No!

May I please hope and pray that none of the video auditions attached show up at my ACTUAL reception?!

I am already freaked out enough about putting on (and enduring) the granddaughter-sized sausage casing that claims to be an undergarment... for which I will need a pulley system... to envelope (install) my fat arse.

Pulley system techs, unite!

If any guests have questions about audio/visual equipment, please post or email BEFORE we get to The Reception.

There is not enough Arid Dry on the planet to make me relax over this potentially horrid video sequence.

The Beginning of The Move

Ambitiously anticipating the three day weekend, I made a list of chores. Three whole days to get "everything" done...or not.



Get wedding dress altered.
Take dog to vet.
Get nails done.
Pack up all non-essential household items.
Visit mother in law to be.
Clean out junk drawer.
Take clothes to dry cleaner.

Seems harmless enough of a list, if one is organized and motivated, right? The only problem with this list is that under each item are probably three or four other items that play into the project at hand...I think perhaps I need a reality check.

A Trip To My Past

I had a business trip to Miami last week and thought, hmmm.... how often am I in Miami?! I should hop on over to the Emerald Isle of Puerto Rico and check out my ole stompin' grounds.

(Historical note: my father worked for a government contractor, which sent him all over the world, family in tow... although I missed out on the European and African tours, I did get to live in Puerto Rico for many of my formative years.)

In the last 21 years, the island apparently has joined into modern culture. Many "OMG"s were exclaimed as I discovered much of my memory's pristine landscape and bucolic areas are now covered by chain restaurants, big box stores and toll roads. And instead of one English channel with week-late shows, everyone seems to have The Dish.

In 1986, a herd of cows marched up my street every afternoon at 4, followed by their keeper, who shooed them along with A Big Stick. Today, that same street has become a haven for boat dealers and marine accessory stores. There are no cows within 50 miles.

In 1986, the downtown area of Fajardo was a thriving retail center. Today, that downtown area reminds me of most small towns in flyover states - dying. Many beautiful historic buildings have been bulldozed over and redeveloped or even more sadly... left to rot, boarded up.

Besides the shock of seeing my beautiful island turn into the new Waikiki, it was great to go back... to smell the hibiscus and frangipangi... to see that (still) aquamarine ocean at the beach... to eat the most amazing food... to have that warm tropical breeze waft over me as I looked at the stars.

"Progress" and "development" happens in the most desirable real estate and Puerto Rico is certainly no exception. They can have their big box stores on "my" cow pastures... but I will never forget the enchantment and wonder.. and the privilege... of spending so many years in a very special place.

HUH??

While at my neighborhood gun store, I noticed a man attempting to purchase a large rifle with a SCOPE. Gunslinger informed me that this is a gun meant to shoot at objects far, far away. (And certainly not at Lambies, from any distance.)

A gun purchase of any type at this location would normally not perk my ears up... but this man conducted his entire transaction in another language than English. Hmmm...

The clerk asked him for his driver's license, in another language. Alright, I speak that language, so I eavesdropped...

The clerk told him that as a non-citizen, when he returned to pick up his gun in 10 days, he would need to provide proof of residency, like some utility bills or a rental agreement. The gun purchaser seemed confused. (Mind you, at this point, the clerk's fluency in the other-than-English language was atrocious and I was tempted to jump in to translate).... The purchaser indicated he did not, and could not produce, the documents required. The clerk told him the purchaser would need them to take possession of the rifle.

My eavesdropping ended when Gunslinger and I left the building... but my mind was racing.

WAIT WAIT WAIT said WoodysMom. How can someone who is not a citizen and who doesn't speak English buy a rifle with a scope?! This alone makes me concerned.

What is he going to do with said rifle and scope? Is he going HUNTING?! And for what? Is he provisioning for a ... revolution of some sort??!!

I posed to Gunslinger, just suppose we move to another non-English speaking country and decide to purchase a rifle. Would said foreign entity allow a non-citizen, non-local-language speaking person purchase a firearm? Would they?

Why do we?

Moo Cows

Here is a group of Moo Cows we saw along a gravel road in SoDak. I tried to get closer to have a chat with them and they were not interested. Apparently they had already "herd" about me from the Lambies.

Moo Cows are a lot larger in life than one imagines from the sketch on the milk carton in the fridge. Massive animals with no personality or inclination to visit with the City Girl.

Pixel Tackles A Rabbit

As promised earlier, here is the wine opening effort by PixelPi.

This is my sister and the night she fought The Rabbit. I mentioned her earlier as not being a sommelier, and I stand by that comment.

Note her technique when the cork gets stuck. Note the high-end, highly technical accoutrement she produces to encourage the cork to perform.

Note the laughter coming from Woody's Mom. Snort.

Love Pix to pieces. Just like the cork.

Lambies

Lambies: noun. All fuzzy sheep-like animals, regardless of age, in need of Ear Lovies.

Cousin Steve sure got his fill of "City Girl" (CG) questions during my Vay-Kay. Hats off to Steve for the patience he has... and thanks to Steve for not laughing at ALL my questions. CG (and other inquiring minds) want to know about Lambies.

Steve keeps his Lambies in a pen in the yard. I wanted to get close enough for Ear Lovies, but Sheep-o-Rama would have nothing to do with my evil plan. Every time I even got close to the fence, the entire flock would pick up, poop, and move on to the nether regions of the pen. I implored Cousin Steve to get a Sheep Scooper and get me one closer, and he laughed. I mean, he BELLY laughed at me.

Q: Where do they go when it gets cold? Do you cover them in blankies, or what?
A: They are already covered in a blankie called wool. We bring them into the barn in the winter. (Snicker)

Q: What's the purpose of having Lambies?
A: "Lambies." (Snicker) We breed them, get them big enough for the "Stockyard"
(CG: [internal voice] slaughterhouse?!) and sell them. We sell some of the wool, too.

Q: How big is big enough?
A: 250 - 400 pounds (CG thinks this is the answer, there was much imbibing going on).

Q: How long are they pregnant?
A. 5 months or so.

Q: Do you ever help them have Lambie babies, or no?
A: If an ewe labors longer than 4 hours or so, we help her. One time only our son was here and we talked him through the birth over the speaker on his cell phone. (NOTE: This is when I found out that many relatives have had their arms up inside their Lambies).

Q: Do Lambies have twins or more?
A: We have had a set of quads. We have had triplets and twins, too.

Q: How do you know what to do?
A: You have to feel for the front feet and the head. All of that has to come out at the same time. (Sounds complex to CG.)

Q: Do you name your Lambies?
A: Never name anything you might have to eat one day.

Q: Do you ever .... eat.... your Lambies?
A: Tried it. Not a good idea.

Q: Did you say, "Gee, this tastes like #42?"
A: Snicker.