The Starr Ann Chronicles

Grub For The Soul

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 00:43:00 +0000

My best friend Starr Ann and I were a little gung ho at the outset of our cattle drive, I guess, because we made a pact to stop at no restaurants along the whole trail. Not even a health food store.

Not far across the Indiana line, I remembered Sanra, an innerestin' beauty from New Albany who'd once spent a whole summer working her brown-eyed magic on Starr Ann.

I said, "How many more nights you think we can eat campfire beans and bread for supper before we lose the will to live, Starr Ann?"

Starr Ann gave my saddle bag, the one with our food in it, a real sad look and said, "None."

Raising up in my saddle and scouting in all directions, I said, "Well, we're the ones in charge of this cattle drive, and I don't see any adults around to tell us we can't interpret our own rules any way we see fit."

That got a smile. "I'm listening, Margo."

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, Sanra Anerson lives not too far from here, doesn't she? So, what's to keep us from stopping by to say hello? Then, if she should invite us to supper or somethin', it'd only be polite to accept. A private home is neither a restaurant nor a food store. Just sayin'."

Starr Ann's so phony when she pretends to be weighing something that I know she's already made up her mind about. Anyway, I had to endure about eight minutes of fake indecision on her part before she said she was all in favor of paying Sanra a visit.

On the way, Starr Ann asked me if I recalled how the Anerson family were known for their idiosyncrasies. Like the way the parents omitted all the d's from their kids' names. Like the way Sanra's little brother Ominic used to eat wax paper.

That brought back a bunch of Sanra stuff, and I had to laugh as I added, "Yeah, and the way Sanra would pick the stupidest safewords, like 'baby' or 'Oh, God,' that were guaranteed to cause all kinds of weird misunderstandings." When Starr Ann didn't chuckle along with me about that, I said, "I cannot be held responsible for the fact that your bedroom is a mere twenty feet from mine, Starr Ann."

She couldn't argue with that, so she just changed the subject. "I wonder what she's having for supper tonight. The supper she'll surely invite us to join her for."

"Dang, Starr Ann, what if it's mashed potatoes with gobs of butter?"

Starr Ann licked her lips. "If that happens, it'll be proof there's a Goddess in heaven, Margo. Absolute proof." Then she cracked up laughing and said, "I'll never forget that time Sanra called you 'rectal' and you shot back at her that the word was 'anal' and she just walked away, smiling real sweet and saying, 'thank you, your honor, there will be no other questions.'"

"No, I can't say as I remember anything about that. Maybe you dreamed it, Starr Ann. Anyway, I'm thinking if it's not mashed potatoes, it might be oven-baked macaroni and cheese with the top cheese all brown and crusty."

"Or a big pot of vegetable soup with homemade bread."

"Or she might be having lasagna with hot Italian bread and a big green salad."

The moonless night had gone fully to black by the time we reached Sanra's place and I can't really express how disappointed we were to find that the inside of the house was just as dark as the outside.

I said, "Not much hope anything's cooking inside there, Starr Ann. Doesn't even look like Sanra's home."

All we could do for a few minutes was sit there and let it all sink in, realizing there was nothing to do but turn the horses around and head for that camping spot we'd passed about twenty minutes back. We felt like a couple of robots setting up camp that night - untacking the horses, feeding them, starting the fire, and preparing the dreaded beans and bread.

Neither of us had said a word for a long time, when just as we were about to start our meal, Starr Ann said, "What in the world is wrong with us, Margo!"

That seemed elementary. I ventured, "We're disappointed because we were all set for some of Sanra's delicious cooking and now we're having to choke down yet another plateful of beans and bread?"

Right then, Starr Ann's voice hit that one pitch, the one where I just know she's had herself an insight and she's bound and determined to make me have it too. She said, "And how pitiful is that? Don't you remember back when the economic crisis hit and we got up a big head of steam to face whatever the future might hold? Remember how we were ready to chop wood and carry water if that's what it took to get by? Remember how when the Recession or Depression arrived we thought it might bring with it a much needed correction to our society's trajectory? Remember how we were going to call it the Enlightenment?"

I was starting to see where this was going. "Yes I do, Starr Ann."

"Well, just because it looks like Wall Street isn't going to change, corporations will forever run our country, and having decent folks in the White House isn't enough to bring real change, all that doesn't mean you and I have to abandon our ideals. We've squeaked by with a whole lot less hardship than most people this past year, and here we are, on this great big voluntary adventure of a cattle drive, getting all discouraged over the food. Margo, are we cowgirls or not?"

I loaded a tin plate high with hot beans and broke off a nice chunk of the bread, handed it to Starr Ann and fixed another one for me. I took a big bite of beans and with my mouth full, I said, "We're cowgirls."

Starr Ann took a big bite of her food too and said, real thoughtful, "Hmmm, this tastes mighty mashed potatoey tonight."

I said, "You know, you're right. Delicious!"

Moment By Moment, In Rubicon Time

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 08:01:00 +0000

To me and my best friend Starr Ann, crossing a bridge is as full of romance as opening a letter, dropping off to sleep, abandoning a desire, making eye contact with a stray dog or performing any act guaranteed to put you in a whole 'nother place.

Three weeks into our cattle drive, Starr Ann and I reached the Louisville side of the Ohio and stopped the horses for a few seconds to gaze down the long open air tunnel of cantilevered trusses. Starr Ann said, "I love the way a bridge is a hundred percent journey." Then she kissed at the horses to start them across.

We shifted slightly in our saddles as the horses angled upward with the bridge's gentle camber. Once clear of the bank below, we felt the cool push of river wind against our faces and heard it skim across the steel, concrete and cable it barely noticed in its endless hurry, which was eastward that morning.

At about the peak of the arch the wind picked up some, but Trickster and Oatmeal tucked their natural urge to quicken and stayed steady as anything, even as the level center started sloping down toward the Indiana bank. Then, with just a quarter of the bridge left, an adrenaline charge hit the horses right before we both noticed a man hanging way over the bridge rail up ahead. The horses were pent up bad and dancing hard by the time we drew up even with the man and saw the other pair of hands he was clasping over that railing, all four sets of knuckles strained white with the effort of pulling against the point of no return.

From what we can remember, both horses took the bit in their teeth and ran the rest of the way off that bridge as fast as they could. We finally reached the bright yellow welcome center on the Indiana side, jumped off the horses before they were all the way stopped, and ran inside breathing hard, talking way too loud and way too fast.

Starr Ann took a tight grip on both of my forearms and said, "We have to go back! We have to help!"

Just about in tears, I said, "I know! I know!"

But neither of us budged.

The girl behind the counter calmly turned off the soap opera she'd been watching. "Are you real cowgirls?"

We ran over to the counter and still out of breath, Starr Ann said, "There's a man on the bridge! He's..."

The girl waved her hand toward the door and said, "Happens all the time. Police are already up there. If you came over the bridge, you must have passed right by the squad cars. So, you're real cowgirls, right?"

I said, "We're on a cattle drive. Are you sure? I don't think we saw anything like police up there."

She said, "Positive," and straining her neck over toward the window, she bobbed her head in a counting motion. "Looks like five blue lights flashing up there. At least. Cattle drive?" She leaned over toward the other window. "I don't see no cattle. Oh, God, they must be in the back parking lot! So, how long you been on the trail? This is so cool!"

Starr Ann said, "It's hard to explain, but there are no actual cattle."

The girl narrowed her eyes for a second before smiling real big. "Then how come you smell like cows? And I mean that as a compliment."

I said, "That's horses you're picking up, cows smell way different."

Well, that thrilled this kid no end. "Only real cowgirls," she gave Starr Ann a pointed look, "with actual cattle, could sort out cow smell from horse."

Very graciously, Starr Ann motioned toward the door. "Feel free to check out back. No cows."

For a second she looked like she wanted to go look, but she didn't move. "No, you're real cowgirls, on a real cattle drive, and you've got a herd of cows out there all right, not a doubt in my mind about that." Then she went back to her program.

Starr Ann and I stepped back outside, mounted up, and rode North with the bridge at our backs, never turning to make sure about those blue flashing lights.

Codependency Rocks!

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

My best friend Starr Ann thought it'd be cool to measure stuff all along our cattle drive, so before we set off she hopped on the Internet and ordered these gadgets for the horses to wear. They're supposed to count the number of steps the horse takes and calculate distance based on the length of the horse's average stride. I think she pretty much wasted her money, but you can't really tell Starr Ann a thing isn't going to work once she gets it in her head that it is.

So, as we bade farewell to Jodie and double-checked our bedrolls, Starr Ann got out the instructions and affixed one of the hoofometers to Oatmeal's tail.

I said, "Starr Ann, that can't be right. He's gonna poop right on that thing if you hang it there."

Any other time, Starr Ann would be the first one to tear up a set of written instructions, but since she was bound and determined these hoofometers were just what every cattle drive needed, she pointed to the diagram. Sure enough, it looked like she'd put it in the right place, but I still had to repeat, "Gonna poop right on it."

Then she just stood there not moving one muscle until I put the other hoofometer on Trickster.

It was around sunset when we got started, which prolly sounds like the exact opposite time of the day for a cattle drive to begin, but that part was my idea. I didn't want to be too far from the house when we bedded down for the first time, just in case we discovered we'd forgotten something, or if maybe sleeping on a bedroll under an ocean full of stars wasn't quite as cool as you'd imagine, or if it rained or something.

When we reached a spot that looked good for making camp, first thing Starr Ann did was check Oatmeal's hoofometer. Once she got the thing cleaned off good enough to read it, she looked up and asked me what Trickster's had registered.

As I checked Trickster's device I asked, "Did they charge you extra for this special poop adherent material, Starr Ann? Because I never really saw horseshit cling to anything quite like this." Then, since we were on the brink of an exciting, once in a lifetime adventure and I sure didn't want Starr Ann to have an attitude the whole time, I said, "Actually, it's kinda neat to think we'll be able to record the distance we travel each day. Okay, here we go, mine says 9 furlongs. Hey! Cute the way the units are furlongs."

I thought Starr Ann would be glad I had something good to say about her hoofometers, but she just got this deflated look on her face and said, "This one has 12 furlongs."

Dang! I hate to see that girl disappointed. So, all through setting up our campfire and cooking our meager supper of bread and beans, all through unrolling our bedrolls, I thought up reasons for that 3 furlong discrepancy - like how Starr Ann and Oatmeal had crossed the creek a little ways down from Trickster and me, which could have introduced several more steps to their total, the fact that Oatmeal's path around that one slope was lower and so longer than the path closer to the top, and a couple of other pieces of thin evidence that they really could have traveled that much farther than we did.

The hoofometers are junk, no doubt about that. But somehow, in the course of that first night on the trail, we'd switched around from Starr Ann defending the stupid things and me being all skeptical, to me coming up with every excuse I could think of in defense of their accuracy just to keep Starr Ann from feeling disillusioned.

I guess from the get-go our cattle drive had a little more codependency than you'd usually expect to find out on the frontier. Then again, there's a fine line between codependency and plain old loving somebody more than you love yourself.

Git Along Little Doggies

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 01:00:00 +0000

Let's just say my best friend Starr Ann and I have been on a really long cattle drive, okay? And let's fire things up here again by us telling a few tall tales about all the amazing sights we saw out there in them wide open spaces.

First item to make very clear is that the cattle drive didn't involve any cattle. As vegetarians, if Starr Ann and I were going to hit the trail and drive anything to market it'd have to be soy burgers or hydrogenated whey or some other delicious form of off-the-hoof protein. So the cattle drive (wink, wink) was mainly just us traveling around meeting people, solving mysteries, and generally exploring possibilities.

We pushed along at the grueling pace of two or three miles a day, making it up the Ohio River along River Road, across the George Rogers Clark Memorial Bridge and into Indiana in just our third week!

By mid-summer, we were all the way up in Floyds Knobs (swear that's the name of a real place), and figured at that point the drive had achieved odyssey proportions, so we turned the herd (wink) for home. Got back early last week and now, after taking time to rest and recharge, I think Starr Ann and I are just about ready to start sharing our exploits.

But first, let's start off with an oldie but goodie to stir up them herding (nudge) instincts.

What's Wrong With Us?

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 18:37:00 +0000

Seeing as there are only three chapters left in Grand Theft Equine, Starr Ann and I have been revving up to start posting on a regular basis again. So, we were doing some cowgirl image searches, right?

We were both shocked that neither of us remembers this picture of Jane Fonda from Cat Ballou.

We don't remember this one, either.

I swear, we feel like we should turn in a license or something.

Dona Nobis Pacem

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 00:31:00 +0000

My best friend Starr Ann and I spent much of yesterday brainstorming over what to say about Peace for this year's BlogBlast.

In the morning, while we were cleaning stalls, Starr Ann had herself an idea that featured me writing a poem about Peace. Well, after hearing me try out a few lines, Starr Ann realized she'd overshot. Can I help it that Peace so temptingly rhymes with grease, police, and almost with squeeze? Anyway, no poem.

Then, during lunch I started thinking maybe it would be fun for Starr Ann and me to collaborate on a parody of some famous song, only our words would be all about Peace. Starr Ann got all excited and said, "Let's do it to Crystal Blue Persuasion!" Which sounded good to me, but we had to start with the actual lyrics and we soon realized that Crystal Blue Persuasion already is about Peace.

We finally decided we were pushing ourselves too hard and the best thing to do would be just to sleep on it and fully expect a fantastic idea to be there, intact, when we woke up today. So, when I woke up with nada, I rushed to Starr Ann's room, positive the Peace Fairy (heh) had visited her overnight. Odd as this might sound, Starr Ann didn't wake up with the post fully formed in her mind either.

By that time, we were getting a little bit ticked at Mimi Lenox for moving BlogBlast up a day this year. If only we had that extra 24 hours, Starr Ann and I were sure we could come up with something. We were down at the pond, tossing stones in the water, finishing up our morning coffee, and blaming Mimi when all of a sudden, Starr Ann threw a rock in and at the instant it broke the surface, Starr Ann called out, "Peace!" Then, as the circle began to expand on the water where the stone had fallen, Starr Ann followed up with, "...starts with a simple act that spreads throughout the universe."

I pitched a stone and when it hit I said, "Peace!" And as the ring formed, I said, "...is knowing you've tried your best."

Starr Ann and I ended up hurling pebbles for a long time, broadcasting the word Peace! and a bunch of things it can mean, just the first things that came to our minds. Like,

Peace! ...lives in the smallest kindness

Peace! ...is a full, deep breath

Peace! ...spelled backward cannot be pronounced

Peace! ...is that blue heron standing there across the pond

Peace! ...in shorthand is ☮!

Peace! ...is bound to catch on sooner or later

Peace! ...is knowing your critters are healthy and happy

Peace! ...was invented by hippies in 1962

Peace! ...trumps religion

Peace! ...needs to walk up and smack Violence! upside the head

Peace! ...is the ultimate public option

When we'd run out of rocks to throw, Starr Ann shrugged her shoulders and said, "Let's just write those on the Chronicles tomorrow, because you know, Peace! ...is not fretting over your BlogBlast post."

And of course, that's what I did.

On the hike back up to the house, Starr Ann laughed that one laugh and said, "I could have sworn Crystal Blue Persuasion was about talking this woman named Crystal Blue into bed."

Down On The Night River

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 15:49:00 +0000

The reason my best friend Starr Ann and I got fired from that bookstore when we were younger is that whenever someone came up to the Customer Service Desk and asked for assistance finding the Self-Help section, Starr Ann would just wink and say, "You can count on me not to show you."

Even way back then I didn't get mad at Starr Ann for losing her job, which meant of course that I lost mine because I followed her right out the door. No, the consequences didn't matter nearly as much as my appreciation for the natural working of Starr Ann's mind.

Like the way you can’t exactly say that Starr Ann divides her days into distinct periods of sleep and wakefulness. In fact, a lot of the boundaries and borders most of us automatically see and stay within are kinda transparent to Starr Ann. Well, not exactly transparent, but let's just say they're real shapeless and much less solid.

Anyway, if you loosen up on the reins completely and give Starr Ann her head, things you normally think are separate start running together and it begins to dawn on you just how far off the beaten path Starr Ann travels. Wait, let me take that back. What starts to dawn on you is how Starr Ann sails right over the rough as well as the worn paths, apparently without realizing there are obstacles along either.

So, what got me going on this in the first place was the way Starr Ann can sometime kinda blend being asleep and being awake. Like last night.

Last night, Starr Ann came to my room, cuddled in beside me and said, "You awake?"

I said, "Now I am. Are you?"

And knowing Starr Ann like I do, her answer of "I'm not sure" didn't surprise me one bit.

When she goes into one of these states of grace, it's like Starr Ann is able to take the training wheels off her consciousness, and she's fearlessly hurtling through her moments, totally accepting each second for its own self. I think it's what J. D. Salinger, in Frannie and Zooey, calls unlearning the differences.

I've tried my best to get to that state, but I've never really done it the justice Starr Ann does. Mainly, I don't think it's someplace you can get to through thinking. Somehow, you have to open up a back door for that kind of enlightenment to enter by.

Since I've never been as good at getting onto that plane as Starr Ann is, last night I waited for her breath to get into sleeping rhythm and asked her, "Starr Ann, do you have some secret or trick or anything for learning how to unlearn the differences?"

Just as regular as anything, Starr Ann said, "Margo, do you remember that set of encyclopedias the orphanage had when I first got there?"

"The light green ones with the maroon lettering on the spines?"

Starr Ann said, "It was the set that had two S volumes."

I said, "Yeah, I think I vaguely remember that."

"Margo, there are only three things I never told you about in our entire time growing up together. One of them is that I was scared to death of the first of those two S volumes."

To my shame, I still wasn't feeling all that much on an elevated plane and I couldn't help it that the first thing out of my mouth was, "Are you going to tell me the other two things after you finish with this encyclopedia one?"

Well, Miss State of Grace just went on with, "I was so terribly afraid of snakes when I was little, and that first volume ended with the entry on Snakes, including pictures that just freaked me all the way out."

As I started wondering if maybe one of the other things Starr Ann never told me about had anything to do with my first girlfriend, Shania, Starr Ann continued, "I started thinking of that volume as the Bad S volume and the other one, the one without Snakes, as the Good S volume. And it didn't stop there. It wasn't long before I began to hate all the words in the Bad S volume and I'd do anything I could think of to avoid them."

I took that opportunity to ask, real nice, "Did you by any chance ever wish you could look up the word 'Shania,' but were unable to because of it being in the Bad S volume?"

At times like these, Starr Ann isn't all that keen on answering direct questions.

She said, "Then one day, that old encyclopedia was gone, replaced by the one they still had when we left. Remember? Brown leather covers and gold lettering?"

Oh, sure, she gets to ask me stuff. I said, "Yeah, I remember those."

"Well, I braced myself and went right to the S's to find out which volume I had to be afraid of, to see whether Snakes ended up in the first half or the second half of the S's. But there weren't two volumes. There was just the one, and I had to realize that unless I wanted to give up Sun worship...Stetson hat...Barbara Stanwyck..."

I offered, "Shania?"

"...just like I'd already given up Sand fox...Secret code...and all the other wonderful S words, I had to accept Snakes right there in the middle of them."

Not long after that, Starr Ann's breathing got all even again, but I didn't get a bit of sleep. Then a little before dawn, Starr Ann threw her leg over me and gave me a real nice lying down hug then got up and started putting on her chaps. She looked so sweet climbing out my window into the moonlight, I forgot to bother her with any more questions.

Soon after she left, my room picked up a faint glow as the barn lights went on, and I just knew Starr Ann was down there making over the horses, probably whispering to them all about those other two things she never told me.

Ordinarily, I'd just automatically come out and say whether I sneaked down there to try and overhear what she told them. But since I know Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) will be reading this, I think I'll deliberately keep that information to myself, just to demonstrate that if one cowgirl can have a few things she never told another cowgirl, then the other cowgirl can too. Just sayin'.

Member Fatigue (or) How Does Your Garden Grow?

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 16:40:00 +0000

An innovator in nearly everything she does, my best friend Starr Ann has some unusual, yet highly successful, gardening techniques. That's why I encouraged her to enter the incredibly popular and competitive annual tomato growing contest in our town this summer.

Only thing is, with Starr Ann, one thing kinda leads to another and the main themes dominating her brain tend to get all braided together sometime. Like last month, right before I mentioned the tomato contest, she was all up in the air over how many penis emails were still penetrating the firewalls and spam-fighting filters she'd put on our computers. That last filter, E-Zipper, had shown such promise.

Anyway, around the same time, she also got a zero-interest-for-nine-months credit card offer in one of her post office boxes. You know, one of those alluring deals where a credit card company dangles money in front of you, hoping you'll borrow it and default in some way so they can slap on a sky-high interest rate you'll never get yourself out from under? But this was an especially innerestin' offer, as it was made out to one of the fake identities Starr Ann created for her voter fraud scheme back in 2004 when she decided you had to use Bush tactics to fight Bush.

So here's where the braiding together of two aggravations comes into play. Starr Ann replied to each and every penile enhancement email in her inbox. And guess how she paid for it all? That's right. She charged up about eight thousand dollars worth of penile assistance with that fake credit card. Now if you're thinking there's no way Starr Ann could pull off such a scam without getting caught, then you just haven't been paying attention to Starr Ann's talents.

I never doubted we were in for some major deliveries, and sure enough, starting about two weeks ago, Starr Ann would leave the house early in the morning and come riding in before sunset, with her saddle bags bulging like...well, you know.

Which brings me to why I encouraged her to enter that tomato growing contest. Thought it might take Starr Ann's mind off of her latest little subversive hobby. And bless her heart, she smiled real big when I mentioned the contest and said, "Why, Margo, what a perfect idea!"

Right away, she called the contest organizer who was real excited about Starr Ann signing up, because apparently the same people competed each and every year, and they were frankly suffering from a little member fatigue.

Anyway, like I said, Starr Ann's an innovative gardener. But the very next day after she entered that contest, her tomato plants got to looking extraordinary. By the end of the week, when the contest judges were due to drop by for a preliminary look-see, those plants were reaching so proudly for the sky that Starr Ann had actually removed the stakes, saying, "Margo, I don't believe there'll be any further need to prop these babies up."

Well, that shoulda got my suspicions aroused, but of course it didn't.

You wouldn't believe how impressed the judges were. They kept making comments like, "Never saw such stalks!" and "Those're big around as baseball bats!" and "Look at how the tomatoes are all hanging in pairs!" The one real bull-dykey judge even stayed behind when the others left and told Starr Ann that when it came time to whack those suckers down to make room for the cold crop, she'd be happy to bring her sickle over and do it by hand.

That was the comment that finally tipped me off. When the judges were good and gone, I said, "Give it to me straight, Starr Ann. What you been feeding these tomatoes?"

Well, Starr Ann got that one look on her face. The one where you just know she knows you've caught her doing something super tricky. Then she just smiled and said, "Now Margo, you know how I always try not tell you enough details about some things, in order to keep you legally in the clear?"

I said, "Yep I do Starr Ann, and I appreciate that, but just give me a hint, okay?"

Well, Starr Ann circulated through her garden a little bit, pulling up a couple of tiny weeds, picking a few yellowing tomato leaves, and just generally thinking. Then she said, real casual, "Wonder how many tomatoes it'd take to break even if, say, somebody used about eight thousand dollars worth of fertilizer on 'em."

Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammo

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 14:55:00 +0000

We were kinda hyped Saturday afternoon as time drew near for that "Open Carry" church meeting out on Valley Station Road. If you'll remember, Starr Ann had eased Jodie and me into the idea of attending and taking our own guns - toy six-shooters and holster for Jodie, plastic AK-47 for Starr Ann, and a hot pink water gun for me.

The only thing that wasn't settled yet when it was almost time to leave was what I was gonna fill that water gun with. Holy water had been mentioned, but it wasn't really a Catholic service. It was getting late, and we didn't want to miss anything, so I was just about to settle on plain water when the idea hit me. Astroglide - the personal lubricant and moisturizer guaranteed to broker a smooth agreement over any friction that may arise between you and your favorite silicon accessory. It took us mere seconds to load up and head for church.

First thing we noticed there at New Bethel Church was a line of people waiting to have their firearms checked for ammunition. The flyer had specifically said no ammo.

For some reason, nobody really acted like they wanted to talk to us. Starr Ann tried to find some common ground by sighing real loud and saying, "I can't believe Michael Jackson's dead!"

That made everybody around us stop for a second, but then they started back up talking only to each other again pretty quick.

When we got close to the front of the line, we could see the church volunteers up there inspecting guns. They were serious as heart attacks as they carefully took each person's pride and joy and handled it like it was the perfect instrument for spreading God's dear love around.

All of a sudden it was our turn!

The man looked up at us and said real loud, "You gotta be shittin' me."

Everything got so quiet, it started feeling like church used to feel when we were little and the nuns forced us to go. Then a guy that turned out to be the pastor, Pastor Pagano (yes, take off the 'o' and you're left with Pagan - truth is stranger than fiction). So, Pastor Pagano rushes up to us all smiles and asks what's going on here.

Jodie said, "We're attending your Open Carry service, just like everyone else." She patted her toy holster. "And we brought our guns."

Pastor Pagano got a little flushed and you could tell he wasn't coming up with any ideas that might get us the hell out of there without him admitting his fondness for the Second Amendment outweighed that for the First Amendment.

Then this woman wearing a T-shirt with a Knob Creek Gun Range logo on it walked up. She kinda brushed the man of the cloth aside and gave all three of us a good lookin' at. She honed in on me and got this wide smile on her face. "Sorry, ma'am. Can't allow you into the service with ammunition in your...gun. Rules."

Dang. No way was I willing to waste that amount of Astroglide. No way.

I said, "But it's only a watery fluid. You're serving refreshments in there, aren't you? People will be drinking water and soft drinks and coffee, won't they?"

"Yes, ma'am. But in the case of that weapon, it's considered ammunition, and the rules say no ammunition."

Well, we're not the kind of cowgirls to stick around too long after being asked to leave. At least not once they get us on a technicality. Anyway, we'd made our point, so we mounted up and were ready to head back home, when this teenage girl came over and asked to pet the horses. We told her that'd be fine, and while she was out of her family's earshot, she told us about this alternative service they were holding over at Thomas Jefferson Unitarian Church.

Starr Ann asked her what kind of alternative service?

The girl had all the details. Her eyes got all light, and she said, "It's being put on by Interfaith Paths to Peace and about a dozen other spiritual and peace groups. They're calling it Bring Your Peaceful Heart...Leave Your Gun at Home, and they're having it the exact same time as this service. It's open to the public, and they're having games, poetry, art, music, and readings about peace from the world's great religions."

Jodie looked over her shoulder at the gun crowd all absorbed with their weaponry again. When she turned back, she said, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Not taking her eyes off Oatmeal, who was enjoying having his muzzle rubbed, she said, "Karen."

Jodie said, "You'd rather be at the Peace Service, wouldn't you, Karen?"

"Yes, ma'am, I guess so. I better go on, now. Thanks for letting me pet your horses."

Instead of going home, we decided to head on over to Thomas Jefferson Unitarian and check it out.

Left wing-nuts

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 14:30:00 +0000

My latest piece over at A World of Progress Teamzine was a blast to write.

I hope it's fun to read, too.

Sunday Go To Meetin' Clothes

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 00:22:00 +0000

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) came sauntering in this afternoon with that one look on her face. The one where you just know she's about to grab the reins and take the horses in a whole 'nother direction.

She waited until Jodie got back from the kitchen before telling us her news. Seems there's a church just south of here planning on having what they're calling an "Open Carry" church service this weekend. Yep, that's exactly what it sounds like - a church full of gun-totin' religious people.

Starr Ann even had a flyer, which I highly recommend clicking on to enjoy the full effect of the chamber artistically overlaid on the parchmenty copy of The United States Constitution:

Anyway, Jodie, Starr Ann and I were having a good, cynical laugh over the whole thing when Starr Ann's laugh kinda wound down far enough for her to say, "We're definitely going to attend."

Jodie got real serious, real fast and objected, "Honey, Darlin', this is going to involve many rednecks, with guns, in an enclosed space. Our goal should be to remain outside that space. See?"

Poor Jodie. She's only been Starr Ann's sweetheart for a year and a half, so while she's great at picking up on the nuances of Starr Ann's disposition, she hasn't quite mastered the sub-nuances yet, which is exactly why as Starr Ann's lifelong best friend, I grasped before Jodie did that there was absolutely nothing on the Goddess's green earth gonna stop Starr Ann from going to church with those scary Second Amendment people.

Naturally, we couldn't allow her to go alone, so we finally said okay.

Starr Ann's reply was a huge smile and a hug for both of us, followed by, "Now, let's saddle up the horses and head on over to the toy store."

From the smiles on our faces, she realized right away we'd taken her wrong, and she amended that to, "The one where they sell children's toys."

Dang. Talk about two disappointed cowgirls.

Turns out, Starr Ann not only wants us to show up in all our lesbian cowgirl glory, she wants us to be packing. Guns. Toy guns.

Once Jodie and I just gave ourselves up to the whole idea, we kinda started having fun with it. Jodie went with a traditional fake-leather holster, the kind that ties around the thigh, and shiny silver six-shooters. I decided on a bright pink water pistol that I'm not sure what yet, but I think maybe I'm gonna load it with something a little more original than plain water. Of course, Starr Ann just had to have the most authentic looking toy AK-47 anybody ever saw in their life.

So, we're all set for church on Saturday. Wish us luck.

Let's Get Excited!

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 13:20:00 +0000

You know how you and your friends bat emails back and forth all day, trading funny pictures and pointing out weird, outrageous or bizarre news pieces? You know how entertaining it is to get going on a string of emails where everybody's just so hilarious, irreverent and off-the-wall you find yourself laughing out loud at the arrival of one message, only to have to groan at the next?

Well, I've noticed that's not only a great way to pass time at the keyboard, it's also a great way to evolve ideas.

There's also a brand new Web site where you can do the exact same thing. Paladin, our esteemed Posse pal, has been working her butt off to make the GLBTQ department of A World of Progress Teamzine something special. In fact, the entire talented, dedicated team of Progressives over at AWOP has done an inspired job of creating a place to exchange and evolve ideas.

I heartily recommend visiting AWOP and jumping in on the commentary. The AWOP team has done their part, but the next move is ours. If you have an innerestin' take on politics, the environment, being gay, being straight, being human, etc, please click on a comment button and join in.

Shame On America, Again

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Tue, 26 May 2009 16:40:00 +0000

Tumbleweed Intelligence

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 10:20:00 +0000

When my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) was very little, we were watching a Western movie one afternoon and she asked, "How do the tumbleweeds know when it's time to come to a ghost town?"

It would've been a shame to offer a linear, logical answer to a question of that caliber, so I said, "Because tumbleweeds are the smartest plants on Earth. In fact, a tumbleweed's intelligence is matched only by its athleticism."

Well, Starr Ann's eyes went all wide and she got that one look on her face (yes, the little thing came pre-packaged with that look!) and then she nodded her head once, real satisfied.

Actually, that was the conversation that got us started on structuring our outlook on a lot of things. Like religion. The very next day, we decided not to believe in any religious characters who wore robes. No, anybody who wanted to be part of our spiritual beliefs had to show up dressed for action. So, the Robes Rule basically wiped out all those scroungy Old Testament figures, which was cool with us. Most of the New Testament people had to go, too, which was very freeing.

Not Mary. Starr Ann and I always liked The Blessed Virgin Mary, who was a lesbian. We could imagine everything about her, even how nice she smelled. And Joseph. Joseph, we realized, was a gay man. They had a marriage of convenience. And Jesus was real. We liked Jesus a whole lot and never once believed he had anything to do with all the damage Christians caused.

The pope wasn't real. In our minds, the pope was just a variation of the man behind the curtain pulling the levers in the Wizard of Oz. Toto was real, though.

The whole Santa Claus thing was implausible to Starr Ann and me. From the elves, to Mrs. Claus, to the logistical nightmare of delivering billions of presents in one night, to all those phony aliases like Kris Kringle, and Father Christmas. Santaism was totally made up. But the reindeer were real. Rudoph was real.

How did I get blown off course with religion? I wanted to talk about tumbleweeds.

Anyway, about a week after Starr Ann and I had that initial tumbleweed talk, she asked, "Margo, what do tumbleweeds eat?"

I said, "Why don't you tell me, Starr Ann?"

She thought for about half a second and said, "They eat the dirt flying around ghost towns."

I was real proud of her at that moment, and said, "Of course! That's surely it."

Well, over the years Starr Ann and I have built up quite a body of Tumbleweed Lore. Most of it came from Starr Ann. Like the fact that tumbleweeds don't poop. Also, tumbleweeds are real fearless. They don't think anything of tumbling off cliffs, or rolling right through a stampeding herd, or jumping into a river and getting carried off on its current for a few miles. Helicopters are the tumbleweed's only natural enemy. Tumbleweeds really hate helicopters. And when tumbleweeds die, their souls go to beautiful wind farms in the Netherlands.

Plus, all tumbleweeds are female. That's why, even though they indulge in a sexual act they call a blow job, the tumbleweed meaning of that phrase bears no resemblance to the human version.

Anyway, what got me thinking about tumbleweeds is the fact that it must seem like Happy Hands Ranch has become a ghost ranch, we've not posted in so long. Thanks, by the way, for the inquiries about our absence.

Well, it's not tumbleweed time around here, it's just that reality-based activities intervene sometimes. Heh.

But Starr Ann and I are not only alive and well, we're enjoying Spring and the animals and each other. I think there'll be more regular posts in the weeks to come, but you can never really predict something like that.

One morning last week, we visited the barns at Churchill Downs, trying to get a shedrow photo good enough to use for posting chapters of my other novel. None of the pictures turned out to be just right, so we're going back this weekend and try the afternoon lighting. Wish us luck, because I'm going to start posting a chapter of Grand Theft Equine every Sunday morning, starting in two weeks. It's a book chock full of lesbians, racehorses, and racetrack life. If you tune in, you should feel right at home right away, since the first chapter features a cute girl, with a splendid butt, wearing chaps. Just sayin'.

I'm not starting the book this Sunday because it's Easter. Starr Ann and I hope everybody has a lovely Easter Sunday!
(the Easter Bunny is real)

The 69th Law of Thermodynamics - Hotness is Relative

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 02:03:00 +0000

Starr Ann sniffed the air and said, "I smell bowling alley."

Right away, I knew what she meant. That special blend of alley varnish, concession stand and ball wax is a hard aroma to forget. And, around here, when that smell sneaks up on you in a non-bowling situation it usually means Claire Norma Jeeter-Smith isn't far away. For some reason, Claire Norma took the idea into her head a few years ago that wearing bowling shoes is the ultimate fashion statement. Real bowling shoes. Old rentals she bought from the actual bowling alley. Anyway, if there's anything a couple of optimists like Starr Ann and I are willing to admit is hopeless, it's that it's possible to get the bowling alley smell out of real bowling alley shoes.

So the minute Starr Ann said that, we both started looking around for Claire Norma. I was the one to spot her standing alone over by the edge of the dance floor.

Claire Norma's build is pretty darn proportional to a pear - short and stubby, real broad and round at the base, sloping narrowly upward to the shoulders, with tightly curled short hair that makes her head keep that narrowing effect going all the way to the top. If Claire Norma sounds like the kinda girl you'd pass right over as you scope out the bar, then I guess I described her pretty accurately.

Which brings me to an uncomfortable subject. At least, it's one that gets Starr Ann and me squirming a little bit. Does our reaction, or lack thereof, to Claire Norma make us bad lesbians? I mean, if we were any kind of upright lesbians, wouldn't we find all women beautiful? And not just on the inside?

"There she is, Starr Ann, over by the dance floor."

Starr Ann said, "Seems kinda far off for us to be picking up the shoes this strong."

I had to agree with that.

Well, just as Starr Ann and I were about to head over there like we always do, so Claire Norma wouldn't be all by herself, we both realized Janie James was standing right next to us. Your eyes wouldn't exactly glide past Janie as you scoped out a bar. Just sayin'.

Anyway, Janie nodded real polite as we made way for her to get through carrying two ice cold beers, with a big smile fixed on a point somewhere near the edge of the dance floor, and wearing an aromatic pair of bowling shoes.

Dang. Hotness is counterintuitive.

Passing On The Narcoleptic Girlfriend

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 15:15:00 +0000

For some reason, I've always secretly thought it'd be cool to know someone with narcolepsy. That sounds mean, I know, but you can't really be held responsible for random things that enter your head. Can you? Anyway, it's not like I'd wish narcolepsy on somebody. She'd already be narcoleptic when I met her.

NOT a girlfriend. I wouldn't want a narcoleptic girlfriend. Now I'm wishing I hadn't even started this whole subject, because the deeper we get into it, the more I sound like a jerk. Maybe I've hit upon a real pocket of intolerance in myself here. I mean, I can imagine there are lots of people riding around with narcolepsy support ribbons on their cars who'd find me downright politically incorrect and prejudiced for being willing to hang out with a narcoleptic, yet not wanting to actually take a chance on having sex with one.

Dang. Now I'm mentally designing the narcolepsy support ribbon. It should have a deep, velvet black background with diamondy stars all over it and a half-moon with its eyes closed. And of course it would say I Support Narcolepsy.

Anyway, is it so wrong to be honest about this? I mean, I wonder how many narcolepsy supporters would have to admit they really wouldn't care to have a girlfriend with Tourette's syndrome, for example? Probably many.

And all those people would be considered intolerant by the Tourettes supporters, conspicuously recognizable by their signature bright yellow and red ribbons that blare Fuck, Yes, I Support Tourette's.

At this point, I'm not even sure why I started this conversation. Maybe I have short-term memory loss. Maybe I should design a support ribbon for short-term memory loss. It'd be orange, I think. And it would read I Support...

Anyway, for some reason, I still think it'd be cool to know somebody who has narcolepsy.

Mothers of Invention

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 13:27:00 +0000

All through growing up in the orphanage, my best friend Starr Ann and I used to create stories for ourselves about what our mother would be like, if we had one. We got so much in the habit of inventing our ideal mother, that to this day, one of us will occasionally begin a sentence with, "If we had a mother,she would..."

Sometime a story would come out of a dream, sometime we'd just make it up, but whatever the source, all our stories became part of this elaborate mother history we shared.

Anyway, here are a few of our mom stories and our approximate ages when they popped into being.

(3-year-old Starr Ann)(made up) Our mom would think of real fun games to play with us whenever it stormed, just so we'd get used to liking rough weather.

(7-year-old me)(dreamed) Starr Ann and I had two beautiful green turtles, the ones about as big around as a half dollar. Their names were Speedy and Greeny (we were little, okay?). One time, our mom accidentally stacked a bunch of cotton diapers right next to the turtles' bowl and the diaper lint made a thin coating on the water that also coated Speedy and Greeny's noses and they couldn't breathe. As much as our mom must have been hurting over finding them dead, she came outside and called us to the porch with this great big smile on her face. Our mom told us she had wonderful news. She was cleaning the turtle bowl and Speedy and Greeny jumped down into the toilet and swam to the river to be with their mother. Our mom said we should be very happy for them. Not the best way to help your children create their grief pathways, but our mom didn't know that.

(9-year-old Starr Ann)(made up) All through grade school, whenever one of the teachers at our little parochial school would be absent for some reason, our mom was the default substitute teacher. When the sixth grade teacher had a nervous breakdown, our mom taught at our school for a whole year. Her kids loved her so much that a bunch of them used to come to our house almost every day after school, which meant we got to hang out with older kids! It was great until a couple of the wilder boys tricked Starr Ann by giving her a candy bar that was really laxative. But Starr Ann came out the winner, because our mom made those boys bring Starr Ann a real candy bar each and every day until school was out.

(12-year-old me)(dreamed) Our mom's favorite movie star was Susan Hayward. Whenever you mentioned the name Susan Hayward, our mom would say something like, "Ohhhhh, just the thought of her makes my knees weak." Heh. Just sayin'.

(13-year-old Starr Ann)(dreamed) There was this boy in our neighborhood who was a senior in high school when I was a freshman. Our mom really liked him, but I didn't. When this boy asked me to his prom, I didn't want to go, but my mom practically forced me to. I counted every second of that miserable night and came home real early.

(young adult me)(made up) When I broke the news to our mom that I was lesbian, I told her it was because she made me go to that prom with that boy I didn't like. Even though she's cool with me being gay, I still tell her that.

About a month ago, Starr Ann dreamed our mom got real sick and had to be put on life support. After a couple of days, she was conscious, but couldn't say a word due to the breathing tube down her throat. She kept looking at me, trying to say something. We tried and tried to guess what she meant, but she shook her head no with each guess. Finally, the nurse brought in this sheet of paper with big block letters on it, and said maybe our mom was lucid enough to spell out her message. Our mom spelled out C-H-A-I-R and pointed at me. She always did worry about how I stand up for too long when she's in the hospital, and here she comes out of a very near death episode, with a breathing tube down her throat and a feeding tube down her nose and needles in her arm and all she's thinking about is my comfort. When Starr Ann and I invent a mother, we really invent a mother.

Not that our mom doesn't have her faults and didn't make mistakes and doesn't drive us nuts at times. We added those parts to the history, too, but somehow they don't tend to stick or seem very important.

Since Starr Ann's dream where our mom almost died, we've been talking and thinking a lot about mothers in general. Starr Ann and I have just about decided nobody in the world sees their mother all that realistically. In fact, it's about as impossible to be objective about your own mother as it is to see your own image the way other people do.

Anyway, in the last couple of weeks, I've added this new scenario where even though the doctors say she's had many silent heart attacks over the years, and even though they say her lungs are awfully bad, our mom is so resilient that she's amazing them every day with how well she's bouncing back.

We love our mom.

Creepy Bobby Jindal

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 12:57:00 +0000

Bobby Jindal is all the GOP has? HE is their greatest hope? I've trimmed down this video of Rachel Maddow's response last night to the Republican rebuttal to President Obama's address. It's only 26 seconds long. She's real hot when she's befuddled!

Cap...tion..................This

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 08:01:00 +0000

Happy Lovers' Day, Doll

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 08:01:00 +0000

Sweet love of my life
Keeper of my cowgirl heart
Hottest thing this side of white lightning

I love you for all I'm worth

The Calming Fragrance of Inner Peace

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 21:12:00 +0000

My best friend Starr Ann isn't intentionally perverse. Well, perverse is the wrong word. What I mean is that she doesn't go to any trouble to run against the grain, but sometime, a lot of the time, she just naturally does.

Like when we were in high school and studying communism. Of course, it was real easy to pick up on the fact that the nuns expected everybody to react negatively to the word communism. I guess I don't have to describe the reaction Starr Ann got when she stood up one day and said communism sounded like a very nice system for doing things. Then, to make it even worse, she pointed out that, if you think about it, a convent functions like a little communist society. It wasn't until after class, when we were walking by ourselves, that Starr Ann added she'd never recommend actually forming a communist state, because although the theory is awful pretty, there's nobody but humans to try it out on, and on a large scale, human greed would be bound to mess things up.

Anyway, right now, everybody you run into is so uptight about the economic crisis. Like yesterday. We were at the grocery. Starr Ann had bought a package of vegetarian bacon as soon as we got there, so she could walk around eating what looked like - raw pork! When Starr Ann does that, you can just hear people tisking about the fact she's gonna get worms for sure.

Dang. Now I have to decide whether to leave that part about the raw fake bacon in here or not. On one hand, it doesn't do a heckuva lot to support my statement that Starr Ann isn't intentionally perverse. Heh. On another hand, I like to tip people off to fun things to do. Okay, I'm leaving it in.

So, there we were in the grocery, and here comes our neighbor, Randy, moping down the soap aisle. Starr Ann flapped a big ol' piece of raw fake (but very real looking) bacon in her mouth and said, "Why so chipper, Randy?"

Okay, I'm thinking about just taking out that whole sentence where I say Starr Ann doesn't try to be perverse.

His surprise made him almost look perked up for a second, but then his face went all heavy again, and Randy said, "Chipper? Who can be chipper with the stock markets crashing and credit drying up and nobody knowing from one day to the next who's gonna lose their job?"

Starr Ann sucked the last bit of salty goodness out of that particular piece of bacon and said, "Now, Randy, aren't you the guy who's been complaining about your job the whole nine years you been working at the hardware store?"

Randy puffed up his chest. "Sure I hate my job. Nobody likes workin'. But I'd sure like bein' broke and hungry a whole lot less."

Well, I could see Starr Ann revving up to get Randy in a conversation that was going to twist him up good, so I grabbed a slice of Starr Ann's bacon and stepped between them. "You hungry now, Randy? Want some of this?"

You should have seen the look that rolled across that poor guy's face at the thought of eating pork worms. Soon as he got feeling stable again, Randy wheeled his cart in the opposite direction of the one Starr Ann and I were headed.

We were about to pass on by the diet soups aisle when Barbra Jayce Cramer-Tildon spotted us and rushed right over with this real dazzled look on her face. Which meant absolutely nothing, because Barbra Jayce's face no longer has a repertoire of expressions to arrange itself in. Nope. What with all the facial medical interventions she's had done and all the makeup Barbra Jayce wears, it's just about impossible for her to look anything but dazzled. Up until that last intervention, if you got Barbra Jayce real mad you could see a little something that bordered on stunned, but those days are past her now.

Anyway, we tried to hustle down the next aisle in a hurry, but Barbra Jayce just grabbed about ten cans of unseasoned water chestnut broth and ran to catch up with us. "Starr Ann! Margo! Ain't everything awful?" Barbra Jayce said, in that heavy, gravelly voice that's about as opposite as you can get from dazzled.

Starr Ann said, "Awful?"

Barbra Jayce said, "Don't tell me the economic crisis and this stimulus package business doesn't scare you half to death, Starr Ann."

Rolling a bacon slice up real neat, Starr Ann said, "Okay, I won't."

Barbra Jayce threw her hands in the air and said, "There you go, Starr Ann, acting like there ain't a thing in the world can shake you up!"

When Starr Ann popped that rolled-up bacon in her mouth, you could tell the implications would have registered on Barbra Jayce's face if only they could. But they couldn't.

Anyway, by that time, we were entering the pet section, and Barbra Jayce growled out, "Mark my words, this country's headed for disaster."

Starr Ann stopped a little ways down from the pet food part of the aisle, put her hand on Barbra Jayce's shoulder, and said real kind, "BJ, you ever stop to think that living in a financial system where people who hollow out the currency, lending and re-lending money until it's nearly worthless, are lavishly rewarded, while the ones who actually produce things of value, like food, or art, or healing, or learning, have to barely get by or else resort to credit - did you ever stop to think that a country that functions like that is already in a state of disaster? Personally, I'm ready to face whatever this correction brings."

A casual onlooker would have thought maybe Barbra Jayce had been strongly affected, dazzled even, by Starr Ann's words, but of course, that wasn't the case. Barbra Jayce paused for the slightest moment before saying, "Don't you come crying to me, Starr Ann, when you finally realize how far all that inner peace crap's gonna get you, you hear?"

Starr Ann just finished off her last piece of fake bacon and held a bottle of de-wormer up where she could see the label better, saying all distracted, "Wonder if this one's cherry flavored."

Obviously, I went ahead and left in that part about how Starr Ann isn't intentionally perverse. I'll leave it to you to decide if I did the right thing.

Instrument of Fun - Our Kinda Stimulus Package

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 15:06:00 +0000

Absent-mindedly rubbing her right forearm this morning, my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) had absolutely no complaint in her voice as she said, "My arm feels kinda asleep from all the vibration yesterday, is yours, Margo?"

Mine was a little tingly. I said, "Nope. Not a bit. Arm's just fine. Maybe I should be the one to use it today, and you take a little time off. Don't wanna end up with repetitive motion injury, do you?"

Starr Ann limbered her wrist up, and then rotated her shoulder some before saying, "No way! I'm sure this is temporary. See?" She flexed her fingers. "The numbness is already working out a whole lot. And remember, I get to use it first today."

Dang! Starr Ann never forgets who's turn it is next.

I blew out my breath real hard, so it would make my bangs fly up the way Starr Ann always finds so funny and said, "Okay, you get started. I'll get the lubricating oil and be there in a minute."

Starr Ann had that one smile on her face as she nodded and headed out to the back porch where we left the chainsaw yesterday when we finished with it.

That's right! If there's one thing that interferes with blogging more than losing power in an ice storm, it's spending all day cutting up the debris that ice storm left behind. Anyway, Happy Hands Ranch is looking a bit more cleaned up after all our work this weekend, and I'm really hoping to get back to writing and reading everybody else's blogs in a day or two.

It Really Is A Musical

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 16:46:00 +0000

**I've been wanting to tell about this for a while now, but simply did not have the technology. Now I DO have the technology to trim an embedded video down to just a few seconds. So, please trust me, and when you come across an embedded video within this story, go ahead and click on it, watch the very short clip, and read on. Oh, and, apologies in advance to those of you without fast connections.

There's this thing my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) does sometime. It's kinda hard to explain, and we've never, ever actually put it into words. Anyway, Starr Ann can take a perfectly normal-feeling day and turn it into what I can only describe as a real life musical. That's right! And it usually starts up something like the way it did this morning.

We were having breakfast. So far so good. Jodie went to the fridge and asked if anybody would like more milk. I said no. But Starr Ann smiled that one smile, the one that says her movements and facial expressions are about to go real big, like she's onstage. Then all of a sudden she says, "I'd like more milk, ...

Right away, Jodie and I knew a Starr Ann Musical Day had begun, but the unspoken rule is that we never, ever acknowledge it's happening, so Jodie just whisked over to the table, and with a flourish, she filled Starr Ann's glass up to the top.

Starr Ann beamed at Jodie and said with genuine admiration, "Baby, how do you make everything look so effortless?"

Closing the carton and popping it back into the fridge, Jodie said, "Why, it's nothing. In fact...

Anyway, after breakfast, as is often the case when we're in the middle of a Starr Ann Musical Day, somebody knocked on our door. We all three rushed to answer it, expecting the real fun to begin, but were kinda disappointed to see it was our neighbor, Billie Mae. Starr Ann's been trying real hard to get Billie Mae interested in something besides being over-medicated and the fact that her opposite-sex marriage is on the rocks, and last week it emerged that Billie's always wanted to learn to whistle. So that's what she and Starr Ann have been working real hard on. The second she crossed through the doorway, Billie Mae started up trying to show Starr Ann the whistling progress she'd made last night...

All kind and understanding, Starr Ann said, "See, Billie, that ain't real whistling, okay?"

Well, like always, Billie wasn't much innerested in hearing anything remotely connected with reality, so she got all teary eyed, which made Starr Ann get a little more stern and say, "Now, Billie Mae...

To which Billie Mae responded by flipping herself around and dancing off to the comfort of her medicine cabinet.

A few hours and many sensational song and dance routines later, there was another knock. This time, what I saw standing there on the porch was a little more to my liking. It was Celia Susan, wearing what might be the tightest pair of pants I ever did see. And she was doing them all kinds of justice.

Even though Celia Susan and I have suspended our physical relationship for the past several months on account of knowing we'll never really fall in love with each other and deciding maybe we shouldn't give in to the moment and risk taking the edge off our scouting abilities, you should have seen the twirl I executed on the way to greeting her while asking, "Celia Susan...

Poor Celia Susan just waltzed right up and looked at me hard with those big brown Celia Susan eyes for a second before saying, "Margo...

Dang. I might get these gallant notions in my head sometime, but I'm not insane or anything. I took Celia Susan's hand in mine, danced her around the hallway once, and said, "Sure, I'll help you make it through the night."

Well, after that number, Jodie got all caught up in the sexual tension and gave Starr Ann that one look I've seen pass between them before. Then Jodie started moving her hips mighty smooth like, and she said, kinda urgent, "Starr Ann, darlin', ...

To tell the truth, I don't think they'd have lasted until they got home to Jodie's, so I reminded them how far my bedroom is from Starr Ann's and suggested we all call it a night. That idea went over real well.

Anyway, Starr Ann Musical Days always turn out to be pretty innerestin', but this was one of the best. And breaking with tradition, it extended beyond the daytime. Late into the night, from both ends of our house, you could plainly hear...

Heh.

Holed Up. Heh.

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 03:34:00 +0000

Well, we got ourselves stranded in an ice storm. With no heat for five days, cold temperatures that swooped down to 12 degrees on Thursday night, and 24 dogs, cats, and horses that couldn't be left behind, what are a couple of cowgirls to do?

That's easy. These two cowgirls let ourselves be dazzled by the sights, excited by the challenge, and awed by the adventure.

We bundled the smaller animals in front of the hearth with us, kept a roaring fire going, carried lots of water to the horses, fluffed the stalls thick with bedding, cooked amazing food in the fireplace, and took a few pictures of the beauty and destruction.

Here's some of the destruction. That's the driveway, looking out toward our main gate. Not real passable.

We could hear loud crashing all night long, as the ice broke our trees. These bird feeders are maybe fifty yards from the house.

Even two days after the storm, we had to walk all the dogs on leashes to keep them clear of limbs that continued to fall.

To get the horses out of the barn that first morning, we had to cut away a huge piece of Bradford pear tree that had fallen in front of the door. In this picture, we'd already pulled the branches aside.

Okay, just a few more of the beautiful sights Nature left behind after her little reminder of who's still really in charge.

Oh, and just in case you ever run into a situation that seems hopeless, and you're feeling like giving up, it might be good to know that when the weather warmed up five days after the storm, this 9-foot-tall blue spruce actually stood back up.

To Oatmeal and Trickster, that warm weather meant just one thing. Sunbath!

Anyway, it was a winter storm we'll always remember, but it's great to be warm, safe, and online again.

Happy Groundhog Day!

With Idleness Comes...

noreply@blogger.com (Margo Moon) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 15:07:00 +0000

Starr Ann is so very loved! After Saturday's PMScapades, look what Paladin, who's taking a little break from blogging, went and did:

Well, I was bored, see, ‘cause I haven’t been blogging and filled only 23.5 hours of my day these days. I figured I’d do something nice for Starr Ann and also protect the rest of us by making sure when those eggs start moving around, she has a comfortable place to go. Don’t worry, I also passworded the little cook stove down there. I broke the code for the password to get into the bunker and rearranged a few things and added a few pieces in. Nothing major. Still waiting on this nice little Barbaro B&W photo series I had Annie Liebowitz take for me a few years ago to finish off the hall decor. Annie – she gets distracted so easily – I really can’t complain after all she’s done for me over the years.

Plenty of room for the entire gang should things get tough. If Starr Ann gets completely out of control, we can lasso her and tie her to those bed posts. Tell Jodie no offense.

This is Starr Ann’s room.

It was tough getting the final touch in – the cheap plastic plants came with it and I just ran out of time. I knew I was about out of time with Starr Ann’s latest brush with PMS coming soon. I figure Starr Ann can find something else to go there-she’ll probably cry over it though, huh?

Love and Kisses,
Paladin, Have Hot Tub, Will Travel