Crapaud House (prounced Crapo) Down with Toads

I live in the house of the singing toad. That is to say we have two ponds infested with creepy toads who live to breed and sing while they work. Then their toadpoles hatch they become parasitic and molest our lovely goldfish ( and it is becoming a vicious cycle we are trying to break by destroying their eggs): Toad's in the road so to speak; at least at our house. I used to love the sound of the rain toad but now it means war to me. When they have been out singing at night we wake up cringing knowing we have to be down at the ponds in the morning to wrench the eggs from the pond before they start to hatch. The toadpoles are such parasites it is impossible to imagine how nasty and harmful they are to the fish but as my friend Helen said about them, " I find it hard to expect much good out of anything born in slime".

When we bought this house we thought we could call it what the previous owners named it but their French was bad and they named it: Maison Coeur De Mour (which should have been Maison Coeur D'Amour) . Perhaps it started out as their little love nest but in the end it was definitely not the House of the loving heart. I can sympathize in a way my own French is merci -less - ly horrid whilst my husband is a native born Frenchman so I am the object of much hilarity at home. When we got around to trying out names for the house I thought Maison de Crapaud (toad) might be good but Folks in Texas whould call us Crap-o House which has not so good connotations.

Back to square one without passing GO and we come to the next name on the list: Curdmor (which is how Texans probably would say Coeur D'amor) and easily transfixed into Crudmor. Not sure on that one all the names sound "crapaudy" .

Did you like the pound cake recipe? Perhaps I should have added a few toads for the Wiccan piece de resistance (not).....Blogger published it about 20 times and I had to go in and delete them all one at a time; probaby my karma for getting rid of the last batch of toad eggs. One recipe for the pound cake is enough try some and you will like having it around for breakfast or snacks.

Well enough for today back to listing on Ebay. Don't take any wooden nickles, don't tug on Superman's cape, and don't let anyone crapaud on you.

Bubble bubble toil and trouble: If anyone is going to make a full cauldron and already has enough eye of newt but you are lacking the "toad" part of the recipe then send me an email. We are running a special on toad this week.

POUND CAKE RECIPE

1C butter
2C sugar
4 eggs, unbeaten
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. lemon extract
3C sifted flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1C buttermilk

The directions: Cream together butter and sugar thoroughly. Add eggs,
one
at a time. Beat at medium speed with electric mixer 2-1/4 minutes.
Add
flavorings. Sift together dry ingredients and add to creamed mixture
alternately with buttermilk. Beat 4-1/2 minutes at medium speed. Do
not
overbeat or cake will fall. Place in 10x5x3" large loaf pan (may
overflow
smaller pan). Bake in slow over (325) 1 hour and 10 minutes, or until
done.gOOD CAKE

BAD HANGOVER Poetry II

POEM POUR UN PUTER
I'm in this box,
It holds my thoughts,
When cast away,
It reels me in
Winging me down,
Spinning me round
Washing my mind,
Sucking me dry.

BAD HANGOVER
It is morning without light stretching the day into the night
Subdued slumbering thoughts gently conjure love's caress
Wrenching in an empty bed, dreaming of your strong arms
Waking wrapped in linens not your sensual love's embrace
Hold back the day surrender to the night in loves lost yearning
Weeping for the loss of one unknown for passion's sake
Praying for the dark so as not to wake

Unlucky Misbegotten Sonnet for Maggie
Betrayal and sadness dwell in our forgotten house
Sordid memories replacing happiness once so devout
Rampant heartache renting flesh, tearing hair
Ashes scraped along open wounds of desire
Clawing gnashing at love's internal stirrings,
Strangulation of the heart's frail murmuring,
Summoning forth the seventh house from the Sun,
No magic potion renders cruel evilness undone
Immortal depravity cleverly unbound the tryst
Unraveling trampling asunder sensual happiness
Days of glory fade to dreams and gone
Nights in limbo linger on half living
Ever after kneeling praying unforgiven

Feast of All Souls
Death is the Mistress we dare not invite
Harvest heavens lend glowing cold light
Iced in the grave the bones are at rest
Feast of the dead All Souls have been blest
Chilled in the crypt devoid of all light
Shuddering strangers go bump in the night
Shall we dance mortal love with our slow undulation
Are the sins and the lies worth the grand tribulation
Can you lie down beside me and make me forget
All The lies you have told me since first we met
And Is your soul troubled on the final account
When the reaper stands near you will it come out
Love time is endless on the other grim side
No lying or hiding will chasten the Bride
Pale lovely visage in frosty attire
Sheer apparition lost soul of desire



POEM 4/8
What would you do if I were to say
Give it all up and take me away
For over four years more or less to the day
I made you go and she let you stay
Regrets don't come easy, mine all came true
I have all you pictures but now she has you
Through dark frozen nights my dreams imbue
Evocative memories of the passions we knew
When death overcomes me and I breathe my last sigh
I will sleep with the Brookins; the Calhouns close by
When you're laid to rest will you crawl to my side
And take me in death to be your cold bride

POETRY of The Dancing Hearts

DANCING HEARTS

When our hearts were dancing the souls of evening soared

Banking northernmost by day Southern nights surrendering

Eventide draped in crepe Shrouded longing comes to dusk

Wounded as the daylight stabs reverie shades gray recall

Moments petrified in time;Frozen photographs in my mind

And as the final chill inters

I intend to speak three words

As life began and ends the same

My last breath will call your name

In the beginning AnniMe was me and I am Ann

After mulling around to blog or not to blog the "to" has won. Now what to say? Usually not at a loss for words, this is a strange feeling. Ann I am and so Ann is me.