I am not sure how much longer I will be on line here because I may either have to go underground or the worst case scenario is that I may be on an all expenses  paid  vacation courtesy the government in Guantanimo.   Perhaps if I come clean here and make a full confession I can plea bargain a deal and end up with a light sentence.  All this broo ha ha about Paula Deen’s comments and the NSA and big brother looking over our shoulder every minute, it is a sure thing that I have been found out.  Iit is just a matter of time before you will probably see my face plastered all over the TV and internet.

With all these different store shopping cards (the ones that track your purchases and give you discounts) marketers can tell if your husband is using one sheet of toilet paper too many.  I went to Kroger’s yesterday evening (trying to boycott Wal-Mart when I can) for my shopping.  As I am standing at the checkout I see a magazine mentioning Paula’s plight and one about Uncle Sam listening in on the party line.  I am thinking about how easily things can become a perception of improper in a heartbeat.  I glance down in my cart and I hear alarms and sirens go off in my head.   Oh No!  I am a politically incorrect shopper!   There it was for everyone Krogering to see.  There sits my scandalous purchases in the cart just ready to evoke a sign wielding protest.   

There is my slap in the face to the ancient civilizations with Greek yogurt.   I thumb my nose up at the fleur de lis with that big loaf of French bread and mama mia the Italian parsley is singing out as loud as an aria.  The wall is down in Berlin so let’s take a swing at the Western block with that Russian dressing and Polish sausage.  They may  think they are neutral in all this but to be fair I give the Swiss their fair share with that package of Swiss cheese.   I apologize to the Queen but those English cucumbers were just too pretty to pass up.  I still wonder why they are named after the Brits but perhaps that is something best left unsaid.  You can’t say I am a continental snob because that Mexican chili powder and the Canadian bacon shows that I am all too fair about giving everyone equal time.  Of all these I am probably the most ashamed of the Eskimo pies.   I will now have all our indigenous peoples hurling dead fish impaled on popsicle sticks onto my front porch. 

As I begin to place my incriminating lot onto the belt of the check out by heart literally stops in panic!  There will be no possibility of a plea bargain now, not with this personal insult to the President of the United States.  That’s right at the bottom of the cart was that carton of half and half!  I am surely doomed!

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt 

I would like to beg the forgiveness of the lady at the health insurance company for losing my temper but I am totally exasperated with the company.  I wrangled with them some time ago just to get an approval for the MRI on my shoulder with an approval, denial, approval finally only with my surgeon calling personally.  Now for some reason that even our local insurance representative doesn’t know why I do not get any EOB statements from the insurance company.  Their records say that they send them out to me and they have the mailing address correct but since January 1 I have been black listed.  Consequently I never know what has been filed, how it has been discounted in the network etc. so when I get a bill from the doctor or hospital I never know for sure if that is the final amount to pay. 

I received a plea from the hospital the other day that they had filed the MRI with the insurance company and had never heard anything back.  Well since I am noncommunicado with the insurance company  I didn’t know if they had even received it.  I felt it surely had not been discounted in the network yet because the bill was $4,800.00!  The lady at the insurance company told me “yes we have received the claim and it was all applied to your deductible because it was processed out of network”.  I say “this hospital is in network and besides you approved this procedure not once but twice!”  So they resubmitted the claim for processing again.  I have already purchased by boarding ticket for the upcoming train wreck.

Leslie uses the insurance company’s mail Rx service because it is supposed to be cheaper than the drug store.  In the last year he has run out of medicine numerous times.  He is out of medicine right now even though he mailed in the order over a month ago.  He calls me this morning and says that some man from Cigna Rx called him but he could not understand what he was saying.  It is difficult for Leslie to hear some people on his cell phone with his hearing aid and if they speak fast or not clearly it is almost impossible.  Leslie said this man’s accent was so thick “I think he was from Diphtheria”.  ?????   So he asked me to call the company back and try and find out what they were calling about.   

I make the call and get this nice lady that isn’t from a region whose very name gives the CDC panic.  Even though I provided her with all personal information birthdates, phone number, address and I think even the name of Leslie’s favorite Beatle,  because of HIPAA (government) regulations they couldn’t tell me why they called him originally.   I told the lady it might be something concerning his order for prescriptions which is now seriously overdue and he is out of some medicines because of it.  She asked me if I knew one of the medicines he was out of and I told her.  She then says “well can you verify the milligrams?”  I say “lady I can’t tell you the milligrams of any of my medicine.”   She says that Leslie will have to verify that it is alright that they speak me why they were calling in the first place.   She asks to speak to him and I say that I am calling from work.  I tell her that is fine that she can call him at his cell phone number for his permission.  She then says “Oh no, we cannot call HIM and ask if it is alright if we talk to you about it!  We can’t ask him THAT!  He will have to call us and set up a conference call to discuss it.”  At this point my own heart rate is off the charts.  I want to say to this lady that asking Leslie to set up a conference call was just about as absurd as this entire conversation had been.  This is when I lost my temper.  I am sorry insurance lady.   I know you were just doing your job but I felt as if I had fallen down the rabbit hole and was being greeted by the mad hatter.  I just told her to “FORGET IT!”

I am thinking to myself, “and they are talking about the government supervising health care?   Don’t you know that the only thing worse than speaking with an insurance man from Diphtheria is a government agency.” 

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt    

Doing the diet thing again.  Urgh!  I am such a seasoned veteran on the war against cellulite that if I wore all my combats medals my chest would look like Audie Murphy's.   Portion control is what it's all about I know.  They say a "lean protein" portion should be the size of a deck of cards.  Tarot cards...they are a nice size, but wait I have decided to gauge my portion on the size of a deck flash cards for severely nearsighted first grader!  

 

The "raw" food thing is all the rage now too.  I can see its merits.  Yesterday I thought I would make some gazpacho.  By that time of the afternoon I was so starving that I sort of over did the portion control thing (it was tasty) and ate a bit more than I should.   This resulted in the colon cleanse of a life time!  I spent the evening in constant movement (physical and otherwise) back and forth to the bathroom and changing clothes once as a result of Poppy running interference in my path.  Today I should be completely toxin free and I think dehydrated because I have already drank almost a pitcher of ice tea!  I do think the diet thing is working though.  I could have sworn my toes looked thinner last night.  Well maybe that is just because I got reacquainted with them from staring down at my feet while reigning as queen of the porcelain throne.

 

I wonder where I should pin my new diet medal?  It is rather large and resembles a roll of Charmin!

It is so reassuring as a wife when your husband thinks you are one of the worlds great brain trusts. I always try and make my answers sound reasonably knowledgeable when he asks questions about how to remove an appendix or how many signers of the Declaration of Independence were actually cross dressers . This morning I was required to tap into the entomology section of the old brain hard drive.

We have the summer crop of those little ants. I call them "Piss Ants" and they are so aggravating because they get into things even when you are really careful and keep them covered. Time to get out the Terro but in the meantime as I walk through the kitchen Leslie says "I think I just ate an ant in my cereal!". I said that I would get more of the toxic arsenic sugar substance out that I found to be the only thing to kill those pests. Leslie then asks "If you swallow an ant does it crawl around in your stomach or what happens to it?" Oh the childlike innocence and wonder of inquiry. I weigh my reply carefully to provide an educated answer but at the same time not to evoke panic. I answer in a calm voice just like Mr. Wizard the science man on TV of old. "I would say that when the stomach acid kicks in Mr. Ant will be broken down just like any other protein." Then that little naughty side of me that teases little kids possessed my speech and I heard myself saying "Did you get a look at the ant? What did it look like?" He says " it just looked like an ant. Why?" I proceed to say "Well now, if it is a queen ant there could be a problem. You know her one purpose in life is to lay eggs and she lays like maybe a thousand a day. She is an egg laying machine! I would venture to say she could probably lay 4 or 5 hundred before those stomach juices kill her, and since you had milk on your cereal I think that may help neutralize stomach acid somewhat so she could.......Well just be sure and carry your cell phone with you today."

At this point I made my own human nature discovery. I know now why men are attracted to stupid bimbos and threatened by smart women. A smart woman tells them the cold hard truth the bimbo...well she would have said "that must be how they get butterflies in the stomach too!"

rite your post here.

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

Farmers are innovators and able to use whatever they have on hand to make things work. A washer here, some bailing wire there, a bit of duct tape and the plane is ready to fly to Paris. I had this verified yesterday.

I forgot to run the dishwasher before I left yesterday morning.

When Leslie swung in from the field last night just long enough to eat a bite he tells me he ran the dishwasher.

I tell him thanks for doing that. He is thoughtful that way. He says "you are out of the dishwasher soap in the box". I tell him "that is OK" and show him that I have those little fancy pillow packs as I call them. He has a really funny look on his face and says "Well I don't know anything about those but I just put in some Tide and bleach instead. It's soap isn't?" Thank heavens my face did not freeze in that awful horrified contortion. He opens the dishwasher and takes out a bright and gleaming clean plate and says "see nice and clean". I nod and say "yes, with no hint of ring around the colllar and that fresh clean mountain air scent too."

I promptly sent Thomas Edison back to the field with a pocket full of washers and some duct tape.

I have posted here that Leslie has on occasion fallen out of bed. Well things come back to haunt you because I fell out of bed myself last night. This happened while I was having a dream about being at some kind of outdoor summer soiree. I dreamed that the sun was so hot I simply had to get indoors or I was going to faint (apparently my body systems were gearing up for a hot flash) in any event

I tumbled out of bed onto the floor knocking over my jewelry armoire and resting on the floor on top of the armoire legs between the bed and the wall.

This not a great position for a girthy girl such as myself with 2 metal knees. Leslie was up watching TV in the living room (with closed caption and with his hearing aid out) with the bed in plain view from his vantage point. First of all it is hard to imagine not hearing the thud and now I needed some help because I couldn't get on my knees. Not to mention I am atop fragments of furniture. I am looking over the edge of the bed yelling and waving my arms. I could see Leslie looking at the bed as if he was hearing something. I guess he was seeing the wad of blankets he leaves on his side of the bed when he gets up. Poppy is on the bed looking at me yelling and cussing and she decides to do like Lassie and run to Dad for help.

Leslie looks at Poppy and says "what is it girl?....you want a belly rub don't you". I am screaming like Pauline tied to the railroad tracks and he finally looks towards the bedroom and says "well I can't understand you. I am just going to have to come in there to find out what you are saying". I am thinking "halleluiah" Not in any big hurry though because Poppy is getting her belly rub. I realize it is save yourself or nothing so I do the cheek walk over the broken furniture around to try an pull myself up on the bench at the foot of the bed. By this time my hero, Dudley Do Right comes in while I am groaning and crawling up on the bench like a zombie out of the grave. He asks "what are you doing?". This is a perfect reason why you should never keep a weapon in the bedroom! The broken legs of the armoire were out of reach thank heavens. I am now panting like a marathon runner and he says..."well I thought I could see you in bed. I thought you were saying something to me." I am going to have to wear an alert pendant in my own home. This morning I carry bruises and broken pride with my jewels still housed in the now two legged armoire.

So embarrassing that now when we travel and the hotel asked about what kind of bed we want we will have to tell them "one with bed rails".

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

We are pet parents down here on the farm to a Sheltie named Poppy.  I frequently post Poppy happenings on Facebook in the "Poppy Puppy Report".  I have even had strangers come up to me and tell me that they read the PPR on Facebook so I thought it only fitting to include them here.  You know how parents brag on their kids.

Poppy Puppy Report: Well the new Pet Smart is open in Martinsville and Poppy's mom brought home a new puppy toy to mark the occasion. It is a plush flat raccoon. At first Poppy wasn't too sure about it but after a few minutes she was carrying him around everywhere and shaking him. We call him "George Coonie". He has a squeaker in his head and his tail. This morning she was chewing on him and he squeaked. It scared her. She checked all over him...I think she thought he was hurt. I always knewGeorge "Coonie" was a sensitive guy   that wasn't afraid to cry... :)

Well here is my first new blog post on my website.  I have moved old blog posts over from my previous blog.  I hope to post more frequently and keep you updated with the Down on the Farm Happenings.

I do have to say that Leslie is having a hard time dealing with the new Facebook information age.  He doesn't do Facebook so he is not friend but foe.  The other day he was telling me some news and after he was finished I just said "Yes I know about that.  She posted that on Facebook".  He gets all mad and says "I can't tell anyone any news anymore because everyone sees it on Facebook".   Facebook has changed the face of the rural gossip line.  He said that someone told him that they saw my posting a couple of weeks ago when I fell out of bed.   "Well I would have been embarrassed to tell people that I had fallen out of bed".  I thought now was not the time to point out to him that I have on more than one occasion notified the world about his night time tumbles.  

There are times that the freedom of information act can be fodder for divorce court!

From down on the farm where gossip is still appreciated.

A Hoosier Redneck’s Review of the Royal Wedding

 

            I bet you are wondering how we managed to be invited to the wedding of this century, well as the American trailer park style reporter I attended as a special envoy.  I of course took Leslie as my escort in ascot.  The crowds up the street are amazing.  Leslie said it reminded him of the Snake Pit years ago at the 500. Here we sit in the big church.  Am I ever glad that I brought bigger cushions for us to sit .  These chairs are a bit skimpy and I knew I would be relegated to the rubber ring after sitting for hours in pretty chairs.  We are decked out in our finest Goodwill finds.  I won the fight when Leslie was insistent on wearing his Butler T-shirt.  As a concession I agreed to not wear the fish net hose so I guess we are rather on the conservative dress scale for this event.  I am wearing a fashionable chapeau complete with feathers.  Leslie says it is like sitting next to Big Bird.

 

            I begin to scan the room for familiar faces.  I make eye contact with Maggie Thatcher.  She quickly looks away.  Yeah right!  She feels guilty. I loaned her my Pink Floyd CD and she never returned it.  I think she was going to make a pirate copy.  This was right after she left her government job and she was on a fixed income.  Oh there is Sharon and Ozzie Osborn.  Old Oz must have been throwing ‘em back with Bonnie Prince Charlie last night because they both look a little hung over.  Leslie leans over and whispers that he wished he had done something with his ingrown toenail because “these fancy shoes are killing me.”  A man knows nothing of suffering for style.

 

            I see my friend Joyce Dwulet making a head turning entrance.  My, that red sequin gown is hard to miss.  That side slit up the dress is high enough that we could see if she had any dollar bills tucked.  How clever to place a temporary tattoo of the Union Jack right above her clevage.   She looks fabo as arm dressing for Mr. Craig Ferguson.  Tongues are wagging.  I see someone coming here, I think it is Boy George….no…Oh yes it is Tony Blair wearing a disguise.  You see Tony didn’t get an invitation.  He was really freaked about it but I snagged one off of a scalper outside our room at the Comfort Inn and sent it to him.  He was thrilled but said he would have to attend incognito. That spring frock he is wearing is a nice choice.  The patent leather belt shows off his trim waist and tiny hips.

 

            Oh there is Joe Cocker, he smiles at me and coyly raises a sign that says “You can leave your hat on”…..Joe you devil!  Leslie should be jealous but he reminds me that those dry biscuits he had for breakfast are long gone and he is getting hungry.  I tell him those were not biscuits but scones.  As I am digging around in my bag of snacks he says that he felt sure that they would be selling fish and chips somewhere in the building.  Whew, success as I pull out the bag of pork rinds.  He will be happy until he needs something to drink.  I came prepared with juice boxes so surely we should be able to make it through until the final buzzer goes off.  There were so many things to think of in getting ready to attend this big affair.  I made sure that the courier delivered our wedding gift yesterday.  I know you are wondering what Leslie and I got the newlyweds.  Well we of course wanted to send them something truly fine in keeping with our American heritage but tasteful and practical.  Well we found the perfect gift.  A set of six Elvis tumblers from Graceland stenciled with “Hunk of Burnin’ Love” on them.  I bet she will have trouble keeping the Queen away from them.

 

            Leslie taps his watch with his finger.   I tell him I know it is getting late.  He is worried that I did not put enough money in the parking meter.  I am terrible about pounds/dollars conversion so I am not really sure how much time we have on the meter.  I told him we may get a ticket but I don’t think they will bother to tow the car.  He leans over and asks when they are going to play the Star Spangled Banner.  I see that I have been remiss in coaching him on the upcoming events of the day!  This is not the opening ceremonies of the Daytona 500.  I remind him that they will play something British like…”Mad Dogs and Englishmen” or something of that nature. 

 

            I now feel that it is time for things to start.  Everyone is glancing at the back of the church.  They must be coming…no it is not the wedding party but Keith Richards.  No one quite walks up an aisle like dear old Keith.  All eyes are fixed on him as he looks towards the Queen.   There has always been talk that HRH and the rocker well….to say it tastefully, spent an evening together.  Keith turns toward her majesty and winks and we see the corners of her mouth curl in a girlish smile.  Prince Philip is to busy shining the buttons on uniform to notice.  Oh the pageantry! 

 

            I point out to Leslie in the program that the opening musical selection was chosen specifically because it is one of the Queen’s favorites.  No sooner than I say this,  the organ begins to play the first chords and the angelic voices of the choir boys sing “You can’t always get what you want….”

                                                         

                                                    Part 2

              This is your roving Indiana Trailer Park Style reporter giving you the insiders scoop on the Royal wedding festivities.  My first report included all the pre-wedding activity.  The ceremony itself was pretty much your standard prayer, music, preacher asking the bride if she will pick up the old man’s dirty underwear.  She says yes-cause she’s in love.  Groom says yes-cause he believes he no longer has to take her out to eat to get a little fun so essentially they both are CLUELESS!  Fun time is over!

              After the preacher pronounces them man and wife-they don’t get to kiss.  They must have some kind of ordinance in England of kissing in church.  That is where the term “stiff upper lip” came from I think.  As the couple leaves I think I hear Ozzie Osborn say “uh…well…let’s paw-tee”.   And away we go to the reception.  Leslie doesn’t want to go through the receiving line but I told him it will probably be the only chance I get to speak to the Queen today.  She had asked me for my buttermilk pie recipe so I was going to slip her the recipe card.  I also had some half-runner bean seed that Prince Charles asked me to save for his garden.  I had a bit of explaining taking them through customs but after I explained that Camilla is planning on canning a bunch of beans this summer and these go along great with fried chicken (Charles favorite) they let me take them through.

              I’m not sure if this is really Prince Philip or his wax figure from Madam Tussaud’s.  Maybe it is about time for his nap.   The wedding couple was so gracious and ladies I am here to tell you…Prince William wears Old Spice cologne just like his father.  You see, these are the little tidbits of information that only me, your reporter on the scene can provide you with.  I told the new Princess Catherine how lovely she looked.  I also remarked to her that she either was wearing a really good foundation garment or she still had that perkiness of youth.

              I asked Leslie to go ahead and go through the buffet line.  I had a responsibility to my readers to keep an observant eye on everything going on.  He could bring me back some of those little pig in the blankets though.  I have a revelation of gossip for you.  I had always suspected but now I know for sure.  I watched as she went down the buffet line and when she reached the chip dip I saw it with my own eyes….Camilla is a double dipper!  No surprise to most in attendance I think.   Prince Harry was over at the keg and getting pretty tossed.  His cheeks get really rosy when he gets a few Guinness under his belt.  I watched ever so closely as the Queen walked by my table and glanced on her plate.  The old girl must really like potato salad.  My biggest interest was in the BBQ chicken wings she so properly stacked next to her corn on the cob.   Would she….the whole world wants to know……would she….take off her white gloves and grab those wings with her fingers?    Yes!   Yes!  She yanked them babies off and threw them over her shoulder and grabbed those wings like any good tavern regular.  I think I felt closer to her at that moment more than ever before.

    Well a DJ with a bad comb over (at first I thought it was The Donald) came out to “get the party started”.  They had the first dance stuff they always do. This was pretty much your standard pablum stuff.  Then the disco ball drops down over the dance floor and things begin to get jumping.  The DJ plays “Shake Your Booty” and Princess Ann can’t sit still.  I see the Queen say something to Prince Phillip and he shakes his head “No”.  So she then jumps up and grabs Elton John and they start tearing it loose doing the Hustle.  I look away for just an instant and during that time Prince Charles and Amy Winehouse are executing probably the worst Samba you would ever want to see on Dancing with Stars.  I could just hear Bruno holding up his score paddle with a big fat “1”  saying “what were you thinking?”.   I can see Leslie has had just about all of this action he can stand.  He (like Prince Philip) needs his nap.  I tell him I would like to stay a bit longer but about that time they begin to play “YMCA”.  Things begin to get really ugly about this time.  The conga line begins to form with Mick Jagger as engineer with Tony Blair in chiffon right behind him.  Keith Richards is up against the wall rolling something to smoke while at the end of the train we find Ozzy being drug behind while hanging onto Bono’s belt.   As we begin to get up to leave we see Prince Charles go to the microphone and we decide to wait and see what he has to say.  It is apparent that he has made one too many trips to the champagne fountain.  He nods to the DJ and the music starts.  What a fine and fitting finale to a truly festive event.   As Charles sings the last refrains of  “My Way” I think I hear the sounds of a tear or two being shed and feel a bit dampness upon my own cheek.  I venture a gaze over to Camilla to see that she too is overcome with emotion as she covers her eyes and then is so emotional she puts her head down on the table.   Thank you England for showing this colonist what royalty really means!                        

     (c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt