Well, Grizzly Flats, this is your friendly, neighborhood mail lady signing off, not from Grizzly Flats Online, mind you.  You'd have to kill me to get me away from that, but from the mail itself.

I never intended for it to be a permanent situation.   Eric, poor lamb, started on November 13th of last year, which was not only his birthday, our wedding anniversary and a fabulous monsoon of a rain storm, but also (literally) the highest volume mail day in Somerset and Grizzly Flats' recorded history.  It was a holiday weekend, plus there was still a buttload of mail from the elections and it was NOT a good day to start a mail route. 

On day #3, I offered to help him out if he wanted to subcontract me (without pay, of course, I am nothing if not an indentured servant) to do just the Grizzly Flats route while he got a leg up on Somerset.  Plus, Christmas was coming up and that was no doubt going to be a mess, then there's the weather he'd have to combat in order to even get the mail out, so a rocky few months were ahead of him.

During the time of "the weather," he started work on the Beale AFB job, which meant he couldn't do either mail job and contracted the Somerset route out to my partner in crime who I adore, Carolynda, while I continued to do Grizzly Flats on through the Spring and he intermittently did Somerset.

THEN he started work on the reconstruction of the Mormon temple out in Camino, putting in their fire system and once in a while, he'd do Somerset and Grizzly Flats, giving me a break. The last week of school in May, I think I did the mail one day and otherwise got to languish at home in the final moments of my "no kids" zone.

So it pretty much worked out that I did Grizzly Flats from November forward with a break or two here and there.

Now, the Mormon temple is all fire secured and he has no major electrical jobs in sight, so with the exception of filling in for him once a month when he goes to the Fire Safe Council meeting, I'm o-fficially retired from the mail biz.

I'll be back in service when the time comes for him to bid and work another major job or two, likely in the Spring unless he gets some offer he just can't refuse, but for now, it's back to my "old life," which I have dearly missed where he carries me around on a little satin pillow and strokes my hair and feeds me chocolate and fetches my Diet Coke and I live like the queen that I am. 

Kids in our district, for those of you who are not LOYALLY COUNTING THE DAYS, go back to school on August 13th and that, for those of you who are not LOYALLY COUNTING THE DAYS is a week from Monday minus 3 hours from this very moment, not that I'm counting or anything.

I adore my behbays, but they luvvvvv school at Grizzly Pines and are eager to return and I am just as eager to get back to my pillow rides and chocolate and lolling about aimlessly.  Delena (14) is not quite as thrilled, but is definitely ready to start hanging with her crew of girllyfriends again and start a new chapter in High School life.  Being emo and maudlin as she is, she, of course, has to feign disinterest and apathy over the whole thing.  I know inside she's jumping up and down and eager to get back into that 60+ minute bus ride down the mountain and up again.  Honestly, she spends it talking to her friend, Alyssa, who gets on the bus about 72 seconds after she does and they hardly know the time has passed.  I'm taking Delena to Ross on Sunday to shop for school clothes and that should be fun.  I was unschooled in the glory that is Ross (Folsom - Bidwell) until my beloved, adored mentor/friend, Jackie, took me under her wing and showed me the ways.  I thought I knew how to shop, having made it nearly 46 years in the world, most of them spent buying stuff, but I will gladly confess that I was a complete novice until I met Jackie The Mastah Shoppah. 

Now, duly tutored in the skills of shopping, I am off to further the shopping education of another generation.  Honestly, taking the time to weed through the clearance section at Ross is cheaper than buying school clothes at either Walmart or Kmart, plus you get nicer things, so I'm all over that.  Plus, I happen to know that I can likely twist Delena's arm into going to Black Angus for soup, salad and bread.  Yum!!

That will conclude my school shopping. I got Nathan's haircut and supplies and clothes and such last week and Dylan's done the week before, minus the haircut because he's uncertain. I've always let my kids choose their own hair, within reason.  Since I went through it with Josh, no one gets to dye their hair black any more.  No extreme hairstyles like mohawks or statue of liberty do's. 

Nathan always wants a military cut (what we called a 35-10 in the Air Force to quote the reg that governed such vital points to our national security as hair cuts) that can be spiked up on top if he chooses.  Delena changes her hair with her moods, usually short and stylish, but has pretty much worn all colors natural to human colors and some that aren't.  Dylan, however, rarely has interest in getting his hair cut and if he does, it's usually just to get the front hair out of his face, so it ends up being a mullet.  Since he didn't want to cut it (again), I'll try and coax it back into a pony tail like his dad and (much) older brother wear. 

They were kind to me on clothes this year, only wanting a few pairs of shorts ($4 each at Walmart) and a couple of new shirts to wear to school (Wow!  Only about $3 at Walmart as well!).  Dylan didn't want a lunch box, preferring to take his lunch in a gallon sized ziplock bag so he can just chuck the whole thing when he's finished.  They both got new backpacks.  They are ridiculously rough on backpacks.  Nathan wanted a lunchbox because he is a material boy.  Beyond that, we wait to see what Mrs Haboush wants them to get for school supplies.

On Tuesday morning, I was telling Eric goodbye as he left for work and I saw that the front window was dirty.  It wasn't dirty in that usual Grizzly Flats "our dirt is actually dirtier than yours" dirty, but in that "my grandkids were here last weekend and somebody must have had yogurt outside" dirty that actually should likely be cleaned up.  I grabbed the Windex and some paper towels and headed outside to clean.  After a few swipes, I noticed that my hair felt kind of funny.  Then, I realized that it felt funny because there was a whole pile of bees in there swarming around.  ?!  I leaned over carefully and kind of gently shook my hair around upside down, thinking all kinds of positive bee thoughts like "I mean you no harm, little bees!  Go in peace!  Fly and be free!"  Most of them did, but a few decided to not play nice and stung the hell out of my noggin.  Assholes.  Bees are just the most arrogant little creatures ever and think that because they can make honey out of their butts, that they have some kind of dominion over us.

I know I got three and there may be more, but it's hard to tell.  Some are very close together and just turned into one big ow.  I went back into the house with my head still upside down and the only hair thing I could find was the dog brush, so I started combing through with that, extricating the still-writhing little bee corpses.  I thought I got everyone out, including some half-everyones who evidently tried to escape while their stingers were still hanging out in my head.  I managed to get upstairs and find the StingEze, which is wonderful stuff.  It cut out most of the pain, but the dull throb remained.

I kept a headache for three days, broke out in a rash of little itchy, pimply spots and the lymph nodes in my neck and two spots at the base of my skull got really tender to the touch.  Stupid bees.  Yesterday morning, the soreness reduced to the point that I could start groping around on top of my head and sure enough, I found that I tiny little stinger was still embedded in there.  I got it picked out and started feeling better pretty quickly after that.  No new spots and the headache went away, although now the lymph notes are still touchy.  I'm not allergic to bees particularly.  Growing up in Kentucky, we usually got 1-2 really good ones a year, mostly from walking through cover barefoot.  The bees there aren't very aggressive and don't go after you like these little flying attitude problems do.  I guess when you get stung a few times and have a stinger pumping poison into you for a couple of days, anyone would have a reaction.

Today is my best day this week and I'm glad the bee fracas is behind me for the time bee-ing.  I guess my new hairstyle is a bee-hive.

Bee particular,