Hello to all,

I wanted to relay the story of little Miss Jaylea Ellen Lunceford on the day after our new president elect won the race.  Apparently, the Big Timber grade school had it’s own election for “Rock Obama” and McCain.  Obviously Jaylea’s kindergarten class would very impressionable among each other and when listening to parents and older siblings but it would be interesting to see what came about.  As it turns out, Obama won the national race as well as the race among kindergarteners at Mrs. Gano’s class.  The morning after the election Mrs. Gano informed the class that “Rock Obama” had won the race and that he would be the new president of the United States.  The entire class whooped and hollered with joy because their candidate had won.  Everybody, that is, except the Lunceford girl.  Jaylea was sitting in her seat in the middle of the classroom with an unsettled look while her classmates danced around her.  Upon noticing this and after the rest of the class had calmed back down, Mrs. Gano asked if Jaylea would like to tell what was on her mind.  Without hesitation she said, “You know, now he’s gonna try to take our guns.”

And that is why everybody is shaking my hand as I walk around Big Timber these days.  I think the story has made it from Mrs. Gano’s class all over town.

I don’t have much to say, so I’m going to reprint a forward that I got yesterday. Seems perfect for a Friday:

If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!

Overview: I had to take my son’s lizard to the vet.

Here’s what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was ’something wrong’ with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.

‘He’s just lying there looking sick,’ he told me. ‘I’m serious dad, can you help?’

I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to  do.

‘Honey,’ I called, ‘ come look at the lizard!’

‘Oh my! gosh,’ my wife diagnosed after a minute. ‘She’s having babies.’

‘What?’ my son demanded. ‘But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!’

I was equally outraged.

‘Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce,’ I accused my wife.

‘Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?’ she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)

‘No, but you were supposed to get two boys!’ I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).

‘Yeah, Bert and Ernie!’ my son agreed.

‘Well, it’s just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know,’ she informed me. (again with the sarcasm, you think?)

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.

‘Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced. ‘We’re about to witness the miracle of birth.’

‘Oh, gross!’ they shrieked.

‘Well, isn’t THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?’ my wife wanted to know.  (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. Don’t you?)

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.

‘We don’t appear to be making much progress,’ I noted.

‘It’s breech,’ my wife whispered, horrified.

‘Do something, Dad!’ my son urged.

‘Okay, okay.’ Squeamishly , I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.

‘Should I call 911,’ my eldest daughter wanted to know. ‘Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.’ (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

‘Let’s get Ernie to the vet,’ I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. ‘Breathe, Ernie, breathe,’ he urged.

‘I don’t think lizards do Lamaze,’ his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God’s sake.)

The Vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.

‘What do you think, Doc, a C-section?’ I suggested scientifically.

‘Oh, very interesting,’ he murmured. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?’

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

‘Is Ernie going to be okay?’ my wife asked.

‘Oh, perfectly,’ the Vet assured us. ‘This lizard is not in labour. In fact, that isn’t EVER going to happen… Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um…. um…. masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back.’ He blushed, glancing at my wife.

‘Well, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Cameron.’

We were silent, absorbing this.

‘So Ernie’s just… just… excited,’ my wife offered.

‘Exactly,’ the vet replied, relieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my viscous, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.

‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.

Tears were now running down her face. Laughing ‘It’s just… that… I’m picturing you pulling on its…its… teeny little…’ she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.

‘That’s enough,’ I warned. We thanked the Vet and hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

‘I know Ernie’s really thankful for what you’ve done, Dad,’ he told me.

‘Oh, you have NO idea,’ Closed mouth, my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.

1 – Lizards – $140…
2 – Cage – $50…
3 – Trip to the Vet – $30…
4 – Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard’s winkie….. Priceless

Moral of the story – finish biology class – lizards lay eggs.

In the meantime, I don’t want to ignore my adoring audience, so I’m going to post this oddity that I tripped across when I was working on moving my blog. I called Kami over to ask her what she saw, and it was different than what I was seeing – which tripped us both out. I think Kami thought I was pulling her leg, but that wasn’t the case. We were looking at something that is supposed to determine if you are left or right-brained – or as the test says, logical or creative. I actually see it both ways at different times, which probably just means that I’m confused. And just to warn the puritans, the figure in the test is the silhouette of a woman’s body. Nothing that you wouldn’t see on a mudflap, but a warning all the same. HEMISPHERE TEST

I got an email from a guy named Tom Butler on a property that I listed that was advertised online. The email was innocuous: “Am interested. Still available? Please call me at 206-350-18xx. Thanks!” When I called the number, I got voicemail, and the voicemail greeting was the oddest thing I’ve ever heard.

The voice is a little creepy, but give it thirty seconds. Then give it sixty. Then give it five minutes – this thing is seriously long. I think that it has to be joke, but give me your verdict. Just press play…

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My question: what do these casting calls look like? They must advertise what they’re looking for: WANTED: Balding, obese executive with prominent second chin to play the role of “Mr. Turkeyneck.” Or: WANTED: Girls who shouldn’t be wearing too tight jeans and belly shirts but don’t know better. And if you get that role, do you tell your friends and family that you got the role of Mr. Turkeyneck? Or that you got the role of the guy that has the venereal disease that is being sponsored by Pfizer?

(2) Tired. Selah seems to break a new tooth every few weeks, which comes with a strong fever, general fussiness, and hours upon hours of holding a crying mess. A lot of sweet moments come during these times, but sleep isn’t a part of it. And a lack of sleep generates a lot of random thoughts, like…

(3) Washington got it’s first significant wind storm tonight, which means that I can’t watch the local news again until next summer. Oooh, 45 MPH winds – everyone run for cover! Granted, we have more than the occasional tall pine tree looming over every home, but tonight’s news started with four-weathermen on opposite points of the Puget Sound, posted in front of anything that might bend with a slight breeze. I turned the news off right after the piece about local citizens clearing the shelves at Wal-Mart of their bottle water. It only gets worse from here: an inch of snow, demonstrated by a furtive brow and bad cliches, then the spring floods, complete with the waterproof hoodie and not-waterproof make-up…

(4) Selah sounds like a tiny dinosaur whose foot just got stung by a bumble-bee.

(5) “The Unit” is easily one of the best shows on television, and until this season, they also had claim at the best theme song EVER. Not anymore. The cadence has been replaced with some rock ballad that only reminds me that Bon Jovi still releases records when they shouldn’t and that just because you play a doctor (or – in this case, military bad-ass) on tv doesn’t actually mean that you’re a doctor…

(6) Still tired. Kami just asked me to warm a couple of ounces of milk to calm our screaming child. I rose from my computer and quickly poured a few ounces of water into a bottle and set it in the microwave…before realizing that it wasn’t milk.

(7) I am less than seven days away from ordering an iMac. Not to be materialistic, but after seven and a half years with the same PC, I’m more than a little eager.

(8) My wife is saying “Good night.” Not in a sweet way that says “Come to bed when you’re done,” but in a way that says “I’m going to bed, and so are you.”