Isn't that just the way it goes . . .

Hubby and I went for our Sunday afternoon drive and came upon a group of pheasant hunters, togged out in bright day-glo orange vests, guns held at the ready.

They were walking in a straight line, but spread out, so as to flush any birds up that might be hiding ahead. Two dogs were prancing out front of the group and a four-wheeler with two people on it was keeping up with the pace of the men alongside the field's edge.

"Wow, looks like quite an operation," I said to Hubby as we drove past.

We were headed north of town to see where we had heard operations for the coming wind farms were beginning to set up shop.

After we'd seen what we wanted, we started back the way we had come but I slowed and pulled over before we got to the area the men were so diligently scouring for birds.

"I don't think I want to go past them again," I said.

"Why?"

"What if a bird flushes out from cover and someone ends up shooting our car? Stranger things have happened."

So we turned right to make our way back to town by another route. After we had driven west for no more than a quarter of a mile, we saw five gorgeous cock pheasants just to our left at the road's edge.

And we burst out laughing.

Or is it the airlines' new tactic for keeping folks in their seats . . .

This from a Denver pal who vacationed over the holidays in a chilly Florida climate:

"I flew out of Panama City today, on a plane that had come from Atlanta and was returning there. It had been 18 degrees. When we got in the air, the flight attendant said, 'Now that we are at cruising altitude you may use the restroom. But the cold in Atlanta froze the toilet and it doesn't flush. You are welcome to use the toilet and we can try to get it down.'

"It??????"

How did you stand it . . .

Could anything be more depressing than coming back from a short Christmas break and driving into a landscape of drifted snirt? (That's snow+dirt.)

Definitely.

Actually being there while the winds gusted up to 65 miles an hour and kept folks inside on Christmas Day!

Now that's depressing.

Waiting on white . . .

When we were living out on the Correction Line 20 miles southeast of Burlington back in the Fifties, I can remember so much time spent waiting on white to go away so we could get the vehicles out and break through snowdrifts that clogged the high-grade dirt roads to our farmhouse.

Back then, I guess it was more like waiting on brown/white . . . if the truth be known. The dirt blew something awful and snow did not come down as snow but a combination. We called it "snirt" . . . and it was.

When drifts finally began to melt, there was no more white at all. Just dark brown topsoil darkened by the wet, melting snow underneath.

And my family wonders why I don't want any brown in my house.

Now we're waiting on white to leave Burlington for Colorado Springs and a Christmas weekend together before we go our separate ways.

No dirt in this snow.

It's white . . . blinding white.

So that would make it . . . a white Christmas.

Am I right?

Eat your heart out, Bing.

Definitely not dreaming of a white Christmas . . .

I don't like Bing Crosby anymore. Actually, I never did think he was any great shakes, and then the stories about his treatment of his sons began to surface and I guess I used that for an excuse to stop listening to something I never thought was that wonderful anyway.

Back in the day, I couldn't stand to see him in romantic leads in movies. He was so . . . so . . . puny. And not exactly heart-throb material . . . by any stretch of the imagination.

So why do they keep cramming him down my throat?

I have a station I'm tuned in for on my car and for some reason the powers-that-be have decided to entertain me with Bing Crosby Christmas songs for the remainder of the season instead of what I want to hear.

Yes, I'll exercise my rights and turn the knob . . . but I really did want to bitch about it before I changed the station.

And since I hate snow . . . I never dreamed of a white Christmas anyway!

I'll drink to that . . .

I went to Google this morning and typed in “Is Red Bull bad for you?”

I need to explain here that I love Red Bull. Not like. Love. I love the smell of it, the taste of it, the bubbles in it.

I love Red Bull.

Okay, back to my trip to Google.

Here’s what I read: “Inconclusive, but sounds as if it’s something that should be consumed in moderation (unless you are in France or Denmark, where it’s banned).”

Per 250 ml serving, Red Bull has 27 grams of sugar, 1000 mg of taurine, 600 mg of glucuronolactone, and 80 mg of caffeine.

Okay, sugar I know. I'm okay with that.

Caffeine and I are friends. I have low blood pressure and seem not to feel its effects, at least not to the extent that others claim.

Taurine (from taurus = ox, as it was discovered in ox bile) is an acidic chemical substance that supposedly enhances the effects of caffeine.

Glucuronolactone, in a word, is a carbohydrate.

So my fave drink is sugar, caffeine, ox bile and carbs?

I’ll drink to that!

Overwhelmed . . .

That's what I'm feeling this Christmas.

So I've decided not to get the holiday trappings out and strew them about the house.

I've decided to start cutting my lists down to the bare nubbin.

I've decided to take extra care of myself during what is turning out to be a very stressful time.

So, so many things coming to a head at once and only a few weeks to prepare myself for them.

I will explain later.

(Signed) Enigmatic Joy