The boss...

I have tried, tried, and tried some more to get a picture of a particular hummingbird I've taken to calling Boss Hummingbird. He's more than earned his title - a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that a rather stout, bright green hummingbird was chasing any and all others away from the feeder. Then he got after Totsi the Dog. Shortly thereafter, he flew around me to make sure I wasn't after a single drop of what is, by gods, HIS nectar.

Should you set foot on our deck, he's there. Should you stand at the back door, he'll be there shortly. He damned well wants you to know he's around, and once he's finished flying about and scoping you out, he will perch in a tree and *watch*.

He patrols the area around the feeder, flying from vantage point to vantage point all the live long day. If it is empty, he leaves for a bit - but comes back and continues patrolling. Somehow, he knows when the feeder is being refilled - - I've never been buzzed while doing that. He is a complete badass, and he rules. I kind of like that Casa Didgeridoo has acquired a watch hummingbird.

Today he zipped up and pecked Didgeridoo Boy on the back of the head. I don't know what Didge did other than stand too close to the feeder for Boss Hummingbird's liking, but he came running in from the deck, shouting things about being hit on the head by a little f***ing bird. I asked if it was a hummingbird, and he said, "Yes. It's that same damned one that's always out there. That HURT! Am I bleeding? Look. Am I??" He rubbed the back of his head furiously and checked his hand, then stomped off to the kitchen. "I'm gonna hit him with a BOOK. Where's the damned spray paint? I'm going to get that little f***er."

I assured him he would leave Boss Hummingbird alone. "You were on his turf.", I explained. "That's his feeder on his territory." Didge disagreed: "That's MY smoking area! F*** that damned bird! I'm going to deep fry his ass. Where's Jupiter? Uh-huh. Jupiter's going to get a snack!" We had a bit of a shouting match for a bit while I convinced Didge that he is, under no circumstances, to kill that bird.

So right now, we're in standoff mode on two fronts. The first is between Didge and me over whether or not he is going to launch any kind of retaliation (he's not), and the second between two highly territorial males over who controls a patch of the deck. It really doesn't get any better than this, does it?

Enjoy your weekend, and have a little music.

Happenings and spottings...

It would figure that at no point did I have my camera ready. Here's my morning:

Just after I'd finished my coffee, young Jupiter Jones made a leap to get on the end of the counter - - directly over Totsi the Dog's food and water dishes. He missed, landed standing on his hind legs in the water dish, jumped straight up and out of the water dish - knocking it flying, flailed his back legs about in such a way on the ascent that he became a little kitty cat sprinkler, and hauled tail out of the room. He ran upstairs and knocked over few things to alleviate his embarrassment - - among them a guitar and an occasional table. The whole show lasted less than ninety seconds.

A couple of hours later, when Totsi and I were on our way to our favorite park for a nice, long walk, I saw a truck going to a construction site with this written over the top of the windshield: "GOT SILT?" I loved it, and have been inspired to create something similar for Didgeridoo Boy's car.

While at the park, which is situated along the Savannah River, Totsi and I were enjoying the dickens out of our walk when I decided to stop and look out over the rapids. There, down a steep embankment, very near the water, were two black turtles nestled side by side. Having never seen solid black turtles before, I leaned over a bit more to get a better look, and learned I was not seeing a pair of black turtles. I was seeing a bra.

Lesson learned. I'm keeping my camera ready for the rest of the day.

Marital dynamics, compliments of Facebook...

He did it.

Back to painting...

The fun starts again today! We're almost finished painting (heh!) Theatre de Didgeridoo. It's just a matter of doing the lower part of the walls and touching up all the lovely little spots where the yellow is *still* showing through the deep, deep burgundy. And then furniture, of course, which I'm not thinking about right now because the thought of that phase makes me twitch uncontrollably for some reason.

And then? The bedroom. Please, gods, let this one go easy.

You'll probably find it amusing to learn that after enduring cleaning Didge's car out, my car was ready yesterday afternoon. I didn't have to ride in The Stankmobile after all, but my beloved greatly appreciated the favor. He maintains that his car has always smelled like that, and encouraged me to analyze the scent further - it's stale cigars and coffee, says Didge. (Actually, now it smells like two kinds of Febreze, since I hosed that bad boy *down* in a show the neighbors surely enjoyed.) And what does this have to do with painting the bedroom?

A lot. It has a lot to do with painting the bedroom, actually - because there is the matter of an unsightly television set that is to leave before painting takes place, and the fact that I cleaned out The Stankmobile lends more than sufficient leverage to my argument that its departure needs to happen some time in the vicinity of now.

Let the nonsense commence! (I just felt like saying that.)

And have some music, just because this song has been running through my head all morning:

The Stankmobile...

My beloved VW, Baby, is in the shop for his annual round of maintenance and to see if a professional can get the white paint splash off his side that repeated applications of Goo Gone failed to budge. This could be a one day thing or a three day thing, during which I have to beg a ride out of my mom or (have mercy) submit to be driven about in Didgeridoo Boy's car, which I have dubbed The Stankmobile.

Didge says his car is not stank, but I beg to differ. It smells of energy drinks and fast food with a hint of old shoe, all in a base of something that once perspired a great deal. I don't like it one bit. And he won't clean it out - ohhh, no. Can't have that. For some reason, Didge finds comfort in his collection of things that smell horrible that have festered even further in the solar heat. Conversations about his car tend to go like this:

GKG: "I don't want to get in your car."

Didge: "Why?"

GKG: "It smells bad."

Didge: "What does it smell like?"

GKG: "Bad."

Didge: "But what is bad?"

GKG: "It smells like a fart."

Didge: "I know. I like it."

GKG: "But it smells bad."

Didge: "What does it smell like?"

And so on. We could go like this for hours, with me thinking he'll eventually admit the car is stank, and Didge playfully refusing to alleviate said state of stank by learning how to use a trash bag and air freshener. I *could* surprise him and clean it out - - but I don't want to touch anything in that car, and to be honest, I think he's as scared as I am.

But now I have no choice but to ride in the thing.

So - I'm going to clean out Didge's car. And I'm telling all of you this to make it very clear that the only reason I am doing so is so I will not die of asphyxiation between now and when I get my car back. This has NOTHING to do with being a good wife - it's all about self preservation.

Think of me. Send healing vibes, please.

Rescue...

Didgeridoo Boy and I have a cute little rescue kitten awaiting pickup. He's snoozing away after having a nice lunch, and his new mommy will be here to pick him up in a couple of hours.

I'm going to visit with him for a bit, as he seems to appreciate the company. Enjoy your weekend!

Let's extend this...

Birthday fireworks!

I think I want a second day. I'm allowed that, right? There is a lot of gelato remaining, and several more whoopie pies. (I rebelled against myself and went for whoopie pies instead of cupcakes.) Plus, my new birthday shoes (leopard print ballet flats) rubbed blisters on my feet while I was wandering back and forth between the cupcakes and the whoopie pies trying to make up my mind, and I kind of don't want to walk.

The assailants.

I have a clear calendar today - nothing but housework and yoga. It's a beautiful rainy day. And my birthday shoes beat me up. They bit me. On my birthday.

I can't put on shoes to save my life, never mind leave my house.

So I am entitled to make the best of it, right?

Birthday princess...

It is my birthday. I'm 44. Since that adds up to 8, I'm celebrating somewhat accordingly by getting precisely what I want. As soon as I've finished my glittery pink pedicure, I'm off to gather cupcakes and gelato at Fresh Market, then jotting over to Earth Fare for veggie sausages for sausage dogs, going to get regular sausages for Trey and Totsi the Dog's sausage dogs at a store that doesn't make Didgeridoo Boy scream blue lightning, coming home, having my yoga practice, eating a cupcake and some gelato in bed, and then not doing a blessed thing until I go light the grill. I might just eat dinner in bed.

Once it's dark out, I am going to light sparklers on the deck - - lots and lots of them. Birthdays warrant fireworks!

Didge is in a place of accepting that I am doing as I very well please today and that attempts derail my birthday princess train will result in him having to eat a vegetarian sausage dog. And he will not get a cupcake. I won't let him have a sparkler, either - I'll keep them all and light them in front of him while I dance, singing, "Who's the birthday princess? ME! Not you! ME! Not you! ME!! Not you! And I've got a cupcake and yoooouuuuuu DON'T!"

I'm liking this. Enjoy the rest of your day - - I'm going to enjoy the blazes out of mine!

Huntin' beans...

Today, Jupiter Jones made his first real kill. Everyone please pause to celebrate the glory of this auspicious occasion.

(pause)

This morning, I had the door that leads to the deck open for a while. Yes, there is a screen, but there's just enough of a crack that the large creepy things so prevalent in the South during the summer could get in. However, it's cooled off, so certainly no creepy things could get in, right?

This afternoon, as I was about to run out on errands, I noticed young Jupiter Jones striding through the living room like a little lion. And I do mean striding - - he had adopted a proud, powerful walk, almost stomping his oversized paws, and had his head held high. He was looking around like he meant so much serious business, more than anyone had ever meant before in the history of serious business. There was a large green thing in his mouth.

I wondered what it could be. He has no green toys. Then I wondered where he might have gotten a green bean, and played with the idea that it was much more likely a pea pod. The mental grocery inventory I went through in about two seconds verified that we don't have green beans or pea pods on hand, so I was puzzled as to just what the kitten had until he plopped it down in the middle of the floor and began to eat it.

It was the biggest damned grasshopper I have ever seen in my life. He ate all but the head, part of a hind leg, and a wing, and then paraded off like a victorious little gladiator. I hopped up off the couch and stood on one leg for no apparent reason (when in shock, I think I am a flamingo, maybe) while marveling at the size of the head of the thing. The head! It was about the size of a nickel! And then I popped into cleanup mode, grabbed a paper towel, and went to pick up the remains.

Jupiter attacked me. Apparently I was not to dispose of the remains. I don't know if he wanted them as a snack for later, or if he was planning to stow them as trophies (he's a hoarder), but he made it amply clear that I was NOT to touch what was left of his grasshopper. Waving a toy with one hand to distract him, and whistling at him every time he decided to ignore the toy and slap me, I finally got up every last remaining bit of that gargantuan thing. It went into the trash compactor, in front of which Jupiter stationed himself for a good while.

He's since forgotten about the grasshopper, thank goodness. And I hope he savors the glory of this first kill for the rest of his life, and never brings anything like that into the house again.

Whoa, dude. Yoga...

In some ways, mentally, I might as well be in...

Maybe. I feel too good to tell, I think. And in trying to explain this to you, I might come across as an idiot, but as I have experienced a strong rush of blood to the brain - - it's all good.

Today, I decided to work with handstand in yoga practice. And then, I went on into working with forearm balancing because I had so much fun with handstand. What if, I thought, while I'm propped up with this wall working with forearm balancing - - what if I just moved my right leg into position for half scorpion? Oh! Look. It's there! Okay, so what about moving that one back and trying the left? OH! Wow. Let's play with this some more! And then - - HEY! Let's try handstand again!!! Wheeeeeee! Came away from the wall, and played around with headstand.

When I do these things, something happens besides the rush of blood to my head that makes for a devil of a sense of relaxation: My shoulders wind up releasing a ton or so of tension. Those two things combine with, ohh, endorphins and such to make me feel a little high. It's nice. Usually, I'll work with one. But I did quite a few in a row, and that practice was a while ago. It's now 5.38pm. I've been out of the house, yes, and I have accomplished some things - - but not until after I realized I had been sitting and beaming since I came back from walking the dog a few hours earlier. I grinned like a lit-up, blissed-out freak while I was walking the dog. It was awesome. Trees! For real! Who knew?

Went to the grocery store. Stumbled upon kohlrabi! Oh, yeah. You know I bought some. And Brussels sprouts, too, along with beets, a few avocados, a cantaloupe, and a bag of chocolate eyeballs.

I'm going to have a nice warm, grounding, and very artfully arranged dinner. Putting it together is going to rock.

Truckin' with Mom...

Mom and I had some errands to run yesterday. Just one issue: The a/c in her car went out big time. My stepdad, aka Mister, had a solution, though. We could use his truck. The air conditioner in the truck is like an Arctic blast - surely that would satisfy us.

It has not been washed, save by the rain, since Mister bought it. Why? Because it is a truck, he says, and they are not supposed to be washed. It. Is. A. Truck. Mom had to strongarm him into getting some repair work done to it - - including an alignment job. The time Didgeridoo Boy and I borrowed the truck, we were so thoroughly frightened by how it veered off to the right of its own volition that we vowed to never, ever set foot in it again.

Mom found our ride amusing. She said she felt like she should wag her hand like that while driving. And you are right in what you're probably assuming: We're delightfully out of place in the truck. It's full of things like tarps and bungee thingies for holding the stuff Mister is sometimes prone to haul in the back, and it smells downright funky. Our purses were even more out of place than we were:

Mom's cute little Vera Bradley, and my vintage Lancel.

Here is a crack in the windshield. It's like a badge of honor.

BUT - - it does have a vanity mirror.

I just *had* to point that out.

Enjoy your weekend! I'm going to be catching up on laundry while taking a much-needed break from painting and maintenance calls. There's a slight possibility I will go outside and roll around on the ground in celebration of the lovely hit of fall weather that's finally reached us.

On and on...

Project Home Theater is over the proverbial hump. We'll be putting the second coat on the lower part of the walls and touching up a few missed spots week after next, once a round of epic busy-ness dies down. In the meantime, Didgeridoo Boy and I will be out collecting all the electronic things we'll need to help this space not be a reincarnation of the Manly Wall of Entertainia - i.e., power strips with long cords, markers for all the cords to all of the magical components, clips to hold cords to baseboards, and so forth. (Finally.) After that, curtains go up (no pun intended), furniture goes in, and Didge has his cave.

Live nude washing machines!

In keeping with how things are here when large projects are being launched, our washing machine fritzed out over the weekend. It was repaired yesterday. But there's more. There is an issue with a leaky pipe under the house, discovered yesterday morning. It is the drainage pipe that corresponds to Didgeridoo Boy's bathroom. A plumber is coming tomorrow. Early. And good, this, because right now Didge and I are sharing a bathroom and I am not fond of boys contaminating my Temple of High Maintenance.

I wonder what will happen when we start painting the bedroom?

Good morning!

Excuse us for the day, please, we have a real mess on our hands.

Just let me tell you about this day...

Today has been. It's been productive, which I like, full of all sorts of fun house maintenance and makeover things. Casa Didgeridoo was power washed, and then Mom, Didgeridoo Boy and I worked more on painting the home theater. I was up early, intending to knock out some housework and have my morning yoga and meditation. Since I woke up at 4.30am, I thought I definitely had time to do all that and knock out some writing.

I was wrong.

I had just a wee bit too much coffee, so I decided to knock out the housework prior to going up for yoga practice. I'd be less buzzy. Good thing, I thought, until the vacuum lost suction and I had to take it apart and clean all sorts of filters and hoses. That took a while, and as I was working on my surprise project the cats began getting into particularly hellish mini fights. Finally, they got into a *really* big one in the foyer, which culminated in Jupiter Jones chasing Foot Foot up the stairs - yowling and hissing the whole way. They made their way into the room that currently serves as my closet and yoga practice space. There. Things would calm down now, I thought.

I was wrong.

Have you ever had a hunch tinged with just a hint of nuh-uh? I had one of those. And I went up the stairs to discover that Foot Foot had peed all over a pair of my jeans and a t-shirt that were folded up in a chair. The jeans were particularly soaked. I chased her out of the room, shut the door and took the clothes to the bathroom, where they were plopped into a sink of Dr. Bronner's lavender soap cut with a little water. I let Jupiter run into the bedroom with Totsi the Dog and the still-sleeping Didgeridoo Boy. There. Things had settled down, I thought.

I was wrong.

Mom arrived. Didge got up. The power washers rang the doorbell right on time and set to work. Jupiter had the best time while the windows were being sprayed, and Didge, Mom, and I went to the living room to discuss our game plan for the day. I would tape the baseboards, Didge would paint up high, Mom would get the middle, and I would go pick up lunch. (I can paint. I swear I can, if they would only let me.) In the middle of the conversation, Foot Foot ambled into the room and meowed. She went over to one of her sitty corners, the one under the bar that contained a sitty cushion. And she proceeded to sit herself upon the sitty cushion, sniffing and turning in circles. There. She will sit, I thought.

I was wrong.

She peed a gallon and then some. She peed and she peed and she peed. The moment I saw she was sitting a little high with her tail lifted, I shouted to Didge that he needed to get her while my mom clapped her hands. And Foot Foot peed some more. Once she was drained, Didge picked her up and put her in the bedroom. Then we very, very gingerly got the former sitty cushion into a trash bag and disposed of it. Luckily, it had not soaked through to the carpet. Yet. Once that was accomplished, the power washers were finished and we set to work on the home theater. There. Foot Foot was finished, I thought.

Guess what?!?

While I went to get lunch, she got out through an eensy crack of opened window. Didge had to chase her around the back yard. After lunch, however, things finally did calm down, and we finished up the day's taping and painting before having what Didge dubbed another committee meeting about our plan for tomorrow. We cleaned up, Mom went home, and now we're actually having what might just be turning into a quiet, relaxing evening. I am going to have a beautifully challenging yoga practice, sit for a nice, long meditation, and it looks like things might very well be shaping up for me to power lounge before turning in.

Please, gods, let me be right.

Pudding panic...

So, painting's on. It's not going so well. Friday turned out to be a celebration of uhoh, peppered with specks of bleeding bloody hell. The paint. It looks purple in the can, and even more so when you put it on the wall. And even though it is very dark, the current muted yellow of our future home theater is showing through. On top of this, it's as though the walls are drinking up the paint - which my mother declared as thick as pudding. And it is, I swear, as thick as pudding - - pudding you can see through. Friday was to have marked the whole first coat going up, perhaps the only coat. The top part of a wall is all that was done, and some of the cutting in, because we were so bumfuddled by the behavior of the see-through opaque deep garnet pudding paint that was going up Barney purple.

Here. Just, here:

Yep. Just don't say anything. Let's mosey along away from this and let me pretend it all worked out. Oh, the green is tape. Didgeridoo Boy wants the trim that color, but it's staying white just because it is. Away from this bad thing we go.

We start again tomorrow.

Big day...

Color starts going on walls today. I'm Christmas-level excited, and have been up for a good while. The cats are excited too, and have done everything within their power to disrupt breakfast no less than seventeen times. Just now, they streaked in a blur from the soon-to-be home theater, through the living room, down the hall, up the stairs, and into one of the upstairs bedrooms, with Foot Foot yowling the whole way. (Inhale, sister! Breathe!) Didgeridoo Boy is asleep, and will likely remain so through today's painting since it's his turn for monster allergies; good, this, as Mom and I do perfectly well as a team and only have enough rollers for the two of us.

Today's sure to bring challenges, as Jupiter Jones (if he's not chasing Foot Foot) is in territorial roaming mode. If something is moved he acts this way, and if you go near him, he will take a swing at you. He's been checking out the preparations I've made and testing out new launch pads:

Please note that I took those snapshots from a distance.

Totsi? Well, much like the honey badger...

...it's kind of beyond not caring with her. She honestly no longer gives a you-know-what. Or maybe she's simply as ready for those chairs and milk crate to be back where they belong as I am.

And Foot Foot? Can't find her. She has, perhaps wisely, gone into hiding.

Enjoy your weekend!

No more sanding, please...

I feel like I have inhaled a mighty load of dust. Actually, I have inhaled a mighty load of dust. The big spackle spot was sanded today, gods have mercy on my sinuses. I would take a picture of it for you, but then I would have to go near it again - and I don't want to do that right now.

You might be entertained to learn how it came about. I was moving my rebounder, tripped over the hem of the maxi dress I was wearing, fell, and landed on the rebounder against a corner of the section of wall that divides the downstairs hallway from the stairs. Knocked a hole in the wall and a sizable chunk out of my dignity. I don't want to talk about it anymore.

I bet you feel like my therapist right now, don't you?

Okay. Here's some music. I'm going to have a big mug of Breathe Deep tea and try to figure out where the cats are hiding.

Bear with me, y'all...

First, Totsi the Dog has her own blog. Of all the things I do, my yoga practice seems to fascinate and outright confuse Totsi the most, so she's decided to take to the blogosphere and share her take on it all with all of you. Second, setting up Totsi's blog for her made me want to tweak this one.

I am working on it, I swear. But I am also working on Casa Didgeridoo. Today, Mom arrives, and we are going to sand spackle spots. Isn't that fun to say? Since it's 10.30am and this place is NOT in shape for Mom's arrival, I'm going to have to leave the blog with this scratchy doodle at the top for now. Actually, it kind of fits, having a bit of chaos here while Casa Didgeridoo looks like a freaking garage - - doesn't it? Think of it as specks of spackle that are waiting to be sanded, and have fun saying we are sanding spackle spots!

I'll stop. I have to, since I have to get my backside in gear. Have a little more music to make up for the mess!

Currently...

Jupiter Jones, the adorable, giant-pawed kitten, is about to give our unholy terror of a calico cat, Foot Foot, a nervous breakdown. I am not exaggerating. For his first few weeks here, she tried to bully him, but those tables turned - - Jupiter is Foot Foot's arch nemesis, determined to unravel the very fiber of her being, dancing upon the remnants of what were her shattered nerves.

He pounces and gives chase, stalks her, pops her on the behind while she's at the water dish. Sometimes, he'll walk up and simply act like he's going to touch her. As Foot Foot is, although incredibly sweet, completely effing psychotic you can probably imagine how this situation might deteriorate. Amplify what you are imagining times thirty, and you'll have a hint of what happens any time Foot Foot so much as moves. In turn, we all suffer.

I have to admit - in some ways, I can relate to her. I know what it is to have an insistently playful male invade my space and wreak havoc, so I have tried to be understanding and sympathetic - - but then she popped Totsi the Dog hard enough to result in a dime-sized bald spot on Totsi's shoulder. (Totsi just happened to trot into the wrong place at the wrong time. Or she breathed. Could be either - an already crazy cat has been driven a little more crazy.) She is hell-bound determined to get out of the house, and nearly tripped me making a successful attempt Saturday morning, after which I had to chase her around the back yard wearing pajamas and flip flops with one eye swollen shut from allergies in full view of the neighbors. I don't know if she is the cat who peed on one of my purses, but that happened, too.

Foot Foot has most recently decided that she needs to hide in the bedroom other than when she wants food or the litter box. The problem with this arrangement is that she destroys any door she is trying to get through - be it to get in *or* out. I have a clawed up patch of carpet in the bedroom, and scratches on both sides of the door. She woke me up at 4.30am trying to get out. Five minutes later, she wanted to come back in. Totsi's water dish in the bedroom (which we had to set up because Foot Foot chased her away from the other), is now Foot Foot's - - Totsi can only drink if Foot Foot is out of the room or asleep. Following a scratch request to be let back in a few minutes ago, she sat in the middle of the room and growled most menacingly at nothing, and for absolutely no good reason.

My act of daring for the day? Getting this snapshot of Foot Foot.

She is under the bed now, being calmed by a selection of Bach streaming through Spotify. Bach is the only thing that works. Anything else is too enlivening, and gods know, we do not want Foot Foot any more enlivened. We want her damned well soothed and calmed, napping so hard she snores.

It's official. I want a vacation from the cats.

Wisdom...

Friday night was amazing and stupendous and fabulous and flashback-to-childhood fun, just like any trip to a drive-in movie should be. Didgeridoo Boy and I have decided to keep The Big Mo on our outings radar - if they're showing something we think might be even remotely cool, color us there. It's only the beginning of September, and we're already crossing all crossables for something absolutely dynamite to happen there for Halloween.

In true fashion, however, this happening wasn't without a little smackeroo of uh-oh. All through last week, I was battling it out with hay fever - sneezing almost hard enough to blow myself backward, fighting a constant urge to rub my itchy eyes, and sounding like a raspy, gravelly-voiced troll every time I spoke. By Friday, though, I was feeling a bit better. Popped an Allergiemittel on my way out the door that afternoon, and dropped my last three into my purse...

...where they dis-the-hell-appeared.

Not that being able to find them would have helped, because I forgot about them until we were on the way home, when common sense flashed into my head with a sneeze so hard I got a little dizzy. Said flash brought about what might be one of my biggest duh moments to date. What was this flash?

If you have been suffering from epic hay fever, sitting out in the middle of a field for seven hours might make it worse.

Can you stand the wisdom? Saturday morning, my eyes were swollen shut and I had all but lost my voice - I found the wisdom almost unbearable. A run to Earth Fare for a box of Allercetin (my other favorite allergy remedy) and some Yogi Tea "Breathe Deep" helped me whip the wisdom into submission; I find lessons easier to process when I can open my eyes and breathe at will.

I'm off to enjoy the demise of my hay fever. Have a fabulous day, and here's a little music:

Out sitting in a field...

Didgeridoo Boy and I are going to a drive-in movie to see "Jaws" this evening. There's a triple feature that also includes "Back to the Future" and the singalong version of "Grease", but frankly, all we really care about is "Jaws". We were both too young to see it on a big screen at the time of its initial release, and we're both complete freaks about it, so you might be safe in saying we're a tad excited.

Just one thing - you do realize, don't you, that drive-in movies don't start until dusk? And I failed to mention that "Back to the Future" and "Grease" will be shown prior to "Jaws". According to our calculations, we'll be leaving the drive-in movie around 3.30am - - and then we have an hour's drive back home. Didge is planning to help himself stay awake via the consumption of energy drinks, and since he's already very revved up about seeing "Jaws" in this format? Hello? I know you get me, so I won't elaborate.

But it'll be worth it. We need this healing from childhood deprivation - hell, neither of us even got one of those cool t-shirts, and we've both been reeling from the shame and injury since the summer of 1975. This is about closure as much as it is about doing something cool.

So cross your fingers for us that I don't forget the insect repellent and that Didge doesn't do something rash during the wait for "Jaws" to start.

Enjoy your weekend!

Totsi the Dog has a few thoughts on her day...

Hello. I am Totsi, resident canine of Casa Didgeridoo, and all around seer of most things good. Today is my birthday, and I am seeing to it that it is celebrated in an acceptable fashion, with breakfast for dinner and no mention of a bath. However, that is not what I would like to talk to you about. I would like to talk to you about the decision my mommy made for us to take a break from writing so much for a month and focus on other things.

I am worried. The house looks like we're about to move, and even though mommy says we're not and is always sure to put something in a closet so I can see her do it so I will know we are staying, I am concerned. It looks like we are ready to have people come pick things up. She says that daddy is going to have a cage or a cave, and then she laughs and says it's really a home theater. She says the bedroom is going to be a princess room, and then laughs some more and says it's just going to be painted a better color and made nice. She says the shelf is in the hall because it is going to go up the stairs, but it's lined up just so it can go out the door. I certainly hope she is not bluffing, and that we are going to stay in this house that is my home and where I fully intend to live.

And then there is the other thing. August was weird. And I don't mean a little off, I mean it was weird. Mommy does this stuff she calls yoga and that means that she gets on this little mat and performs all sorts of strange things, but all through the month of August she took this stuff to a whole new level. For instance I had just gotten her to where she eats sensibly, but she's gone off kilter again. Do you know she ate nothing but fruit and didn't have her coffee for three days? I stayed right by her side because I was so worried about her general state of being, but I wanted to hide. I do confess to loving watermelon, and there was plenty of that to be had, but Mommy is not a woman who needs to be without her morning coffee. It is not natural for her, and it is dangerous for others. Actually, now that I have thought about this, it was her voluntarily going without her coffee for three whole days that worried me the most. I will tell you the straight-up honest truth: Her doing that made my kittysister, Foot Foot, seem normal. Mommy even looks like she shrunk a little, but she does seem like she feels so much better so maybe this really is a good thing.

And that having been said, I hope you all have an enjoyable first day of my month. I feel so much better having expressed my concerns, and they seem a lot smaller now that I've shared them with you. Maybe this isn't so bad, and perhaps I have been worrying needlessly. Mommy did tell me we're going camping in a few weeks to celebrate our birthdays, and Daddy did say we're going to have all kinds of snacks in the home theater. So maybe I should enjoy these little changes that don't seem so big anymore.

Enjoy your day, and dance some.

Totsi Tatertot Didgeridoo