I was in traffic yesterday behind the world's biggest hypocrite. I know, because he broadcast it with his bumper stickers. (At least I think it was a he ... didn't get a good look at the driver.)

One read "Keep Abortion Legal", and right next to it was another that read, "Adopt Love" - promoting animal adoption through the local humane society.

The irony was not lost on me. Here was a person willing to kill "unwanted" babies while advocating animal adoption because he didn't want to see "unwanted", furry, little kitties gassed.

Makes you wonder what kind of world we live in when puppies and kittens hold more value than human babies.

At my party, my best peep, Jan, gave me a book about punctuation, called Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by Lynne Truss. I highly recommend it - it's wickedly amusing. If you've ever been stressed over a sign that reads "We sell book's, cd's and video's" this book is for you. From the back cover:

A panda walks into a cafe. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air.

"Why?" asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.

"I'm a panda," he says, at the door. "Look it up."

The waiter turns to the relevant entry, and sure enough, finds an explanation.

"Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves."

SURPRISE!!!!!

Yup, I was certainly surprised! Last night, my darling husband threw a surprise party to celebrate the 10th anniversary of my 30th birthday - and I was amazed at how many people were there. I asked if David told them they were coming to a party for me, or if they just said there would be free cake, but apparently these people all like me, and wanted to come! It took a few minutes to realize all the people that were there: my dad & Yvonne from Elmira, my sister and niece from PA, my mom, my in-laws, even our friend Dave from Canada.

David really pulled that one off - I had no idea he was planning this. In fact, I had just told him that when he got back from hunting we'd have to take a nice little weekend away to celebrate our birthdays, since his is the week we get back.

Thanks to everyone who came out to help me celebrate!

Cornbread will do anything for a quarter. He only has two stipulations: he won't do anything that will compromise his morals or anything that will do him bodily harm.

In the past, he's been kicked out of the mall at least three separate times for dropping his drawers, wandering around covered in a sheet, and strolling around in an inflatable sumo suit. He's been dared to kiss total strangers, perform silly pantomimes with chicken fat, and even eat gruesome concoctions of leftover seafood.

Last night, someone dared him to drink an entire bottle of Tabasco Sauce, and he did.

As a mom, I wanted to slap the person who suggested the stunt, but it was hard to say who was responsible. Cassie had relayed the story of how her roomate drank a bottle on a dare, which gave someone else the bright idea to dare Cornbread, which someone else echoed, and after that there was no turning back. You can get quite a few gumballs for a quarter, after all.

Cornbread took a few sips and we had a good laugh over his reaction. "My tongue is going numb!" he cried. "Yikes, that makes my eyes water!" That was worth the quarter. But Cornbread wasn't finished. He was determined to drink the whole bottle.

His entire face turned red, and his mouth became so numb that he began to drool, and it looked like he might either barf or stop breathing or both. We got him some milk, and after a few minutes, when it was clear he was going to live, the darers anted up.

In the end, Cornbread made $5.50 which, despite the fact that he was clearly ill and probably going to be that way for a while, made him very happy.

"That's 23 gumballs!" he exclaimed. If he's smart, he'll retire now.

So what do you think of the new look? Pretty spiffy, eh? Thank goodness for the folks at blogger who let me use their stuff for free! They finally came up with a template that is a little more in line with my personality - fun, bold, and upbeat.

Now you can comment on my posts (although where I read them, I have no idea). I took off the recent posts link b/c for some reason it kept taking you to a random page that wasn't didn't really tell you, and I removed the profile for the same reason. Perhaps when I'm a little more savvy with this html stuff I can figure out how to make it all work.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the new look. It was time for a change. Kinda like the last time I was at rsalon. I splurged and had Lynn dye my roots AND add highlights! Whoohoo! Living big during my last days of 30!

I've been over-pruned. Not me, exactly, but my favorite lilac bush. Hacked up by a college student/landscaper hired to help my husband clean up the yard for spring.

When my husband approached me with the idea (he confessed he was too lazy to do it himself, and I can't say I blamed him. Small as it is, our yard was a major league mess), I emphatically insisted that I did not want someone messing around with my plants. No trimming, replanting, pruning, or picking of flowers, shrubs or trees. Just raking the leaves, mowing the lawn, and getting rid of the branches and sticks that fell during the winter and were littering the yard.

The first guy that came to give us a quote has a winter gig plowing driveways and parking lots. My husband found him because he plows the lot at the restaurant. The guy told me that he was having trouble finding steady work in the off plowing season, so he decided to become a landscaper. He bought $12,000 worth of equipment and went to work.

He spent half an hour regaling me with the details of his broken ankle and surgery, hobbling around on his crutches (he has a helper until his ankle heals) and discussing what I wanted done. I was skeptical that he was the man for the job when he asked me if I wanted him to yank out "that giant weed" (no, that weed is supposed to be there; it's a rose bush) and complimented me on my irises (that's allysum). He finished the tour with a detailed discussion of his wife's caesarian section, subsequent gruesome hernia and impending hysterectomy, and then gave my husband an estimate of $200 to clean up the yard.

"Too much," David said. Yes, on all accounts.

Two days later, David told me he'd hired Brian to come and take care of the yard. Brian is a good kid, early 20s, who used to work for David at the restaurant. Now he's working with a landscaper and going to college. I was a little relieved. At least he wouldn't be talking my ear off.

Brian arrived yesterday with his equipment. My heart stopped when he walked up the driveway with what looked like a chain saw. Nope, leaf blower. Phew. I explained that we wanted the yard cleaned up, wanted him to get rid of the leaves and sticks and mow the grass. I showed him one area where he could yank up a bunch of weeds (real weeds) but explained that I would handle everything else.

David came home a few minutes later and went to work in the yard as well, and soon after I went out to check on the progress.

There, lying in the middle of the yard , were two gigantic, several-foot-long branches from my lilac bush, loaded with joyously blooming lilacs. Open mouthed, I looked over to the bush, which now stood there half naked, revealing a gaping hole in the already limited privacy of our small village neighborhood backyard.

"What the h*** are you doing?" I confess I blurted. I looked at my husband, who was grim-faced and silent.

"It's healthy for the tree," Brian said. "Next year, you'll have lots more blooms. And the tree will grow really tall."

"Who said I wanted a tall tree?" I stammered.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing," he insisted. "It'll look good when I'm done."

"Oh, you're done right now. Are you crazy? You don't prune a lilac bush while it's in bloom!"

I glared at my husband. "It was already done when I got back here," he shrugged, but I could tell by the look on his face that he understood how upset I was. "I'm sorry. I told him you were going to react like this."

My husband understands how I feel about my plants. Two years ago, he yanked up all of the blackberry vines along the side of the garage - because he doesn't like blackberries. We had a bit of a vine war, in which I salvaged several stalks and in a fit of defiance planted them randomly along the back of the house. The next year, not only did my stalks thrive, but the entire area David had cleared was replete with bushes. I like my plants. They like me. Don't mess with 'em.

There were a few moments of awkward silence as I stood there holding the lilac branches, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Hey, you can still clip all the flowers off of these branches," Brian suggested brightly. "Put them in the house and they'll smell nice."

Slowly, I dragged the branches to the front yard and went inside to get some scissors. It's just a plant, I know. But I'd been enjoying that lilac bush for 10 years, watching it expand and grow so that it was full and round and loaded with blooms. And it was ruined.

As I cried and snipped blooms, I heard Brian ask, “What are these things? Onions?” and looked up to see him pulling up a handful of crocus leaves and bulbs. At this point, my husband stepped in and said maybe he should just rake up the leaves and leave the plants alone.

Later, after we'd treated Brian to pizza (and he'd treated us to his theories about meteors and land masses and the location of the Garden of Eden), my husband apologized for the carnage in the backyard. I forgave him.

The discussion then turned to what wanted for my 40th birthday.

I smiled. I have an empty spot in the back yard now, and since David was saved the strenuous task of of cleaning up the yard, I think I'll put him to work. My lavender didn't survive the winter, nor did my butterfly bush. Those need to be replaced ... I think I need a new lilac bush to fill the gap ... and I've talked about putting in a fountain or water fall ...

When I woke up this morning, summer was definitely in the air. The sun was shining, and the warm breeze was blowing through the open window. I cleaned the porch yesterday (major task), so after church I found a radio & tuned in to the Prairie Home Companion, made myself a pot of tea, grabbed a handful of the many magazines I hauled home from GMA and settled in on the porch couch to spend the afternoon. After the news from Lake Wobegon, I curled up for a nap.

When I woke, fall had arrived, complete with overcast skies, cold rain, winds and 20 degree drop in temperature. I quickly retreated to the living room, found a sweatshirt, and curled up with a blanket.

So in honor of the bizarre weather here in Western NY, I wanted to share a piece I'd written back in early March. It seemed appropriate given today's meteorological quirks. I call it ...

On My Porch, Spring

I’m sitting on the porch, not because it’s nice out, but because I need a change of scenery. Looking at the dining room (a.k.a. my office) is boring, and the couch has permanently molded to my reclining form. I am tired of winter, tired of the gloomy weather. In fact, I’m just plain tired.

It’s chilly on the porch, probably owing to the fact that there are several inches of snow on the ground. It’s March, not really winter, not yet spring, that purgatory of seasons when I’m guiltily aware that the Christmas tree is still shedding pine needles on the porch, and the boxes of decorations are stacked in the hallway - but I’m not quite repentant enough to actually do something about it.

Winter in western NY leaves me depressed and constantly looking for any ray of sunshine. Literally. A week ago, the temperature had reached the low 50s and there wasn’t a drop of snow on the ground. Then we got hit with a storm that left 6” of snow in 24 hours. Certainly not the most snowfall in a 24 hour period, but it’s the principle of the thing. I’m ready for spring.

So I headed for the porch. I dug out a cushion for the wicker rocker, made a pot of tea, grabbed a notebook and pen and joined the cat for a little respite.

Penny is perched on the windowsill, one moment monitoring the sparrows darting by her nose, the next maniacally wrestling a catnip toy she found under a chair, a remnant of our last hurrah on the porch at the end of summer.

I am rocking and writing, exerting more energy than I have in weeks as I listen to the birds sing and the melting snow drip down the gutters.

Here on the porch, where hope springs eternal.