Broody Hens

Damn blogger. The icon to click on to download pictures is hazy and won't work. I see in the help section that I'm not the only person having this problem so maybe they'll fix it or maybe they won't and I'll have to change blog hosts. I hope not. I'm way too lazy for that shit.

It's Saturday morning and something on the other side of the train tracks is beeping. Beep-beep-beep-pause. Beep-beep-beep-pause. It is driving me insane because it's a beautiful day and there are birds and sun and yet, that beeping will not stop. I may have to find my machete, go out and find the source and cut it down. I hope not. I'm way too lazy for THAT shit, too.

Yes it's Saturday morning and we went to the Opera House last night to see Fiddler on the Roof and it was an amazing production. Forty-six people in that cast, including a bunch of young'uns and I have to give credit where credit is due to the woman who directed. Here's part of her bio:

"XXXXXXX was a professional actor/singer/dancer/musician/choreographer/model in theater, TV, radio, and print."

This woman is also a professional anything you might imagine including crocheter. Just ask her. She'll tell you. She pissed me off one time concerning a piece I wrote at her request for a newsletter and I, in my shriveled little soul, have never forgiven her. This is my problem, not hers, and I give her full props for everything she did with that production. It was amazing. The acting was great, the music was terrific, the staging was awesome and somehow she managed to wrangle all those people into their places, dancing singing, in great costumes and with some awesome special effects. What can I say? It was a smash hit. And THERE IS ONLY ONE BATHROOM BACKSTAGE AT THE OPERA HOUSE!
Really, it was miraculously good.

Kathleen had resisted and resisted being onstage. She, like me, loves the whole camaraderie which springs up during a production and the whole creative process but the actual performances are not her favorite part. But dammit, she was GREAT! Whenever you try to praise her, though, she puts her fingers in her ears and goes, "Lalalalala."
Too bad. Kathleen, you were GREAT!
And Herb was wonderful and so was Rich and the whole cast, which included people from the age of eight to eighty-eight was just brilliant.

Now, having said all of that, let me say that I don't really like musical theater, the play lasted three and a half hours and those seats are not very comfortable. I sat between Mr. Moon and Kathleen's best friend of fifty years (I am not making that up) who was in town from Indiana (I think) just for performances this weekend. Every time Kathleen came onstage, we both made little squeals of pleasure and when she was done with each bit of dialogue, we silently clapped our hands.

That beeping is still going on, by the way. And obviously I figured out the image thing. I had to click a box that said I agreed to the new terms of service.

Click. I have no idea what I agreed to.

Anyway, it's Saturday, like I said, and there's a picture of Mabel in the nesting box with two eggs. I feel certain she only laid one of them. I think she may be a broody hen, which means she likes to sit on eggs.

I feel like a broody hen myself. Not that I want to sit on eggs but I am brooding. It struck me this morning that perhaps Mr. Moon has a girlfriend. As evidence, I offer the fact that he is tall, handsome and sane and I, on the other hand, am short, round and getting crazier by the moment.

(Beep-beep-beep.)

Mr. Moon can't hear the beeps because his hearing is shot from years working in a tire store and hunting so it's not bothering him.

I am bothering him, though. I can tell.

Marriage is funny. One minute you're feeling like there has never been a love greater than yours and the next minute you're taking the fact that your husband keeps asking you to get rid of the spiders that keep making webs where he walks as evidence of him having a girlfriend.

I wouldn't blame him. Besides being short and round, I have a lame foot. Listen- Mr. Moon is sentimental about some things, but if he had a horse with a lame foot, he'd put that animal DOWN.

I am not an animal, though.
Wait a minute, I am an animal.

I guess I better get rid of those spiders. It's not so much to ask, really. And maybe if I do he'll break up with his girlfriend.

Beep-beep-beep-pause.

Happy Saturday.