HAPPY EASTER!

Here's the Easter basket at our house, already loaded with goodies.

If you look closely, you'll see our basket was created by using the dried shell of an armadillo. It was probably made by Charles Apelt, a German basketmaker who first displayed these baskets at the 1902 World’s Fair. The Apelt Armadillo Company, which disbanded in the 1970s, is the only known commercial company that raised armadillos for basket making.

It's sick, I know, but it's history.

Totally Tasteless Tuesday! 99th post!

Tomorrow
100th post,
contest,
blogbook Shuffle debut!

Butt today is Totally Tasteless Tuesday!

My tasteless butt.

Photo of tasteless butt doorbell sent to me by Robin!

What can I say? Robin out-tastelessed me!

One dead thing, two dead things, three dead things, more! Four dead things, five dead things, six dead things, snore!

Mindy of Primitiques 'n Poetry commented that she wasn't much on dead animals...so I'll show another one!

Funny she said that today because just last night I couldn't sleep. I tossed. I turned. I tossed again.

Finally, I decided to count how many dead animals IT Guy and I have in our living room and entry way. I fell asleep at fifteen. If I can't sleep tonight, I'll do it again and see how far I get. It's like naming the seven drawfs...you always forget who the last one or two are.

Yes, we've got a lot of dead things, but you've got to remember that we're country people. Rural folk have always decorated with dead things. It's just a fact of life for us, maybe because we're around more dead animals than city folk. Or maybe it's because we respect animals so much since we make our living with them.

Anyway, this is George Cooney. I bought him a year or so ago at a garage sale, where else. I walked right by him. Didn't even see him. He was way in the back. Renee, A Junk Queen, spotted him and called me back.

"Did you see this?" she asked. No I hadn't!

So, if it hadn't been for Renee, I wouldn't be living with George Clooney...I mean Cooney.

Everything is BIG in Texas!

And so is my coffee table, although I don't know why we call it that since neither IT Guy nor I drink coffee. We do drink other stuff, but somehow calling it a beer table or a Margarita table doesn't seem to send the same message.

The table is four and a half feet across and yes, it used to be our dining room table. Don't yell at me for cutting it down. It's my table! And anyway, we like it thisaway better.

The top is painted black and shabbied. Faux-tooled faux leather is spray adhesived to the side, and brass nails trim the edge. I keep two black stools under the table for extra seating. When all our adult children come home, it's still called into service as a dining table, even though there are two other dining tables in the house.

It's also the perfect place for this old bobcat.

Important: I found out what "It" is!

Remember when you were little and your mom said, "If you lie to me, you're going to get it."

Well, I was one of those kids who thought about lying just to find out what "It" was. "It" could not have been a good thing. I could tell that by the tone of her voice and the look on her face. In fact, "It" had to be pretty bad if I went by those two criteria! But I was little, and I was a chicken (did that make me the first Chicken Little?), plus I was good so I didn't lie.

Now I'm big and I lied and I found out about "It."

Ya see, I tried to lie to you the other day when I pretended to find - OK, lied and said I found - some old photos at a garage sale. Sneaky Snake and I had taken a ride to a country friend and SS had an adventure by a weed-surrounded pond. I gimped him (my new verb thanks to SIE!) and posted/lied.

The next day I found out what "It" is.

It is Poinson Ivy! Need I say more?

The buck stops here!

I knew you wouldn't read another post about my butt unless I teased you with something new. So here's my new lamp, next to my old dog, sitting between my old chairs, on top of an old leather book, on my old wood stove.

The lamp is made from the hub of an old, old, old wagon wheel. Mary Emmerling's American Country West book shows a couple of lamps just like this, so I was happy as a wide-hipped cowgirl to find this one at a preview of a garage sale.

Now please read on while I rant...I mean talk about my butt again.

http://thedomesticfringe.wordpress.com/ said "This is perhaps the funniest wall decoration I've seen. I'm laughing right now. I can't believe you bought it! I thought it would be the kind of thing that your husband would bring home and for the sake of your marriage, you'd let him hang it, but NO, you bought this "piece of art." How interesting. At least your kinda famous for it."

First of all, let me say thank you for the comment, Fringegirl. I love comments. Jump over there, you guys, and read and laugh and comment on her stuff.

And since Fringegirl's blog today is about confessions, I want to confess here and now why I bought that dadburn deer butt.

Hunters in Texas are always saying they hunt to cull the deer herds. And I so agree with that. An unculled herd overpopulates the land, which leads to overgrazing, starvation, and disease. As reponsible Texans, we must hunt - whether it be deer, turkey, geese, hogs, whatever!

My objection is when the hunter "culls" by taking the most beautiful, the strongest, the healthiest buck, which just happens to have a wonderful set of antlers. The hunter passes on the deer that need to be culled. I know, I hear how the weaker deer will die off on their own without your help, and that's probably true. But I want the hunter to be honest about why he's hunting that big buck with the great rack.

Hence, I refuse to place a deer head with horns on my wall. They're ego pieces. My butt isn't an ego piece. It's just my butt.

I'm stepping off my soapbox now. ReBUTTal all you want in the comments.

My butt is famous.

My butt has been in more plays than I have. Well, it's not really MY butt, but I do own it.

Ya see, every once in a while Chaz, an actor and director famous in community theatre around here, calls me and asks if he can hang my butt in a scene or two of a play he's doing. The Foreigner by Larry Shue was the last presentation starring my butt. That was in August, but I just got the program from that play on Saturday. I had to laugh because my butt and I actually got a separate line in the actor credits under Special Taxidermy Piece.

Chaz once told me that when the curtains open for the first time on a scene, he can always tell when the audience, scanning the stage before the action starts, spots my butt. First there are giggles, then elbow jabs and pointing, and finally guffaws and hoots. My real butt gets similar reactions.

But the deer butt is a clever piece of art I bought years ago at the county fair. IT Guy and I don't own a deer head, probably the only country people in Texas that don't. We have lots of deer horns, but no heads attached to them.

I'll just have to settle for a famous butt.

The simple photographer goes garage sale-ing.

I discovered something wonderful at a garage sale yesterday. I opened an old, beat-up paper box at a house off Texas Ave. It smelled like mothballs, and I immediately started sneezing. After wiping my nose on my sleeve (really, now, you know I lie! I’d never wipe my nose on my sleeve. My shirt was sleeveless so I used my arm!), I gently pulled apart the fragile tissue paper and discovered five or six pairs of old lady’s gloves, all colors - blue, black, green, and tan (great but not the wonderful part!).

Peeking out from underneath this loot was the corner of an old photograph. You know how I love photography. As I moved the gloves out of the way, I could see the banged up box held a treasure trove of old stained and weathered pictures.

The first one looked like the edge of a pond or creek. I loved the spiky plant in the foreground.

I could see the same plant in the next photo, but there was a statue in the background. (Maybe St. Francis of Assisi?)

The smiling man in the next picture looked huge. He dwarfed the rifle next to him.

When the next photo showed the big man with gun at ready, I was astonished. What could have made the guy turn from a happy tree-leaner to a cautious hunter?

I realized it had to be something small because the next picture showed the man was aiming downward. But this guy looked so big, he could have been shooting at anything!

He certainly wanted to make sure it was dead, whatever it was!

Oh, my! I think I understand now. In those days a snake bite could be deadly.

Especially a rattler, and that's what this one looks like. I'll have to show this pix to Mindy's Snakeman at http://snakelover61.blogspot.com/. He'll be able to identify it.

That snake looks kinda funny, though. Rigor mortis so soon? Or did the photographer go back later to take this shot. I couldn't wait to get to the next photo.








Wait. That's my own stupid stuffed snake that IT Guy shot at our farm years ago. It attacked him when he was cutting trees for a road. Luckily, he always carried a gun 'cause this one was mean and big. But pretty, as far as snakes go - which isn't very far. Yuck!

And that was Greg, my new friend, playing the part of the hunter.

I love Gimp, the photo software, don't you?

And I'm starting to love lying, too. It gets easier with practice.