Dead armadillos and iron-rich ground

It’s quiet at night in Southern Missouri. Dark, too. Streetlights don’t exist past the limits of the small towns connected by Highway 60 and a home-based nightlight glows bright in most driveways of the houses tucked back off the road.
But it’s light out when we head down to Southern, MO, plenty well-lit to see road-killed armadillo after road-killed armadillo littering the shoulder of every highway from Kansas City to Mountain View. Every year we begin to see the dead animals at a point further north then the year before.
Heading to our first baby shower, given to us by my mom’s family. They’re awful generous and we shouldn’t have to buy any clothes for a year.
The shower ends and we take a nap and night descends and darkness comes and quiet too and we enjoy the lack of sirens and gun shots and mewing cats and barking dogs and we sleep.
And we wake and head to Springfield for a breakfast date with my old friends Pat (and his wife) and Jay Feagans and Pat and Rosie’s new baby, Goldie, who is a doll and quite well-behaved and I can send a photo to those who know and would like to see Patty’s baby girl since he’s an e-mail-a-phobe and can’t get his e-mail to work right.
We get home and we sleep again.
And we watch the Who’s the Boss? and Charles in Charge True Hollywood Story and we sleep again.
Now it’s Monday and I’m working on something very cool that I hope to share with you soon.

Also, in an effort to help out Gimp’s promotions, go see MC Frontalot:

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Dead armadillos and iron-rich ground