BLOSSOMS AND BROADCASTS

Persistent frosts shocked the blossoms, made them reconsider their early appearance, and finally eradicated them forever. All the pink and purple blossoms shriveled and died.

A few brave white blossoms (nothing racist here) battled the harsh elements and survived. I ventured outside today and did some photographic documentation - just to confirm the fact that spring exists.

White blossoms, plenty of weeds, and a surplus of dandelions or - as Bert Lahr would say - Dandy Lions!

And warmer temperatures! It hit 70 degrees today (that's Fahrenheit, for those of you in Outer Mongolia).

Me? I'm hanging on by a thin thread. The shrieks you heard this morning were my own - - as I tried to pry myself out of bed with agonizing back pain. Ruptured disk, sciatica, fractured spine. Whatever. I shrieked and stumbled. And crawled. While the cats watched in dismay. And probable amusement.

I know - never begin a sentence with a conjunction. Hey, give me some slack - - I'm on a roll. And I'm still able to maintain a semblance of humor despite the pain. That's talent.
Or insanity.

Broadcasts?
Have you ever tried to listen to the radio in rural Tennessee? I no longer have TV (thank Gawd), so radio is my only link to the outside world.

Here in the mountains I get....
static.......and more static......
sandwiched between Gospel hymns.....and Hillbilly music.
Bible thumping and clog dancing. That's it.

Before ruffling your feathers, let me say (in innocent defense) that I have nothing against religion. I'm all for it. I just think that perhaps 150 gospel stations in a row with no alternatives is a bit too much.  
Praise the Lord!

But, there is salvation for my corrupt soul. I only live about five miles from Kentucky and I've discovered a classical music station from the University of Kentucky. Rarer than hen's teeth. Late at night it comes in clear.
What could be better than spending the night in bed with Shostakovich?

Don't answer that.

Before I depart (not literally), here's another radio thing that irks me:

In a peculiar attempt to brighten the mornings, one local radio station spends about an hour reading the obituaries. I kid you not.
Hell, there must be more deaths here than in the Golan Heights.

Not only are the obituaries read - all of the surviving relatives are listed. And I mean all.

Granny Gerty Mae is survived by her first husband Walter Lee Clumpant, her third husband Buster Breeton Mae , 

her fifteen children - - Edna Doisey Mae, Lucy Doozey Mae, Jenny Deen Mae, Bobbie Bart Mae, Billy Bob Mae, Horatio Leighorn Mae, Fanny Lyn Kneewart, Buster Bubba Mae, Molly Doolittle Dunlap, Minnie Sue Matterson, Ernie Clyde Mae, Jimmy John Mae, Frieda June Humpmyer, and Homer Smith Clumpant,

and fifty-seven grandchildren

thirty-two great-grandchildren

and fourteen great-great-grandchildren

and four hundred and ninety-six assorted siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and unaccounted distant relatives.

Donations for the funeral can be sent to the Praise Our Lord for Moonshine Baptist Church.

Aren't you glad you read my blog? You couldn't find this kind of entertainment elsewhere.

While you're at it, check out my other blog:

Cabinet of Curious Treasures