Happy 226th birthday, USA! Happy Saint Elizabeth of Portugal Day!

I hope all of us in the States take at least a moment and enjoy themselves today for a bit.

Newtieboy woke me at 6:30 this morn… patty-pat on the nose, to get me to play. I indulged him, of course. He doesn’t like my “cat-fishing” toy, but will chase a strip of canvas that the futon packing contained… go figure. 🙂 I’m happy that he’s still so playful, at nearly three years old… I wonder when he’ll mellow, if at all? He’s got a darker tiger-buddy outside that I’ve been giving some food to… dark brown stripes, and a poofier tail than Newts. It has a collar, but I’v enot gotten close enough to read it, or to see the outdoor-kitty is a he or a she.

soaking the moonflower seeds for 24 hours before planting them… they and the sweet alyssum will be in the soil tomorrow.

they arrested saddam’s stepson in south florida? at a flight school? is that true? egad!

grabbed for a visa violation, and deporting him? my news source on that is dubious…

the ER last night was interesting… two doors over were a pair of customs agents, and two local policemen… did they catch a mule? probably

reminds me of a song…

A stretch of interstate. You are between two cities. It is night, and quiet, and each rural exit proposes the idea of what’s beyond.

On a hot night in late August, less than an hour on the interstate south of Memphis, you take an undistinguished exit onto roads so undistinguished their names are not posted, and drive less than fifteen minutes from the truckers and the travelers, passing maybe a dozen domiciles, before you reach a sunken area off to the right and find yourself in Othar Turner’s backyard. A wooden barn defies gravity by remaining upright. A white horse swishes its tail. Othar‘s mule brays.

Of course, goat songs give way to one of the more refulgent cow songs.