Indiana Four Movie Review

You guys KNOW I can't stay away for long!

Just had to pop in ZZzzzz and tell you ZZZZzzzzzzzzzz about seeing the new Zzzzzz Indiana Jones Movie ZZZZzzzzzZZZ er something ZZZZ about a crystal skullzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Ok... Too much talking + too little action = ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BORING!!!!

Clearly the worst in the series. Skip it!

The only thing that excited me were the waterfalls. I'm a passionate fan of Iguazu Falls (even have a photo of them I took from a helicopter in my hallway!)! I recognized Iguazu and I was terribly disappointed they kept referring to them as being in Peru. Why say it's Peru? Because it didn't fit with the lame story? At least the Visual FX crew went to Argentina / Brazil... but after my long nap, I wasn't going to stick around to make sure "my" waterfalls got their proper screen credit!

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Meeting Friends - Photo Essay

Since I'm going to be busy for a few weeks, I thought I would put up this photo essay so you guys have something fun to look at.

Meeting Friends
5/19/08
It was a hot, hot morning. We trekked to the creek early in hopes of making the hike bearable in the heat. The sun was taking her morning curtain call.
Miss Mabel was mighty hot and was grateful for a tiny patch of water.
Mabel suddenly ran to the top of the levy.
Hey! Who's that?
Our friends Sue & Hank popped up over the levy wall. Sue loves to do circus tricks!

Hey! Where'd they go??
(They weren't sure if they had permission to come over the levy and ran back to their mom.)

Hey look! Auntie is here too!!!! I love my Auntie!!!

Auntie and Rhodies are HERE!!!
Mabel had to run "tell" me the news!

Wanna play??

Finally the Rhodies jumped the levy and they all had a frolic and investigated a good smell.

Hank was suddenly worried about where his mom was (still high on the levy) and took off around the levy to get to her. The girls played on.

Sue finally realized I was there and had to run over and give me kisses.

A good time was had by all. Isn't doggie love the best?

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My House Is Spotless

My house is amazingly clean, there is food in my fridge and I'm chewing a hole in my tongue (a nervous habit).

It can only mean ONE thing.

My mother's arrival is imminent.

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Consider Me Impressed

Saturday found my dining experience entirely in the hands of young men. It started out at Kat's house as her sweet daughter got ready for her last ever high school prom. Six couples rented a limo and were meeting at one of the boy's houses in the hills of Glendale.

With the holiday weekend, the boy's parents were out of town and his older, college-age brother served as host. Not only was the house ship shape, he had placed out wonderful appetizers: shrimp cocktail, chips and guacamole, sushi and sparkling water. And candles were lit throughout the house!

After an hour of the parental paparazzi posse, shouting at the kids, "This way," "One for my camera," "Over here guys!" the limo arrived and the kids were off.

And Kat and I were off to USC for a dinner with her eldest and his six house mates. On the way, she informed me the boys were cooking. Great. Chips and dip for dinner.

Boy, was I ever surprised!

These boys, ages 19-22, actually cooked! The appetizer was HUGE sea scallops, wrapped in bacon and dredged in brown sugar. They were so good, I wanted to lick the plate! (I restrained myself and used a piece of bread!)

They grilled rib eyes and made two delicious salads. One was various oak style lettuces with goat cheese, walnuts and cranberries served with a fresh (homemade) basil vinaigrette. The other featured romaine and curly endive, tomatoes, & feta with a different homemade vinaigrette. The meal was rounded out with sour dough and rye and plate of Turkish cheese, and store bought desserts: turtle cheesecake and red velvet cake.

The only frustrating thing in the whole evening was trying to find a non-alcoholic beverage. It's not that I don't drink... I just don't like the way it makes me feel: tired and sleepy during the party; wide awake once I'm ready for bed!

When I made a comment, the other mother there was quick to defend the boys: "They signed a contract with the coach that they wouldn't drink soda!"

I was equally quick to point out, "They also signed a contract that they wouldn't eat junk food, drink alcohol or smoke and I see plenty of that going on. If they're going to break all those rules, why stick to the 'no soda' rule, especially when they are entertaining?"

I guess she must've told the boys because two of them disappeared and shortly afterward, someone placed an ice cold coke in my hands. I was quite surprised later to see the two girlfriends there drinking straight coke (nothing added).

All in all, I was so impressed by all these young men. They were intelligent, funny and engaging aside from all the good food. It was quite a night.
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Doggie Slut - Part Deux

Janet's question on yesterday's post about Mabel and all the power / phone outages made me go ahead and post this.

I had to park behind the BofA in Sun Valley while paying my bill. I have always used my security key to unlock my car as soon as I can see it. It's a Mabel game. I like to watch her bob her head, looking for some recognition on every face until she sees me.

As I approached the corner of the building, still not able to see the car, I clicked the doors and as I rounded the corner, I saw a security guard jump back retracting his hand. Mabel's head was out of the car and she stretched further to kiss him. He was embarrassed at being "caught" petting her. She was NOT embarrassed being caught kissing him.

What alarms me is I frequently leave my purse in my car thinking Who would be dumb enough to put their hand in a car with a rottweiler? Well, I found that guy and I'm carrying my purse!



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How Did We Ever Get By...

Before phones, electricity and Internet? I got to find out yesterday and I didn't like it one bit!

I woke up and turned on the t.v. I record East Coast GMA at four a.m. because I can fast forward through the whole two hours in under 40 minutes and wake up while cuddling the pup. The power went off almost immediately. I got up and decided to head to the creek and power was back on before I left. I chalked it up to a fluke and enjoyed a somewhat breezy hike.

I had hired a young man to trim back my unruly hedges (using my electric trimmer). He showed up at nine and after we chatted and I showed him what I wanted done, I ran into the shop to start work. He immediately popped in to say my trimmer wasn't working. As some fidgeting with the thing, I realized we had no power again.

By now, we're having a full on wind storm and I'm suspicious the power trouble was being caused by the wind. Still, it's not the worst winds I've seen. I checked with neighbors and found it was the wind; no one had power. We got electricity back after about 40 minutes this time, but the cold wind left me feeling edgy.

My big task of the day was to pay my Visa bill. Since I get too busy at times, I had waited until the last possible day to walk into Bank of America to pay it. In order to pay the bill, I needed money in my checking account from another bank which meant moving it from my savings before paying the bill.

Normally, I log onto my bank's internet site, move the money and drive to BofA and pay the bill in under seven minutes. But yesterday, I quickly realized the my internet wasn't working. So, I started trying to phone my ISP. I usually do this by dialing 0 and asking to be connected. 0 wasn't working. Nor was 00 or 611 (repair) or 411 or 1-800 information. I'm starting to panic. Did I forget to pay the phone bill???

I call my best friend. I got her and we chatted a bit. OK, that's better. I'll just phone the bank and move the money that way. Only, 800 numbers weren't working. No problem, I'll call my branch. Oh crap! My bank doesn't publish local numbers anywhere!

So, I load Mabel in the Jeep and we drive to my local branch, about four miles up the mountain. On the way, I call my mom on my cell to have her try and call my phone company from Baton Rouge. Then I spotted a truck and tech from my phone co. and followed him. He explained it was a central office failure, area wide and not to worry, they were working on it. It was caused by the winds.

As I get out at the ATM, the security guard is flagging people down. The bank is closed. No phones + no computers + no power = no transactions.

I'm feeling panicky again and mentally calculating the interest I will have to pay on my credit card. So I drive another 3.5 miles into another town to my branch there, move the money (Yay!) and start looking for a BofA there. I couldn't remember where it was so I drove back to the one by my house. There, they had power but still no phones or computers. I either had to drive back up the mountain or down the mountain to get to a BofA with phones / electricity. I opted for down as it's a bit closer.

On the way, I'm getting really nervous as I had requested the teenage girl that works for me to work and I knew she was almost home from school. So, I'm dialing my best friend (she lives next door to my worker girl) to leave a note on the door, when I realize my cell is dead too.

It took me over three hours to pay the bill. And by the time I returned home, I realized the land line phone couldn't even call locally. I think it was the way everything died in stages that made everyone I came into contact with wary. First the internet, then long distance, then cell phones, followed by local calls.

I have to say it was a quiet night with no phone calls or email to check. God did I ever miss it!


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Doggie Slut

I went out for coffee with Kat on a dreary cold day (hard to believe NOW that it was only about two weeks ago!). We are usually joined by her new Chihuahua puppy but it was too cold for her so I brought Mabel along.

I was simply amazed at what a crowd pleaser she is. Ever since I've owned rotties ( a dozen years now!), I've never been approached by an Asian woman. In fact, until this day, the reaction has been dramatic screaming and fear. On this day, a group of a half dozen Korean women stopped and petted her. They asked questions and were just in love! And every time they passed the busy corner we were sitting on, they stopped and did it again!

Mabel ate it up!

And then there was the guy in a wheelchair. I got up to open a door for him. (Having spent some months in a wheelchair, it still amazes me that people behave as if a wheelchair-bound person never needs help. It feels like the attitude is, You're sitting down. Life MUST be easy!)

The guy kept circling us and finally asked about the girl. He rolled over and petted her and the brat tried to climb in his lap!!! (This is something I had a huge problem with when I was in a chair!) I got her down and she tried again minutes later.

The guy must have felt sorry for her. Before I knew what happened, he had slid out of his wheelchair (he wasn't paralyzed...just many surgeries) and was cuddling with Mabel on the ground. Look at the brat, in a total stranger's lap, soaking up the love.

Special thanks to Kat for her discreet photos.

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Six Random Redo

Alison tagged me for six random things about me which I wrote but after reading Velvet's post, dorky me realized I did it wrong! It was supposed to be six random things about me today.

Here we go again :

1) Woke up too late to hike in the heat.

2) Went to breakfast at Jeremy's. Mabel got cookies. I got the avocado omelet, pancakes & coffee.

3) Mabel and I only ate half of my breakfast. (NOT Mabel's choice!) I will eat the rest tomorrow.

4) After breakfast, I fell asleep til 12:30.

5) We went hiking at 7:30. Quiet and uneventful. But I'm certain that big old full moon made it hotter.

6) I torched a bit tonight and made a perfume bottle. I can't wait to see it so I probably won't sleep tonight.

Still waiting on Janet & Becky.

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Six Random

Alison tagged me for six random things about me. Here goes:

1) I HATE the smell of air conditioning! It's not the smell of the house closed up. It's that metallic smell of the a/c motor running that's really offensive.

2) I have a lead foot. I'm only comfortable driving when I can go fast. Apparently I was born this way. As a toddler, I loved being in the car with my 22-years-older sister. As soon as she got out of the driveway, I would start my mantra. "Go faster, Sister. Go faster!"

3) I always wanted to change my last name to that of my father...until I grew up and learned a few things about my paternal brothers. That ended that. They can have his name. I had his love.

4) My sister and I both wanted 16 children!!!! Our grandmother was one of 16 and we both loved her stories. We were both raised as only children (22 years apart) and thought it would be simply fantastic to have that many kids. We are both proud dog mommies.

5) I went through menopause in my twenties. It left a hole in my heart that I think will never be filled.

6) Never knowing when or how to tell a man I was dating the above allowed me to build huge wall around me, effectively pushing all pursuers away. Add in that I'm smart, direct, outspoken and opinionated pretty much puts the F*&^ Off sign on my forehead.


And that's that with that.

I'm supposed to tag six others but since everyone I know in blogger land has already been tagged, I'll hit two...Janet & Becky.

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Trade In

After reading Shreve's post about how her coyote boy, Charlie, can now operate the vacuum, I'm ready to trade Mabel in!

Anybody know where I can get a dog that dusts as well?

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Two Ditzy Women Facing Future

My best friend and I frequently talk about what we hope our lives will be like when we finally leave oh-so-expensive California. We have no idea where we will land. It just won't be here. Or Oregon. We've ruled out Oregon.

Recently, we realized we have different ideas and expectations about neighbors. It went like this:

Her: Yeah, I want some space. My closest neighbor should be about a quarter mile away.
Me: A quarter mile? That's like...from here to the corner. No! That's way too close! I want my closest neighbor a mile away.
Her: But, you want them somewhat close - in case of emergencies.
Me: A mile is plenty close. A few minutes by car or twenty on foot.
Her: (frustrated) You do know that YOU would be my closest neighbor?
Me: Uh huh and YOU know that YOU would be MY closest neighbor?
Her: And you still want me a mile away?
Me: Uh...yeah! You blast that Karaoke machine when you have parties!
Her: You're always at my parties.
Me: Oh.

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Conversational Monologue

I've had many great chats about art with my hiking buddy. She is a phenomenal painter and needs, yes NEEDS, to paint something daily, even if it's only her bathroom wall. She is renown in the film industry for being able to duplicate the masters as well as paint huge, sound-stage size backdrops.

For me, doing art is the only time when the voices in my head shut up. I don't know where they go but their constant insults and belittling comments are not missed. It is a wonderful vacation from life to be able to create without having to listen to them.

When I'm creating, I love the sounds of my tools and art: the whisk of the brush on canvas, my torch hissing or the tinkling of a glass rod as I place it on my work table.

While visiting my friend's house today, I picked up a gorgeous metallic heart with wings and asked if she had made it.

"Oh no," she replied. "I don't do metal or glass or anything hot or loud."

I must have looked confused because she added, "Then, it's a conversation and not a monologue. I need to hear the voice in my head when I'm creating. I don't need my materials adding their two cents worth!"

How interesting that our approaches are totally opposite for nearly the same reason.

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On a Lighter Note

I was gabbing with my mom this morning and asked her what she, my sister and brother-in-law were doing for Mother's Day. She said my brother-in-law was cooking Creyfish Étouffée for her and my sister and that they were just staying home.

As if that needed some sort of apology, she quickly added, "Since Katrina, you can't go out to a restaurant on a holiday. You have to wait in line for two hours!"

"Well, that's the thing about mothers, Mother. Everybody's got one!"

That cracked her up and made her have a good laugh... always a good thing!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My #1 girl took me out for breakfast (our Sunday ritual) to our favorite diner-with-a-dog-friendly-patio in La Crescenta.

As I was mulling over the Crescenta Valley Sun and enjoying the best cup of coffee in town, two old gents, also regulars met and starting chatting about politics.

Gent #1: What do you think about the Barack / Hillary mess?
Gent #2: Oh, who knows?
Gent #1: I don't think we're going to know anything anytime soon.
Gent #2: Nope. It's not gonna be over til the fat lady sings.
Gent #1: Yep. Sure is a mighty long song though.

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Maggie on my Mind

Ode to a Friend

by Holly Dare Copyright 2002

It has been a week and still I am in shock. The pain seems too much to bear. It is amazing to realize what huge part of my life Maggie is. It’s overwhelming to realize that life can change in an instant.

It all starts so innocently. Maggie has a huge cactus stuck in her front right paw. I run to her, taking off my sweatshirt as I sprint. I drop to my knees, wrapping my hand in the thick fabric and yank. She limps back to the Jeep.

I pull out the myriad of photos I have taken of her over the last six years. I love taking pictures… she loves posing: a match made in heaven. I laugh out loud at the ones with her goofy looks. Maggie has a tendency to get her upper lip hung up on her canines, causing her to look like a dog-clown. My favorites are of her smiling. Or the ones where she looks as if she’s bearing the weight of the world; she must be thinking of the year she spent in Rottweiler Rescue or the first year of her life, when no one loved her at all.

As I look at each photo, caressing them as if I can feel her fur, I can see myself reflected in her eyes. I wonder what I ever did to deserve such love and devotion.



As I drive her home for the first time, I turn to look at her in the backseat of the Celica. She looks frightened but she is smiling, happy to be going somewhere… anywhere. I let her in the back gate to snoop around the yard and then unlock the back door. She bounds in the laundry and makes a beeline for my four-poster. She looks around with satisfaction as if to say, “This’ll do quite nicely.”

“No girl, THAT is NOT your bed!” I tug her down and show her the crate I expect her to sleep in. That night, she struggles against getting in it. As I lock the door, I comment about how much training she has in store for her. Little did I realize it was me who would be trained in matter of months.

The limp gets worse as the days tick by. I take her to a vet near the house and we are given something for inflammation. We take our evening stroll. Maggie is excited to see the peacocks preening in the sun. She stops to rest. She did that the other day running with her friends. I have the sinking feeling that something is wrong.

I give her the medication before bedtime. The last time I gave her this pill, when she was three and suffering from displaysia, she slept so much. The pill will not have the same effect tonight. Every ten minutes, she groans and changes positions. Even when she gets in bed with me and I rub her tummy, she cannot get comfortable. She lumbers through the house barely placing weight on the front right paw and landing with a thud on her left. The raised foundation of the house vibrates with every step she takes. I get up at four and begin a cleaning frenzy. My mother and sister are coming for Mother’s Day.

Maggie needs OUT! I feel her tugging at my arm and my covers. She’s whining. I can’t wake up. She jumps on the bed and off again. I’m only vaguely aware of her. She’s whining and poking me with her nose. She goes to the sliding glass door and runs her head back and forth across the blinds causing the light from my neighbor’s backyard to stab violently into the room. She’s at my side, poking again. I…just can’t… wake up. In the few months we’ve been together, Maggie just touches the blinds with her nose and I am up. But not tonight. Again, she swings her head back and forth across the blinds and I finally realize she is sick. As I stand up, I can’t quite figure out where I am and I suddenly need to throw up. Head spinning, I bolt from the bed as she pukes on the carpet. I throw the blinds open and shove Maggie through the laundry room and into the cold January night. I’m running to the toilet when I smell it…the rotten eggshell odor of gas. I pull a phone outside and call the gas company.

After I give the gas lady my address, she instructs me, “Don’t turn anything on. Don’t turn anything off. Any spark could cause an explosion. You may be outside for a couple of hours so get your coat and get out of the house.”

“Yes Ma’m. Thank you.”

“You’re very lucky…You realize your dog saved your life don’t you?”

I hug Maggie close and promise her, “You have a home as long as I have a shopping cart, baby!”

Maggie is still struggling to find a comfortable position. I lie on the floor beside her and beg God to let me find the splinter in her foot. The paw is ice cold. I know I have to get Maggie to her regular vet.

I open the front closet to get her leash and she half stumbles, half runs to the front door, ever eager for a walk. “No honey, we’re going in the car.” She turns and limps out the back door. As I watch her, I realize Maggie is no longer holding up the paw. Her toenails are dragging along the concrete. Still, she jumps into the Jeep. Getting her down to go into the vet’s office is another matter. Maggie will not let me pick her up and ease her to the ground. Beverly, the Rottie Rescue lady, arrives and comes over to say hi.

She looks at Maggie’s dangling paw. “Oh, this is not good. I just put a three and a half year old down last week with bone cancer and it looked just like this.” I hate her for her abrupt honesty.

Beverly helps me get Maggie down and we go inside. The vet is in surgery and another Rottweiler has had a stroke, so we wait. I begin to bawl. Maggie May is my reason for living; she’s kept me going when nothing else would. She’s seen me through a bad love affair, career changes, a stressful move, not to mention a fire and a flood. Maggie has been my rock through so much that I truly believe she is an angel in a dog suit. I never knew I could love this much. Losing her is too painful to contemplate.

The vet finally sees us. He barely touches her shoulder and my normally docile, sweet baby tries to bite him. He sedates her and tells me to check in later. The news is not good. It is cancer in her shoulder bone.

“If it hasn’t spread, your only choice is to amputate. And then, in my experience, it comes back within 6 months in about 65% of the cases,” he says dryly. “You really need to see an oncologist before you make a decision.”

I drive her home in a fog of silent tears. I get her to step down backwards on a stool and she hobbles just inside the back gate and drops. She is dragging the top of the foot now. I line her six beds up from outside to inside so that Maggie can sort of fall from one to the next. I pull a mattress on the floor to be by her. The house is a blur of activity with the arrival of my mother and sister. Maggie stirs out of the anesthetic haze the second she hears her Granny’s voice. Neighbors and friends stop by to hold her and give her cookies.

Somewhere in all the chaos, I make a decision about the day ahead. I start to think back on the last few months and all the signs that something was wrong: The limp that was noticed by several friends yet remained oblivious to me; Maggie was so tired after walking and her breathing was… different; She rarely jumped on my bed anymore. I thought of how painful it would be for her to get in and out of the car and how much pain she is in now. And I knew I owed her more. She was my hero and heroines deserve to leave the world with dignity. And lots of love. And a little steak.

“MAGGIE MAY,” I yell. “Why in hell do you always have to lay here?” I am pointing at the flower bed underneath my bedroom window. She has dug a hole and buried a favorite miniature rosebush for what feels like the 87^th time. I continue my tirade as the poor dog scrunches herself up into a ball. “A year and a half and that rose has never bloomed and it never will if you don’t quit burying it in dirt! I’ll never understand why you have to lay here when you have a perfectly fine four bedroom house with six beds of your own, not to mention two queen size beds and ceiling fans galore to keep you cool!” She looks up at me with sad, sorry eyes and I feel like the fool that I know I look like.

The sedative wears off around 11. Even though we had fed her catfish and chicken broth, Maggie is quite upset at having been put to bed without her dinner. I fix her kibble, she eats and wants to do one of her favorite things: star gaze. She always loved to stare at the heavens. On this night, I sit near her and wish that love could somehow cure cancer.

We spend the night crying in pain. Hers is physical, mine is a heartache. I try my best to not let her see me cry so I smother my face in my pillow, keeping my hand on her behind. Around 5:30, I try to adjust the sock on her paw and she nips at my hand. I know she is not herself. The paw has managed to grow even colder.

Mother sits outside with Maggie, while I cook her a ribeye in garlic and butter. She wolfs it down. Then, a squirrel heads for the mulberry tree and its all you can eat Springtime buffet. Maggie forgets her pain and dashes to the trunk of the tree, remembers and drops onto her tummy, ever watchful of the squirrel.

Mother and I head into the house to eat breakfast, thinking Maggie would be busy with the squirrel. Maggie has other plans. Not one to miss a meal, she comes hobbling in the living room and lies down near the dining table. I give her a popover with berries and whipped cream and she is thrilled.

We take pictures of her and get her into the car. I can see in the rear-view mirror that she is smiling and my heart breaks all over again. The nurse asks me to muzzle her and the doctor takes her into the surgery room. He shaves her arm as I tell her what a good friend she is. He gets out the needle and I sing her the “Maggie May Song” - just a stupid ditty that I sing on our walks.

“She’s a beauty booty bee and a
Beauty booty bye.”

The needle enters and she jerks back. I take her head in my hands.

“And I love her all the day
and I love her all the time.”

I see a gray cloud forming over her eyes. I move in closer and continue singing.

“She’s a good old girl and her name is Maggie May
And I love her so much every day.”

Her breath is short. I say, “Thank you so much for all your love. I love you. You’re the best good girl. I love you.” I move even closer, “I love you!”

She lets out a deep, long breath. The vet removes the muzzle and I move to the other side as they lay her completely down. Her tongue is hanging down and I lift her head for one last kiss. I hold her for a moment and then smell her feet one last time, inhaling their earthy odor deep into my lungs.

I am sleepless and surfing. I find a canine cancer site. I am wondering if there is anything I should have done for Maggie. A woman writes of her dog not eating. It drags its body into the darkness of the garage during the day and then comes into the house during the black of night. I’m glad that I was not that selfish with my Mags.

I walk the mountain trail at Crescenta Valley Park alone and am awestruck by all the side trails I never noticed when I was there with Maggie. I know it is a sign of the proverbial window opening when a door gets slammed in your face.

Insomnia again. The house is so quiet – except for my tears. When I’m not crying, I pray for a sign. Just a sign. Any sign will do.

I gather up pictures and take them to an artist friend. She is going to paint Maggie’s portrait on a little valise that I will use as an urn.

The ashes arrive and I sob when I find her metal hip joint loose in the box. At least I know the contents of this box belong to my baby. Having her ashes makes my pain, my loss, even more real.

I can’t sleep. I pace the floors looking for her. I listen for her breathing, for the tinkle of her collar, the thunder of her feet on the deck when she was chasing a squirrel. I wonder where she is when I put on my tennis shoes. I roll over and close my eyes once more.

A baby girl with dark hair is holding my fingers as she tries to walk. She takes each step cautiously. Suddenly a squirrel runs across the yard and she lets go of my right hand to point at the squirrel and squeals in her little girl voice, “Skirrel!!” The squirrel startles and makes a run for the mulberry tree. “Skirel!!! SKIREL!!!!” Her delightful squeals jerk me awake.

I stumble out on the porch, tears falling on my nightgown, and sit on the step. I bury my face in my hands and wonder about my dream. Was that Mags? Was that my sign? If she’s a baby, who’s taking care of her and loving her?

I wrap my arms around my legs and rock my body back and forth. There, under the bedroom window, is a fully open yellow and pink miniature rose. A feeling of peace settles over me as I realize that God has shared one of His babies with me for six years. And now, she is His baby again. He is loving her.

Maggie May, June 25, 1994 - May 8, 2002

Sinko de Mayo

Creekhiker reporting here from Los Angeles, California in the great country of Mexico on our wonderful Mexican Independence Day, Cinco de Mayo.

Our local yokel t.v. stations are blasting mariachi music. They are also begging "roach coaches" to come by the station, offering to buy every taco they can make to give away to viewers stopping by. Station after station, it's just one big, loud party.

Would that they make such an effort on the 4th of July.

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Bad Day

Mabel Lou checking in... Mom's busy and stressed! UGH!


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BITACLE.ORG steals content. JESUS GLEZ is a THIEF. If you are reading this post on BITACLE.ORG, you are supporting theft of intellectual property. This post was written and copyrighted by CREEKHIKER, who has not given consent for material to be reproduced. Please visit CREEKHIKER to enjoy this content LEGALLY.

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