Sometimes

 

Sometimes I get the photo I want —

          —sometimes I don’t.

          Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

          We went out a couple of times this week. One of our trips took us to Dushore to pay the spring taxes.

          I made breakfast burritos this week. I start with the best farm fresh eggs. I get them from one of our church peeps. Leo and Felicia get more eggs than they can sell so they’re kind and generous enough to bring the extras to church and share with us.

I said I start with the eggs, but that’s not quite true. I start with making my own tortillas.

“They’re not as good with store-bought tortillas,” my best, old, West Virginia friend told me. I’d made them for Trish when she was here for a visit last year.

When I make breakfast burritos, I scramble the egg and fry it in a sheet, like an omelet, otherwise the scrambles fall out the bottom when I’m eating it. Then I roll them individually in foil and freeze them.

          Ben, the widower of my friend Joanie, lives on the way to Dushore so I dropped a half dozen off to him. I’m sure she would like knowing we’re remembering him even though she’s gone.     

          I took pictures.

                We passed a farm where Amish men were taking down a silo. I wasn’t quick enough to make a picture.

          “I’ll get it when we come back this way,” I told Mike.

          “I was going to go home the other way,” he said.

          I resigned myself to having missed the shot.

          Suddenly, Mike slowed, pulled off the road, and turned around for me — for you! This isn’t something I see every day so I took pictures from both directions.

Mike filled up the gas cans while we were in Dushore.

          “We’ll have to cut down on the grass we mow,” I said.

          I know we don’t have the worst gas prices in the country, but it sure does put a hurt on your pocketbook.

          Across from the gas station is the ball field. While signs like this one saying, “Not responsible for injuries due to use of facilities,” may discourage frivolous lawsuits, it truly doesn’t release them from liability due to their negligence in maintenance of the playground.

          Too bad the hawk was facing the other way.

          My oldest and much-adored sister called.

          “We’re on the back roads,” I told her, “So if I lose you, you’ll know why.”

          “I just have a quick question,” she said.

          Mike found a nice spot off the road to pull over while I chatted with Patti.

          Across the way was a farm and I snapped photos of the cows.

          When we were on our way again, Mike slowed for me. Raini, in the backseat, saw the cows and started barking. The cows stopped grazing to look.

          In the next pasture were goats. Big goats and little goats.

          It wasn’t until I had the pictures on my computer that I saw the cat sitting there in the pasture with the goats.

          We’re almost back out to our road, just crossing a little bridge over a creek, when a young eagle flies in front of us.

           There’s a shot I would not have gotten if my sister hadn’t called and Mike hadn’t pulled over. Timing is everything!

 

          When we left our house, there was a woodpecker looking for bugs in the grass. I was surprised that he was still there when we got home. This is a male Northern Flicker woodpecker. They often forage on the ground for ants and beetles rather than hammering trees.

          This past Friday is the day I look forward to for a year!

          “What’s so special about it?” you wanna know.

          This Friday is the first day of the church sale in Wyalusing. I love this church sale. Everything is reasonably priced, cheap even. And they usually have some pretty good stuff. I usually go the first day and get the things I really want. Then I go back the second day for their half-off sale and get more stuff, usually stuff I don’t really need. Sometimes, though, it’s things I didn’t see on the first day.

          With the bridge being out, I decided I probably wouldn’t go the second day this year. Probably.

          Mike and I went to Wyalusing by way of Wysox.

I took pictures.

          On one stretch of road, just before Wysox, someone has three or four signs in the yard that say, “NO D C.”

          “What’s D C?” I asked Mike but he didn’t know. I’ve since found out it means Data Center. I didn’t even know they were considering one in the area.

          I found a lot of goodies at the church sale. When I got home I spread them out on the table, Tiger helped, and took a picture.

          I got a pack of Arches watercolor paper for a dollar. There was only one sheet gone and if it was new, this would be forty-five dollars. I also got a brand spankin’ new, still sealed in plastic, light box. I do have one, but it’s the kind that you plug into your computer via USB cable. I’m hoping this style of light box will be brighter.

          I found two cartridges and a pack of blades for my Cricut machine, several plates for my Sizzix press, a paper punch that punches out large, scalloped circles (original price of twenty-six dollars), envelopes, and a bag of seventeen little wooden plaques. Everything for ten buckaroos. What a deal!

          I couldn’t open one of the Cricut cartridge cases. Mike looked it over and found a very thin but tough plastic wrap on it.

          Tiger helped.

          I didn’t even know what I was getting and I was pleasantly surprised when we finally got it open. It’s got all kinds of Christmas designs. Now I’m excited to make Christmas cards this year!

          Something else I picked up were a couple of books. One of them was the book Jesus Freaks. I bought books one and two many, many years ago and enjoyed reading all the short stories of people who’ve been martyred for Jesus Christ. I gave mine away. Since then I’ve found the books again and I buy them for my church peeps.

          The other book I found was this sweet little handmade book of poems.

          It is signed, but there’s no date. The paper appears to be linen. The writing is small and hand printed with a dip pen. The poems are by published authors. The illustrations were done in watercolor.

          I spent quite a long time trying to find out more information about this book.

          Copilot analyzed the photos and guesses this is a book made for someone special or a school project before ball point pens became common. The style is typical of 1930s–40s women’s art education when young people were encouraged to practice penmanship. It was made with great care, skill, and patience.

          Diving into the E. Wallace name, Copilot searched local records and came up three possibilities, noting that Eleanor Wallace is the most likely creator of this book.

          I spoke with another lady at the sale. She was probably a few years older than me.

          “This is what’s going to happen to all our stuff when we die,” I told her.

          “I know. My husband died and I offered the kids and grandkids to come and get what they wanted — they didn’t want anything.”

          Someone close by said, “If we’re lucky it’ll end up at a sale and not a landfill.”

          Boy, was she right!

          “What are you going to do with the book?” you ask.

          I don’t know for sure. What do you think I should do with it? Who would want it?

 

          I left the church sale before I got through everything because I was tired of carrying my stuff around.

          We took a different way home and I took more pictures. 

          The first thing I took a picture of before we left town was the bridge from the side that was damaged. It was blocked off and I didn’t get out of the car. The damage isn’t readily apparent, not like I thought it would be when they said how badly it was damaged.

          Laundry on the line.

          A sure sign of spring.

          It looks like there’s a bunch of dead leaves inside the window!

          I had my camera at the ready so I didn’t miss any shots and these guys happen to look up as we passed by. I took their picture.

“There’s a caboose back there,” I told Mike and snapped a picture.

       

Zooming in, I don’t think that anymore. I think it’s just someone’s cabin.

          Why did the turkey cross the road?

          I thought the horse was outside the fence, and then I saw the single strand of electrified wire.

          We’re almost home when I see an eagle soaring on the air currents above the field next to our house.

          I snapped pictures as Mike drove along.

          “There’s two of them!” I exclaim as we’re pulling in the driveway.                   

But it wasn’t. It was an eagle and a vulture sharing the air currents.

           Tree's leafing out and Coltsfoot popping up aren’t the only thing spring brings.

           It wakes up the bears, too.

          “A bear knocked over my birdfeeder pole.” Neighbor Sally flagged us down as we were going past on the golf cart. “If you could cut the post off for me, I might be able to dig up the metal piece.”

          “I’d be happy to,” Mike said. “In fact, why don’t I bring the tractor over, hook a chain on it and just pull it out of the ground for you?” He’s a good neighbor.

          “That would be alright,” Sally said.

          The tractor made short work of something that would’ve taken Sally a lot of time and sweat to accomplish.

          This tractor story leads to another tractor story, but you’re going to have to wait until next week to hear that one.

          Another story you’ll have to wait for is my second trip back to the church sale. Even though it took place this week and should be in this edition of Peggy’s Jibber-Jabber, I’m running late and want to get this one sent.

         

          Let’s call this one done.

 

Eagles!

           The most exciting thing happened to me this week!

          “What’s that?” I know you wanna know.

          With our bridge being out, we’re having to find alternate routes to get to where we want to go. This week I finished a commission for wedding shower invitations...

Which reminds me. Did you know there’s a difference between a bridal shower and a wedding shower?

I didn’t either!

“Tell us!” you beg.

If the event centers on the bride — with décor, wording, and imagery that highlights her, and it’s just girls, it’s a bridal shower. If it celebrates both partners equally, it’s a wedding shower.

I had a picture of the bride but it was a front view. I had Copilot transform it into something I could paint and turn it for a side view. I also changed the dress so it wouldn’t give anything away before the big day.

My attempts to paint it were futile. I made at least seven attempts and time was running short. I had to get them made and in the mail in time for them to be addressed and sent out. In the end I used the AI generated image and printed it on watercolor paper, which gave it good weight and texture. The same soft pink cardstock I used to print the invite on was also used behind the info panel on the inside, which, by the way, was also printed on watercolor paper. The bells were cut from sign vinyl, which is sticky on one side. There wasn’t any way I was going to cut it on cardstock and try to glue it on. I’d have glue everywhere! That wouldn’t be a good look.

I think they came out halfway decent. My client could’ve had them made anywhere and by people who do this for a living. I’m honored that she asked me to make them for her. I just hope she’s not disappointed. 

I needed to go to the post office and get them mailed. I normally mail everything from our hometown post office, but with the bridge being out, that wasn’t practical. If I’d’ve had another reason to go to Wyalusing, I would’ve. But I didn’t so we didn’t. Tunkhannock it was and we’d do a little shopping while we were there.

The route we took this day was through Williams Corner out to 87, then up past the huge Proctor & Gamble plant, and out to Route 6. Since the post office was our first stop, we turned on Mile Road and went into Tunkhannock that way. It was the most direct route to their post office.

How about some pictures from that part of the trip?

The water was running from the mountainsides and out onto the road in several places. “That’s what you get when you build a road between the mountain and the creek,” I said.

In some place there were waterfalls cascading down the mountains. I wasn’t fast enough to get any decent shots of them and they might not be there the next time we travel this road. Even though this isn’t a great shot, you’ll get the idea.

 I know you can’t see it very well, but this is the house we lived in when my beautiful little sister lost the tip of one of her delicate little fingers to the bite of the spokes of a bicycle wheeel.

“She was only two or three,” my oldest and much-adored sister told me when I asked.

That means I was five or six. I have a vague memory of the moment itself, but I don’t remember the house or garage at all.

“I don’t remember it at all,” Phyllis said when I called her. “But I do remember getting run over by the car.”

“Tell me what you remember about that,” I prompted.

“The world was moving and I remember seeing Mom move that stick on the steering wheel to stop the car so I moved it. When I tried to get out the door knocked me down and the car rolled back on me. Actually, I think it just rocked against me and didn’t go over me. Dad picked me and rushed me into the house and cut my dress off. There were no obvious injuries but I couldn’t move. Mom and Patti rushed me to the hospital. When we got home, they put me on the couch. After a while I had to pee so I got up and went,” she laughed a little. “It must’ve just been hysterical paralysis.”

Patti, being fourteen or fifteen, remembers it best. “It was there at the Colley house. It was a Sunday and we had just gotten home from church and Phyllis had fallen asleep in the car so Mom left her sleep. She was probably four or five. She had the door open a little and knocked the car out of gear when she was getting out. She fell out of the car and her coat caught and she was dragged a little, but she wasn’t hurt. We didn’t even take her to the doctor.”

I don’t remember that one. “So getting her finger cut off and getting dragged by the car both happened in Colley?” I asked.

“No. Her finger happened when we lived at Sick’s house. That’s the house Phyllis was born in.”

Isn’t it funny how the past, how memories, aren’t the same for all of us. How time and telling can change what we remember.  

We pass a place where a man was going down the driveway on his tractor. I laughed when I saw his little dog in the window waiting and watching for him to come home. It made me think of a short video by Wendy Francisco that I’ve always loved — a gentle reminder that the kind of steady, uncomplicated love we see in a dog isn’t all that different from the love we receive from God. It almost always makes me tear up. Here’s the link if you want to check it out.

GoD And DoG by Wendy J Francisco

“There’s an eagle!” I exclaimed and brought my camera up just a little too late. I didn’t ask Mike to go back around and I had little hope it would still be sitting there when we finished our errands in Tunkhannock.

Surprise!

It was still there. Now we’re going in the opposite direction and I’m shooting from the wrong side of the car. Did it stop me from trying?

NO!

          “There’s two of them!” I exclaim as we move far enough for me to see a second eagle behind the trunk of the tree. None of the pictures came out even though I turned around to shoot out the side window behind Mike.

          “I can’t ask you to turn around because it’s not a once in a lifetime shot,” I said. “Because I saw it before. But it is a twice in a lifetime shot.”

          Mike hesitated, his finger on the turn blinker lever, then, “I’m not going to turn around, okay?”

          “I really didn’t expect you would.” I’d already resigned myself to that.

          A minute later we came to a long, straight stretch of road. Mike slowed and pulled to the side. A grin spread across my face! “You’re going to turn around?”

          “Yep.” Mike tried to make a quick U-ey but had to back up once. “I just hope we don’t get hit doing it.”

          We didn’t and I got a fabulous shot of the pair as they watched our car slow and turn onto the side road across from their tree.

Then we go a little farther down the road and I got a shot of a hawk.

I do love seeing the raptors.

 Speaking of family...

Momma popped in for a quick visit this week. Not in the literal sense, but as one of those sudden, vivid memories that show up when you’re not expecting them.

I was standing at the kitchen counter. I needed a piece of butter for whatever I was doing at the time. I got the butter out, unwrapped it, cut off what I needed, and carefully started folding the wrapper back up and that’s when Momma popped in. In my mind’s eye, I watched her fingers push the seam back into place and carefully fold the ends in, just like you’re wrapping a present. She didn’t want any of the butter exposed to dry out or pick up odors from the fridge.

Moments like that remind me how lucky I was to have a mother whose everyday habits became part of me without my even noticing. Little things she did, small, ordinary motions, are still tucked into my hands all these years later.

Like the way she’d slap her hands against the edge of the sink basin to shed the water after she was done washing her hands or doing the dishes. Twice. You have to slap it twice. I can still hear the rhythm. And because the dogs like me to toss their toys while I’m washing the dishes, I do it a lot, and remember her. 

Speaking of family — again...

We have a new addition to our family! This little beauty came into the world on March 27^th. She’s my niece, the daughter of my youngest brother John and his wife Eunice. Her name is Dani Elysse and she weighed in at six pounds two ounces and twenty-one inches long.

In my family, March 27^th is the birthday of two Richards. My brother Richard, who we recently lost, and my uncle Howard Richard. Do you think they should’ve called her Rikki?

“Dani is named after John’s middle name,” my handsome older brother David told me. John’s middle name is Daniel.

 

          That’s pretty much the end of my jibber-jabber for the week, but since I have a whole ‘nother blank page when I print this, I’m gonna jabber on for another minute or so. 

          Easter is a special time of year. It’s the day we remember our risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It’s also the time of year for ham dinners and gathering families.

Something else I look forward to is jelly beans.

When I was a kid, I didn’t like and wouldn’t eat jelly beans. Now I love them. I allow myself one bag a year — at Easter time. Unless your feisty, red-haired neighbor buys you one as an Easter gift, then you get to eat two bags!

This year I noticed that there were no black jelly beans in either of the bags I ate. I don’t like the black ones but I eat them anyway because they remind me of young Mattie Stepanek. Have you ever heard of him? He wrote the Heartsongs books, small, powerful collections of poems that touched millions of people. Even though he was so young, had muscular dystrophy, died at thirteen, he had a way of seeing the world that felt older and wiser than most adults. I have two or maybe three of his books but I can’t find them right now. In one of his poems he wrote that black jelly beans taste mean — and he’s right. They do.

 

Lastly, I think of my best old friend Trish in West Virginia. I save odd-shape bottles for her craft projects as well as large pill bottles.

I had one such bottle on my sink one day and tossed it in the dishwater after I’d finished washing the dishes. I thought I’d be an extra nice friend and soak the label off for her. After a while, when I pulled the bottle to drain the sink, some of the label came off but left a mess of paper and glue behind.

It sat on my sink for a week.

Then I found some Goof Off and took it out to the kitchen, put it on the back of the counter, and now I stared at both of them for another week or so.

You just can’t get in a hurry about this stuff.

This week I made up my mind I was gonna try and get the sticky residue off. I got a small container, poured some Goof Off in it, got a paper towel, soaked it, draped it across the bottle, and let it soak.

It stunk!

I eventually took it outside for a few hours.

Goof Off, even after all the time soaking, didn’t make a dent in it.

I tried nail polish remover.

It just moved the glue around.

Then I remembered a tip I’d heard about years ago and decided to try that.

“What’s the tip?” I just know you’ve got bottles sitting around that you wanna get the labels off of, too.

It’s a mixture of cooking oil and baking soda. It works, but I didn’t want to work at it, so I let it sit in the oil mixture for a few hours. It was like magic!

Let’s call this one done!