Most Repeated Lines of 2011

   The Lazy W is graced and warmed with friends again this week.  My ten-four good buddy M Half and her Hubs are visiting, helping us make a thousand happy memories to close the year. What a year it has been, by the way!

   Two days ago I enjoyed the singular pleasure of sitting in my favorite chair while each of them read things aloud to me. It was divine. I had no idea I liked this sort of thing so much, but I could really get used to it you guys.

   I mean, really.

   One of Hubs’ narrated pieces had to do with the the most overused phrases of 2011. And let me tell you: It. Was. Hilarious. Read it for yourself, and just for kicks, try keeping track of how many of those overused phrases you are guilty of over using. M Half’s fave seemed to be the keyboard spitting humor one. Nice choice, lady.

   Mine? Probably “Occupy.” I happen to see no real world value to this pseudo political movement and feel protective over Handsome who has had to endure its under-informed and disruptive appearance at his office. But that is almost a spicy little tangent. Basically I really like saying that I occupy the chicken coop and I occupy the pantry and I occupy a brilliant sense of humor, etc, etc. 

   Anyway, it occurred to me that for all its variety and surprise, life at the farm certainly has a way of repeating itself. We do lots of the same things over and over and over and over again. And we say lots of the same things over and over and over again. And again. Care to suffer through our monotony for a moment?

Pacino, that is a NO NO. Shhh… Bobby Pacino, our macaw, is vocal. He is a talker. He is a screamer and a squawker and a shusher. He is a lover and a fighter and an early morning riser. When we’re alone Pacino tends to be fairly pleasant and loving, and when we have guests he is sometimes pleasant and loving, but often he chooses these times to throw caution to the wind The indoor wind, may I remind you. He belts out Amazonian operas born of pure joy and then sudden, screeching objections to anyone who is too near to me, his Momma. Or to anyone who is generally NOT doing his random, cryptic bidding. And so our parental scolding happens a lot. Pacino, that is a NO NO is easily the number one overused Lazy W phrase of this past year. No honest person who has ever visited the farm will disagree.

Aww, look at how Chunk is running… Our sweet little buff has about a six part running menu, a delightful but admittedly limited slideshow for us to enjoy. And we do enjoy it every day. But you know those parents who like to highlight every adorable act of their offspring to friends and relatives? Well, Handsome and I may or may not have slipped into the questionable habit of bragging in sugary, cooing voices about every time Chunk runs and bounces or sits majestically, chewing his buffalo cud. The only assurance I have that we have not quite overstepped the bounds of reasonable pride is that at least three people liked yesterday’s photos of him running.

Have you shopped hay recently? Hay is expensive this year. Have you heard of the drought and heat wave of the Midwestern states? The extreme growing conditions of the past several months have given hay farmers dangerously limited harvests, driving up the prices even for out of state deliveries, making our regular hay stocking a game of chance and adventure. We have four big, hay loving creatures to feed, so the interval questions we ask each other about hay shopping have everything to do with how much we celebrate rain when it falls.

I miss the girls. Followed closely by his soft, strong words, I know, Babe. Hopefully the days are coming when we trade more happy stories than we do pain, but this past year has been a lonely, empty nest one. No doubt about it. We’ve fallen into daughter-less routines, sure, and we have had our time apart peppered with several incredibly happy days, but nothing is the same as having them with us, woven into the fabric of our daily life. Trusting God with this and resisting pure rage at Him for letting this happen for so long has been the single most difficult spiritual thing I have every attempted.

I need a vacation. My husband is the smartest, most talented, hardest working, most focused, most over accomplishing person I know. And I know some incredible people. Not only does he stay on task; he genuinely cares about every job he performs and every person with whom he shares those jobs. (To anyone at the Commish who might read this, he does care about you guys. Know that.)  This year has been an exciting, challenging, surprising, and exhausting one for him, and time off, though available, has been unrealistic because he cares so much about what he’s leaving behind. So this man needs a vacation. Like, for real.

Do you have any receipts? I have a slightly endearing aggravating habit of shopping to my heart’s content and then moving on to other worthy activities before relaying the month’s expenses to my guy. Not to buy floor length minks or illegal substances, of course, but I do enjoy treasure hunting, feed store emptying, and excessive grocery hoarding. I like to cook, you guys. And my patient, good looking provider might occasionally grow weary of the surprises. I’ll try to do better in 2012.

What did you think of the new recipe? Speaking of surprises, as if the rising cost of food stuffs isn’t surprising enough, Handsome has endured more than a few edible experiments this past year. I try to sneak them in without seeming completely dishonest or manipulative, but the fact remains that “he” would rather that “we” did less experimenting and more sticking to the top ten or eleven recipes. He would also prefer that “we” stop reading “PW” for cooking inspiration. Not likely.

I love you. Okay, the truth is we can never say this too much. Those three little words cannot be overused or overly proved by our actions. We do say it a lot around the farm, though, so very much and in so many ways. And I am eternally grateful that we do.