The Music's in the Barn, Hon.

I saw a piece in the Howard County Times about some folks who meet every Sunday afternoon in a barn in Clarksville to play country music. Not "we'll put a boot in your a**" country music, but more in the vein of Hank Williams the Elder, Ernest Tubb, Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline. Basically, yes this IS your parents' country music. In a barn. In Clarksville. Every Sunday afternoon for several years now. They way the article explained it, the host feels like this is "just like the Grand Ol' Opry." It sounds a skosh less commercial to me.

I think that's pretty cool. The Baltimore area hosts country music. Local music (well some of the 5-piece band comes from Hagerstown, but that's much closer than Nashville) done for the love of it. I hoped my folks would be up for it when they came out this spring, but it'll be a quick trip and it's all about the grandkids. Hats off to them, they are great grandparents. ((No Mom. Katie is fine. No buns in the oven. I didn't say great-grandparents. Neither your heart nor mine is ready for that. Of course, with Dad's new plumbing he'd do fine with it.))

Since my favorite little sister is coming up from the Sunshine State, I hope we go ahead and take in the show with her.

We got favorable reviews for our recent work on The-Project-That-Is-Not-To-Be-Mentioned. Praises for that! So the long days and the occasional late night were worth the effort. Hopefully that means I can rinse out my mask & snorkel and drive south in a couple of weeks. If not, I may rinse them out anyway and practice in the tub. There has been all too much cool weather. I'm ready for warmth.

I'm also ready to throw that pesky squirrel out of the attic. I saw him today. Grey and twitchy. And too sleek. He (or she) has had a mild winter. I took charge of the situation and chased the bushy-tailed rodent up the maple tree. Aha! Not this time, Rocky. You stay the hell away from my house. Well, folks, the little stinker shinnied up the tree, ran out on a tiny branch (that apparently needs to be pruned), leapt onto the roof and disappeared. Just moments later it reappeared, gave me a disdainful look and flipped over the gutter like a circus trapeze artist, then clambered into its little entrance and into the attic. Cheeky bugger.

I hope it's taking big bites when it's going out. Yeah, squirrel. I'm talkin' about you. Because I'm not real concerned over your whereabouts. Dine heartily you rascal. I'm covering that hole this weekend. Now's a really good time to find a new place to call home. Like maybe a tree?