Had The Raucous Girls over last night, ate and all under the pines as Extra lurked in the shadows and suddenly the Church of the Loud featured their pastor on mic for a shouting half an hour. They must have been having a vigil of sorts, no rockin' band, no shrieking singer.
In throes of marathon work weekend, the sort that makes you pine, speaking of pine, for some free moments or self-directed times.
Time to head back to the 'burbs after this Historic Old First Ward respite.
All for now and over and out.

Respite Love.

Welcome to Perfect Nancy's Cooking Show.
zippy logo and quickcuts of cuisinating heroine, smiling and alternately looking très serious, holding (à la Julia) a robust glass of white wine in one hand whilst stirring something with the other. Fans might note Perfect Nancy drinks left-handed.
Cut to commercial break. Show sponsors = Johnson & Johnson brand band-aids, Pier One, some shoe company and the biggest sponsor of all . . . the makers of Oban.
Back to Nance.
Salutation and description of what's to come in segment.
Background music alternates, Libra style, between heroine's eclectic music styles. Think Neil Diamond, White Stripes, a smattering of Bach, some dj pal's cd, etc.
Hostess says every dinner party needs some fresh flowers and camera pans to the newly-purchased zinnias bundled nearby. Two bundles, assorted colors.
Heroine gets up on a stool to reach two of the various selection of colorful vases. When reaching for third vase all hell breaks loose as it slips through the culinatious fingers, crashing to floor.
Cut to chefemme, smiling impishly. (NB: Dragon Boy made this adjective stick for life, unlike a primo Le Creuset. . . possible new sponsor)
Laughing all the while for camera's sake glass is cleaned up.
Then onwards to cutting and arranging of flowers, making of Brazilian soup, a slammin' in-season-fruited cobbler.
Toss in a few other commercial breaks.
Then a shot of hostgirl with glass aloft.
Cheers.

Love's good cheer.

My houseguests yesterday were all instructed to watch out for the grasshopper. And I meant it - I did not want to suddenly hear a sad and errant crunch.
So I constructed the Have-a-Heart-Trap:V.Gr.© to catch the critter (had a catch and release about five mins ago): a large colander and an l.p. (in plastic sleeve).
It went swimmingly, as I am wont to say. The grasshopper sat in a daze in the sun and I watched him, his bionic legs looking a little dehydrated but he was relieved. And then Extra meandered toward me, excited to see his favorite person squatted down and already at kittie-pet height. He nearly crushed the newly-released grasshopper and I had to push his oversized paws out of the way.
And, lest you wondered or could have possibly questioned this (and here I must mention this in my most enthusiastic tone) The White Stripes, gifted to me this summer by a fellow enthusiast, utterly rocks. Each and every twang, note, turn.
It is time to work along this work marathon as I have a new corporation to get off the ground. You remember - Have-a-Heart-Trap:V.Gr.©. Investors please contact me at once.
Further parting positivity comes from down there in the south, via an email received by the epinw fan club a few days ago.

Walk the fields. Smell the most wonderful air and squish your toes in some mud. You'll regret it if you don't. Be wild, in the wild . . . Scream 'I am Nancy and I win.'


Love's Winner.

A bientot placid setting.
Hello oddball Middling City.
Back from five or so day sojourn with Kennedy et al up there in the north next to a multi-bayed lake rimmed with rock and bass and tree life.
Was alarmed into abode and drifting away into Z-Land when *suddenly* there was a loud bang. I had my cellphone in the room and after my heart jumped out of my body and I listened for what might come next I knew I had to make a call. In lieu of 911 called my mother, who I knew would still be up reading.
I described the noise. Twice.
A LOUD BANG. Then I said Wait a minute, I want to be sure I don't hear anyone in the house.
My mother had me describe the sound and then offered this comforting question:
Do you think it was a shotgun blast.
Onwards.
Had to do some tech errands today and get a new surge protector as the dang-blamed thangs do not last for forever. I had a thought to replace its sealed lead battery but changed my mind once I saw the warning about electric shocks and the like.
Settling all sorts of client-tech problems or miasmas as well as feeding the lurking and feral cats. Are they responsible for the shotgun blast sound. I think not.
Could it be the nearby crackhouse.
Could it be the Rockin' for the Lord church.
Someone I spoke with today suggested weakly an earthquake.
Speaking of weather-related items, Karen informs me that her new home in LA (as in Louisiana, not the city of angelic rockstars) is not affected by that bitch Katrina.
And onwards again.

Love of mystery.