#talala

[emvisual]

La cápsula espacial de Winganon en Talala, Oklahoma.

Una hormigonera tuvo un accidente mientras transportaba cemento. El cemento que contenía se fraguó hasta formar un bloque sólido. Como pesaba demasiado para moverlo la abandonaron en el lugar del accidente.

En septiembre de 2011, Barry y Heather Thomas decidieron convertir la hormigonera en una cápsula espacial para celebrar el quinto aniversario de su boda.

[dear-momma]

April Fool’s Day revolt

Dear Momma,

It’s been an interesting week for your city girl in Talala.

I had been practicing for weeks in eager anticipation for the BIG DAY. After all, I had a reputation to uphold!

As a connoisseur of the art of April Foolery, I long ago discovered the keys to pulling off a successful jest.

First, if at all possible, use the telephone.

This not only protects the perpetrator (me) from a smack in the chops, whether by accident or design, by the perpetrate. It also prevents premature gag detection by hiding from an astute target a tell-tale playful gleam in the eye, or a stifled giggle during a critical moment of the set-up phase.

Secondly, timing is critical.

The earlier in the day you pull the prank, the less the likelihood your target has already been hit by someone else. And never let the victim stew longer than necessary before announcing the prank. 

Prolonging the gag can permanently brand you as cruel rather than clever, thereby eliminating any future opportunities for this type of endeavor, at least among your immediate circle of acquaintances.

Next, you CAN prolong the spirit of fun if, after the successful completion of the gag,  you have a ready suggestion for your victim to pull a prank of their own, and even help them to play it. That way, the embarrassment of being “gotten” is relieved and their creative juices are distracted from the pursuit of immediate revenge.

And finally, KNOW YOUR VICTIM! If you don’t know how he or she will react, drop the joke, or the consequences can be unpleasant and far reaching. I learned this one last year the hard way.

After calling a number of carefully selected neighbors to beg their assistance because our cow Agnes was having a difficult time giving birth to what appeared to be a two-headed calf, I was satisfied that the joke ended at exactly the right moment in each case except one.

All were preparing to jump in their trucks when I ended the phone call with a hearty “April Fool!” and received a chuckle of appreciation from the person on the other end.

But when I tried to reach Leonard, his daughter Pam answered the phone. I stupidly went ahead with the joke, never suspecting that she would hang up on me in mid-sentence in her frantic haste to find help for me. It took 15 minutes of busy signals before I could get back through and sheepishly whimper “April Fool.”

I haven’t seen a lot of Pam in the last year, but every time I do, she gives me a suspicious sidelong glance, as if I were a hand grenade with a missing pin.

I realize this all sounds a little Machiavellian, Momma. But the downfall of any prankster usually occur when overconfidence leads to disregard for established practice. 

Oh year, this year I did the usual early morning phone calls to announce my unexpected (gag) pregnancy to you and Daddy and the rest of the immediate family...but just as a warmup.

This year’s major hoax was going to be a real doozy.

Every other day my sweet, unsuspecting, semi-airheaded home care nurse arrives to change the bandage on my IV. I’ve been such a model patient throughout my six week program that for April Fool’s Day, I figured a simple mid-treatment cardiac arrest might be just the ticket.

All week while administering my IV treatment, Lance had numerous heart attacks of his own as I practiced convincing moans, groans, gasps, and chokes ending with a clutched breast, and my head on the table top.

Though breaking most of my time-developed rules of successful April Fool’s pranks, I felt confident that I had planned for any contingency.

I knew I could yell “April Fool’s” before the nurse could obtain a kitchen knife to begin an open heart massage.

It was a close call--I yelled in time, but it was after the announcement that she headed for the kitchen knife muttering, “I’m going to kill you for this!”

What I hadn’t planned on was the appearance of curious baby Carleigh, who was supposed to be watching her favorite show Barney in the living room. She was apparently at the kitchen door as I gasped for air and she saw me slump down to the table! Her terrified shriek, “MOMMY!!!” is still ringing in my ears.

Though she calmed down immediately when I sat up with a goofy grin, to this day when anyone approaches my IV tubes, Carleigh stations herself protectively at my elbow like a miniature Rush Limbaugh in the presence of liberals.

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, Momma.

But no...there was still the prank on Lance I HAD to pull.

Originally, he was supposed to be out of town for the night and I was going to put this gooey, slimy (but harmless) stuff the kids call “Gak” in his shaving kit for discovery later in a distant hotel room.

I knew it always takes him a while to develop his sense of humor about practical jokes, but when his plans for an overnight stay changed, I couldn’t resist the temptation to put the clammy goop under the covers on his side of the bed.

Lance didn’t come to be until long after I had fallen asleep, so I missed the initial response. I didn’t wake up until he flung back the covers, turned on the light, and was threatening to shoot the dog he assumed had messed in the bed. When he realized what had really happened, he was so mad he spent the rest of the night on the couch and refused to speak to me all the next day. 

After this year’s disasters, I promise, Momma, I’m cured from my  April Fool’s Day capers FOREVER ...

NOT!

This country living is so much fun!

Love, Coni

[dear-momma]

Women’s rites

Dear Momma,

It’s been an interesting week for your city girl in Talala.

Liberty! Equality! Sorority! Let the Sisterhood of Mothers everywhere rejoice, for SCHOOL HAS STARTED! Behold, the Herald of Freedom appears on the horizon in the form of that big yellow bus.

I can now relate to this giddy jubilation, Momma ... at least on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because Carleigh is now a successful cadet in the hallowed halls of Cary-Lyn’s day care. This major milestone in both our lives has taken almost a year of concerted effort to achieve.

Accepting wholeheartedly the premise expounded in the baby development books that the first two years of life form the backdrop against which the rest of a child's earthly existence is played, I wanted to supervise every moment of it, and reveled in my good fortune to be present for every glorious “first” my baby experienced. The fact that her first word was “cookie” instead of “Momma” left me undaunted. I realized that she had no reason to call me because I was always there. Our separations in her first two years can be counted on one hand.

I also reveled in Carleigh’s good fortune to be raised far from the maddening turmoil and toxic atmosphere of the city. My mind’s eye envisioned her growing healthy and strong, exploring the wide open vistas of lush green meadows with her four legged buddies.

Wanting her to experience the unconditional love of dogs in particular, I saw to it that she was surrounded from birth by three of the sweetest canines on earth. Carleigh’s first grasp was not of a plastic rattle, but the fuzzy flexible ear of an adoring canine.

In the seclusion of country life, Carleigh was allowed to roam the backyard unfettered by diapers and clothing, weather permitting. Originally intended to engender unselfconsciousness about her body and to facilitate potty training, when the practice resulted in the added bonus of markedly reduced laundry duty for me, I saw absolutely no reason to discontinue it.

The occasional visitor to our ranch would chuckle in wonder at the patient tolerance of the dogs as the naked baby rough-housed with the animals, pulling their jaws apart to count the sharp pearly whites or to examine the length of squishy pink tongues.

The problems didn’t begin to surface until Carleigh started to walk. It never occurred to me that her comradeship with the dogs would translate into a total lack of fear of ALL animals, including cows and horses. One day we got a phone call from Howard instructing us to look out in the front pasture. There was a cluster of cows, horses, chickens, dogs and cats moving in unison behind the tiny marching figure of the naked Pied Piper of Talala, who had gotten it into her head to go visit Howard!

I had expected some imitations of animal behavior due to the amount of time she spent with her furry playmates. The way Carleigh rubbed her head against my legs in a cat-like display of affection was so cute! And the al fresco consumption of small amounts of dog food wasn’t too alarming either. Then, a visitor tried to remove a toy Carleigh was playing with, and instead of shrieking “MINE!” or “NO!” like a normal child, the infuriated toddler sprang forward on all fours protecting the toy under her body while emitting a low growl of warning. I finally had to admit that, just maybe, she could benefit from some exposure to other children.

The thunderbolt that I, too, needed a few breaks from the constant burden of child care hit the day I invited my friend Jan over for lunch. Sadly eyeing her elegant placesetting of Barney placemat and cup of juice on which I had thoughtfully placed a plastic training lid, she shook her head and said pityingly, “You need to get out more.” Following her gaze, I discovered with a shock that I had been cutting up her meat for her! A couple of days a week of freedom might be just what the doctor ordered.

Thrilled by the prospect of the swings and slides in the backyard of Cary-lyn’s, Carleigh was eager to start this new adventure... that is, until she actually saw that room full of more children than she had ever seen in her life. Figuring the pitiful wailing (and my guilt at leaving here) would subside within minutes of my departure, I tried to extricate Carleigh’s deathgrip on my leg by step-dragging her to the door. Needless to say, Momma, the first attempt at day care ended in tragedy in less than two hours when the establishment called me to come pick up my still bawling child.

Months later, after she has assured me that she wanted to go to “Thkool,” we pulled up to the day care driveway. Carleigh, tearfully defiant, refused to even get out of the car!

Thank Heaven for those loving, patient saints at the United Methodist Sunday School who finally, a few moments (then hours) at a time, overcame Carleigh’s conditioned separation anxiety, enabling her to make it through the first entire day at Cary-Lyn’s!

The coin that wears the beautiful face of freedom on the front has a flip side, though. It seems almost every time Carleigh goes to day-care, she brings home the latest vogue in viruses which sweeps through the rest of our family with a vengeance. The last one carried the endearing charm of constant visits to the bathroom to expunge foul toxins from both ends at the same time.

But I’m NOT giving up, Momma! I’ve stocked the shelves with every over-the-counter antidote known to man and at least 50 boxes of Kleenex.

This country living is so much (UGH!) fun!

Love, Coni

[dear-momma]

Petitioning for power

Dear Momma,

It’s been an interesting week for your city girl in Talala.

One of the most delightfully quaint bastions of rural America is the country co-op. This is a unique institution in which normally cantankerous individual farmers and ranchers unite in the best pioneering spirit to provide the necessities of life for their families. In our case, the only thing standing between us and having to run around in a storm with a kite and a key is our friendly electric co-op, VVEC.

For instance, in the city when it’s stormy, everyone has to depend on lacquer-haired TV personalities to tell them to turn off their televisions, computers, and electric toothbrushes to prevent a lightening bolt from zapping the appliance, or worse, a tooth.

But out here in the country, our friendly electric co-op performs this service for us. Anytime a lightening bolt strikes in a four county area, they turn off our electricity for us and leave it off until the storms are safely in Arkansas.     *$()#@*&$(%&^JR^f. Woops! There it goes again--computer malfunction due to a power shortage. Must be lightening in Pawhuska. Now I’ve gotta stop and reset all the clocks!

Probably the best example of our kinder, gentler electric utility is the fact that we even get to read our own meters. I feel like a trusted member of the country community when I go out to read my own meter every month and realize that this is one of the few places on earth where the “Honor System” is still viable. Anytime I’m tempted to cheat, like during the summer when the air conditioner hasn’t had a rest all month, the slogan on the bill reminds me that the co-op is “Owned by those we serve,” and I would only be cheating myself.

To a city girl who’s never owned a utility except during a rousing game of Monopoly, the implications of co-ownership are really quite thrilling, Momma. It does present its own set of problems, though, like how to spend my $5 dividend check which rolls in every year.

It would be a lot more fun if they’d just make me a loan of $5-million like they did to Precision Tubulars. I could really get into spending a $5-million check. But then my neighbors would be mad at not only them, but at me too.

One can’t be too critical though. After all, if it weren’t for VVEC, we couldn’t have electricity here on the farm because PSO didn’t think we were profitable enough to bother running electric lines out here to us in the sticks. So, VVEC brings it to us. The markup is a little stiff, but it’s good to have electricity.

Without electricity, there’d be no television, so we wouldn’t get to watch our television weathermen say, “Uh...” 25 times every three minute weathercast; we couldn’t get to buy computers that get wiped out every storm; the cows wouldn’t have poles upon which to scratch; our dog Buster wouldn’t have anything to substitute for fire hydrants; and midnight snacks would really be hard to find in the dark.

So thank you, VVEC. I do wish you would try to take better care of my money, though. I need it worse than Precision Tubulars did. Oh well, maybe the Corporation Commission can help you this time, that is if we owners get enough signatures on the petitions to get the Corporation Commission to audit the books. 

It’s the least we can do for our own company.

This country living is so much fun!

Love, Coni

[girswadsurva]

GIRSWAD FARMERS PRODUCER COMPANY LIMITED

GIRSWAD FARMERS PRODUCER COMPANY LIMITED It is a Farmer Producer Company (FPC) We are a group of farmers who practice Natural Farming. We are supplying natural farm produce in bulk like Groundnut, Soybean, Wheat, Cotton, Sugarcane, Chickpea,, Coriander, etc.

[girswadsurva]

GIRSWAD FARMERS PRODUCER COMPANY LIMITED

It is a Farmer Producer Organization (FPO)We are a group of farmer who practicing Natural Farming.We are supplying natural farm produce in bulk like Groundnut,Soybean, Wheat, Cotton, Sugarcane, Chickpea,, Coriander, etcContact us for bulk order of natural organic farm produce.

[satyamanthan]

ગીર વિસ્તારમાં ઇકો ઝોનના કાયદાના વિરોધમાં તાલાલામાં રેલી કાઢી આવેદનપત્ર પાઠવાયું

તાલાલા ન્યુઝ : ગીર જંગલ બોર્ડર અને 10 કી.મી ની ત્રિજ્યા માં ઇકો સેન્સેટિવ ઝોનનો સૂચિત કાયદો ગીર પંથક (Gir Somnath)ના ખેડૂતો માટે મોટી સમસ્યા

[arcofpstuff]

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