Summer blooms

The crepe myrtles are in full bloom at D2U. Beautiful!

Someone's slacking off on the job

This picture's not the clearest, but I took it at 5:20 this morning, when there was hardly any light out. It's exactly what it looks like: a slug in Myrtle Mae's bowl the length and thickness of my index finger, black with green and tan stripes down the length of its gloopity-gloppy body. BLEH!!!

I brought the bowl over to MM and motioned for her to eat the slug. She clucked and gave me that sideways-head look, as if to say, "You want me to eat that? I don't think so, lady." Then she chicken-walked off to peck around in the grass and chase Elvis off of her tree stump.

Yep, I feel the need for another chicken or two. Maybe there are still too many slugs for my fine feathered friend to eat on her own...

Insanely busy, that's all

This week is proving to be insanely busy and leaving me with little or no time to post really interesting stuff. Right now, I'm up early grading papers and will have tons more to do during my breaks today at D2U. Then I'll come home, take a short nap, and grade some more, and hopefully get in bed at a decent hour tonight. I'll post more chicken pictures when I can...when I'm home for any decent amount of time, that is. I got out of bed at 5:15am and looked out into the backyard, where Myrtle Mae was already walking around and scratching at the ground, with the sun not even thinking about coming up yet. Yep, that's chickens.

A happy ending after 142 years

NPR.org: "Nathaniel Hawthorne, Family Reunited in Grave," All Things Considered, June 27, 2006

Hawthorne's wife and daughter died before he did and were buried in England; he died and was buried in the States in 1864. Recently, when a tree fell over and damaged the graves of Sophie and Una Hawthorne, the famous author's descendants decided it was time to bring the two ladies' remains home--sweet and fitting.

And I re-read The Scarlet Letter during my post-spring semester break from D2U. Damn, I'd forgotten how good it is.

18 wheels and a black-and-white kitty

Sorry. The old Kathy Mattea song just popped into my head as I was trying to think up a title.

My stepdad, Steve, drives an 18-wheeler for a living. He works for Crete Carrier Corporation on their Southeast route, which means that sometimes he gets to drive the big truck home on weekends. Sometimes he leaves the trailer in the Crete terminal in Atlanta; sometimes he brings it home and drops it in the Methodist churchyard a few miles from the house. (Hell, it's hard enough to get just the truck into the yard, with its 20-foot wheelbase--getting an additional 53 feet of trailer in there is out of the question.)



Of course, bringing the big truck home means that cats have to investigate, as Squiggy's doing here.



Isn't he a good kitty to pose for all these pictures? Squig looks as if he's ready to hop in the cab with Dad and hit the road. But he'd probably freak out if Steve put him in the truck and took off.

A surprising number of truck drivers, especially those on the road for weeks at a time on nation-wide routes, bring their pets with them in the trucks. (Truck driving can be extremely stressful, and having a furry friend along to talk to or pet helps lower the old heart rate and blood pressure--that's why many trucking companies allow pets in the cab.) Most truckers with pets have small "portable" dogs riding with them, such as Jack Russells, mini dachshunds, or Chihuahuas, but once in a while Steve will see a Great Dane or Rottweiler sitting in the passenger seat of another big truck, the dog's silhouette almost as large as that of a person. And, once in a while, he'll also see a cat stretched out across the dash of a Freightliner or Peterbilt, enjoying the sun while Dad (or Mom) drives down the road. One time, he stopped at a Petro truck stop in Kansas and saw a huge seal-point Siamese curled up in a big furry brown ball, napping in the front window of its people's truck. Shweet!

Mom and Steve have discussed getting Steve a truck pet before, mostly on and off over the last couple of years. Now they're seriously thinking of adopting Little Guy's brother, teaching him to walk on a harness, and making him Truck Kitty. I'll keep you posted--this is sure to be interesting.

Seen on the bulletin board at SBCC

I've been teaching at SBCC for going on three years and have just now noticed this memo posted on the bulletin board in the hallway.

MEMORANDUM

TO: All students
FROM: Jane Q. Doe, Dean of Students
DATE: Feb. 21, 2001
SUBJECT: Firearms on Campus

Please be reminded that Small 'Bama Community College policy strictly prohibits the use, possession, or distribution of firearms on campus and is also a violation of state and federal laws.

So what if we take that last sentence and take out the dependent clause in the middle? Hmm...we get Please be reminded that Small 'Bama Community College policy...is also a violation of state and federal laws.

I don't think the English department was in on this memo. Whoever was has been reprimanded, I hope.

SBCC's a "country" college, and I bet that if the police were to show up right now and search every car in the parking lot, at least half would contain some sort of firearm or weapon that's illegal to have on campus (or in general). People over here in Aladamnbama love 'em some guns. Y'all know that, right?

I find it very funny that there's a sign about guns, but not one saying "No chewing tobacco or snuff-dipping" or "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Edumacation." And that this memo's been on the bulletin board for over five years. Maybe we can take it down and use it for T.P. next time the ladies' room is a roll or two short.

(Please note again: I was born in Alabama and lived here until I was 11. I've earned my right to make fun of this state.)

By popular demand: Pictures of a serious(ly cute) little cat!

Thanks to SpookyRach and Orchidophile (and their Thursday-blog-entry comments) for the title of this post. Indeed, by popular demand, here are a few more Little Guy photos. In the one above, you can probably see the cross-eyedness more clearly. No doubt as to who's his daddy, huh? Nope, we won't be needing a DNA test here.



Ohhhh! Sho shweet! Too bad my t-shirt's logo is right there behind his head. D'oh.



Pretty cream colored fella! Hopefully you can see the neat stripe pattern on his side, or at least a little of it. He's wondering where the hell he is, and why there's water in that red-and-white thing. (It's a poultry waterer, by the way, and Myrtle loves it.)



Life is rough when you're this cute. Such a pity.

It's been threatening to rain here in my town for the last four days. Seems as if every little wide place in the road has gotten some rain lately, except for where I live. I went out with some D2U friends Friday night, and as we sat in the restuarant talking and laughing, I happened to notice the Weather Channel on the TV above the bar. On the radar screen, which was filled with red and orange and yellow areas of severe storms, it was completely clear around where I live. The entire system was completely bypassing my town. My mom, 22 miles to the northwest of my town, got plenty of rain, as did my friends who live out in the county and closer to D2U. My house? Not a drop anywhere. It didn't even attempt to rain on my street.

I'm hanging out here at the Happy Kitten Cottage today, alternating between grading papers, watering my rain-starved plants, doing housework, and teaching Little Guy to pee and poop in the litter box only. He's grown up 100% outdoors, so the concept of going potty in one place is completely foreign to him. But I put him in the large "sick kitty cage" last night, where he has food, water, a litter box, and two levels to jump around on; I think he's slowly getting the picture that he's to go where his business in the box is. Poop and pee in Mama's bedroom are not good. (He'll eventually straighten things out with the other cats.)

Don't worry--I'll post more chicken pictures as I get them! Mom, Steve, and I cut up a huge watermelon last night, one of the first of the season--ahhhhh, it was super-sweet and cold. We froze the rest to use later for Watermelon Margaritas, the recipe for which is in this month's Southern Living. And I brought the rinds home to Myrtle Mae. You should see what she did to the cantaloupe rind Mom gave her a couple weeks ago. Whew! That bird loves her fruits and veggies.

What's a mom to do?

Lewis is generally a bad kitty. Here, she's biting her own tail after having 1) whooped Clark's butt, 2) knocked over the kitty drinking fountain, and 3) zoomed out the back door to beat up the outdoor cats, all of whom are three times her size. All within a span of 15 minutes. The cat has Issues.



This, too, happens every single day. You should see my hands--they're pathetic. The older cats have stopped even trying to get along with her; they mostly stay the hell out of her way. Clark's too fat to keep up with her hyper, shrimpy little butt, so now she concentrates all her energy on people's extremities. Mine, Grandma's, Aunt Val's, the neighbor kids', the meter reader's, Jehovah's Witnesses...it's all good. Human hands taste like chicken, evidently.



Sure, I can't stay mad at her for long when she looks this cute asleep, but her incorrigibility has been wearing on my last good nerve. I realized last week that I *had* to do something after she awakened me at 4:00 one morning with her teeth on my toes. So...



Isn't he cute? Even the kitty statue behind him agrees. It's the least I could do, seeing as to how sorry-ass Elvis has been spreadin' it around the 'hood and won't even pay kitty support.

No name for the little guy yet--and yes, I ascertained that he's male before bringing him home.

Who that is? My kitty daddy.

Ain't my kitties...they ain't...I swear it...


**Sincerest apologies to B-Rock and the Bizz.

Y'all check your necks!

"Are You a Yankee or a Rebel?" Speech Test

This quiz was featured on NPR's Morning Edition today along with a great short glossary of "quaint Southernisms," quite a few of which I still use. The full Southern glossary is rye-cheer.*

My score? "75% Dixie. Your neck must be a little pink!" Yeeeee-HAW! Y'all git out the pickled pigs' feet 'n PBR! Ah'm a-fixin' to throw me a hoe-down!

There. Now leave me alone.

I just finished entering my final grades for Tiny Tech's spring quarter. What an insane last week or ten days this has been. I'm glad it's over.

Of course, the problems did not cease with the denouement of the final-exam tomfoolery. A short while ago, as I was entering grades, I encountered technical problems that refused to let me finalize the grades for the Intro to Comp class. "Student has not withdrawn from class," GradeThingy kept telling me. Huh? I had two students who actually, officially withdrew from this course (one before and one after midterm) and another who quit participating around Week 3 and earned an Admin Drop. So what the heck was the problem? I couldn't figure it out. So I just covered my butt and e-mailed the grades to the registrar, making sure to carbon-copy myself at all my various e-mails addresses.

I just hope TTC's registrar is actually in the office tomorrow. She may have decided to cut out early and take a vacation, for which I can't blame her. Still, though, I sure would love to have as few students as possible calling me tomorrow while I'm in my D2U classes and leaving frantic "I-can't-find-my-grade" messages on my cell phone. I've had enough frantic messages from Tiny Tech students to last me a long, long time.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!

Happy Father's Day to all you dads, stepdads, and foster dads out there. And to godfathers as well, who made us an offer we couldn't refuse. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

My father passed away in January 1997. The first couple of Father's Days after that were extremely difficult. It's gotten better with time, even though on days like today I find myself a little sad as I wonder what we'd be doing right now were he still alive, and what he might say about the direction(s) my life has taken in the last nine-and-a-half years. That, of course, is just about impossible to gauge short of getting out the Ouija Board and crystal ball, but I can say for sure that he would find it hilarious that I have a houseful of cats and a chicken in my backyard.

Hear that noise? That's Dad spinning in his grave because I typed Ouija Board in a sentence about him. He hated them for reasons (mostly) unknown to me, and I'm sure that even if it were possible for me to talk to The Other Side with one, he'd clam up and refuse to say anything just because I was using "one of them damn Wee-Jee thangs."

On a happy note, I'm very lucky to have a fantastic stepdad, Steve, who's been a second father to me. Fortunately for Mom, he loves animals as much as she does, so their eight cats and three dogs have a wonderful home where they're spoiled rotten on a daily basis. Steve is famous for his [ahem] "tough talk" about pets. "We don't need another damn cat! Got too damn many as it is!" he says to Mom, who's just called his cell phone to tell him about another pathetically skinny stray on her back steps. Then, on his weekend home from truck-driving, Mom finds him asleep in the recliner with said scraggly new cat snuggled up under his arm, purring up a storm. Mm-hmm. You talk a good game, El Seebeno, but we know how you really are. (He's also shown Myrtle Mae quite a bit of affection, in between jokes about how we should "fire up the grill for a chicken BBQ" at my house.)

In honor of dads all over the world and the crazy things they say, here are a few of my favorite phrases from both my dad and Steve. NOTE: Some of these are Rated R.

My dad's phrases

• Well, I'm fixin' to do somethin', even if it's wrong.
• Good Goddamighty damn!
• [on an item that is outrageously expensive] Let's get two; they're small.
• [again, on an outrageously expensive item] You want that here, or you want it moved?
• [kids acting up and about to get in trouble] Don't make get heavy with y'all.
• [kids taking too long with chores/homework] Y'all better get crackin,' or alternatively, I'd hate to have to crack the whip on y'all.
• My legs are just long enough to reach from my ass to the ground. [He was 5'7".]
• You know, I done fooled around and got to be ____ years old. [He started saying this around age 40 and updated it every year after that.]
• [Our hometown] is a great place to move to, but once you're there, you can never accumulate enough money to get out.

Steve's phrases

• [on something shiny or sparkly, such as a newly-waxed car] That thang's shinin' like a diamond in a goat's ass.
• What in the hell dawgsheeit is this?
• [catches one pet beating up on another] ______, leave him/her alone, or I'm gonna beat your eyes out!
• [frustrated with power tool or piece of machinery] This thang don't know who it's f*ckin' with.
• [with Mom at the wheel and dogs in the back seat] Dogs! We're gonna DIE!
• He's drunker than a nine-eyed billy goat. [I don't know what the thing with goats is.]
• It's [insert your adjective of choice here] as a motherf*cker.
• [calling my cell phone & trying to locate Mom] Is yo boneheaded Mama over there?

Readers, what kind of crazy things does/did the Dad in your life always say that cracks you up?

Myrtle Mae loves NPR

"Ooooh! Gotta get to the radio--All Things Considered is on!"

NPR.org: "Keeping Chickens in the Yard," Commentary by Susan Straight

This was aired on All Things Considered yesterday afternoon, and I got misty-eyed with joy listening to it. Straight reflects on how she's come to care for her young daughter's chickens and how the chickens have taken more to her than to anyone else in the family. She also observes how, over many centuries and on six continents, women have been the ones tending to and caring for the chickens. She lists quite a few of the English-language sayings associated with chickens, which is rather thought-provoking. It was the highlight of my afternoon.

And I'm proud to count myself among all those Women with Chickens!

By request: Tiny Tech fiasco resolved

Sorry about my lack of additional posts yesterday. My laziness overwhelmed me, and I took a nap and then went over to Mom & Steve's. We then went to the darn-good Chinese buffet in another nearby town, then to the feed-and-seed store, and then goofed off the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Several readers have e-mailed or left comments asking me to hurry up and explain how the Tiny Tech brouhaha worked out. Roger that! So here goes.

After having not heard about the "important mandatory departmental final exam" from any of my three supervisors, I had pretty much decided that it wasn't that important or mandatory after all (but in the meantime, I still had a nagging, gut-wrenching feeling about the whole matter). I left each one a message and sent him/her an e-mail Monday morning, when I first got the infernal e-mail about giving the exam. All day Monday passed...all day Tuesday...all day Wednesday without any word from my bosses. Just to be on the safe side, I checked back through my TTC e-mail account to see whether anyone had sent me this final already. Perhaps I'd just overlooked it. Nope. It wasn't anywhere in my e-mail. I finally just decided that I'd tell my version of events and hope for the best. We all would prefer quitting over getting fired, of course, but I decided I'd just stick up for my students, stick up for myself, and do the best I could if I got into trouble.

OH! But wait a minute! I walked back into my D2U office early Thursday afternoon after my last class to see a voicemail on my cell phone from Marlene,* my immediate (and most important) Tiny Tech supervisor. It was an unusually positive and cheery message for someone whom, I'd supposed, was probably really pissed off with me for not doing the exam thing. "Hi, Kitty! It's Marlene, just checking in with you. Sorry I'm just now getting back to you; I've been going crazy doing late registration stuff all this week, and it's been insane. If you need me, just give me a call. I'll be here in the office 'til this evening. Talk to ya soon! Bye!"

Now I was really confused.

I had to be at the Tiny Tech library at 4:15pm Thursday to watch two online students' final presentations. After the second student was finally through with his, it was 5:00pm, and I had to be back at the TTC library at 6:30pm to watch the very last student do her presentation. I didn't really want to go to Marlene's office, but I figured that if she were going to fuss me out, it'd be best to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

I arrived in Marlene's office, and she was happy to see me, though frazzled from a really long exam-giving day. She asked me what was going on with the departmental exam confusion, and I explained to her all the utter hell I'd been through this week, the hell my students had put me through--many of them "shot the messenger," as the old saying goes--and that I had seen neither hide nor hair of this exam. I told her what I'd done in lieu of the departmental exam: for my Intro to Comp class, I'd asked them to write up and turn in a short paper alongside their presentations. For my Comp & Rhetoric 1 class, I'd asked them to take an old, very difficult multiple-choice exam, written by the previous online instructor, that I pulled out of the depths of BlackBoard's bowels. (The grades on that one ranged from 32 to 82. That's how hard the test is. I've been teaching for four years out of those Comp & Rhet 1 textbooks, and I made a 79 on it. It's a doozie.) I explained all of this as evenly as I could, trying not to look as angry as I was feeling, and then sat back and held my breath.

Marlene sighed and rubbed her temples. "Well, Kitty, I'm pretty much sure that this was our fault. Looks like you fell through the cracks when it came time to send out the departmental exam, and I bet William* [chair of the language arts dept. at TTC] just forgot to e-mail it to you. But you've got to give the exam next quarter, and you and William will have to get together and make sure he gives you the final." She stopped for a moment to think. "You know, I'm not even sure he and I ever decided on a departmental exam for Comp & Rhet 1. So that doesn't help you out, either, if we didn't even make up an exam for the class."

I laughed with relief at this last. Marlene wasn't ready to skin me alive after all. It was indeed the department's fault, as I'd suspected. I released a huge sigh as I left her office to go get a bite to eat before the last student's presentation.

Marlene is changing jobs in a couple weeks; after 20+ years as a Tiny Tech department chair and English/reading instructor, she'll be the chief of the Adult Literacy Program at TTC. I'm really sorry that she won't be my supervisor any longer, as she's gone to bat for me often in my years at TTC. But at least she's doing work that's meaningful--even more so than teaching English, as she'll be helping teach people how to read, giving them one of the keys to human freedom--and she'll still be on campus so I can stop in and say hello.

Oh, how relieved I am that it all worked out. Now I just have to get my students' final grades in by midnight Monday...whew.

Completely clueless.

Elvis is scheduled for snippy-snippy on July 5. And he's totally, blissfully unaware. Heh.

I called my vet this morning to see whether they'd gotten my kitty-fixing message the other day, and the vet tech said the 5th was the soonest they could fit Elvis in. "Fine, fine," I said. "I just want to make sure he's neutered, that's all." Well, and get him a three-year rabies shot, too.

Myrtle Mae laid an egg 20 minutes ago and clucked about it very loudly. I called my sister at work so she could listen in on the huevo commotion--it's Val's laugh break for the day. She declined to put her sassy Rhode Island Red niece on speakerphone so all the other architects could join in the fun.

We've come to the conclusion that MM's "Mama-I-just-laid-an-egg" cluck is eerily similar to the recording that plays when you buy a prize out of the chicken/plastic egg toy machine in the front of every Wal-Mart. As soon as I find a way to record the egg cluck, I'm going to post it here on E&P.

I have Fridays off this summer and am feeling extremely lazy today. But I'll post again today, after a nap, to explain how the Tiny Tech final exam fiasco worked out (and thank heavens it did).

Show and Tell: "My First Egg Money," by Kitty B. Goode

This is my first egg money.
My chicken's name is Myrtle Mae.
She has red feathers.
I am very proud.
The End.


SBCC's librarian, Mrs. B, bought a dozen Myrtle Eggs from me yesterday evening. Upon seeing our eggs-for-money exchange, two more colleagues asked about eggs. Both said they'd each buy a dozen a week or every ten days, if I were to get enough chickens to keep up with demand. Wow! I had no idea the interest in fresh eggs would extend beyond me. I said as much to Mrs. B, and she replied, "It ought not surprise you. You don't know just how many of your co-workers grew up in the country!"

Yes, those are two quarters in the picture. Yes, I am undercutting SuperEvilWalMartBlob by 30 cents. Somebody's gotta do it.

Thankfully, the defecation oscillation at Tiny Tech has resolved itself--will explain tomorrow. I'm exhausted.

A new Poet Laureate!

NPR.org: U.S. Poetry's New Chief: Donald Hall

Hip-hip-HOORAY!!! I've liked Hall's poetry for years and am glad he's getting the recognition he deserves--being named Poet Laureate of the United States! I was happy when I heard about the USPL appointments of Maya Angelou, Billy Collins, and Ted Kooser; I'm just as excited about Hall's getting named to the position.

Thankya, thankyaverrmuch.

Elvira is...Elvis.

When this cat showed up here at the Happy Kitten Cottage in early March, the neighbor two doors down asked whether Elvira was male or female. I hadn't seen any kitty testicles on its fluffy rear--not that I'd actually squatted down to take a closer look--so I told her that this pretty, sweet, loving, semi-stray cat was a she, thank you kindly. When this neighbor's cat had kittens beneath their storage shed, another neighbor told me, "Those kittens look exactly like your cross-eyed cat." I doubted it. "Well, it must've been a feline Virgin Birth, 'cause Elvira's a girl," I told the second neighbor. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Yesterday evening, I spotted three-month-old kittens in the first neighbor's yard. Three-month-old kittens with lilac Himalayan points, crossed eyes, and lavender cream-colored bodies with light-tan "target" tabby stripes similar to those dark ones on their gray-tabby mama. Their parentage was undeniable.

Ol' Cross-Eyes here was right behind me. "Mrrrowww?"

I shoved him back behind me with one foot. "You cad!" I scolded him. "All this time you had me thinking you were a fierce spayed mama-kitty, and now you're daddy to half the kitties in the neighborhood! Not even paying any kitty support, or coming to see your own kids! You just show up when there's food or you-know-what involved! I should call Family Court on your sorry ass!" Then I marched back to my house, picked up the phone, and left my vet a message to pencil Elvis in for an urgent cat-neuter appointment.

Thankya, thankyaverrmuch. This kitty's the King, thankyaverrmuch.

Today's horoscope portends...what?

My free daily horoscope, while fun to read and speculate on, is usually about as reliable as a Magic 8-Ball. You get what you pay for, right? But today's takes the cake...

SCORPIO/GENERAL OUTLOOK: You're bursting with energy right now, and you're likely to use it to challenge the status quo among the people close to you, perhaps your family. For example, if there are subjects that are taboo by common consent, you're likely to bring them out in the open today. Needless to say, there's tension on the horizon!

SCORPIO/CAREER: You have come to a greater, clearer alignment with yourself, and this is helping you to make the best decisions with regard to your work. You are tuned in to your own personal needs and goals. Take advantage of this and proceed with confidence.

Maybe a combination of both forecasts? Who knows?

Anything is possible, as weird as the last few days have been. Still no word from my Tiny Tech supervisors. Now, I can't help assuming that this "IMPORTANT mandatory departmental final exam" is neither important nor mandatory. That's what their silence tells me.

Or maybe it should tell me I'm about to get canned. I spent an hour last night on the phone with my sister trying to figure out all the possible "devil's advocate" angles on this. We concluded that I did drop the ball in forgetting last quarter's extremely brief mention of this exam--I got an e-mail in early March about a commitee writing up the exam with some meeting minutes attached (but no exam itself!), and I had a ten-minute conversation about the exam-in-development with one of my bosses in mid-March. OK, I should've asked more questions and had a reminder tattooed on the back of my hand. But Sis and I also concluded that my supervisors have dropped the ball by failing to give me access to the exam so I can administer it. Isn't that the weirdest thing? "You have to give this exam! But we're not going to tell you where you can get your official copy!" The whole thing chaps my hide. So I'm not giving that "IMPORTANT mandatory final exam."

I've been meaning to move on from Tiny Tech for a while, and now is a good time to do it, if they feel like getting rid of me over this. Or even if they don't. I'm simply not screwing my students over when it's not their fault. (We did just get our SACS review to see whether they'll accredit us--Orchidophile's got a good point on that one.)

I'll respond to all your comments this evening. Gotta run watch final presentations at Tiny Tech...whee.

In the meantime...

Hopefully, you can see the blueberry in Myrtle's beak. These were a little too soft for my taste, but she snapped them right up.

If I've contacted three different people at Tiny Tech about this so-called "mandatory departmental final exam" yet none of them have returned my calls or e-mails, am I correct in assuming that it's not that big a deal after all? Y'all help me out here.

I'll keep you posted. At least there's a sweet, sassy chicken-girl at home to help me forget the stress.

Firing me would be a lot less trouble.

This is incredible--it's only 9:53am, and already my blood pressure's sky-high. I found out yesterday that Tiny Technical College has decided that all General Education Division classes, including online English courses, need a mandatory departmental final exam. Never mind that most of my students have worked their butts off and already turned in their final research papers or final projects and have sold back their books, thinking their work in my class was complete. No! We can't have that! Never mind that many of my online students are firefighters who work 24- and 36-hour shifts in small-town fire/EMT stations, and who can't just drop everything at a moment's notice and go to their local college to take a proctored exam. No! We can't have that kind of consideration for students! Never mind that my students who work two jobs have training classes scheduled all this week and cannot take this faux final. No! We can't give a crap about students! Never mind that some of my students had family vacation plans, the kind that working-class folks wait for and save like crazy for all year long, and now things are totally messed up. No! The college needs to feel as if it's being consistent!

This is the biggest load of bullshit I've come across in my four years at TTC. Had I known about this exam, oh, five or six weeks ago, it wouldn't be a big deal. But now, it's as if the admin folks at Tiny Tech have decided to punish online learners and their instructors. What the hell did I miss, and when did I miss it? Did other people know about this before now? Maybe I just wasn't paying attention about the departmental exam thing--did I miss an important e-mail? In that case, at least I know where to lay the blame, and my students can feel justified in hating my guts. Other than that...it's just some formless, shapeless, nameless, blameless committee who made this decision. And I don't know at whom to direct my displeased ranting, or my pissed-off e-mails.

If TTC wanted me gone, they could've just said, "Miss Kitty, we don't need your services any longer. We have someone new coming in to conduct online English courses." And I would've dealt with it like a big girl and found work elsewhere. But their doing dumb stuff like this makes me want to drive up there today after my last D2U class, hand in my books, and say, "To hell with all y'all for doing this to me and my students," and leave their asses flapping in the wind. "Find your own flunky to jerk around at the end of the quarter, a flunky who dares not rock the boat, because it's not going to be me."

And, naturally, no one in my department--none of my three supervisors--has returned my calls or e-mails yet. "Hey, Miss Kitty, you have to give this departmental final...but we're not gonna give you the test or let you know where you can pick up a copy! Nyah-nyah-nyah-BOO-boo!" If I haven't heard from anyone by this afternoon--by the end of the first full day of final exams--I'm going to stick my neck out for my students and tell them not to sweat the departmental final exam, because there won't be one. It's hard for me to give an exam if I don't have it in my hand. If TTC wants to punish me or fire me, so be it. It'll be hard, but I can find that $600/month somewhere else, at another tech college that won't put me through this kind of utter bullshit.

So much for the Cone of Death

Because we're probably not going to get much of anything from Hurricane Alberto. The wuss. (photo courtesy of Weather.com)

The Weather Channel's only predicting 20% chance of rain for us from Tuesday night through Wednesday morning. That precious 1" to 3" of rain, coveted by everyone here in west central Georgia, will most likely fall to our south and east. Dammit.

Lots of school stuff and poultry cuteness happened today, but I'm tired as crap and am going to bed. Will post more tomorrow, when my day's much shorter and I have more energy. I've only been home half an hour, and I left the house at 6:30 this morning. Ugh.

Let's do a rain dance

Because it doesn't look as if Tropical Storm Alberto is planning a stop in west central Georgia. (photo from Weather.com)

It's hot and dry here, and the jet stream has brought us precious little in the way of rain so far this summer. Most every garden looks pretty pitiful. Watering restrictions are in force state-wide for households with municipal water service (like mine). Households with wells (like Mom's) are in a bind. It's nearly impossible to know the size or fullness of the aquifer that feeds one's well, so people like Mom cut way back on household water usage (laundry, dishes, toilet, etc.) while trying to nurse the garden with as small an amount of water as possible.

Why isn't your mom on the county water system?, I hear some readers asking. Municipal water is still years away, since the county refuses to bring the lines down to her little community 500 feet from the Alabama line. Even then, it'll cost around $2,000 to have a meter installed. (Never mind what running water lines to the house will cost--my head hurts just thinking about it.) Meanwhile, over in Aladamnbama, 1/10th of a mile away, one of the more backwards counties in that state has brought in heavy equipment to install--you guessed it!--county water for every community, even the teensy little 20-person "wide places in the road" that time, space, and modern dentistry have forgotten.

This, folks, is the very definition of irony. So much for Alabama being the butt of jokes this side of the line. Perhaps we should reword that old chestnut...

Q: Why do all the trees in Alabama lean to the east?
A: Because Georgia sucks.

NOTE: As an Alabama native, born in Roanoke (Randolph County), and having lived in Alabama until the age of 11, I am entitled to make jokes about my state.

Myrtle Mae drinks a lot of water, thankfully, as do both the indoor and outdoor kitties. If I'm not teaching or meeting with students, I'm trying to stay cool between 11am and 6pm. My ritual in the morning is to water plants and feed Myrtle her morning handful of Special Kitty cat food--mornings are nice and cool, the perfect time to do outdoor chores.

More interesting posts to come in the weeks ahead, as I'm still seeing a little fallout from last semester's plagiarism F's. Of course, there are a few students who've e-mailed to tell me I cost them their scholarships because I gave them a ___ [fill in grade here]. No, honey--you cost you your scholarship. You earned your grade on your own, plain and simple. The days of professors failing students on a whim are long, long gone.

My goal is to have as many blue "frowny faces" as possible next to my name on RateMyProfessor.com.

In the meantime, if you're in an area that's been deluged with rain, please send some our way. The tomatoes and I thank you.

Green Acres is the place to be...

...fa-a-a-a-a-arm livin' is the life for me!

The Colonel doesn't quite know what to think about my suddenly getting a chicken. The entire time he's known me, I've only had cats, and only liked cats. "I can't really explain it," I told him. "Chickens just...well, I dunno. Chickens equal home."

So in our phone conversation a few minutes ago, I told him that Myrtle Mae had laid yet another egg this morning while I was gone to buy groceries. He laughed and said, "You, with a chicken! That's the damnedest thing! Your house is like Green Acres in the city."

That's pretty funny, his calling my house Green Acres. (And that's one of my favorite TV shows of all time, by the way.) I said, "At least Myrtle earns her keep. She's either laying eggs or eating bugs or fertilizing the yard."

"Yeah," the Colonel agreed. "She's a lot better than those sorry cats. Hell, they won't even answer the phone or pick up the mail while Mama's at work."

Waiting for me in the mailbox this morning was the latest issue of the Farmers & Consumers Market Bulletin, published weekly by the Georgia Department of Agriculture. I subscribe for free, as a Georgia resident; the Bulletin lists all kinds of farmer's markets around the state, plus small farmers who sell their produce directly to customers. Avid gardeners like me can advertise to swap seeds or plants, or sell them for a reasonable price. The Bulletin's also a way for farmers to put "help wanted" ads for experienced farm hands--and you'd be surprised how many folks still make their living as farm hands! Farmers can also advertise livestock for sale; in this issue, there are four full pages jammed with ads for cows, sheep, goats, hogs, fishery stocks, and various poultry for sale...

• "Buff Orpington hens, will lay in June--$10 ea." (Dublin, Georgia)
• "Ameraucana pullets, $12 ea." (Sautee-Nacoochee, GA)
• "Barred Rock hens for sale" (Winder, GA)
• "Black Australorp pullets, $5, you pick" (Loganville, GA)

Yep. I'm done for. Myrtle Mae needs some buddies. Can't have a hen party with just one hen.

How the Yard Was Won

Things had been pretty darn peaceful at the Happy Kitten Cottage in Molly's absence. Then she decided to show her fluffy, cranky butt up again, back in town after three weeks of robbing stagecoaches and living on the run. But Prodigal Molly, the High Plains Drifter Cat, was completely unaware of and unprepared for what was waiting on her back home.

Her yard had sprouted a chicken.



Molly: Whatever you are--this stump ain't big enough fer the both of us.
MM: Naw, it ain't. 'Cause it's my stump, ya varmint. Mosey on, if ya know what's good fer ya.

It was a showdown to end all showdowns. After 15 minutes of staring, clucking, and growling...



Molly: Any other cats looking? [ahem] I got me a reputation ta keep up in this here town...
MM: That ought ta be the least of yer worries, mouse-breath.



Molly: Screw it. I'm outta here.
MM: Brk-brk-brrrrrrk! Talk about "chickenshit!"
Molly: Shut it!
MM: Find somewhere else to lick yer butt, ya overgrown hamster!

Thus Molly, also known as the High Plains Drifter Cat, was disgraced in the eyes of all the neighborhood cats. She drank herself into a stupor at the Special Kitty Saloon immediately afterward, yowling like an idjit for everyone to hear: "Thasss MY stump! Miiiiiine! Myrtle Maaaaaae!" These days, instead of catching mice and guarding the Happy Kitten Cottage, poor Molly can't even venture off the front porch without the other cats hiding their mouths behind their paws as they giggle: "That's the one who got stared down by a chicken! Ha ha haaaaa!" As she slinks across the yard, the mockingbirds swoop down at her and do what they do best: mock their feline target.

Myrtle Mae went on to rule the back yard. To this very day, she's laying eggs, devouring slugs, and pecking any and all unruly cats to keep them in line.

And that's how the yard was won.

Random tidbits

I'm having some trouble with Hello and BloggerBot right now, but don't worry: more gratuitously cute chicken pictures are on the way.

Yesterday's first day of summer classes at D2U went well, for which I'm very thankful. I'll be able to post more about these classes later, as we get further into the term. I was happy to see one student from the early class stop by my office on the first day of classes to ask how he can do well in Intro to Lit. Kevin* is about 45, has a pretty solid career established, and has been going to school in between meetings and conference calls for the last five or six years. He's saved English 1102 until now (his senior year) and is trying not to regret it. Now why can't the little whipper-snappers be this proactive in their learning?

And Kevin said the funniest thing while in my office yesterday: "You're mighty--umm, animated for an English professor." Hilarious, and true.

It's nice and mild today: sunny, 81 degrees, 51% humidity.

Myrtle Mae laid another egg at 10:30 this morning, once again under the gas meter, and clucked her Mama-I-just-laid-an-egg cluck. I think I'm going to mount a little scrap-tin shelter over said meter so she can nest out of the rain. Chickens are fun.

This afternoon, I have to go get a Georgia tag for Boo-Boo the Wonder Truck. I hope the county tag office won't be crowded.

My horoscope for yesterday made me laugh out loud and hope that it was at least somewhat accurate:
Remarkable! That's the kind of word to best describe you today, dear Scorpio. So, don't be modest about it, be proud of yourself! You deserved some kind of recognition, and today you will get just that. Even if you tend to deny it, the people around you are very sensitive to your wonderful energy, to your dynamism and to the wonderful magnetism that you give off. After all these years, you deserve to bask in your own glory for once!

I'm really happy to have Fridays off this summer.

The End Times can’t be far behind

The Colonel is a walking contradiction, which is one of the things that attracted me to him when we first met. On the outside, he seemed to be one thing (a hard-ass, no-nonsense, strictly-by-the-rules retired Army officer), but on the inside, he turned out to be another (a big-hearted, wise-cracking, pun-loving, compassionate, highly principled, live-every-day-as-if-it’s-your-last hedonistic wild man). That unlikely combination was…well...yummy. It's as if there's an equation for his brand of appeal: middle-aged man + (disciplined exterior x crazy interior) = Hot Older Guy.

He’s a Capricorn, but I’m not sure that explains very much.

“Elvis, Jesus, and me: all Capricorns, baby,” he said one day. “That ought to tell ya something.”

“What? That you’re a rock-n-roll legend and the Messiah?” I asked.

He winked. "You never know..."

“Don’t forget Nixon,” I replied. “Oh! And J. Edgar Hoover, and Ronald Reagan. All Capricorns. Now that ought to tell ya something.”

So, in keeping with his contradictory nature, the man who majored in Technology Education in college is a total loss when it comes to his cell phone.

If there’s a weekend ROTC outing and the Colonel says, “We’ll be gone until Sunday night, but you can call me on my cell phone. I’ll have it with me,” I know not to even bother. He’ll either leave it at home, or in his office, or in the ROTC van, or in Sgt. So-and-So’s car, or [fill in highly unusual yet likely location]. He eventually finds the damn thing, but not before I’m pissed off that I haven’t heard from him in four days. Add to this the fact that his cell phone is a bottom-of-the-line, no-frills freebie model (I think it has two ringtones and a smoke signal feature) that he got when he signed the two-year contract and you have a real spectacle: a technical-university graduate who is highly un-technical. “Hey, I'm not one of these nerds you see with a phone glued to his ear. I don’t live and die by my phone,” he says when I express my displeasure with his pitiful lack of phone. (Never mind that if I disappear for four days without calling him, he’s worried sick and wandering around in circles, clucking like Myrtle Mae.)

So imagine my surprise when the Colonel called me up last night to say that at last he was getting a new cell phone. I mean, I’ve only been picking on him about his P.O.S. phone for, oh, a couple of years now. “Finally, you’re getting a new phone! What kind?”

“A Motorola RAZR.”

“Really?” I figured he would think the RAZR was a newfangled shaving implement. “That’s a nice one. I wanted one, myself, but it was too expensive. What made you decide on a RAZR?” I wondered from which bodily orifice my normally frugal sweetie was going to pry $250.

“Honey, I'll have you to know that Wirefly.com has a free RAZR V3 deal for [our cell provider] customers only.”

Wait just a minute. First, he’s getting a much nicer phone than what I have, for a much better deal than I got, and now he’s surfing the internet? The Colonel doesn’t even check his e-mail more than once every couple of weeks. What in the cornbread hell is going on here?

Anybody else out there hear trumpets?

Hope everything comes out all right

"Get lost! Can't you see I'm on the toilet here?"

IMHO, ppl r 2 cool 2 talk. BFO!**

http://www.usatoday.com/tech/news/techinnovations/2006-05-29-teen-texting_x.htm
USA Today: Technology Leaves Teens Speechless

OMG! WTF? Rtcle sez teens wd rather TTYL w/ IM, not 4 real! DQMOT, but comp S-A's r getn worse b/c of it. IM on kbd, IM n papers. I C "LOL" n "LMAO" n "TTYL" n S-A's...even C "S-A's" nstd of "essays." SMHID. GIGO, u no. U say, "UGTBK!" but IMS, it's true. WOMBAT! How 2 fix? TTTT, IIRC.

TTYL, E&Pers! GTG. Pic of chik L8R.



**See Quick Reference IM Abbreviations for abbreviation key.

The meter reader's probably used to surprises...

Evidently, the little area over by the gas meter is an ideal place to nest up and lay eggs. And meter readers probably see crazy stuff all the time, so a sweet, runt-y Rhode Island Red hen sitting here won't be anything truly extraordinary. I just hope the guy remembers to close the gate after he's taken the reading.

Myrtle Mae laid another egg yesterday afternoon, once again in this little corner. I took this photo as she was quietly clucking and fussing, which is Chicken for "World, I am about to lay an egg, so back off." And she did shortly thereafter, clucking loudly for all the neighborhood to hear.

D2U's Summer Term begins Thursday, so the next few days will be spent getting the updated Intro to Lit syllabus ready. I'm excited to have two D2U classes this summer, but the first one begins at 7:45am. Ugh. The class is currently full, at 24 students, but we'll see how long this getting-up-early-during-the-summer thing works for the kiddies. Me? No problem--I'll have been awake for two full hours by class time, so I'll have plenty of caffeine in the old bloodstream and will easily be able to stay awake through the end of the second class at 12:25pm. But the students? Umm, no. I'm wagering that I'll lose at least seven by the second week of classes. Come midterm, around July 4th, I bet I'll have 16 or 17. That would be nice--17's a nice, manageable number.

I'm very reluctant to go back to a heavy teaching load after this mini-vacation. It's been so nice the last week or so with just one class two evenings a week and the regular online classes. I've gotten into a routine of getting up early, watering the garden, drinking coffee, and bonding with chicken and cat alike. I'm about to walk out front and plant a red mandevilla vine and 'Stella d'Oro' daylilies in the cute little flowerbed that Mom built yesterday around the mailbox. It's only 69 degrees now, and now's the right time to do anything that might involve sweating. It'll be torture later in the day.

Things could be worse. At least I have Fridays off this summer.

Educated? Poor? Who cares? We've got CHICKENS!

Education-related postings will resume in the next few days, when D2U starts up its Summer Term. In the meantime, E&P will be all poultry, all the time. Oh, and some cats here and there.

Above: Myrtle yesterday in one of the flowerbeds. She loves rooting around in there; I think that's because of the copious amount of slugs around the foxgloves and lobelias.



Ha! Here's yet another egg--this time by the gas meter! And boy, did MM *ever* cluck and make noise about it.



Prue was four feet away atop the A/C unit, and could not have cared any less. Egg, schmegg.

Shout-out

Woooo-hooo! Thanks to SpookyRach, adding pictures to my posts is now super-easy. She turned me on to a program called Hello that posts pictures automatically to Blogger via BloggerBot. As a blogging newbie, I didn't know how to get commentary in between photographs, and she was kind enough to show me how.

Thanks, Spooky! You've made my life much easier.

Elvira and Myrtle Mae

Myrtle Mae, having a good old time in the yard.



She's evidently rubbing off on the outdoor cats--Elvira took a cue and rooted around in the flower bed with her chicken "sister."

Everybody needs roughage, right?

Since the torrential rains came through Friday night, the yard's been awash in slugs, and Myrtle Mae knows it. I think she can sense them--I'm not sure how she does it, but she always seems to be right where the bugs are.

The only thing MM's doing that I don't like is taking leaves off the tomato plants. This is unacceptable in the Summer of Tomato Glory. I'll be moving the containered 'Better Boy' tomatoes out to the side yard and putting taller temporary fencing around the 'Rutgers' heirlooms in the flower bed. Just think: the chicken wire's keeping the plants safe, not the chicken!

Currently in west central Georgia: sunny, 81 degrees, 43% humidity.

Clark and Myrtle Mae

Clark's really interested in that strange-looking "new cat" out in the yard. He watched her intently for about 20 minutes...




...and then passed out.

Chicken-watching is such hard work.

Chickens. Cats. Why the hell not?

A few readers have e-mailed to ask how Myrtle Mae was getting along with all the cats here at the Happy Kitten Cottage. I'm happy (and surprised) to say they're getting along much better than I'd expected.

Most of the people I know--and a buttload of people I don't--had warned me about the dangerous combination of avian and feline. "Lemme tell ya, when I was a little kid," almost every story would start, "we had these chickens, and Mittens/Fluffy/Snowball/Tom just ate 'em right up, one by one!" Note that this sorrowful tale does not let the listener in on how old or how large the chickens happened to be. "You mean the roosters and hens and pullets? Man, those are some fierce cats!" I'd reply. And the other person, inevitably, would pause and say, "Umm...well, ya see, they were little baby chicks, not long out of the shell." Well, I'll be damned. The truth reveals itself.

So I asked David, before agreeing to take Myrtle Mae, how she'd get along with cats. I didn't want her to get attacked in her brand-new yard. He laughed and told me, "She does fine with cats, don't worry. She's taller than they are and has a sharp beak, so our cats stay away from her. She's had to peck my cat a time or two, but Big Cat learns fast, and they get along just fine." So I felt a little better about adopting my own Henny Penny, although not 100% comfortable with the idea of Prue and company walking around in the yard alongside my chicken. I had a recurring nightmare in which little seven-pound Prue morphed into Scar from The Lion King and went tearing around the yard after poultry and people alike.

When I brought the chicken home yesterday, the cats were very wary of her. They stayed clear and gave her a wide berth, as you can see Elvira doing for her in the photo above. They weren't hostile at all, but respectful and cordial, with a little good old-fashioned fear mixed in. And Myrtle didn't bother them, either. They're really about the same size, although Myrtle's a bit taller at 14", so they're fairly evenly matched. It was nice to see them all, kitties and chicken, coexisting peacefully.

I had an appointment this afternoon at 3:45, and when I arrived back home at 5:00, I glanced through the car window into the yard to see...Myrtle Mae, running across the yard toward me with wings flapping, clucking softly. "Hi, sweetie!" I said. "Brrrrk, brk-brk-brk," she answered. I also let Prue, Kigi, and Elvira into the gate with me.

Prue looked carefully at Myrtle Mae, and a puzzled look--if a cat can look puzzled--played subtly across her face. She stre-e-e-e-e-e-tched out and slinked over in the chicken's direction, wanting to touch noses and sniff to see what this new creature was. Lightning-quick, Myrtle Mae leaned over and BAM! pecked Prue right between the ears. "Brrrrrk!" she said--"Mind your own ball of wax, ya nosy cat!"

Prue quickly retreated behind my ankles to nurse her head (which was only bonked, not at all wounded) and her pride (which was definitely wounded). A chicken's "warning" peck, after all, isn't very hard; it feels like a medium-hard poke with a very dull pencil point. So I petted my fierce, curious Prue until she purred, and then brought out some dry kitty food to make it all better, which is did. Myrtle joined in on the fun, too.--cheapo Special Kitty cat food is one of her favorite treats. Cats feel better. Chicken feels better. All is well.

Myrtle Mae laid her second egg, in the middle of my daylilies, immediately after the Prue-pecking incident, and clucked rather loudly (and rhythmically) for all the neighborhood to hear. "Brk-brk-b'GOCK! Brk-brk-b'GOCK! Brk-brk-b'GOCK!" This was embarrassing for me, as my neighbor was out in her yard watering her plants. I smiled sheepishly and said, "Umm, sorry, don't know what her problem is. PMS, maybe?" She smiled kindly and went about her business. I figured out later that the loud clucking was for two reasons: 1) Myrtle was bragging on her own egg-producing prowess, and 2) I'd moved her precious egg out of the "nest" too soon, and she was freaking out over where it'd gone. I brought it back out into the daylilies and settled it between plants, whereupon she calmed down almost immediately. So now I know not to move an egg until after she's roosted up for the night.

And I'm still walking around smiling and giggling. [playground sing-song voice] I've got a chick-en, I've got a chick-en...

Brrrk...? Brk-brk-brk-brk b'GOCK!

Myrtle Mae's come home to roost!

You might recall (perhaps vaguely) my mentioning a couple months ago that David, one of my former D2U lit students, was going to give me a chicken. I've long wanted a chicken to help with my yard's slug problem--hey, natural pest control!--and to supply fresh, non-factory-farmed eggs for my eating and baking needs. Well, today was the day. Myrtle Mae came to live here at the Happy Kitten Cottage. (More later on the cats, who are scared witless of their new avian companion.)

I drove down to David's and picked her up, driving home with her sitting next to me on the front seat in a small pet carrier. She wasn't quite sure what to think when we arrived home after the 45-minute drive [top photo], but she came out of the cage after a few minutes and got to know the yard pretty well.

And look what she'd left for me in the pet carrier [middle photo]! She'd been clucking and acting fussy as I drove along, and I recalled David telling me as I left, "Don't be surprised if you've got an egg in that cage when you get home." Sure enough, there was her first egg for me. I was delighted!

Isn't she a photogenic girl? The bottom picture is my favorite.

Having a chicken makes this place really feel like home now--it certainly did before, of course, but a chicken adds something permanent to the place. Or maybe Myrtle Mae just reminds me of when my sister and I lived with our grandmother all those years ago. Maw-Maw always had chickens and eggs, so perhaps it feels more like home because of those memories.

Now I'll go try to get her in the cage, as it'll soon be getting dark. Wish me luck! I'll be trying to build her a nice, solid pen over the weekend.