A little bit o'dis, a little bit o'dat

(Do you know the song from subject line? Dr. John. Cool song. Cool singer. Saw him in concert once at the Brady Theater, and he was great.)

While making hay on the second terrace -- excuse me, mowing the second terrace -- Tuesday, I came across my first copperhead snake of the summer. It was a little one, no more than 12" long, and if the way it slithered away was any indication, it was more scared than I was. If I'd had the lawn mower, it would have chewed him up and spit him out in pieces -- exactly the way all copperheads should be -- but the weeds were too tall so I had the wheeled trimmer instead, and he just wiggled underneath the lines.

I watched him go, thinking that little bugger's going to grow bigger and fatter and come back and try to bite the hell out of me if I don't kill him now. (Since a spider bite put me in the hospital last summer, I don't want to test my luck with a damn copperhead.) But I didn't have a damn thing to kill him with besides my faux-Crocs, and I doubt he would have even felt a blow from them. Made me wish I'd dug out the machete from the attic. I could have rigged it onto one of Robert's old gunbelts. Rachel, haymaker and snake slayer.

Mom graduated from cardiac rehab last Friday and finished her physical therapy yesterday. We went to lunch to celebrate -- okay, we went to lunch every day we went to rehab or therapy, but it's my story and I'm telling it my way -- then stopped to pick out some baskets of flowers. She loves flowers and has them anywhere, while the only thing blooming in the Butler yard is clover and wildflowers. ("You do know 'wildflower' is just another word for 'weed,' don't you?" she asked me.)

I look at houses with big beautiful gardens and think, "Oh, I could do that." Then reality smacks me upside the head while I'm stumbling through the mowing. The gophers and moles are trying to kill me. The sun is none too kind to this redhead's skin, so I'm covered from head to toe, so I'm courting heat stroke. And that weed that has spread across much of our yard . . . why does it look familiar? Oh, yeah, because it's number three on my allergy list. Duh! And there's this little thing called work . . . I haven't yet found a way to get someone to give me bucks without me giving back something in return. If I ever do, I'll let you know . . . for a fee.

Hey, in case I haven't at least made you smile, I'll close with a joke, courtesy of sister Leah:

One day my housework-challenged husband decided to wash his sweatshirt. Seconds after he stepped into the laundry room, he shouted to me, "What setting do I use on the washing machine?"

"It depends," I replied. "What does it say on your shirt?"

He yelled back, "University of Oklahoma."

Delivered to you by a proud former student at Oklahoma State University. Go, Pokes! Rachel8:45 AM