Top O' the Hill

I've thought so often that it is such a good thing that I live on the top of the hill with no neighbors above or close enough to see me.  Mark's comment (which cracked me up!) from yesterday just reinforces that thought.  Going for the layered look in winter will never get me invited to the Red Carpet, and I'm not going to discuss my summertime attire any further.  Suffice it to say that guests should give fair warning before they come to the door, lest we both be embarrassed.  Landing on my back in the wet chicken pen, feet in the air, was not a pretty sight.  Once upon a time, Steve got the idea to extend the water lines for irrigation, borrowed a ditch-witch, and dug trenches all over the yard.  He went on to other, more interesting, projects and I was left to go about my chores, walking along and then periodically leaping into the air to cross the ditches.  I thought at the time that were anyone watching, they wouldn't see the trench...only this bizarre woman with a bad tic.  It isn't hard to imagine what passersby would have wondered had they been able to see me sitting on the roof for an hour or so.  I'd gone up there to clean the chimney cap and discovered I couldn't reach the ladder to get down.  I know my friends whom I'd called to the rescue via cell phone got a good laugh.  Roaring and darting with arms spread as I play a game of  Catch Me If You Can with Bessie Anne might garner a few strange looks.  It's also a good thing I can't be heard.  Living with a sailor for close to twenty years, I did expand my vocabulary and, given the circumstances of the moment, can erupt like a veritable Vesuvius with a string of choice expletives pouring forth.  I also sing.  I sing to the goats a lot...and sometimes just for the fun of it.  Doesn't sound a lot better than the cussing.  Yup, it's a good thing I live on the top of the hill.