We have an old barn at the back of our wee yard. We use it as a garage in the winter and woodshop in the summer. And this morning, shortly before I started my ritual morning nagging of the first grader to brush her freaking teeth already, I looked out of the door and saw this:

No, I did not see big yellow floating letters. I saw our cat Barney on the top of the roof of the barn, looking very confused.

I did of course what any right thinking person would do, which is grab my camera.

Eventually he came down, then nonchalantly wandered back into the house as if nothing unusual had happened. We -- the Diva, the Dude and the Featureless Saint had all joined me by this point -- were all laughing too hard to take any more pictures.

Earlier, when I went out to get the paper, I found a piece of mail that had gotten missed yesterday. It was a letter from The White House. Yes, that one. No, I'm not being drafted.

(I'll explain the bone in a minute. I just didn't feel like taking two pictures.)

Why am I getting a letter from the Whistleass-in-Chief? Three months ago I sent an email to the Pres about a post-partum depression screening bill that was up for a vote. I expected no response, which is what I would have preferred. Instead I got a form letter that says, "The President is committed to working with Congress to continue our economic progress, defend our freedom, and uphold our deepest values of family and faith."

I read that and then threw up a little bit.

The bone is one that Maddy found when we were Farmers for a Day. We've been wondering what animal it came from, so tomorrow I'm going to take it to an anthropology prof to find out. Any guesses?

The metal thing is a pica stick, which used to be used to measure type but is now more or less useless in an electronic age. I've had it since the design classes I was forced to take in J-school. It still works as a ruler and as a weapon.

Every fall I am overcome with a need to cross-stitch pumpkins. These are this year's crop.

No, it's not done yet.