Hillbilly Momfeld's Breezeway
Time for a picture. I have been boring myself to sleep lately. I don't
have anything to talk about, so I will go on and on about nothing. I
fancy myself to be the Seinfeld of the blog world. A blog about
nothing. Alas, I am not talented enough to claim that title. So I shall
call myself Hillbilly Momfeld.
This is a picture of our breezeway, between the side porch and the
garage. I took this photo because it was raining, but you can't really
see it. What you can see is all the junk my Hillbilly Husband has
accumulated on that potter's bench or whatever he calls it. I call it
a junk collector. Let's see what's on it, shall we?
The first thing I notice is the cat. She is not a permanent fixture. She
only appears when she hears people. Because to her, that means
FOOD. Notice that she is right next to 3 jugs of Meow Mix. We
buy the giant bags and pour it in those jugs so we can demand that
#1 son feed them. Normally, these jugs are in the garage. I guess
we are running a self-serve food bar now.
On top of the extra shelves to collect more junk are two cannisters
of fish food. These are for the overgrown goldfish in our hillbilly
fishpond. The cats like to eat the fish food, so they knock them
off all the time. That allows the neighbor's dog to run off with them.
Next we have an empty goldfish bowl with blue rocks. There are
3 stacks of empty flower pots. The big white thingy is a rotisserie
that my grandma gave us for Christmas 3 years ago that didn't
work. I think Grandma was a re-gifter. HH fixed it, and we use
it on occasion to roast Save-A-Lot cornish hens, which HH calls
"little chickens." Our yellow and white bad cooler is at the end.
A redneck can never have too many coolers. That's why we keep
them even if the lid is broken and the inside is cracked.
The bottom level has 2 Power Wheels batteries that do not work.
Duh. Our kids are 7 and 10, their Power Wheels Jeep days are long
gone. I think maybe we could get rid of the nonworking batteries.
Down there by the black tuxedo-looking cat, there is a cannister of
some type of cleaner. HH brought it home from work. I guess he is
waiting for one of the kids or animals to eat it. He is not very safety-
conscious. That blue flower pot was in the fishpond holding the
pump. Which must mean that the pump is not working now.
The long troughs are for feeding the cats. Four eat out of one, and
the anti-social long-haired white calico inappropriately named "Snuggles"
dines alone from the other one. That box with a hole in it is our cathouse.
I know. HH said he wanted to build a cathouse. Imagine my relief when
this is what he came up with.
Hanging from the porch ceiling is a twisty-thingy my grandma gave
us that is made from a 2-liter soda bottle. It is one of 3. Hmm...
Anybody into numerology? I am afraid to find out what all these
2s and 3s are about.
That tiger cat in the foreground was the runt of the litter. Then one
day he started eating. He wouldn't leave until he ate the last crumb.
He grew and grew, and now he is the bully. His name is Simba,
and he has a face full of scars from trying to bully Snuggles, who
is not from his litter, and is having none of it.
The brick sidewalk is made of bricks from the road behind our
old house. The city put in a blacktop road, and HH and our backyard
neighbor told them to pile up the bricks in our yards. We hauled
them out here, and HH built this brick sidewalk at the side and front
of the house. Problem is, they grow moss and are quite slippery.
These have moss. They are on the north side of the house. I never
believed that thing about moss growing on the north side of a tree,
either. The front sidewalk does not grow moss. Go figure.
Lastly, we have part of HH's rock garden. He had to buy a couple
truckloads of lava rock for the base. Then he scavenged some rocks
from my grandma, who belongs to a rock club. He has some petrified
wood and some fossils, and, well, just a bunch of rocks.
The big puddles on the porch and sidewalk are from the rain. Not
because the 5 cats and 1 dog got together for one big circle-pee.
Oh, and lest I forget--the Christmas lights stay up all year long. (Ha!
My mind was wandering and I typed 'all year wrong.') Yep. It's
not a redneck house without the permanent Christmas lights.
There now. Aren't you nice and snoozy and ready for bed? Oh, I hope
no one was reading this at work. Yeah. Hillbilly Momfeld. You could
bottle me and sell me as a sleep aid.