Family

 

Family is important. And I, for one, have a fantastic family. Not only are they all beautiful, but everyone is kind and wonderful and would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it.

From left front and circle around the table we have Dylan, Billy, Rachael, Kyleigh, Carmen, me, Mike, Jake, Ean, Carmen, Rosemary, Stacey, Abby, Cole, and fun Aunt Cassie. That’s what the kids used to call her.

See! Didn’t I tell you they were beautiful!

The light from the overhead lighting gave some of us a kind of glow.

I am such a curmudgeon. I know you find that hard to believe, right? When we were invited to have lunch with my cousins, my first reaction was, “I don’t wanna go.” It’s not that I don’t love my peeps, I do. It’s just that I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m perfectly content to stay home and paint. I can’t explain the joy I feel when I paint. Nothing else has grabbed me quite like watercolors do. I think I’ve found my niche!

“Peg, we’ve seen you dive whole-heartedly into other crafts,” you say.

And you’d be right. I love making things.

My first love was stained glass.

I love every step of making book boxes, from cutting and gluing the cardboard together to designing and painting. I experimented with different ways to make hinges and even tried my hand at homemade clay. Each challenge, each “what if,” became an invitation to stretch my imagination and creativity. Honestly, what’s not to love about that?!

Porch signs were another avenue of exploration for me. I didn’t enjoy the prep work so much but I did enjoy the painting part.

I spent a summer or two making tin can flowers and ladybugs.

There have been other things along the road, too. Anything that allows me to make something is my jam. And if it’s from a recyclable, that’s just a bonus. Trash to treasure, don’cha know?

The main difference between all of those things and watercolors is this: with the exception of tin can flowers (I have a mile of fence) I don’t have anything to do with all the other stuff if I make it, therefore, I only make those things if it’s a commission or to give as a gift. With watercolor I actually want to pull out some of the photos I’ve taken over the years and paint them. I’ve accidentally fallen into pet portraits but after I clear my desk of my commissions, I want to explore landscapes and people portraits. I can paint a ton of things and paper doesn’t take up much room.

Having said that, my handsome brother-in-law just got the painting of Matty Lou, their new pup.

“So good! Thank you so much!! I’m going to get it framed,” Cork said.

He and Dee sounded genuinely pleased.

Speaking of being genuinely pleased...

The first thing my beautiful cousin Cassie said to me when we gathered for lunch was, “I love your stories!”

That made my day — heck! It made my whole week! For the most part this is a thankless job — and it doesn’t pay much. But it’s a job I do because I know you like my stories, and pictures, and also because I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t think I could quit even if I wanted to!

Speaking of making things...

Baking is actually my first love. I forgot about that when I was talking about it earlier. When I was a little girl I loved to bake cakes for my dad. No matter how bad they were — and I don’t remember that they were bad — he would always compliment me.

My beautiful little sister called me, all excited about a fabulous recipe she’d made. It was a cranberry cake and used fresh cranberries. She sent me the recipe and I bought the cranberries. Then the cranberries sat in the crisper drawer for two weeks before I was ready to make it.

“Two weeks!” you say.

Yep. But according to the internet, they can last up to a month if you don’t wash them. I hadn’t. So I thought they’d be fine.

When I got them out to make the cake, there were so many bad ones that I pitched both packages. I’m sure the birds and other critters enjoyed the treat. It’s a good thing they were only ninety-nine cents a pack. I’d’ve felt really bad if I’d’ve paid a couple of dollars for each one.

When I was looking at recipes with cranberries, I found one that used whole cranberry cranberry sauce, and I had a can of that on the shelf. You put pecans in the bottom, a layer of cake mix, dollop on a mixture of cream cheese, butter, vanilla, and powdered sugar, dollop on the cranberry sauce and swirl it with the cream cheese mixture. I put it in the oven and set the timer.

After a while I could smell the cake and thought, it’s got to be about done. A few minutes later, when the timer still hadn’t gone off, I got up to look.

Guess what?

There’s nothing like setting a timer and not turning it on!

In my defense, I’ve had this timer for a hundred years, well, more than twenty, I think, and probably less than a hundred. But lately, when I poke the start button, it doesn’t always start. That must’ve been what happened this time.

I checked the cake and decided it needed another ten minutes. Then, when I toothpick tested it, it was done.

I sprinkled powdered sugar on when it came out of the oven — not much, just a light sprinkle.

As you can see, they ate about half of it at movie night at the church.

I had a small piece and threw part of that away. I didn’t care for the cake part even though it was Betty Crocker. I divided the leftover cake into containers and gave it to two of my neighbors.

“If you don’t like it, pitch it,” I told them.

I haven’t heard from the one neighbor, but Lamar and Rosie liked it enough to ask for the recipe.

Oh! That reminds me! Two of Mike’s cronies came for a visit this past week. When people come in, I kennel both dogs.

They are so good.

“Get in kennel!” I command. They stop barking and go right to their kennels.

I was busy doing dishes while they were visiting, then transitioned into making that Christmas Chaos Cake.

Mike’s friends left.

I looked around for my expert dish licker-outer and Raini was nowhere in sight. That was strange. She usually watches from her spot on the rug in the pantry. Normally she’s ready and willing to lick the butter and cream cheese wrappers. But there both those things sat on the floor, waiting for me to forget I put them down and step on them. I can see me now, tracking butter and cream cheese all over the floor!

I mixed up the cake mix and poured it over the nuts. I turned around and see she hadn’t come in to clean up the wrappers. I picked ‘em up and threw them away.

“Raini!” I called. No Raini. “Raini!” I called again and set the stainless steel mixing bowl on the floor. I thought for sure the sound of that alone would bring her running.

The cream cheese sat softening in another bowl. I pulled it in front of me, got the mixer out, and made that layer. The sound of the mixer is like catnip to a cat. A sure draw.

Still no Raini — and she loves to lick the beaters.

I picked up the bowl I’d made the cake mix in and started washing stuff up. If you’re worried about doggie germs, don’t be. I use bleach in my dishwater. It keeps my dishrags from getting stinky and it’ll kill whatever germs the dogs have.

Maybe she doesn’t feel well, I thought to myself. Of course I thought it to myself. Who else would I be “thoughting” it too! As I washed and rinsed the dishes, a terrible, no good, very bad thought squirmed its way into my head.

What if she’s dead!

“Peg! Why in heaven’s name would you think that?” you ask incredulously.

It’s a fear of mine.

We buy these little rubber squeaky toys for Bondi.

They’re her favorite and she expects a new one every time we come home with grocery bags. They’re rubber and they get slippery with dog saliva. Raini chews on them like they’re gum and I worry that she’ll get one caught in her throat. I’d feel really bad if she needed help and I didn’t even go look for her!

I dried my hands and went looking.

“Raini! Bondi!” I called as I rounded the butcher block and into the dining room. Raini stood up and her kennel rattled. I turned, expecting to see her in the kennel because she lays in there a lot, but not expecting to see the door shut! They were still in their kennels! Someone forgot to let them out when the company left. They never barked or made a sound to remind me to open the doors for them. Like I said, they’re good girls — for the most part. 

Speaking of for the most part...

For the most part I make do with the things I have. Having now been on this earth for more than sixty-six years, and having had to set up different households, in different states, I’ve acquired a lot of sh— stuff. Too much. The wayback is full of boxes of sh-tuff.

Having said that, I bought more.

Spaghetti squash is in the stores and I love it more than I like spaghetti noodles. I’m not much of a noodle eater no matter what form it takes. At any rate, I baked up two squashes and froze them in portions for a quick meal. In other containers I portioned up sauce.

That afternoon, I went to portion up the yogurt I’d had cooking for the past twenty hours and realized all of my containers were already in use! I had to do some digging to find enough to portion up my yogurt!

I did it. I could do it.

However, I don’t really like it when I have to put one cup in a container that holds two cups and having all that empty air above it. For the most part I don’t think it hurts anything, except when I freeze stuff. When I pulled squash out of the freezer, there was a layer of ice crystals on top.

So that’s the way I justified buying these one-cup freezer containers. They work for yogurt in the fridge, too.

Golly, aren’t my new containers pretty?

There’s nothing like having the right size container for the job.

And that’s how I justified it when I got back online and ordered the half-cup size for things like a single portion of spaghetti sauce.

While ordering things I didn’t really need, I saw this can opener and decided I wanted one of those, too.

I have tricks I use when I want to open a bottle or jar. Like the no-slip grippers, which, you still need to be strong for that. And I have a nifty one-hundred-year-old can opener that my beautiful cousin Lorraine gave to me. No kidding. It probably is a hundred years old. Sometimes I can open things with that, sometimes I can’t.

My mom would take a table knife and tap around the lid with the handle. You end up with a dented lid that way. I’ve seen others turn the jar upside down and spank it like a newborn. I’ve only ever hurt my hand that way and still didn’t get the jar open. My go to is a small screwdriver I insert between the lid and jar, press down, and pop the seal. And if that fails, I ask Mike to open it for me.

When I saw this one, I had to have it. It was under ten bucks and it’ll work for bottles and jars. I’ve only used it once and it worked with little effort on my part.

 

On a recent shopping trip we saw Santa has landed.

“That thing's at least two stories tall!” Mike said.

That's one honkin’ big inflatable!

The sunrises have been so pretty! I have three to show you but only room for one.

Let’s call this one done!

Short And...

 

          Short and...

          You thought I was going to say sweet, didn’t you?

          Come on, admit it.

          This picture of Bondi is sweet, but honestly, there was nothing sweet about what I woke up to Sunday morning a week ago! Nothing sweet at all!

          Sometime in the night I woke up to the smell of dog poo. I grabbed the flashlight from the headboard, turned it on, and looked around. These winter days are a little short on sunlight and it would still be dark when I got up. I sure didn’t want to step in something when I made my way to the bathroom where I would turn a light on. A sweep with the flashlight beam didn’t reveal anything that would account for the smell. It never occurred to me that the smell might be drifting in from another room. Even if I had, I might not’ve gotten up to investigate. Done is done and it would be bad enough cleaning it up in the morning, let alone in the middle of the night.

          When I got up I turned on the living room lights. That’s when I saw this!

          Yes, I took a picture for you, just so you can accurately picture what I’m talking about.

          Raini had the walking poops. The more I looked around, the more I found. She dribbled a trail the length of the dining room table, in front of Mike’s desk, in front of the recliner, then circled around the living room! What a mess!

          I expected to find some in the kitchen where she would’ve gone to get outside, but there was nothing there or by the closed pet door. I guess she’s smart enough to know it would be closed so there wasn’t any use to go there. However, it would’ve been a lot easier to clean up on the linoleum.

          “I didn’t know you closed the pet door,” you say.

          Yep. I started doing it a while ago, but only at night. You may remember that the girls would leap from the bed barking their fool heads off, bark all the way out of the bedroom, and continue barking as they ran into the kitchen and slam into the pet door flap at a hundred miles an hour, to go out and chase whatever they thought was out there. Locking the door at night solved that problem but, as you can see, created another.

          “What did you do!” I scolded Raini. I was not a happy camper!

          Raini, head down, nose all but dragging on the floor, slinked to her kennel.

          I went in and woke Mike up. “Be careful where you walk this morning,” I told him. “There’s poop all over the floor in the living room and dining room.”

          Did I mention it was Sunday morning?

          I scraped up as much as would come up, got the shampooer out, loaded it with a pet formula cleaner, and went to work. Some of it was dry, some of it was fresh.

          As mad as I was that some little girl didn’t wake me up, I found something to be thankful for.

“What’s that?” you ask.

I was thankful I had a carpet cleaning machine!

          It took SO long to get the poop out of the carpet. Back and forth I went over a spot. Back and forth — and back and forth — again and again! I thought, maybe if I pre-wet it and let the cleaner start doing its magic, it would come up easier. It didn’t seem to make any difference. It was taking way, way, waaaay too long. At that rate, with the amount of poop there was to clean up, I’d be there all day!  

          Even though I was thankful for the machine, I got a bucket of cleaner, a scrub brush, rubber gloves, and got down on my knees and scrubbed. It didn’t take nearly as long. Then I went over it with the shampooer for good measure.

          I got about half of it cleaned up before I had to get ready for church.

          “Why did she have diarrhea?” you ask.

          All I could think of was the day before I’d given her a Zyrtec allergy pill for the first time rather than the Benadryl I’d been giving her. The vet thinks it works better to relieve her itchiness.

          And Raini wasn’t done having diarrhea either. I was at the sink later and saw her through the window, walking a trail in the yard. And it was still an issue the next day. But other than that, Raini seemed to be fine, so I wasn’t worried.

          Since then, I’ve decided I’d rather have the dogs wake me up with their nighttime barking, leaps from the bed, and imaginary critter chasing, than have to clean up a mess like that ever again. I’m leaving the pet door open!

          It took me all week to realize the true culprit.

          Friday, the weather was nice for November. I went out to clean up poop from the dog run. I came across a little pile of runny poo that I’m pretty sure belonged to the baby. That’s what we call Bondi ‘cause you can’t say either dogs name without disturbing their slumber.

          If I have Bondi in the chair behind me, Mike will call, “You have the baby?” and I’ll call back, “Yeah.”

          “What if you want Raini?” you wanna know.

          That’s Big Dog. The baby and the big dog are what we call them when we don’t want them to know we’re talking about them.

          Speaking of which, there are several things Miss Rosie can’t say because Tux’ll start barking. If we’re on the phone, she can’t hear with Tux barking, so she’ll either describe it to me or spell it.

          “You’ll be in trouble if he learns to spell,” I told her.

          But, I digress.

          I was cleaning up poop and came across a small pile that I thought belonged to Bondi. I didn’t give her any Zyrtec... then it hit me! I’d started buying the small pouches of Old Roy to mix with their dry food. The night before, I’d given Bondi about a third of a pouch to eat straight with no dry kibble in it.

“Raini’s been eating it?”

You caught that. Yes, I’d been mixing it with dry food for more than a week now. And not every day. The only thing I did different the day before her episode was I used a lot less dry food in the mix so she probably ate enough to cause her stomach upset. She’d only been eating about half of what I mixed and I wanted her to finish her plate. I don’t like it when it sits all day and gets nasty.

I paid for that, didn’t I?

And I paid for it again when four days later I spot a poop trail between the recliner and the wall. I don’t know if I’d missed it before or if she’d done it since, but I’ll tell you this. It was stuck to the carpet like glue!

I’ve since found out, by talking to my AI buddy, that Old Roy is a cheaply made dog food brand and is known to cause stomach upset and intestinal issues.

Well, I knew it was cheap! That’s why I bought it! I buy them good dry food and I just wanted them to eat it better.

I’m not giving them any more of it. Spitfire likes it so I’ll give it to him. 

It’s pretty sad when the only thing you have to talk about is poo but there’s not much else besides that.

I spent my time this week painting Christmas cards, which first requires hours in front of the computer looking for designs.

At Halloween, I took my painted cards, scanned them into the computer, created a verse for the inside, and made cards. I gave a few to a gal at church, she sold them and they asked for Christmas cards.

Some of the designs I’ve used are copy protected. Meaning you can’t use them unless you have permission or buy them. Nibbles and Joy was just such a design. Copy protected, I mean. But just to give away a card or two isn’t usually an issue. Most creators don’t think you should make money off their backs.

          With selling them in mind, I went back to the computer and searched for images I’m legally allowed to use. It was hours of searching.

          You wanna hear something?

          There’s a website I follow named Creative Fabrica. They’re really generous in offering you lots of free images. When you download the images, they give you the license. I know I’m legally allowed to use those for my art. In my searching I came across the exact same images being sold on Etsy (a marketplace that sells unique, creative, and often handmade or vintage items). I got the images free. You can use Creative Fabrica images any way you want to, but what you can’t do is resell the original digital file, which I think this Etsy seller is doing.

           Here are a few of the designs I’ve made this week. When I print them, I’ll add a verse inside.

          Speaking of painting, after I sent out my letter blog last week, I realized that I never showed you the finished version of Charli. I want to do that now.

          Not bad for thinking I’d have to throw it away.

          I did start another dog portrait and I did scrap it. It was horrendous. After that dismal failure I needed to paint something to boost my confidence, hence the Christmas cards.      

          I’ve been told that even really good artists experience failures. With that in mind, I’ll give the portrait another go — after I finish Christmas cards.

 

          This week’s letter blog is relatively short, considering there’ve been times I’ve written more than twenty pages. Instead of Short and Sweet, this week is Short and Stinky!

 

          Let’s end with another beautiful sunrise here in my little part of the world.

          Done!

Snow

 

          We had snow!

          Not a lot. I measured almost an inch on my snowboard here at our mountain home. It was just enough to cause slippery road conditions and several accidents.

The ground was still too warm for it to hang around.

          Raini didn’t mind the snow and still wanted to play catch. I caught her mid-jump.

      

          Twin Ponds, an Amish store about thirty-five miles from us, was having a sale on chicken. Forty pounds of chicken quarters for twenty-five dollars, and if you want the breast it’s fifty-two dollars. Both a good deal. That works out to sixty-three cents a pound for the quarters, and a dollar thirty for the breast meat.

          “Is that cheaper than Walmart?” you ask.

          Is that cheaper than Walmart!? Yes. Quarters at Walmart are one fifty-seven and breast is two sixty-seven, so it’s a big savings—providing you can freeze that amount of chicken. Lucky for us we have an upright freezer and we can. With the price of beef being so high, we’re going to eat more chicken; besides, it’s healthier for you.

          Twin Ponds is out in the country and I took some pictures for you.

          Our girls were due for their yearly shots at the vet. I made the appointment for Dr. K to look at Raini and help us with the amount of itching that goes on in this house. It’s been really bad. So bad that I yell at them. “STOP!”

          “But it itches,” Mike defends.

          “I know. But I let them scratch a little before I yell at them.” It gets aggravating.

          Once they start scratching it goes on and on and on and ON if I don’t stop them! I know that scratching causes skin damage and it does. Raini ends up chewing her hair off when she scratches with her teeth and making little wounds that scab over when she uses her claws.

          We bought over the counter sprays to help with the itching and I’ve been giving them Benadryl at night so they wouldn’t shake the whole bed scratching in the middle of the night. We might’ve continued with that had it not been that they had to go to the vet for shots anyway.

          We left early and it’s a good thing we did. We came upon an accident scene but since they were almost done cleaning it up, we didn’t have to wait long.

          I always think of my cute little redheaded sister as we go through the Narrows into Wysox. She studied geology and was all eyes when we took her through.

          “Is the rust because of iron?” I asked Mike.

          “Yep,” he answered.

          Groundwater percolates through cracks and pores in the rock layers, especially shale and limestone, carrying dissolved minerals like iron, manganese, and copper with it. As this water emerges onto the rock face, it reacts with oxygen in the air and the iron oxidizes, forming red and brown stains.

          You never know what I’m going to talk about, do you?

     

          A whole herd of turkeys feeding beside the road! Yes, yes, I do know that a herd of turkeys is really called a flock by most people, but it’s really a rafter of turkeys. That term dates back to when turkeys were commonly seen roosting in barn rafters.

          “What’s on that roof?” Mike asked.

          “It looks like a barrel to me,” I said snapping a photo.

          “It seems like the wind would’ve blown it off.”

          And he’s right. I don’t know what keeps it from rolling off the roof, but last week we had winds so big it blew whole trees over.

          A little barrel didn’t seem like it would give it much trouble.

           There are so many dead deer along our roads. Here a worker is picking them up. He’s got a whole pickup load!

          Speaking of deer...

          Look at this handsome guy!

          He browsed the lower branches of our Bradford Pear tree and I snapped a picture through the front door.

Then I decided to go out on the front porch and take his picture.

          Raini came with me, saw him, and barked her fool head off.

          “STOP!” I commanded. It didn’t slow her down much. He’d move and she’d start barking again.

          He herd—heard her.

          English!

          I don’t think he could see us, but even if he did, he wasn’t panicked. He did, however, decide to browse someplace else and moseyed along.

          “Peg! What did the vet say?!”

          Oh, yeah. I got sidetracked.

          Raini is not a good patient and was so very afraid of the “strangers.” Kaitlin had to pick her up and hold her tightly against herself so Dr. K could check her eyes, heart, and lungs. Even then Raini thrashed herself about if Kaitlin gave her a tiny bit of slack.

          Dr. K combed Raini and found one flea on her tail.

          “Whenever I see the hair chewed from the base of the tail, my mind goes to fleas,” she told us. “Raini’s allergic to flea bites.”

          “But don’t the fleas have to bite before the flea meds can kill them?” I asked.

          “Yes. That’s mostly true. There are some things you can do to keep the fleas from getting on her in the first place. Spray her with diluted vinegar water or use some natural essential oils to deter them. Vacuum often and wash their bedding.”

          Dr. K also said that Zyrtec seems to be more effective for relieving the itch than Benadryl.

          “I’m ordering a round of Prednisone for her but she can’t have it at the same time as her other shots.”

          “Let’s get their yearly shots done and we’ll wait on the Prednisone,” I said. This itching-scratching has been going on for months! What’s a few more weeks?

          “We have a calming mousse that you can apply to help with the itching and I recommend you change her Seresto collar every six months as well as using a topical flea treatment, especially when the Seresto nears the end of its life.”

          Our Serestos have only been on the girls for seven months and they’re supposed to last eight and repel fleas.

          Dr. K went to write up her report and Kaitlin held Raini tight so another vet tech could draw her blood and administer her shots. Then they did Bondi, too.

          Five hundred fifteen dollars later, we walk out of the vet’s office.

          “I know it’s expensive,” Miss Rosie said when I told her the damages. “And I understand why people don’t take their pets to the vet more often.”

           

          Mike has finally broken down and bought a set of hearing aids. He doesn’t want to spend thousands going through an audiologist so he got a set of over-the-counter Audien hearing aids. He didn’t buy the cheapest ones he could’ve but spent a couple of hundred dollars for better ones. He seems to like them pretty well.

          Then he saw an infomercial where they offered you two sets of the same Audien Mike bought for half the price he paid through Walmart.

          “Can we return them?” Mike asked.

          “I think so. As long as it’s within the fourteen-day time period for electronics.”

          I checked the receipt and it had only been eight days.

          “Wanna go tomorrow?” Mike asked.

          “Tomorrow” was Saturday and my letter blog day. But I said, “Sure. We can get some Zyrtec for the girls.”

 

          We woke to a beautiful sunrise Saturday morning.

          I made breakfast, scrambled eggs and sausage, made travel coffee, and we were out the door by eight fifteen. 

          An eagle flew over our car. I know it's not a very good picture but I always get excited whenever I see one of these beautiful, majestic birds.

          Graffiti.

          A bumper sticker. I don’t have a clue what it means.

          Birds on a wire. It’s been a while since I’ve shown you one of these.

         

            Walmart took the hearing aids back.

"Is there anything wrong with them?" she asked.

"No." I answered and didn't elaborate.

She refunded the money for the hearing aids but she wasn't able to refund the extended warranty.

"There isn't usually any problem," she told me. After trying several times and calling for the team leader, they said we'd have to call Walmart and get them to refund it.

When we got home, Mike called.

"And what is the reason for the return?" she asked.

They don't usually ask that. They have only ever asked me if there was anything wrong with them. But Mike answered her honestly. "I found a better deal."

She refunded the money. 

          I started painting Christmas cards. While I was making the lettering for the outside, I made a verse for the inside as well. Then, when I put the unpainted card through the printer to print “Nibble and Joy” on the front, I didn’t select the right page in Microsoft word and printed the inside verse on the outside!

          Aye-yi-yi!

          It didn’t go to waste. I used it for practice.

      

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!

Movin' On

 

          I’ve spent the last three weeks recounting our trip, meanwhile life continued to happen here at our mountain home. So, let’s move on.

          I think Tiger missed us more than the others. He helped me paint my Halloween cards.

          And he helped us play Skip-Bo.

          Speaking of Tiger, just let me tell you, he came in the house wearing a hat the other day. I laughed but he didn’t look none too happy. I’ve been combing sticktights out of this cat nearly every day for the past week.

          Talking about critters...

          The weather is getting cooler here and the mice are moving indoors. I was at my desk and recognized Bondi was in mouse-hunting mode, sniffing around a little cabinet by my desk. I pulled it out, then moved a few picture frames, and there he was. Raini dashed in and snatched the mouse.

          “Kill it!” I command.

          Raini doesn’t always kill them but this time she did.

          Yay Raini!

          When she was done worrying it, Bondi walked up, sniffed it, and walked away.

          The critters around here are bold, no two ways about it. Day or night, whether I’m sitting here or not, they’ll scamper right across the floor like they own the place!

Bondi’s started sitting behind me in the chair again sometimes, but not always, not like she used to. She must sleep with one eye open, though. Every now and then, she’ll spot one scampering across the floor, leap down, and give chase. That’s how she nailed this guy.

          When she didn’t see any more signs of life, she walked away. I couldn’t see his tail so I picked it up by his little foot and offered it to the cat. Spitfire didn’t want it. I picked it off the floor a second time and realized it didn’t have much of a tail. I looked closer at his face and saw his pointy nose.

          “It’s a mole!” I called to Mike who was sitting in the recliner watching TV.

“What?”

“Bondi killed a mole!” I clarified. “No wonder Spitfire didn’t want it,” I mumbled under my breath as Mike turned back to the TV. Our cats will not eat moles.

          However, they do eat lots of other things. Things that give them worms, as evidenced here in this photo.

          How would you like to come back to your desk, ready for another painting session, only to find that someone vomited in your paints and on your papers and left a big ol’ tapeworm to boot?! Yeah. That’s not a noodle laying there.

          That got my attention, let me tell you! As quick as I could, they all got a dose of worm medicine and a renewal of their topical flea medicine. Hopefully, I’ll be more diligent in giving them a monthly dose and we won’t have this to deal with ever again!

          Yuckidy-yuck-yuck!

          I lost some paints and all the papers in the cleaning up process but that’s okay! I didn’t want them anymore anyway! And my mouse pad? I was thinking acid bath but settled for bleach. Parasites disgust me.

          I opened a fresh box of dog biscuits this week and sitting right on top was one biscuit as black as sin.

          Raini didn’t want it.

          And yet another critter story is one of the critters I painted. This was a cat critter for my beautiful friend and feisty red-haired neighbor, Miss Rosie. I painted a gray cat in an orange witch’s hat for her Halloween card. A gray cat because her cat Flannel is gray. The hat on the cat in the reference was purple but Miss Rosie likes green or orange better and I thought orange was a better fit for Halloween, so orange it was!        

          I was going to mail it to her — who doesn’t like getting a pretty greeting card in the mail? — but decided I’d frame if for her instead. I went into the wayback and found a frame that already had a mat in it. I cleaned the glass and mounted it.

          She likes it!

          “It’s glare proof glass,” I pointed out when I gave it to her. Then, for a joke, I added, “Can I get that back?”

          She laughed. She knew I was just kidding.

      

          I painted Batty for another beautiful lady in my life, my sister Phyllis.

Phyllis has an affinity for dragons and gargoyles, but I was hoping this was close enough, since I couldn’t find a Halloween dragon reference.

          “I love it!” she told me when she got it.

          “I was hoping you would.”

          While on our trip I picked up a couple of new commissions. One was from Mike’s cousin, Suzy’s brother, Dennis. He sent me three pictures of Gigi and we decided on her profile picture because she looks more regal.

          I love watercolors but they go through an ugly stage where I start to think, “Oh no! I’m going to have to throw this one away!”

          Then something happens as you keep working on it and adding layers.

          I might not get everything right but if you want it to look like the photo, frame the photo. This is what I see.

And honestly, I’m still pretty new at this. I’ve done something like five pet portraits. Three dogs and two cats.

          I sent Dennis a picture of Gigi when I finished it and he likes it enough that he asked for another portrait. This one is Charli, with no e.

          I did an under painting and hated it! “I’m going to have to throw this one away,” I told my best old friend, Trish.

          “I wouldn't be too quick to give up. I love the wonky eye!” she replied.

          So I didn’t. I jumped right back in and painted the dark on the nose — and it was absolutely horrendous!

          I washed it off as best as I could, shrugged my shoulders, and decided to keep going.

          “I still might have to throw it away,” I told Mike. “But I’m going to keep going for experience sake.”

          Then this starts to emerge!

          Maybe I can save it yet!

          Here’s my problem.

          I don’t know what I’m doing.

          I follow my instincts and just start, which, according to every watercolor tutorial I’ve watched, is against the rules.

          “You have to learn color theory.”     

          “You need to do thumbnails first.”

          “Turn your photo black and white to get your tonal values.”

          “Plan out all the colors you’re going to use.”

Heck! Most of the time I don’t even know what color I’m using! I just look at my palette and pick the color I think I need.

          There are so many rules in watercolors!

          And here I am, just bucking them all!

          Think how dangerous I’d be if I actually knew what I was doing!

          Speaking of breaking the rules...

          I made card holders for my grandson and daughter-in-law. While playing Phase 10 they had a hard time holding ten cards. I ordered material with their favorite football team logo and spent a few hours making them.

          In the tutorial, they hand sew around the edge of the material, put the CD in and pull it tight. Hand sewing is tedious and time consuming, so this girl busted out the sewing machine, opened the stitch length as far as I could, and zipped around the edge of the material.

See! Breaking the rules!

Gathering the stitches is a bit tricky because if I pull too hard I break the thread, then you have to frog it and start over.

“Peg, what’s ‘frog it’ mean?” you may be asking, and I had to ask Trish when she first used that expression with me.

“Rip-it,” she said, imitating the sound a frog makes. “Rip it out and start over.”

And it did happen to me before where I had to frog it and start over. That’s no fun. I was being extra careful, but even so, it happened while I was making these, too. It broke right at the end after I’d done all the gathering and was giving it a final tug.

This is bull, me thinks to myself. I’m just going to hot glue it.

See! Breaking the rules again!

Hot glue worked so very well! I made another one using hot glue instead of sewing it, then I tried to pull it apart and couldn’t. I made the last three with hot glue.

The kids’ll have to tell me if they fall apart.

          Speaking of falling apart...

          I made lemon bars for movie night at church. I made it in my favorite pan and wanted the pan... gosh! Now I can’t remember why I wanted the lemon bars out of the pan, but I did. I always dump my Dream Bars out of the pan while they’re hot; I figured it would work with lemon bars, too. I dumped them onto freezer paper, my go-to for things like this, and they spread out and broke apart. They looked pretty gooey yet, like they weren’t done. Actually, I think they must finish cooking or setting up in the pan or something because I’ve never had a problem with them being under baked before. But these definitely looked like they need a few more minutes in the oven. But how was I going to get them back in the pan since now it was larger than my pan?

          A cookie sheet!

          I laid a cookie sheet over it, slid a cutting board under the lemon bars and gave them a quick flip.

          It was only marginally successful.

          I pushed it back into place as best I could and sent it back to the oven for more time. I’d tell you how much more, but I don’t remember anymore.

          After I pulled them out of the oven, dusted them with 10X sugar (as they called powdered sugar in the old days), cut them into pieces, and no one had a clue about the mangled mess I’d made of these.

          You know what I was just thinking?

          I was just thinking that I’m glad stuff like this happens to me from time to time — it gives us something to talk about!

 

          Oh my gosh—what a wind we had! It came roaring through like something unearthly, loud enough to rattle the windows and my nerves. It was scary! Even Raini, curled up in the recliner beside me, lifted her head, ears pricked forward, eyes wide. She didn’t know what she was hearing, but she listened hard, as if trying to make sense of the banshees shrieking around the house, their howls twisting through every crack and corner. And did I tell you it was scary?!

          The power went off and on several times, long enough once for the generator to kick on for a few minutes, but the wind settled down and the power stayed on the rest of the night, as far as I could tell.

          In the morning that handsome neighbor of ours called. “We have a tree down across our driveway,” Lamar said to Mike. “Can you help?”

          Can Mike help?

          Of course he can!

          “Let’s go look first,” Mike said.

          I grabbed my camera and off we went on the golf cart.

          And we see that we lost two big branches from our Bradford Pear trees. Mike drove around them and off we went to the Kipps'.

          “Wow,” I said getting my first look at it. “That’s too big for your tractor.”

          “Naw. I think I can push it with my tractor.” Mike sounded confident.

          Me?

          I had my doubts.

          “But I need to push from the other side. Can I get around the house?” he asked.

          “I don’t know. Let’s drive it and see.”

          Up the front lawn we went and under the evergreen tree. The top of the cart brushed the branches on Mike's side. From there it was a clear path the whole way around the house.

          Coming back out, the branch was on my side. I ducked my head as the branch swept by. I have to tell you; a little later I realized there was something in my brassiere irritating me. I discreetly reached up from the bottom and brushed breakfast crumbs out. Not that there was anyone who could see me. Later still, when I went to let my water down, I discovered pine needles in my underwear!

          “Aha!” me says to myself. “It wasn’t rice cake crumbs in my bra after all!”

          I let Mike off at the garage and he got the Kioti out. He pushed our branches off the driveway then went on to the Kipps'.

          Guys, I seriously doubted Mike’s little tractor would handle a tree of that size, but he proved me wrong.

          “Was the tree dead?” I asked Lamar.

          “No, it had leaves on it.”

          We walked around to the backside of the stump and now we know.

          Mike used his little chainsaw to cut a few of the branches off.

          Then used the tractor to push it over the bank where Lamar can burn it or maybe the creek will come roaring through and carry it away.

          Only after that did we see that Lamar had another tree down.

          “That one doesn’t bother me,” he said.

          Sally, across the road, had a big ol’ pine come down across her old dog cages. Her and her husband Charlie used to raise German Shepherds.

          I was still at the Kipps' when I saw the township tractor go by.

“There must’ve been another tree down,” I said to Miss Rosie.

After we left I went and looked. And just past our back driveway, I could see where another tree had come down across the road.

That was quite a wind that blew through!

We had to go out later and even though I knew we had a bunch of trees down in our area, once we got down off the mountain, we didn’t see any evidence of it.

What we did see was lots of dead deer beside the road. I counted five between here and Tunkhannock. Besides the bucks rutting, deer season is in. Archery. Then, during the week, we went to Sayre. More dead deer.

And I took road pictures for you.

          I noticed the fresh paint job on this house right away.

          And with this cute little guy peeking around the tree (I don’t think it’s real), we’ll call this one done!

             

          Done!