Them Bones

There is stuff even I don't want to know, like how to make musical bones. An overenthusiastic backwoods musician wrote the instructions. And my eyes accidentally read them: Obtain bones from large animals. Let bones bleach dry in the sun for several years. The rest of the instructions read blah... blah... blah... as I'm lost wondering how to convince the large animal to give up its rib, and if drying the rib in the yard violates the subdivision covenant. I know the covenant prohibits chickens, a personal disappointment, and clotheslines--which I should care about using, but don't. In all the years our subdivision has existed, I don't think there's ever been an emergency meeting to revise the covenant. A front yard rib-drying operation might do it. I've learned that neighbors don't like strange, unless it's their own brand of strange--like hanging curtains that resemble large red lobsters in the front windows or raking new-fallen snow.  Neither, I admit, are on the same scale as yard preparations for musical bones. And, no, I'm not going to position a rib cage by the red bud tree--I just wanted to share that image with you. And for those still reading, here's what else to steer clear of thinking about... if someone offers to let you watch sausage being made, don't bother to eat breakfast. Another tip, never eat a salami sandwich and read the salami package ingredient label at the same time. Turns out, there isn't much that doesn't go into salami, except maybe the bones.