the art of layering

My propane tank has a leaky valve and it can't be replaced until all the gas is gone.  Right now it sits at 5% with a promise of a fix and delivery tomorrow prior to the ice storm.  One can only hope!  I have electric heaters but if the lines break that's not an option.  Neither is central heat even if there's gas in there.  My only hope is to get some gas for those logs before it hits.  I ain't worried one bit.  Big Ernie will take care of it.

Speaking of dung beetles, I ran across a picture of my great friend Old Horsetail Snake in memories today.  A former speech writer for the governor of Oregon, he became an elder blogger back in the day when we were all startups and had professional design pages.  His was by SeVen I believe.  Mind was mindfully crafted by Tamara McIntyre as Poop Happens.  After Hoss's wife died, he found himself traveling around the country meeting his followers.  His first stop was a blogger convention in Vegas and then he commenced to go to Michigan, Tennessee and Texas by a collaborative effort among Vicki, me and Tish.  By the time he got to me in Memphis he had been without O2 for hours and I had to visit Lincare in Covington to get him able to breathe on the way to Pecan Lane.  He spent the night up on the hill and I got us stuck in the mud down in the bottoms.  Just wanted to show him the fishing place, ya' know.  Anywho, I had bought him a bottle Jack Daniels and it was in the car with him.  I marched my ass a mile up that hill in the dark and called the wrecker.  No sooner did I get back down the hill than I saw one pissed off old man coming toward me.  "You left me there to die!" he said.  Umm.  Right.  The wrecker got the trusty old Camry out and one of the dogs followed a skunk, got sprayed and chased us.  Hoss being the elder was in the cab while I hung onto the rail outside. You can't make this shit up.

Find something to cuddle with ^j^