is enough foot traffic to disturb the earth, but not enough to beat it into submission, what grows is this:

Cheat grass

Foxtail

These weeds are particularly lovely because they stick in your socks and pant legs and your dog, and they work their way into the weave of the fabric and under your dog's skin and they irritate and scratch, and in the dog's case cause a wound.

Because of all the rock and lumpy terrain I use a DR Trimmer/mower (this is not meant to be an endorsement, just a statement of fact that the thing holds up to a LOT of "off road" duty). But this year, my DR was not functioning for a while (apparently you have to clean the air filter on occasion, go figure), and then another while (because belts need replacing on occasion, weird huh).

So the weeds got away from me. We were being driven to aggravation by all the ankle high pokies. I found myself wishing one day that I could vacuum up all the seeds and then it occurred to me that my mother-in-law left behind a mower that has a bag - what a concept!! It's even self-propelled, so it's only one short evolutionary step from being a Roomba for my yarda.

I've been filling and throwing away bag after bag of weed seeds and every time I mow or dump that mower bag, I smile with a depth of satisfaction that is marred only slightly by the fact that the rocks prevent me from dropping the blade onto the deck and getting every last seed of evil grass-weeds.

I don't want you to think that the rocks are all bad. The White Trash Manor is liberally decorated both inside and out with "collectable" rocks that we're constantly picking up and packing home - jasper, agate, quartz, and various "pretty ones."

Here's a sampling of what's currently decorating the front step:

A milky agate with the coveted fern-like pattern.

And two very different petrified wood samples.


But ya can't burn it or smoke it at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Thirty-six (Part II) of my Bloglessness
July 17, 2008

I know I just made an entry, but I had other unrelated things that I decided I really want to talk about also:

I donated blood on Tuesday, and I have to say that the Red Cross hires the best nurses on the planet. I just wanted to tell them that they could go ahead and take two or three pints of blood while I'm here. I have no bruise, no ache, just a bitty red spot where the needle broke the skin. AND they fed me wonderful fruit, caramel rolls, and juice after I got done. Snaps for the Red Cross Nurses!

And then last night I was sleeping merrily away when -- bang -- I'm awake at 1:45 a.m. Groggily, I wonder if I was dreaming a rapid-fire banging, or if it was real, and just as I'm letting my mind wallow back into sleepfullness. Bang bang -- from the direction of the old rest area about a 1/4 mile from our house, and -- snort! -- from the horses in our barn about 60 feet from the bedroom. Grrreeeat ... someone is down at the highway rest area blowing off fireworks, and it's closing-time on a Wednesday, so the likelihood of this being drunken idiots is pretty high. I'm guessing the likelihood of a grassfire is pretty high too. I wait a few more minutes -- bang -- dammit. Then a few more minutes and -- whiz bang bang bang -- yeah, that's the sound that woke me in the first place.

I roll out of bed and call the sheriff's office. I (and the neighbors) put up with people coming out until 4 a.m. on the Fourth of July, but this is a week night well beyond the Fourth -- and I'm crabby.

But John remembers that his dad's motorhome is parked down by the highway and worries that the fireworks sound closer than the rest area so we put on some clothes and grab the dog, who goes everywhere with us, and we head out in the car to investigate. We find four teenaged town-boys blowing off the fireworks at the rest area. They seem sober. Through our open window we hear one of them say as we pull up, "Oh! It's an unmarked car." So John stops and says, "No, we're not cops. You guys are awfully loud down here and people live here, y'know." And one of the kids replies with dumbfounded openness and not the least hint of sarcasm: "Really?" John's like, "Yeah really. Over there, and there, and there, and we live right over there." (All of us in a 1/8 - 1/4 mile radius.) You could see the "Ooops" on all of their faces by the glow of headlights.

And then I say it, a part of my brain is yelling NO! and waving its arms frantically, but I say it: "Yeah, and we're sleeping people who have to get up in the morning to work." And OH MY GAAWD!! Could I sound any older?!! I lamely finished with: "So we just wanted to give you guys the heads up that the cops are on the way." They were polite young idiots who were gone before we even pulled into our approach.

I should just order a walker now. I think I can Google it. I'll have all my teeth pulled -- except the two I just spent $800 saving -- so I can gum my food and look snaggle-toothed. I'll start calling everyone Sonny and Missy, especially since this morning I drove past the rest area -- littered with the spent fireworks garbage -- on my way to work and thought: "Should've told those young idiots to clean up their mess before they left." I'm doomed.


I'll run my burger and fries through the juicer at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Thirty-six of my Bloglessness
July 17, 2008

The girls went on another unexpected adventure today -- the second in less than a month. They haven't seen this much action in decades -- during that beach incident. Don't make me relive the horror.

I have this weird working life since I twisted off from responsible adultness last year and left my office job for a life in which I could breathe. For the past five months or so I've worked mornings only at the local paper for pocket change, no benies, and positively the best work experience all the way around that I've ever had. But in June, a friend of mine who is HR at a local company asked if I would hire on part-time temp in her office afternoons to help her change their personnel filing system around. I get paid decent money to shuffle papers from a two-file system that the company has outgrown into a four-file system of bureaucratic artistry.

The thing is, the new-to-me office is PROFESSIONAL. The people are all very NICE, in a WELL-RUN business that is just as concerned about keeping its employees happy as it is the customers. BUT this is a professional company in all ways. I'm not knocking it, really, it's a great company and I would love to work there if/when I have to take on full-time work, but every time I walk in the door I expect to hear this "Sesame Street" tune burst from the cosmos: "One of these things is not like the others, / One of these things just doesn't belong, / Can you tell which thing is not like the others / By the time I finish my song?"

So today I park in my far corner of the company parking lot, thinking that the White Trashmobile needs a bath, get out of the car and walk just far enough away from the car to make it seem a little odd if I were to go back and get in again and start wiggling around -- because I've realized that my pants zipper has opened a few inches. I apparently didn't get the little tabby-thingy in the locked position, and as this pair will do, the zipper gaped open a bit.

No problem, my shirt is untucked and it's long enough to cover the gaped-open part, plus I'm carrying a pop so I nonchalantly crook my arm to put the pop in front of me, kind of low like, so I'm covered. Yeah, I am so cool as I walk into the foyer, smile at the receptionist and stroll my way down the loooong walkway past the pleasant faces in the cubical township.

About halfway to my destination I feel this sudden pop at my sternum. "What the--?" And then I swear I hear metal sliding like two sword blade edges against one another -- sshhhink -- and in the next instant the front clasp of my bra slides apart. And the two cups begin slinking their traitorous way to the nearest armpit leaving the girls to fend for themselves against the air conditioning.

Now, if this had happened any other day I would've done something subtle like take a drink from my pop with both hands holding the pop. No pop? Just cross my arms. But I do have a pop, and it is covering my failing zipper and also because of the zipper I can't just lift my arms and cause my shirt to ride up. I settle for letting the pop continue running interference for the zipper and using my other hand to fiddle with the front lapel of my shirt to get it pulled away from the girls -- who are nearly free of their silk-lined, padded confines.

Yes, I did make it to my friend's office, but she wasn't there to play look out for me while I rearranged, so I had to settle for zipping in her office, and making my way down a second, more secluded, hallway to the bathroom with my arms awkwardly crossed over the girls who were completely free and dancing about, whilst my armpits were enjoying an underwire lift and a welcome covering from the air conditioning.

Fortunately, I made it, cussing under my breath, into a bathroom stall without meeting anyone, and the clasp was only unhooked, not broken. No harm, no foul.

But, for the record, had this happened at the paper, I would've been very comfortable hollering "Holy Crap! We got ourselves a wardrobe malfunction!!" as I blatantly ran to the bathroom and listened to the laughter through the inappropriately thin door as I righted all wardrobe mechanism failures. The re-telling of the story and the explorations of all the possible embarrassing alternatives would've kept us entertained for a couple days at least.


I hope I never have to go get a real job at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Thirty-four of my Bloglessness
July 15, 2008

So yeah, I got to bed before 10 p.m. last night like I'd hoped for. Unfortunately, just before going to bed my husband mentioned that little tidbit of news about the Senate deciding the federal government could use my tax dollars to bail out Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. I've been, um, not happy about that since I read it in the Daily, so I was awake until after 11 writing and re-writing (in my head that was tossing on the pillow) poignant letters to my congressmen. Then woke up at 5 a.m. on cue. But of course, this was one of the mornings I couldn't get back to sleep ... because I was worried about this week's column ... that I needed to polish and send this morning ... which was why I wanted to get to sleep early ... you see the cycle of insanity, right?

Today's column was about that tasty bit of news from the American Academy of Pediatrics about their brilliant new recommendation to give adult cholesterol meds to kids as young as 8-years-old. I am a bit torqued over this news, on many, many, various and assorted levels - most of which are, at heart, about 1) stupidity and 2) unethical behavior. Most of the time, my columns are about everyday topics or the latest bit of inanity in my life and the occasional offbeat or off-color perspective about world happenings. Not because the hard-hitting stuff can't be poked fun at, but rather because I'm fairly shallow for the most part, plus the bigger issues that I get cranked up about make me so angry I just get some kind of coherence-paralysis that I vocalize with all the eloquence of a Tourette's sufferer.

That said, I'm creatively frustrated by the fact that I can't get my act together enough to write about the occasional hard-hitting issues unless my Wild Muse stops by to point out something about an issue that's hilarious when I first hear/read about the issue. I want to be the master of my craft dammit! This time, I was determined to make it happen. I wracked my brain over the topic and the approach all last week and researched (which I actually do a lot more of than one would think for a humor column, by a blonde, about nothing - in a hickish, un-"Seinfeld" way). I agonized and ranted and wrote and reminded myself that it's a humor column and cut lots of copy and rewrote. ... Rinse. Repeat.

When I sent the piece to My Editor this morning, I was too tired and mind-boggled to know if it was good, bad or indifferent. In fact, usually I have John read one of the first solid drafts, to give me a fresh eyes - and to give me the OK if I'm writing something potentially embarrassing about him, like when he refused to capture the creepy horsehair worm out of the rain barrel and I told the entire community, which he grew up in, that he's squeamish and hinted that he might be on the verge of squealing like a little girl. Anyhow, he didn't get to read it first. My first public feedback was from Annette My Editor who read it this morning and gave me a standing O for it. I was so tired that I got misty-eyed from the praise.

Yes, I'm a tard, but I think I'll be able to sleep tonight. Certainly, I'm relieved enough to write this long and blah blah blah entry about my wee little writer's life.


Fresh inanities daily, 12 for the price of a dozen at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Thirty-three of my Bloglessness
July 14, 2008

I had planned to write about my new love afair with a lawnmower - I went outside to do chores and take a specific picture ... or two. I got caught up in the moment, so I'll give you a visual taste of my evening sky as viewed from the North 40:

The view to the southeast across the coulee.

The view to the west-southwest past my barn.

The images aren't spectacular, but I hope they give you a sense of how quiet and serene it was outside.

Now, I'm going to rush to bed because I've had far too many late nights/early mornings and I have gobs of stuff to get done this week. (Preview moment: I'm going to Lewistown this weekend to help my sisterfriends run the driving show there - uh, yeah, horse cart and buggy driving that is.)

Sleep loose ...


that's the way we do it at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Twenty-Nine of my Bloglessness
July 10, 2008

Another visit to the Periodontist today. I've been given temporary full custody of my teeth and gums, pending good behavior and a positive follow up visit in two months. As a condition of my custody I must brush both very delicately with an ultra soft toothbrush and not use those badboys to bite into the likes of carrots, corn on the cob, and apples. What the hell kind of dentist tells you to stay away from fruits and vegetables? I didn't ask about fudgecicles. I was afraid he'd give me a big fat NO on those too!!

I have to confess: I got my July issue of Montana Woman, and have to say that I'm thrilled! It was great not only to see my column in such good company and not just to see my name on the cover, but also to see the magazine had a full page eventing ad on the back cover!! John and I were taking a break from patting me on the back and I looked down at the magazine where I'd plopped it onto the coffee table (too tired to set it down, you know, from the patting myself on the back stuff) and gasped - one of those throaty gasps that happens when your stomach drops down and your lungs are sucked into the void. "Ohmigawd - Look!" I said to John as I held the ad up for him to see. I knew he was thinking it was "Practical Horseman" so I had to explain: "No - it's my 'Montana Woman' and it has an eventer on the back cover. How cool is that! [insert John's blank stare here] It's The Event at Rebecca Farm! in Kalispell!" He gave me the "you've been dumped on your head too many times look," which I countered with a "don't you understand anything?" look.

Now I'm thinking of making a mobile out of it so it spins flashing my name on the cover and then the jumper, and I can say: "Ooooooo, I'm on the coooverrr! Oh, look - a horse! Oooooo, I'm on the coooverr! Oh, look - a horse! Ooooo ... . " Wonder how long he'll tolerate that?

While I'm confessing: I've come to the conclusion that Door is too plain. You remember Door don't you, I introduced you last time.


I'll keep you posted on that at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Twenty-Five of my Bloglessness
July 6, 2008

For your reading pleasure, the Sunday evening recap of the holiday weekend events ...

My weekend actually started at 10:30 a.m. on July 3 when I left work to drive 110 miles to see the Periodontist Fairy who removed my partial mouth cast and the stitches from the roof of my mouth. Yay me -- I don't have to chew with my open anymore! And, I can eat fudge bars pain free with only minimal caution not to disrupt the graft site below my front teeth! On a sad note, later in the day the belt-thingy that runs the spinning-head-unit, that holds the plastic cutting-doohickeys on my DR Trimmer-Mower died. Ah well, I needed a healthy seed crop of cheat grass and mustard weed to brighten the place up.

First thing in the morning on the Fourth of July, I got to use the forklift to fetch a brand spanking new round bale of hay for my incarcerated horse, Xena (yes, as in the Warrior Princess, not to be confused with her brown herd-mate, Jilly the Petulant Princess, a.k.a. Veruca Salt). The ditch hay was cut and baled to perfection by my hardworking neighbors -- snaps for Larry and Rick.

We went out to the park (which, to locals, means we went out to Beaver Creek Park) to have a family picnic lunch. The campground the niece and family were in was alongside the creek and secluded, good for camping pleasure -- and in full sun during mid-day, good for sweating the pores clear. So we all sat huddled next to the trees and shrubs to get what shade was available (too bad my DR was out of commission, I could've cleared more seating IN the trees with that bad boy, alas ...). We ate and BS'ed, and I wished that I had brought a change of clothes so I could go sit in the creek with the tweenagers.

It was 95 degrees out when we got back home (the low-country). The plan was to run back into town to watch the fireworks display -- a big decision for us since that would involve staying up past our bedtime. Wild, I know. But at about 7:30 p.m. I went out to fetch Xena in for the evening and realized that a storm was moving in on us. I got her fed and watered and tarped the new hay bale so it wouldn't get rain soaked and possibly moldy. I rushed back to the house to shut electronics down and we decided to put vehicles in the big shop. By the time we got to the shop (80 yds away) the wind was howling -- an unfortunate curlew was trying to fly to safety but was getting hurled to the next county. I hope wherever he touched down he was safe. We got the shop doors shut just as the wind kicked up a notch and the horizontal rain hit.

We stayed in the shop with the walkthrough door open watching the storm pelt our home, trees, barn, shed, corrals, etc. fully expecting any or all of them to blow away or get struck by lightning, but everything survived. Well, one thing didn't. When I got back to the house (after the initial blast of storm), I realized that the tarp had blown off the hay bale and was tangled in the fence. I went back out to flirt with the lightning and wrangled the tarp into the shed as much for Xena who must've felt under attack as it was to save the tarp. Xe was a little cranked, but was willing to go back to her shelter, good girl that she is. Rained half the night on my untarped bale. Goody. In lieu of fireworks we got a spectacular display of Mother Nature. Billowing dust, sandblasting, driving rain, and a kickin' light and sound show. No hail, but you can't have everything.

Saturday was spent painting my front door and trim and editing a psychology dissertation - not mine (not surprising) and not about me (surprising). And today I finished the door -- including replacing the window, which is what started the whole project in the first place -- doing laundry, and finishing the dissertation edits.

The crowning glory of my weekend -- better than the big girl edits, better than the clean underwear and better than being able to eat in public again -- is this:

My front door!

It used to be -- for almost 20 years -- primer gray, but I decided it was time for it to bust some moves. Readers, meet Door. Door, meet the world, baby!


Shakin' it up at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Twenty-One of my Bloglessness
July 2, 2008

One of my very favorite things in the whole wild world is irony. So how funny do I think it is that for the first time ever a U.S. president, former President Bill Clinton, came to visit Havre, the North 40's hometown, AND our state Senator Jon Tester has brought Border Patrol and Homeland Security leaders to Havre for a remote senate hearing -- all in the same year that our town is getting a road overhaul and looks like this:

Hwy 2 through Havre, July 2, 2008

Hwy 2 through Havre, July 2, 2008

Oh, I think it's too funny to go unmentioned. I've had to deal with surprise company during a major mucking out of my house when my house looked much like this ... but I only wished I had a backhoe to clean out the living room.

The fuzzy splotchies are bug splatters on my car windshield -- clear evidence that bug season is in full swing here ... also clear evidence that I was taking pictures while driving through town. Hey, I don't have a cell phone to blame for my erratic driving. I had to do something to fit in with the other crazies. It's called driving with the normal flow of traffic, look it up if you don't beleive me. (If you do look it up, tell me what it says, K?)

By the by, I am celebrating that my first article in Montana Woman is out on the magazine stands today(!!).


I feel like a big girl at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Seventeen of my Bloglessness
June 28, 2008

Today's post is a multi-categorical number accented with a dazzling array of third person references and a kickin' new set of post-operative themes.

Observation: Do not give a retainer to a fidgeter. Even though she is 43 years old, rather than 13, she will learn to use her tongue to pop the retainer off the roof of her mouth and proceed to 1) use her tongue to rattle the retainer against her teeth at varying speeds while fluctuating the tone with pursed to widened lips; 2) use her tongue to spin and rotate the retainer while gaping open her big, fat maw; and 3) tuck the retainer vertically under her upper lip to give herself the appearance of having gigantic buck-teeth and continually say: "Kwewee waggik" -- laughing each time, even though no one else can tell she's saying: "Skwewy wabbit." She sounds perfectly Elmer Fuddish in her head.

Issue: Trying to chew food with a fragile gum-cast on both the front and back sides of one's bottom front teeth, and with a retainer taking up space on the roof of one's mouth, causes one to chew with her mouth flapping open. And that stupid gland under the tongue continually squirts saliva across the room so one can only eat at home, isolated, in the living room where she can maintain a clear line of fire for 10 feet in front of herself.

Irritation: Sutures in one's mouth start itching after three days of healing. They cannot be scratched. Aaaargh!

Advice: When one is driving the forklift back and forth down a rocky gravel road, one should observe that the forklift does not have suspension, therefore, one should wear appropriate safety apparel.

Hope: One hopes that when the doctor said that the patient could resume non-strenuous activity after four days that he also meant operating a forklift -- including driving it down a bumpy road while steering with one hand and using the other hand/arm to wrangle "the girls" before one of them got flop-sprained.


Even an A-cup needs proper restraint at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Fifteen of my Bloglessness
June 26, 2008

I have a weird fascination with written mistakes: typos, grammar errors, spelling errors, anything in which the writer says something other than what was intended. (I'd have a fascination with shoes or cars or something more mainstream, but I'm too non-American-consumerist, or I'm just plain too cheap and thus I live my life of White Trashness.)

What was I saying? Oh, written errors - I saw this headline today: "Name of teen swept away by river." Logically, we know that the teen was swept away by the river and the title should be read as: "Name of teen who was swept away by river." Or clearer yet: "Name disclosed of teen who was swept away by river."

With all due respect to this teen, his family, and the gravity of the incident, that's not what the title says. It says that the teen's name was swept away by the river -- and I love the imagery of this, the fantastical, fictional, metaphorical possibilities.

Imagine if a river could wash away your name, or if you could scrub it off in the shower. How could this happen? Why would it happen? What are the ramifications? What would you be called? How could you get a name again?


If my name could wash away in the river, could I plant a letter, or scatter seeds of the alphabet, and grow a new name? at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Fourteen of my Bloglessness
June 25, 2008

I had to have surgery on a recessed gum yesterday -- a skin graft taken off the roof of my mouth and inserted into a surgically manufactured pocket in my gum. That was a lot of fun and I was doing fine until the Novocain wore off and then it ached a tad ... in a throbbing, face-cramping kind of way. The fun continues today ...

Mostly just trying to figure out how to eat -- my favorite pasttime. My biggest problem seems to be that I only had fudgecicles and not ice cream to spoon feed past the surgical site -- which apparently shouldn't be biting into a fudgecicle. I'm definitely fixing that problem tomorrow because one errant bite bumped a sore area and, according to the doc, that isn't conducive to proper healing, plus it hurt -- plus I'm out of fudgecicles.

I'm looking really sweet from this procedure. Feeling sexy. The doc gave me a retainer to use as a cap over the wound/sutures on the roof of my mouth where he removed the skin graft, and he applied a puddy "cast" over the sutures in my gum under my two bottom front teeth. Now I have a lisp from the retainer and the "cast" makes me look like I'm chewing snoose. Or in Hollywood parlance, I have a lisp like Dennis Quaid, but I look like Billy Bob Thornton in "Sling Blade" -- I'd make comparisons to my own gender, but frankly, other women never get this bad, and certainly not Hollywood women ... I may have to run in tonight for the ice cream to help with this depression.


Rumors of my blogfullness have been greatly exaggerated at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Twelve of my Bloglessness
June 23, 2008

Speaking of things that you can View from the North 40, did anyone within the sound of my bloglessness see the 5-story tall Macy's ad of David Beckham, English Soccer champion, mega-buck import of the year. He's advertising Armani underwear ... and nothing else but a fab-looking hot body and, well, his obvious, personal, man-package bulging under the underwear up there on the side of the Macy's building in San Francisco. And I mean, the entire side of the building.

When I first saw a photo of the ad I was, like, all: "ooooh, baby," and then in the next nanosecond I was: "Whoa-ho-ho, ha ha ... ha ha ha ... [snort] ... hah." Because his digitally enhanced junk is a full one-story tall and lookin' like he's either got an athletic cup on or half an idea to get a whole lot of somethin'-somethin' goin' on later with the missus ... because his junk is bulging ONE-STORY TALL.

I don't know what kind of family that hot young Beck grew up in, but my family? we'd be standing there on the street corner pointing and laughing for a good half-hour if we were in San Francisco for the, uh, unveiling of, uh, this ad.

"Now that [accented with a full pointing gesture from fingertip to shoulder] could poke your eye."

"Shoot, that could poke your windshield out."

"Shut up! Don't say 'shoot'! That thing could kill us."

"Hey, Pam, maybe you should do an Armani bra ad so they could make you look like you have breasts."

"Too bad there's nothing they can do to make you look like you have a brain, dork."

"I'm no dork - THAT's a dork."

"Yup, that's a colossal dork."

"That's like the King Kong of dorks scaling the side of that building."

"What the --"

"Look! The wind flapping that sign makes it look like he's -- oh! That's just wrong!"

"Don't let the dog see it do that! I can't get him to stop humping his blanket as it is!!"

"Hey, is anyone else up for a coffee break?"

"Not as up as HE is, but I could go for a cup."

"A 'cup' like HIS cup? There isn't enough junk in the collective Burke-family jewel case to fill that cup."

...


Just hanging out, so to speak, at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Eleven of my Bloglessness
June 22, 2008

Just so y'know -- we're not only about fun and games and yuckin' it up here at the North 40 -- some days get pretty National Geographic around here, with an emphasis on graphic. No, I'm not running around without my top on, well, OK, sometimes I am, but so far no pictures (you're welcome), but check out the pictures John took the other morning (below). This hungry critter was in the "yard" (that undelineated area of common use in the house/barn/corral/shop/driveway/shade tree vicinity at White Trash Central -- which is to say, within 70' of our home).



He's a western hognose snake -- a rare, non-venomous snake that eats toads, salamanders, and, yes, frogs. We ran an article about this type of snake in the paper last Monday. On Thursday, John heard Cooper-the-Super-dog barking oddly outside so he went to investigate and found this guy (or girl, John didn't ask) who was so intent on gulping down this frog that s/he stuck around long enough for John to get the camera and snap some pretty spectacular shots.

How's that for coincidence?! Creepy-cool and ...


mmm-mmm, fang lickin' good at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Eight of my Bloglessness
June 19, 2008

I read an article today in Newsweek's online edition which explained that having a large number of bumper stickers and decals on a vehicle is a predictor of the likelihood the driver will display road rage while out touring said stickers on the road. This is true whether the general theme of the applied art is "I heart kitties and bunnies" or "I heart Assault with a side of Intent to Kill." The stickers are just a measure of how much that driver values personal space, the amount of personal space the driver requires, and the exuberance with which the driver will defend that space.

Incredibly interesting. I decided to file the article under "Research" which is what I do to pretend that saving even the most inane information is actually professional. During this cut and paste process, I finally noticed the title of the article: "Bumper Sickers = Road Rage" - uh, yeah, that's a direct quote and not a typo.

We made a similar error at the Daily a few months ago. Bill Clinton was in town stumping for Hillary during the primaries - this was a huge deal because our town is pretty small tomatoes in the large scheme of the U.S., and pretty much just a dirt speck on that small tomato compared to the world. Still, we are the only hometown paper, and we were rushing to get a bunch of last-minute Clinton news in before we were 2 hours behind deadline for the second day in a row for all reasons Clintonian. The headline read that day: "Clinton tauts Hillary's experience." Yup, we had a not-real word too. And we caught a ration of crap over it, too. (By the by, we see the word "tout" everywhere now as if we are being taunted.)

Respectfully, I suggest that Newsweek fixes the error thusly: "Bumper Sickers = Road Gags."


problem solvers rule at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com


Note from Me: Too funny!! The Newsweek editors/blog editor fixed the title error during the time that I've been writing and posting this entry, but notice the name of the article in the address box of your browser. Still Gotcha! They also added a photo - please notice the "I heart Montana" sticker at the top! Now I'm totally afraid to leave the North 40!!



Day Seven of my Bloglessness
June 18, 2008

Holy wild ball, bat man, duck!!

We went to our 12-year-old niece's fast pitch softball game tonight. She's in the fifth- and sixth-grades league, which I believe is also called the 3- to 5-foot-tall league or the 60- to 140-pound league. Just like in her basketball league, there's a considerable difference in sizes in these kids, but at least with fast pitch you don't see a 5-foot-tall "Amazon" child guarding a 3-foot-tall 50-pounder like a cartoon sasquatch looming over its cowering prey.

On the other hand, getting up to bat was like volunteering to hold the balloon with your teeth in a knife throwing show on amateur night at the Beer Bong Palace. Those batters just didn't know what path the ball was going to take when it was flung their way -- or when the feeling would return to the impact zone. Mind you, it wasn't too dangerous when the gnats were pitching. Some of those girls were so tiny they could barely get the ball to the plate, and to get the ball across the plate they obviously had to harness some wild energies in the atmosphere. The good news is that the ball would only hit the batter as hard as gravity could pull it back to earth. The bad news is, everyone takes turns in all the positions -- I believe because it Democratically assures that everyone sucks to an acceptably similar degree.

Some of those bigger girls could really put some heat to the ball -- with no better control, just more speed and stinging power. One lanky pitcher on the niece's team could really smoke the ball in there, usually right into the batter, and thank God I say. We were in the "nearly behind home plate" section and I was afraid the ball might hit the chain link so hard it would scare me into spilling my pop. Lucky for us, though, the batters weren't very quick on their feet, and they stopped most of those wild pitches.

One poor, itty-bitty wisp of a batter on the opposing team really wanted to get a hit against this pitcher, but she was so flinchy after seeing three of her teammates allowed to walk for getting struck (but having to be carried), that she'd start ducking before the ball left the pitcher's hand. In her defense though, the catcher and the high school jock summer-ump were diving only a heartbeat after she did. Of course, no one knew which way the ball was going, so people were flinging themselves everywhere. "Duck and cover! Duck and cover!!" I heard the umps talking later about building a bunker.

I supposed this is why they hold the games at the ball field behind the local hospital. Smart.


Rumors of blogfullness are starting ...
we're prepping for a party, at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Four of my Bloglessness
June 15, 2008

Can a mind have Feng Shui? If it can, mine doesn't. Today, I've felt like something has rearranged my "inner furniture" and I'm continually running into chairs that shouldn't be there and putting my water glass down where the table isn't, but should be. Y'know, metaphorically speaking ... because this is an analogy.

And as I wind down my day, still feeling indefinably weird, I have remembered: the reason I was up at 5 a.m. (taking a stroll through the morning dew with my dog and my new horse and roughly one billion new friends of the mosquito persuasion) is because I couldn't get back to sleep after waking from a bad dream at 3 a.m. A dream in which I died. I DIED! From a blow to the head!! From a hostile person with a baseball bat!! I woke up and immediately started EDITING the horror out of the scene, of course. By 5 a.m. I had reduced the tragedy to a stinging patch of skin on my forearm, where I blocked the blow from a plastic wiffle bat, and a final battle of name calling with my attacker - which I won.

Being a writer comes in handy sometimes. I just hope I'm writer enough to get myself out of any further brouhahas tonight. In fact, I hope we skip the blood scenes tonight and I just write myself into winning an Olympic gold medal in Eventing this summer. Right on! Ride on! Write! On!


Feng that in your Shui, ya big bully, at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day Two of my Bloglessness
June 13, 2008

I have a new hero: Dr. Katherine P. Rankin, scientist extraordinaire, who studied -- are you ready for this? -- sarcasm. How COOL is she?! Dr. Rankin made an MRI of sarcasm, or rather the brains of people who were recognizing sarcasm as it occurred (these are people I could love and cherish). I have no idea how she did that because when I got an MRI, all my doctor said was, "Yes, you have a brain ... " Thanks, doc. You can read the article by Dan Hurley, here, at the New York Times.

Stop laughing, I can read the big words in the Times. Plus, they don't really know I'm there, White Trashin' up the place, and honestly if they didn't want me to visit and bandy about their good name then they'd have some kind of technology to protect them from hicks. It could happen.

Mostly, I just wanted to check in, make note of the fact that I AM STILL BLOGLESS, but I'm OK with that, really, because we have HTML to get us through. And, I wanted to tuck you in and give you a quick kiss g'night. Sleep tight ...


don't let the bedbugs bite at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



Day One of my Bloglessness
June 12, 2008

Yes, I know that this entry title is arbitrary because I have, technically speaking, been blogless all my life ... and, of course, I had no official start date for this blog. But yesterday I got frantic about the technical difficulties, then I got that bone-weary resignation (which is NOT the same as "pouty attitude" so just don't even go there) and I came up with this idea. "This" being a quicky site I'm throwing together so I have some kind of North 40 venue for all the adoring fans I expect to come pouring in now that I'm being seen in both the Havre Daily News and Montana Woman magazine. How awesome do I feel to be loved in print ... by at least two people.

Oh, back to the title/date thing. I am resigned to making do (because the hardy folks here at White Trash Central do believe in the liberal application of innovation and creativity to solve life's problems). And I declare this the first day that I would've/should've/could've had a blog ... but don't. I'll throw a party when I have a real blog where people can comment and everything, and you'll be invited! In the meantime, if you feel the need to email me, do so at my "home address" saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com. Please put a non-spam, non-stalker-ish note in the subject line because my in-box has been getting hit hard by the sexual pleasure/adequacy and money swindler folks lately and I've been using the delete button a little too quickly because of them. Oh, and remember to hit "refresh" so that the newest stuff downloads.

As for the nature of my quick fix, I used to create Web sites, until the technology surpassed me like a high-speed super-commuter train whipping past a steam engine. For one second I really revved the engine saying, "I think I can. I think I can" keep up with technology. It was a cutely optimistic moment, then I decided, ah screw it, and I turned in my techno-nerd badge. But, skills are skills, and they do come in handy, so here I am writing my own HTML coding again.

Hmmm, I always hated it when I was a kid that I was supposed to be grateful. Like, while choking down some hideous meal like liver and onions and burnt brussels sprouts, "Be grateful because some kids don't have anything to eat." I got brave enough once to tell my mom that I'd be happy to box up this meal and send it to them, and I'd go hungry that night. We'll not talk about the repercussions for having a "smart mouth" (and, yes, it worsened the situation to say something about a "stupid mouth"). All that said, I feel the need to comment that we should all be grateful that I could fix this problem with HTML and not duct tape or bailing twine.


I'm pretty handy with a Swede saw, too, at: saddlesore(at)hwy2(dot)com



This is only a test. If this were an actual emergency -- aaaargh! --

: Testing. 1 - 2 - 3. Testing. 1 - 2 - 3. Testing. Can you hear me? Check. Check. Check. Mic check. Check. Check. Can you hear me now? Test. Test. 1 - 2 - I don't know, maybe it's the sound board.

: I think it's the wiring. Someone wiggle those cables on the back.

* Kuh-ZAP *

: Ooooh-ho-ho, duuuude! Did you see that, like, psychedelic explosion before the lights went out?! Awesome!!

: Yeah, man. Just go find a flashlight somewhere.

: Um, do I smell burnt hair?

: No, dude, it's like ozone or something.

: Nah, that's definitely hair. Blonde hair.

: Where's Pam? Shine the light over there ...

: Oh, yeah. I'd say Pam is definitely experiencing some technical difficulties. This blog ain't gettin' off the ground today.

: Sorry, folks. The show's delayed for the moment, but check back, uh, tomorrow. Right guys? Tomorrow?

: Yeah, man, tomorrow's bangin' for me. We'll rock it tomorrow ...

Here's a wee bit of a consolation prize ... like a free T-shirt but, well, not wearable ...

Article Samples



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