Warning: This is not about happy cows

Cc0kDT8WEAAsZG0NO NO NO NO. Do not turn away or scroll past this. This is US. (well, not me specifically, but collectively as part of the (in)human(e) race.

We need to see this.

YOU need to see this.

It needs to resonate with us to our very core.

STOP EATING MEAT AND drinking the breast milk of other species!

Don’t say you love animals and write “rescue” on your FB profile if you plan to grill a steak tonight or make some cheesy lasagna or buy a pair of Uggs.

Stop contributing to the cruelty of animals. Stop being a hypocrite.

We will never right the wrongs or stop the torture these innocent animals have endured and will continue to endure until our collective conscience changes.

This is disturbing, but what is more disturbing is the lack of compassion for other living things.

It’s hard to live in such a cruel world. It really is. When are we going to rise up and demand the end to needless slaughter of innocent animals?

**These dairy farmers face charges for allegedly torturing cows with weapons, including blowtorches (warning: graphic)

featured image courtesy of https://t.co/cq0NHFIdHM

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My Husband Suffers From Performance Anxiety

A CONFESSION.

But it’s not EXACTLY what you think.

It’s not THAT kind of performance anxiety.

I tricked you and I know it’s not nice to do, but, well, I have no excuse.

I felt like it.

🙂

Surf’s been up here in Southern California. A few tropical storms brought a high surf advisory —  thus creating a happy tugboat man.

He’s always in a great mood when he can surf or ride his stand-up paddle boards.

When he was around eight years old, he lived in Kauai and was friendly with Elizabeth Taylor‘s nephew — always disappointed that he never caught of glimpse of her. He also went to elementary school with Laird Hamilton — that very famous surfer.

My tugboat man has saltwater in his blood.

On Saturday, he told me to get ready to go to the beach and bring my camera so I could shoot vid of him shredding and getting barreled and tubed and mastering the wild surf.

This was definitely too big for me to make another attempt at reinventing myself as Gidget. (Click HERE to read all about ME.)

It was a beautiful, perfectly perfect beach day.carlsbadbeach1

Even a few seashells, but nothing like Florida.carlsbadbeach4 Cute shorebirds.carlsbadbeach6

A a proud and loyal wife, I planted myself on the sand with my Canon Rebel T3i zooming in on my tugboat man.

I didn’t want to miss a single wave.

Off he goes!

carlsbadbeach2

Nice boat – there’s my tugboat man, ready to shred!

carlsbadbeach7

Still waiting…watching…sitting…sitting…sitting…carlsbadbeach5

Is he here? Did he catch this one?carlsbadbeach8 Or this one?carlsbadbeach9 How about this wave? Do you see my tugboat man?carlsbadbeach10Nope, neither do I.

I don’t have a tripod (note to self to get one) and my arms were soo tired.

I gave up, sat down, and read a book.

When my tugboat man finally came out of the water, he just couldn’t understand what happened.

He’s a really good surfer and had been catching TONS of waves — UNTIL I got there.

Not a single wave. Not ONE.

See, performance anxiety, right?

Just not the kind you were thinking of.

Tee hee.

Update: To prove he wasn’t suffering from any long term surfing decline, he went back out without me for an “evening glass off session” (surfing terminology) and returned having caught at least a dozen waves.

I think I jinxed him. Oops.


P.S. In case you were wondering, I got hub’s permission before writing a post about this delicate subject matter. I would never want to embarrass him in a public forum.  Privately? Well, that’s a different matter entirely! LOL

 

Daily Prompt: The Clock

I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.

He wasn’t supposed to be home until the next day.

“Get UP!

“Get your clothes and get out NOW!

“No, not that way, go out the back door. Hide in the shed until I give you the signal and then open the back gate and GO!”

Thank goodness we had the foresight to park his car around the block. Nosy neighbors, ya know.

I heard the garage door open and knew that I had barely enough time to make the bed and erase all the clues that I wasn’t alone.

Running into the bathroom, I turned the water on and jumped in the shower to wash away any traces of what had just happened.

I had not taken off my single strand of pearls; I’m never without them.

“Hi June, I’m home! Where is everyone? I’m famished. What’s for dinner?”

“Hello Ward, how was your business trip? I am VERY upset with the Beaver; he was sent to the principal’s office again for having his shirt untucked, and Wally got in some mischief with that Eddie Haskell. You’re going to have to speak to the boy.”

Ward hadn’t noticed a thing; as long as he had his newspaper handed to him and the scent of a roast in the oven, he would never suspect that June didn’t spend her entire day cleaning in high heels.

This is the backstory of  the Cleavers, that lovely suburban family in “Leave it to Beaver
leave-it-to-beaver-family

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Heron on House

While I’m making hub’s second-to-last dinner (he was given an extra day’s reprieve and is flying out on Monday–he’s so glad he can watch Beyonce  the Superbowl), I want to thank everyone who offered recipe suggestions–I’ll take pics today and post the results!

We live near a lagoon and some of it is still pristine, offering safe nesting sites for sandpipers and snowy egrets and Great Blue Herons like the one in this picture. I saw him as he flew overhead and landed on our neighbor’s house. He was kind enough to wait there long enough for me to run in the house for my camera.

As I’m typing, I hear the song of a red-tailed hawk circling my yard and off in the distance a rooster crowing. Early Sunday mornings are AWESOME. I hope your day is just as tranquil!
greatblueheron