First don’t try to compare the posting date with an actual Monday.  Lord knows when I’ll finish this.

But it’s definitely a Monday.

#1 Daughter has gone to servitude at her early morning retail job at an under-appreciating Corporate Giant.

That started things off with the first alarm clock going off at just after 5:30AM.  Wolfhounds are truly pack animals, so multiple girls have decided to come into season after this month’s full moon———-don’t be shocked———this is a farm blog…………and we do breed Wolfhounds, so………….back to the girls…………..who in multiple succession have gone into their amorous, fluffy-time of this six month period.

And that means our plaintive stud is sounding like a damaged boiling teapot.  He whimpers and pines and splutters all around the clock. Once the first alarm clock sounds then he amps up the volume.  Try to imagine an harmonic tea pot with an overly-mineralized steam-spout………….and that’s what our boy sounds like.  He gives you the most pathetic, moony-eyed looks while whining, yelping, wheezing, gacking and hacking directly into your ear as you are trying to sleep. No amount of pillows over your head will help.

So an early morning alarm.  Whoopie, whoopie…………………..sign.  I have another observation.  Do cats take classes on acupuncture meridians?  I think they must.  Because every single cat in this house found it necessary to breath their tuna-breath into my snoring, open mouth (subsequently & immediately causing me to gag & wake up) BUT only after perfectly, tight-rope walking the entirety of my sciatic meridian from ankle to hip bone………….where they all temporarily perched with their pointy feet on the exact sciatic pressure-point at the head of the femur………………enough to bring tears to your eyes……………and cause the kitties to fly across the room.

Then there was an odd, choked chortle from a waking chicken who had just been released from the coop…………….I haven’t checked that one out yet.  Hopefully there is not that telltale, circular “poof” of feathers and one less chicken in our poultry line-up for roll-call this AM.

My younger daughter is still sleeping, so is my spousal-unit.  The sun is rising, the steam is gathering, baby puppy is now napping at my feet but only after depositing a small, uric-liquid pool of wetness by the side of my bed sometime earlier which I only just found when my feet hit the tile floor and splashed into its coldness…………………..

Ah, Monday…………………..

Yesterday my daughters suggested I exercise at Home Depot for my day’s physical therapy.  Okay, I have a gift card I need to buy and I really should get out.  I was on my way out the door to brave the front yard mud with my cane in hand when my girls recommended I take my walker—–“just in case”.  I said I could do it with my cane.  I was positive of that.

But my walker was collapsed and put in the trunk, I was folded-up, pushed-in and dropped into the front seat of a four-door, economy car with only mildly bumping my head followed by more than moderate complaining.  We arrived at Home Depot.  Have I mentioned that it takes twenty minutes for my husband’s car’s A/C to get cool?  So we arrive at the store.  We forgot my handicap, rear-view mirror tag. Before I got across the sahara-vastness of the parking lot, I was SO glad I had my walker, wished it had a cup holder (complete with any icy, paper-umbrella garnished beverage) and a cabana-on-wheels (preferably pink & green-striped, a-la “I Love Lucy’s” 1950’s, Miami/Cubano colors)………………

None of that happened.  Just my walker (which I was so grateful for) with its one tennis-ball-foot……………………….I may have sat on multiple truck tailgates of one or two (or three) stranger’s trucks while attempting to traverse the scorching macadam.  My daughters may have had to drag me off of said tail-gates while I whined profusely…………………or none of this ever happened whatsoever…………………it could have all been a sahara-induced-macadam-mirage.

Home Depot is air conditioned.  A plus.  It has smooth cement floors, another plus (where walkers are concerned).  It does have motorized carts & buggies for the infirm……………….but I have been banned from using those by my eldest.  It may have had something to do with a past joint replacement period of rehab and the previous use of one of those motorized thingies in our Winn-Dixie grocery store and a pyramid of canned goods, and multiple misjudgments of the stopping distance and said-daughter’s Achilles tendon………………………or none of this every happened whatsoever.

While at Home Depot, there may have been at least one orange-aproned personnel that told me I couldn’t sit on the steps of their stocking ladders……………………it wasn’t my fault that they were still at the top………………..And have you ever noticed how fast those orange-aproned, retail assistants can run to avoid any questions?  Even the brittle, old ones!  They can REALLY book it when they think someone is about to ask for assistance!

But I DO know that I was not allowed the necessity and/or luxury of a motorized cart of any nature, and I was forced—–yes, forced—–to trudge around Home Depot.  And if I find that child that spilled his popcorn like a Hansel & Gretel crumb-trail—–he better be faster than an old lady with her walker…………those lousy kernels kept getting stuck and squeaking in my tires.

So our weekend family outing went relatively uneventful.  We bought 50′ of rubberized air-compressor hose, PVC what-nots, chain (we always buy chain—–just because), Rustoleum (glossy white), and oh yes……………..old-people-handles-for-the-shower………………so old people are less likely to slip in the shower……………………not that it applies to me………………..

Oh, and I forgot the gift certificate…………………