"Medical" Catnip

 Medical Catnip Den Discovered in Early Morning Raid

Dateline: Mt. Saunders, MA... Five minors living at 66 Ox Pasture Road have been taken into protective custody.  Their legal guardian, Ms. Deb Lambert, has been imprisoned on drug charges pending a hearing in Mt. Saunders District Court.  Of the five minors, two were acting as surrogate guardians.  Clearly, "Auntie" Lucy and "Uncle" Stanley were part of the problem, as they encouraged the the triplets to partake of their ill-gotten booty.  According to Lucy and Stanley, Lambert dropped the catnip container, spewing the contents across the floor.  Knowing the felines would soon clean up the mess, she continued with her cupboard clear-out.  Lambert claims the items were being packaged for a local charity.

As the clamor for more "medical" catnip rose from the five minor inhabitants, neighbors became annoyed at the early morning disruption and multiple calls came into the Mt. Saunders Police Station.  Pajama-clad neighbors stood around in the cold, uncertain light of predawn, watching the proceedings as police entered the abode.  According to one resident, "She's always been a nice quiet neighbor, always kept to herself... guess you can never tell.  They say it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.  Who knew all this was going on, right under our noses."  Still another chimed in, "Shocking!  Shocking, do you hear?  And to think, right here in Saundersville Park... a gated community!"

The belligerent attitudes of the minors, as well as that of their guardian were astounding, according to the officers on-scene.  All six residents are all claiming that the huge quantity of catnip on hand, was only for medicinal use.  Conditions within the tiny, squalid house were deplorable.  Dog cookies and cat treats lay scattered on the floor, in an attempt to satisfy the voracious appetites of the minor residents.  Plainly, everyone except Lambert had been partaking of this drug.

Later in the day, Lambert was spotted by news photographers, being led to her first hearing in an orange jumpsuit and metal handcuffs.  What follow, are candid photos of what the responding officers had to deal with... these images are not for the weak of stomach and children should certainly not be allowed to view these.

What officers found in the early morning raid... Left to right: To the far left we see "Auntie" Lucy, triplets in the middle (Arnold, Jake & Kipper) and "Uncle" Stanley on the right (upper right, not the flying pig)... all are partaking!  Emboldened by ingesting the drug, this group of minors seem unaware that police officers have entered the premises.

Evidently, with a giant case of the "munchies," Stanley

attempts to eat Jake, starting with a few spareribs.

 With a "Go ahead, make my day" attitude, "Auntie" Lucy came
perilously close to occupying a unit in the "big house."  She
appeared to be sort of a gang leader.... an enabler, if you will.

Gazing into the mirror with his best buddy, Kipper seems

unconcerned at the chaos around him.

Many kilos of "medical" catnip were seized!

In fact, it was discovered that aerosol catnip was

readily available, as well.

Just some of the evidence gathered, showing this was

indeed a premeditated crime in progress.

Somewhat chastened and in her best faux Btitish accent,

Lucy-Maude pleaded, "Please sir, don't take my Mummy 

away. She's the only one we've got!"

It seems that Lucy will probably testify on her mother's

behalf at the upcoming trial.

Text & Photos ©Deb Lambert 2010

Copyright Humor

"Copyright Humor"
A tongue-in-cheek (sort of) look at
the topic of protecting our written works.
By Deb Lambert

Last year, in searching for just the right combination of words to protect my 'verbal gems,' I got a little carried away. So, I went with it. Come along with me, into a bizarro, parallel universe, where the rules have changed and the punishment has evolved to fit the crime...

©Deb Lambert 2007 - all rights reserved - infringement of this, or any other of my intellectual properties shall be adjudged a capital crime, in a federal court of law. Whereas, this is a federal crime, the offender is subject to federal punishment. Therefore, rather than the customary “hanged by the neck until dead” or lethal injection, the presiding judge shall utter the following decree, in accordance with new, more stringent copyright laws. “Heretofore, copyright infringement was punishable by death. New sentencing outlines preclude the use of this option, mandating a punishment greater than death. Henceforth, the guilty party shall be confined in a 6x6 foot cell, in solitary confinement. Said person shall be subject, 24 hours a day and 7 days a week, to the recorded readings, in the voice of the author whose work was stolen. And the jury foreman shall add, ‘So say I, and so say we all.’ ”

However, be it known that the judge is permitted the flexibility at sentencing time, of allowing neckties, shoelaces, belts, clothesline, extra-long bed sheets and other such items, if requested by the prisoner. If not requested initially, the prisoner must wait until a parole hearing to again request such items, which past cases demonstrate is almost a certainty. It is a known fact that some authors cannot read their own work, without considerable verbal stumbling, so indeed, this would be a fate worse than death. Given the proper accoutrements, we feel the prisoner will do the decent thing, by dispatching himself to Pauper’s Field; thereby, saving valuable taxpayers’ dollars and federal funds. “Oyez, oyez! Court is in session!” Never, ever, mess with any author’s works, ©copyrighted or otherwise. Or else! ’Nuff said!

Note: I have since decided not to post this at the bottom of my blog, since I do not want to make a mockery of copyright laws or the judicial system. I did however, think it was humorous enough to share. Do not take offense at anything in this post, as no offense was meant (one must cover oneself in this PC world). Lighten up, people - it's humor!

©Deb Lambert 2008

"This is FiOS; This is Big"

"This is GardenAuthor; This is Ginormous"

By Deb Lambert

(Disclaimer: At the risk of barking up the wrong telephone pole, I've decided to take the calculated risk of besmirching the "FiOS" name in print. I'm assuming that my little tale of woe begins and ends with them... I am not a software genius, nor am I particularly adept at any of this newfangled technology, as each time I traverse the "information super highway," I do so with great trepidation and very tentative steps. I am hoping for a swift resolution of my email issues and, for now at least, am laying the blame squarely on the corporate shoulders of Mr. FiOS. In the meantime, whilst I vent my spleen by grousing in this blog, I shall maintain a low profile, pending the inevitable summons to a court of law by said Mr. FiOS. I do hope those Verizon folks have a sense of humor!)

(By the way, I am assuming no responsibility, blame or guilt for this dearth of FiOS service... it's all on them! They admit to the fact that it's their rejection, right in the nasty little pop-up boxes AND several acquaintances in this locale are having similar issues with Verizon. So, excuse me, but I feel a sizable rant coming on!)

"This is FiOS; This is Big" proclaimed the clever TV ads. "OK, sign me up," said I. Thus far, no complaints - FiOS was on a roll in the GardenAuthor household... Phone Service ~ check / TV Service ~ check / Internet Service ~ check... well, at least until last Thursday when things went utterly and horribly awry at approximately 3:00 PM... outgoing email service folded up like a two-dollar suitcase.

Thursday, 3:30 PM ~ "The postman always rings twice" ~ well, he may be ringing twice for incoming mail, but my virtual postman is not picking up my outgoing mail, even though I leave my virtual mailbox flag in the upright position. I'm virtually ready to wring his virtual neck!

When one is the midst of crushing deadlines and intense emailing activities, lack of this outgoing function leaves one in quite a pickle, to say the least. Imagine - all set to deliver the maiden issue of garden newsletter to 150 eager students and all your outgoing emails are rejected, left to languish in your "outbox."

Friday, 3:00 AM ~ But, imagine the joy upon arising Friday, to find things functioning properly... out goes the newsletter and correspondence is brought up to date. All was forgiven. Hours of trying to resolve issues, as I initially thought it was somehow my fault... the aggravation diffused - a fresh, new start. Now, I wouldn't have to call for Tech support, waiting to converse with a technician from faraway climes (probably my old friends, "Wayne" or "Billy Bob"), trying to decipher the broken English.

Sadly, joy was short-lived. All celebration came to a screeching halt Friday night, upon return from work. Any attempts at student contact were swiftly rebuffed with terse "error" messages, popping up left and right. Evidently my postman (or, "Server" as he seems to refer to himself) was enjoying a nice quiet evening at home with family and friends, sipping wine and kicking back. Yes, he'd retired for the day. Nothing left for me, but to retire and hope service would be restored on Saturday.

Saturday, 3:00 AM ~ (Writer's keep odd hours, eh?) Try to resend that last email from Friday - nothing! Back in the outbox!! Obviously, the postman had a little too much wine with dinner last night and is "sleeping in." Over the next several hours of class prep, I test the email capabilities... still no success! Well, off I toddle to work and a busy day of garden workshops.

Saturday, 6:00 PM ~ Surely, Mr. FiOS will have resolved what is likely a regional or local issue. After all, he's had all day! Wait for it... wait for it...... NO! I've got nothing! Maybe Mr. FiOS and "Postman Server" are in cahoots with the ever-popular, oh-so-efficient USPS (might as well rile up all the sleeping behemoths, while I'm on a roll) who, in a move toward streamlining and cutting overhead costs, will be curtailing services... all the while, upping the cost of postage. The USPS threatens us with no Saturday delivery. Perhaps the corporate giant in question has taken a page from their playbook? Perhaps, in the spirit of one-upmanship, Mr FiOS has seen the USPS Saturday and raised it by Friday!

Sunday, 5:00 AM ~ (OK, it's Sunday - I overslept!) Same old same old! All I can say at this point, is that I wouldn't want to be in their shoes, when my call goes through to tech support. Shall I commence with, "Do you know who I am?" And then go directly to, "This is GardenAuthor; This is Ginormous?"

Meantime, I am left musing about that red-headed fella from the competing company in the Verizon ad... anybody happen to have his number? Just remember, Mr. FiOS, "the customer is always right!" And you do have competition, at least last time I checked.


Final disclaimer... though I consider this a serious matter, adversely effecting my conduct of daily business over the past several days, rest assured that my sarcastic, nay caustic, humor is not meant to offend, liable nor slander any of the aforementioned enterprises, aka behemoths, nor any of their affiliates or employees. I suppose that some day I'll look back upon this chapter of my life and laugh. Just not today!


©Deb Lambert 2010

Crossing the Line

"Crossing the Line or, Feline 1 - Human 0"

By Deb Lambert

1. Casual observation of feline by human, often within the confines of the yard.

2. Eye contact - ever so briefly, human and feline exchange glances.

3. Communication by human, often just a friendly “Hi!”

4. Feline may respond - or not... probably just look aloof (all part of his “MO”).

5. Next communique by human... here kitty, kitty, or whose little kitty are you?

6. This may be answered with a casual “meow” or more ambivalence.

7. Feline struts around so you may observe its sinewy form, from all angles.

8. Human responds with, “what a handsome boy, or are you a little girl?”

9. Silence, from the feline, ensues. Such very personal information is not readily shared.

10. The above facts are reserved for the first vet trip, by which point, Feline 1, Human 0.

11. Human has no pets, but starts leaving fresh water by the door - come on, just water!

It’s not like you’re encouraging him/ her by putting out actual food! Next day, feline

engaged in ritual face cleaning, beside the water dish. Oh, oh!

12. Human starts to take “inventory” of feline’s general condition and features...

Nice green eyes, reserved but friendly, attractive coloration/ markings, overly thin.

13. Human thinks,”great potential”... Great potential? And this, while relaxing inside, away

from the feline’s inquisitive eyes ...first chink in the armor, crack in the “no-cat” rule.

Well, let the feeding begin! Because at this point, she said repetitively, the score is Feline 1, Human 0! Some kind of fancy, happy brain chemicals kick in and overwhelm you, as you watch this little orphan dig into your only can of premium white tuna.

Mentally, you plan the vet visit, shop for dishes, bed and litter box ...how exciting - a brand new family member, a little creature saved and incoming joy, for years to come! And all this because she thanked you with a sweet little “meow” and encircled your legs, while purring.

At some point, I lost the clinical, running-scientific-type-commentary and crossed the line to an up close and personal view of the feline’s seduction of homo sapiens (ah, that’s better). As easy a line to cross as the one that separated you from becoming a cat owner -- or, is it the other way around? Hmmm!

Oh, just a reminder, you may win a match now and again, but for the rest of your cat’s life, the overall score will be Feline 1, Human 0!!!

©Deb Lambert 2010

What the World Needs

"What the World Needs"

By Deb Lambert

Stuck in traffic again, listening to the radio and reading bumper stickers. According to “Sky-Eye,” we “need to find alternate routes.” Too late for that.

“Have you thanked a teacher today?” A blue-lettered query catches my eye, from the rear bumper of a mini-van. My mind wanders back to the mid-sixties and all the critiques and encouragement that flowed so freely from my high school instructors. Public speaking contests, the yearbook committee and extracurricular writing were activities that kept me close to one instructor, in particular.

Mr. Kester taught English - not just English, but a delightful concoction that included a dash of history and a pinch of literature. He was dedicated and motivated, with the patience of Job. Anyone who could hold the attention of teenagers, fresh from a morning of climbing trees, arranging flowers, dairy farming and other such activities, deserved credit. Yes, this was the Essex Agricultural and Technical Institute.

I’m not sure about the current academic standards of this old institution, as it transforms itself through incorporation with a local technical school. However, I think the class of ‘66 could hold its own, even today.

“Have you thanked a teacher today?” Yes. Maybe not aloud, but just about every day, I thank all the caring teachers who informed, inspired and molded all of us members of the FFA (Future Farmers of America).

Although now deceased, Mr. Kester still inspires, in the gentle nudges to keep pursuing my passion, my chosen craft. The extemporaneous readings of my essays and poetry before fellow classmates, built character and strengthened my public speaking skills. I would go on to utilize all of this in my horticultural career.

As a consultant, garden club lecturer, instructor of horticulture and garden columnist, I found an inner strength and confidence that made me unafraid of new ventures. I welcomed the challenge of creating and hosting my own televised garden program and weekly radio garden talk show.

Now, as I travel the last part of life’s journey, I feel that old familiar nudge. Do I detect an aura of approval as I explore the wondrous opportunities that await my hovering pen?

Will young students still find the inspiration and sustenance they crave? More teachers like Mr. Kester... that’s what the world needs.

“Traffic’s moving again on 128,”says “Sky-Eye,” and so it is. Well, that was a fairly painless delay, thanks to that bumper sticker.

©Deb Lambert 2009

"Let Them Eat Cake"

"The peasants are starving, they have no bread!"
"Let them eat cake," Miss Antoinette said.

Funnel and Bundt cakes of every description,
Of pristine snow, without inscription.

With icing piled high atop the bin,
While frozen compost is "sleeping in."

And yard security can't sit in her chair...
I can't ask Lucy to eat her cake there!

I'll pass on the chair - go inside, instead...
You can eat "snow cake," while I dine on bread!

Poetry & Photos: ©Deb Lambert 2009

New Year's Eve in Glittery Wood

"New Year's Eve in Glittery Wood"
A tale of the inhabitants of one particular garden center
and the secret life they lead, when the store has closed for the day.
By Deb Lambert

The wee folk come alive, as you may remember;
Here, gnomes celebrate the close of December.

All through the night, and when no one's looking,
Musicians tune up and the fun starts cooking.

Squeezing bluesy notes from each golden horn;
Risking the wrath of the conductor's scorn.

As the horn section wailed, he rendered an opinion;
Over all musicales, he had complete dominion.

Though he favored the classics, he had to admit,
Cool jazz and New Year's were a really good fit.

Now, the crowds drifted in for this practice session,

Then wound through the store in gala procession.

They checked the clocks at ten minutes of two;
Too early for the party - what should they do?

The gnomes made their way to the back of the store,
Before Christmas was gone and existed no more.

A perfect place to begin the party...
The crowd gathered 'round with cheers quite hearty!

They drove the conductor in a newfangled sleigh,
Midst the twinkling trees, as musicians held sway.

And Ben, the conductor, reviewed them once more,
As the jazz notes floated through the back of the store.

So, the crowd gathered 'round at the dress rehearsal,
Till Ben recommended their rapid dispersal.

"Off you go then - bring mittens and hood,
When we all meet up at Glittery Wood."

"The ball begins at exactly two;
The success of this fête depends on you."

Thermometers were consulted as time drew near,
No need for hoods or mittens, on this New Year!

In the wee hours of morning, the gnomes showed up;
For festivities promised... to drink and to sup.

O'er Glittery Wood the music lifted;
Among the trees, partygoers drifted.

Nick saw Nora, from the corner of his eye;
Asked her to dance... she demurred, seemed shy.

Then out broke a game of hide-and-seek;
Through the glittery boughs they tried to peek.

For Nick and Nora had wandered away;
Nick had something of import to say.

The gnomes gathered about in an intimate group,
To indulge in gossip - get the latest scoop.

"They're a charming couple, it's hard to deny!"
"Yes, maybe tonight she'll give a reply."

"Nick took so long to finally propose,
What shall she answer, do you suppose?"

"By the look of all the billing and cooing,
She seems not averse to his constantly wooing."

As Nick hummed along to a familiar tune,
He admired Nora, 'neath the pale, full moon.

Music hung in the air, it was a magical night;
And so Nick and Nora danced out of sight.

Now, the rest of the crowd need not have feared;
The couple were joyous, when next they appeared.

"Fill up your tankards with ale or mulled wine;
This tender, young lass has agreed to be mine."

Celebrations continued up until dawn;
Echoes lingered, long after they'd gone.

Revelers finally made their way home;
They idled and gossiped, like every good gnome.

So, nuptials were planned for early in spring,
Now that Nora was wearing Nick's ring.

Next time the moon is hung in the sky,

Or, midnight flakes are starting to fly...

Remember the gnomes who did what gnomes should...
Shared New Year's Eve in Glittery Wood.

Poetry & Photos: ©Deb Lambert 2009

Filmed on location, at Corliss Bros. Garden Center ~ Ipswich, MA.