The first thing to bloom in the yard, besides the daffodils and tulips, is the lilac. But lilacs are a dime a dozen, so here are the two flowering things in the yard right now. The top image is a salvia, May Night variety, which can handle the heat and dry as a dehydrator climate. At bottom, is Persian Rockcress, a resident in the rock garden. The cool thing about this plant is that the blooms smell like candy. When the doggie odor in the house gets too much, I can always escape to the yard for fresh, sweet smelling air.

Everything else is green and covered in buds. It sort of feels like the yard is holding its breath, just before it lays on some serious color. Between trying to actually do real writing and working in the garden, I haven't had much time to mess around on the Internet.

Our garden is surrounded by an adobe wall. My clever J-Man put in brick, flagstone and crushed stone pathways, and flower beds. I'm in charge of the plants. This year, after letting it go a little too natural and messy over the past couple of years, I've decided to put some real effort into it.

Now, I know why people hire full time gardeners.

Hope all had a great weekend.

P.K.

Scary Saddle Monster

Last week, Nikster the Wonder Horse, feeling that I was getting too complacent, decided he didn't want to wear a saddle anymore.

When I first got him, he was "broken" (hate that word), but really nervous about saddling. I'd lift the saddle up toward his back and like the Loch Ness Monster, his long neck would shoot up and every muscle in his body stiffen. In Nik language, that means "I'm about two seconds away from a nuclear meltdown." Anyway, after some work, he got over that.

Because I do all my tacking and grooming in his paddock, I never tie him up. Honestly, I like giving him the option to leave when he doesn't like something. Nik, like his owner, resists being forced to do anything, so he's much safer to be around if he has an "opt out" clause. Besides, the macho, abusive cowboy shit wouldn't work with a horse like Nik. He'd explode and take out everything and everyone within a ten mile radius.

Something must have upset him and his microscopic brain connected the event to saddles. (I have not idea, really.) When I reached for the saddle, he turned around and walked away.

Back to square one, first with the saddle pad, then the saddle. Anyway, today he was back to normal and bored with the process.

And folks say women are complicated....

***

We finally have some color in the yard as the first spring flowers are starting to bloom. I'll get some pix up tomorrow. I think I'm getting a handle on growing things in a climate that resembles a food dehydrator.

And yes, I know. I fried my blog template--SIZZLE. So if your link has gone missing, it's because I had to use a backup template from last November. Oops. Butter fingers.

P.K.

The Easter Bunny Is Dead

I keelt heem. He ess decomposing in my closet.

Any morning people out there?

Hate you.

Morning cracks in the Kirby household like a rotten egg splurking into pristine cake batter. Neither one of the two-legs greet the morning with any glee. I find rising before sunrise so deplorable that each morning I literally spend a few minutes contemplating suicide. Except, since it's morning, I don't have the required energy to complete the task. That is followed by cursing the powers that be for making me a working stiff.

This morning's psychotic anti-morning rumination: contemplating shaving my head because drying my hair takes too bloody long. All that hair drying time--the bulk of the beauty routine--could then be allocated to more sleeping time.

One of the worst things about mornings are morning people, especially the syrupy types who want to chatter about your weekend at 7 AM before a proper dosage of caffeine.

Chirpy McBubbles: "Was the Easter Bunny good to you?"

ME: [Rubs tummy] Oh, yeah. Real good, just like chicken.

Chirpy McBubbles: "Oh. I have to be...someplace...bye."

Fortunately, morning people don't do dark humour and can be frightened away. More irritating is the Mover and Shaker type who shows up in your workspace and starts going through the list of things that need doing, today's meetings, etc. And then he looks annoyed when you blink owlishly at him, as if everyone should have their head shoved as far up management's butt as he does.

The crown for Most Irritating Morning Life Form in the Morning (or any time of day) went to a guy I worked with several years ago. Among his many non-charms, was the propensity to play "whatever you have, mine is better" game. Since he was pauchy ex-rocker with a mullet haircut, clinging to past high school glory, his superiority existed only in his head.

The cherry on top of his tedious nature was his sports obsession. Everyone in that damn office lived for sports. I, on the other hand, when confronted with sports talk, switch off my ears and start writing gay porn. Typical scenario:

CoWorker: "Hey. Did you see that pass Johnson made last night?"
ME: [Click. Ears off.] Cue Boom-chicka porn music. Meaty guy in football uniform walks into locker rooms. Second meaty guy says, "Get out of my dreams and into my pants, hot stuff."

SportsGuy took it a step farther, thinking he could crush my ego by telling me every time his college team--The Lobos--beat mine--the Aggies. A futile effort because, A) I didn't care about Aggie sports when I was in school, and B) because this was my usual reaction:

SportsGuy: Hey Pat. Did you see the Lobo vs Aggie game last night? It was sweet. The Lobos laid a can of whoop ass on the Aggies. [makes whistling noise]
ME: [porno music starts to play] Eh? What sport? [honestly don't know]. [Meanwhile, in my head, two sexy elf-men are getting ready to go at it.]
SportsGuy: [slightly deflated] Football.
ME: Huh? Really? It's football season?
SportGuy: [stupidly persistent] Yeah. And Cortez threw a forty yard pass.
ME: Cortez? Who does he play for?
SportGuy: The Lobos. [smirks] Meanwhile, Coach Hardy is in hot water for recruitment bribes.
ME: Recruitment? Like the Army?
SportGuy: No, no. Recruiting new players.
ME: And Hardy is the...Lobos' coach?
SportGuy: No. The Aggie coach. [sighs. fiddles with mullet. slinks away.]
ME: [sexy elf-men jeer at his back and commence The Sex.]
***
On a side note, we found a dead cottontail rabbit on the property yesterday. Apparent cause of death unknown. I insisted that the J-Man--here's where I pull the girl card and refuse to deal with Ewy Dead Thing--bury it to curtail carrion smells. J-Man noted that Peter had been dead for some time as the corpse was "crunchy." So if your children went short a few Easter treats, it's because Mr. Death paid the Easter Bunny a call.

Double Ewy.

P.K.

Greenish Thumb

Saw a harbinger of spring--the first turkey buzzard.

Last year some of our flower beds looked like the one shown, all nice and Better Homes and Gardens. Currently, that flower bed is a mass of pink pea gravel spotted with a few mounds of green. Serious flowers are about a month away.

The last three days were spent in the throes of more manic energy, driven by hatred of my neighbors. The cool thing about all that energy is that I got a lot done. Besides cleaning up almost all the flower beds, replacing gravel mulch and crusher fines on pathways, clearing brush, the J-Man and I got in the first section of the Great Wooden Fence of Kirby. The Great Fence will eventually block our view of our cognitively impaired (oh, heck, why be P.C.?--They're Retarded) neighbors. The first section protects Nikster the Wonder Horse from their idiot dog. (Actually, the dog is the smartest member of that family.)

I have, however, gotten no writing done. Or drawing for that matter. Fortunately, the creative monster is starting to awaken in my head. (I have a Muse, but she's a lazy bitch and sits on her ass all day eating chips and salsa.)

P.K.