Big Job

 

Mike and I tackled a big job this week, a job we’ve been dreading.

“What’s that, Peg?” you ask.

Our floors buckled this past summer. It hadn’t happened until we had the pet-proof carpet installed. We’d taken every step we could think of to reduce the humidity in the house. Dry Lock painted on the concrete, a layer of tar paper, then an aluminum sheeting on top of that. Nothing should have gotten through all of that!

But it did.

When we put the subfloor down, we probably didn’t screw the center of the sheets and they buckled, becoming a rollercoaster of hills and valleys.

Once winter hit and we started heating the house, the floor flattened back out.

How I wish we could go back in time! We sure would’ve done it differently!

It was time to pull the carpet up and add more Tapcons.

Mike called the installer at least three times, maybe four, but he won’t return our calls. We called the place we bought the carpet from.

“Don’t cut it yourself. If you don’t do it right, it’ll be a mess and he may not be able to seam it right and you’ll hate it,” we were advised. “I’ll have him call you.”

We waited another week and Mike called again.

“He’s in Florida.”

Oh well. Mike took matters into his own hands and cut the carpet.

“We gotta get it done before it starts buckling again,” Mike said to me. “We’ll cut it and live with whatever we have to live with.”

The first thing we had to do was move all the furniture from that side of the room. Mike cut the carpet and pulled it out from under the baseboards.

We rolled it back.

Mike had measured where the hills were so we had an idea of where we needed to screw the floor better. 

He got out the Hilti and drilled the holes for the Tapcons.

Mike suffered.

His back hurts nearly all of the time and any little chore can cause more pain. When it’s something that has to be done, he powers through. We just take more breaks.

It took us three days to do this job. Partly because we had an appointment in Sayre on our second day of work, so we didn’t work very long that day.

The first day I kenneled the girls to keep them from getting under our feet. The second day they both just went to the kennels without being told. The doors are wide open and they stayed until we were done for the day.

I was so proud of them!

We put the carpet back down and stapled it at the cuts.

“I thought about screwing it down,” Mike said, “but this way we can pull it back up if we see we need to put more screws in.”

Gee. I hope we don’t have to do that.

On a side note, and one that will be pertinent to the story, I must mention that I love the advice my handsome neighbor gave to a newly married coworker. “He’s supposed to take the trash out, but he doesn’t do it,” she told Lamar.

“If it’s his job, then don’t you do it,” he advised.

“But what if it’s full?” she asked.

“Keep stacking it on top.”

“What if it starts falling over?”

“Let it. Because once you do it, it’ll be your job forever.”

We put the furniture back in place and Mike vacuumed. He did it once and now it’s his job.

“It makes my back hurt,” he said when he first started doing it.

“Take a break. Watch a little TV then go back to it,” I said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

I’ll cook and wash dishes. I’ll do the laundry and scrub the toilets. Dusting and vacuuming? I hate both of those jobs and did them as little as I could get away with.

“You’ve gotta be kicking your way through the dirt and dust bunnies before I vacuum,” I joke. Although, it was more truth than joke.

Mike will vacuum the living room, and rest. He’ll vacuum the dining room and maybe part of the bedroom, and rest. He’ll finish the bedroom and may or may not take another break before tackling the bathroom and hall closet.

I always make sure he knows that I really, really appreciate his pain and hard work. I thank him and tell him how nice it looks. I know it hurts his back, but everything hurts his back. And it’s the one household chore he can and will do.

We had to go to Sayre this week. I’m always sad when I see there was a fire. They got this one out pretty quick because it’s only the front corner that burned — at least on the outside.

These things are huge!

Coming back down toward home, we pass the eagle’s nest.

I knew it was time for them to be nesting, so I was watching for the nest.

“There’s an eagle sitting on the nest!” I exclaimed. “Turn around,” I said, then remembered my manners. “Pleeeeeeaaase! You know I love the eagles and we don’t see them very often,” I begged

Mike loves me and turned around.

There’s an eagle cam at Big Bear that showed the eaglets hatching out already!

Even though we did a little shopping while in Sayre, we made a second shopping trip later in the week. This time to Tunkhannock.

On the evening news, they did a segment on the Metcalf Mansion in Tunkhannock. “Is that the one Diane and I went into?” If you don’t know, Diane is my cute little redhaired sister. “Let’s drive by tomorrow and see if it is.”

The next morning, in my morning love note, I told my peeps, “We’re going to take the dogs for a ride and get fish sandwiches. McDonald’s puts them on sale during Lent.”

“I also get reeled in by that deal,” replied beautiful Jenn Kipp.

Raini doesn’t get car sick anymore, but she’s still a whiner. We don’t take them very often and more likely than not, when we do, it’s to the vet or to get nails clipped — which I do that myself now. It’s too hot to take them in summer. It’s too cold to take them in winter. And when the weather is conducive to a car ride, we might be planning to shop and would be gone too long. I don’t like taking Raini any place because I don’t like to hear her whine. Eventually, I get fed up and yell at her. But I try to take her as often as we can. I keep hoping she’ll get over it.

“Do you think she thinks she’s going to vet?” I mused. “Or maybe she doesn’t feel well when she rides in the car.”

I don’t remember how to get to the mansion, but Mike’s unerring truck driving skills kicked in and took us right to it. I snapped a picture of this one as we went past. There are lots of big, beautiful houses in Tunkhannock.

Then we saw it. It is the same house Diane and I went into!

The people who bought it are going to turn it into a B&B and host events. I scrolled through their Facebook page and saw videos of the house. It had really deteriorated since Diane and I were inside. I thought it was interesting that there are headstones lying on the ground out in the weeds behind the house. One was for the sister of the man who built the house in 1895.

           We went through the drive through at McDonald’s. Even though Mike really wanted a fish sandwich, he’s trying to watch what he eats. Instead of two fish sandwiches, he opted for chicken nuggets instead.

I ordered a McDouble and ordered it plain so I could share it with the dogs. They’re not crazy about pickles, catsup, or mustard, and they can’t have onions.

When we got our order, we got the ten-piece Mike ordered, but I got two sandwiches!

“Extra pickles!” I read the special-order tag. “No ketchup or mustard.” I unwrapped it and realized they were double cheeseburgers. Do you know the difference? McDouble has one slice of cheese, double cheeseburger has two. “We can’t take them back because they’ll just throw them away.”

“Did we get the order for the person behind us?” Mike wondered.

“It’s weird that they ordered almost the same thing we did.”

I got to thinking about it and I think maybe it might’ve been a half and half mistake. Whoever packed it started out reading our order, the ten-piece chicken nuggets, and when they looked back up to the screen, they gave us the two special order double cheeseburgers of the car behind us.

I scraped off the extra pickles and onions and the girls were pretty happy about the mix up.

It's hard to find new things to photograph when we’ve been on these roads so often.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these on the horizon.

We were almost back to Wyalusing when I spot an eagle sitting in a tree near the old nursing home.

“Would you turn around, please?” I asked. Mike didn’t say anything but I saw him sigh. I hoped that meant he’d turn around, but I didn’t say anything, didn’t beg. He’d already turned around once for me this week. A little ways down the road, we get to Wyalusing and the truck in front of us slowed to turn into the gas station. Mike followed.

“YES!” I said. “Thank you!”

Mike was able to take a road that took us close to the tree the eagle was sitting in. The eagle turned to look at us but didn’t fly away and I got a bunch of shots of him.

I didn’t do much in the art department this week. Between running, working on the floor, updating and printing the church directory, there wasn’t a lot of time. I did do a quick painting in my sketchbook.

 Trish, my best old friend in West Virginia, send me a photo.

“This is our new walk bridge that Bowie, Ben, and Haven put in. We won't be stranded now,” she said.

You may remember that the recent flood took out the bridge, stranding Trish and seven other families. You may not have known that it took out the walk bridge, too.

“Beautiful!” I told her.

“Yes, it is. It's metal so it will be there a long time.”

I thought, for no good reason, that it was made from wood. A metal bridge! That couldn’t’ve been cheap. I wondered if the residents had to pay for it, so, I asked her. Before she had a chance to answer me, I fired off another question.

“I know Bowie is your brother, and Ben is your son, but who’s Haven?”

“Haven is Bowie's son that moved a trailer up on the lower part of the property. The bridge was installed several years ago at an elderly woman's property when her bridge became unsafe. She passed away 2 years ago and the house is empty. One of our holler people has control of the property and when the last flood pulled it loose, Bowie asked him about getting it. He said if we can get it out of the creek, we can have it.”

“When did they fix the drive bridge?” you wonder.

Near as I can tell, they were stranded for four days. But, and thank God, they have a caring community and someone was able to get supplies across to them until the bridge was replaced.

 

Lastly, let me tell on myself. This is my shelf where I keep my craft supplies. I sometimes use a flexible tape measure to measure things. I haven’t used it in a while and I needed it. I was almost sure it was in my supplies someplace! I looked in all my bins and boxes at least twice, with no luck finding it. Then, when I wasn’t even looking for it, I found it! I had to laugh. Can you find it?

Let’s call this one done!

Sleep

 

          Sleep is important and we all know that.

“How important is it?” you ask.

Sleep is crucial for maintaining both physical and mental health. It aids in bodily repairs, cognitive function, emotional regulation, and overall productivity. Getting enough sleep helps regulate hormones that control appetite and stress, reduces the risk of accidents due to drowsiness, and ensures a stronger immune system. In essence, quality sleep is as vital as a balanced diet and regular exercise for leading a healthy, productive, and safe life.

I looked it up so I could give you a good answer.

Me? I like to sleep. I like to dream. It’s like going places, seeing things, interacting with others, all while never leaving my bed!

“It’s like reading a book!”

Absolutely! And I love to read, too. I just finished a book named Kick by John L. Monk. I’ve had it on my Nook for years and just this week got around to reading it. It was very entertaining and I would spend a couple of hours every night before sleep reading.

“What’s it about?” you wanna know.

This guy, who committed suicide, goes to a place he calls the Great Wherever. Not heaven and not hell. He has no body, just his mind. He can relive every moment of his life, everything he’s seen, read, or did, and that’s what he does. He watches reruns of MASH or other shows or relives events from his life until he is sent into the body of a bad or even very bad person. He has no communication with the Great Whoever and spends his first few days in his ‘ride,’ as he calls them, figuring out who they are, what they’ve done, then gives away all their ill-gotten gains to worthy people or charities, then he kills them, usually. Not always. While in one guy, he confessed all his crimes, then before he was ‘kicked’ back to the Great Wherever, he took a Sharpie and wrote on the guy’s arm so when he came back to consciousness he’d see it.

“Don’t recant your confession or else!” and signed it God.

“It’s a good thing I don’t get my theology from books!” I told Pastor Jay. “Except of course the Bible.” I don’t remember what we were talking about that brought the book to mind, and I’m sure Pastor wondered why I was reading such rubbish. All I can say is, it was entertaining. I don’t believe in talking animals either, but it wouldn’t stop me from watching Bambi. I don’t believe in ships like the Enterprise exploring and living in deep space with warp speed, phasers, Klingons, Betazoids, and Vulcans but I sure enjoyed Star Trek. I don’t believe people can fly, but I love Superman — and other superheroes, too!

This week, a truck pulls into our driveway and out hop two very polite and friendly guys delivering our new Sleep Number mattress.

          “You got a new Sleep Number‽” you query.

          We did! We’ve had and do have Tempur-Pedic mattresses. Our Tempur-Pedic was put in storage in Pennsylvania along with all our other furniture while we went full-time RVing for a few years. When we had to give it up and move back into our place in Missouri, we had to buy new furniture.

“Comfort Select is just as good as Tempur-Pedic without the big price tag,” the sales person told us.

So that’s what we bought and have been sleeping on for the last ten years or so.

Mike hates it.

Always did.

But to be fair, he hated Tempur-Pedic, too.

We had a Sleep Number many years ago but sold it when we went to Tempur-Pedic. The new Sleep Numbers are very different. You can still adjust your firmness but you do it through an app on your phone instead of a remote like we used to have. The new Sleep Numbers also monitor your sleep. It tells you how long and how well you sleep as well as how many times you got out of bed. It monitors your heart rate and breathing, too.

“How does it do that?” Mike wonders.

“I don’t know for sure but it has to have sensors in it someplace,” I guess.

The whole thing came in two small boxes and one mattress. I somehow had an idea that it was like a sleeve. We’d have to unroll it and put the air tubes in the mattress ourselves. I was wrong and I’m glad!

          The guys set it on the porch for us and were nice enough to pose for a picture for me.

          Mike and I took it in and set it up. It was pretty easy to do.

          “How are you sleeping?” you ask.

          Mike wakes up with little to no back pain these past mornings. And so do I. My back has been hurting, too. Usually, first thing in the morning when I get out of bed and in the evening after I’ve been sitting in my recliner for three or four hours, which doesn’t have anything to do with the mattress. It’s just that I’ve been attributing my back pain to my overweightness, but here I’ve been waking up with no back pain, too! Maybe it was the mattress, at least in part.

          Mike’s sleep score for the first two nights was 91 and mine was lower.

          “What did you do with the old mattress?” you ask.

          We were careful cutting the plastic off the new one and slipped the old one inside before stashing it in the exercise studio. That room, because of winter, is currently closed off from the rest of the house.

          Thursday morning, Blackie didn’t show up for breakfast. That isn’t like him at all. He didn’t show up for supper that night either. Mike checked the ditches beside the road when he went out for the mail, but didn’t find Blackie there.

          Thursday night, it was around midnight and I was reading, when I heard a scratching noise. The dogs heard it, too, and went leaping and barking from the bed. The way sound bounces around in here, I thought it was outside the bedroom window.

          Now, I have no idea why Blackie would be scratching at the window instead of coming in one of the two pet doors, but I didn’t give it a second thought. If he was home and scratching to come in, I’d get out of bed and let him in.

          Maybe he’s just stuck on the porch, I thought, which made much more sense.  

          He wasn’t. I got up and took a flashlight out to the porch. He wasn’t there and he wasn’t outside the bedroom window either. I looked and looked and called until I was satisfied that nothing was out there.

          Coming back in, I saw Bondi and Raini go to the closed off, curtained off, draft-stoppered, exercise studio door. I pulled back the curtain and there was Blackie. He’d slipped in unnoticed when we put the mattress in and spent more than twenty-four hours in there.

          “Did he make a mess?” Mike asked.

          “I haven’t checked it out yet,” I admitted. “’Cause I know when I find it I’ll have to clean it up.”

          Mike and I went in together and looked all around the floor. We didn’t find a single cat mess. How he held it so long, I don’t know. Blackie did, however, tear all the plastic we’d put up over the outside door. And I’m pretty sure he left scratches on the French doors, but I didn’t look, so I don’t really know.

          “Ignorance is bliss,” or so my father said.

          “I guess you’re pretty happy then,” my quick-witted little sister quipped.

          Momma laughed when she told me that story, it tickled her, and I can still hear her laughter in my head.

          Oh well. At least Blackie’s okay and that’s the most important thing.

 

          Joann stores are closing. There’s one in Dickson City. I thought I saw something online that it was eighty percent off. They have craft supplies as well as fabrics so we went to see if I could find any good deals.

          “We can stop at Moe’s Tex-Mex for lunch,” I tempted Mike. He’s been wanting to go there. Our last attempt to find a good Mexican restaurant ended with an outrageous bill and food that was just okay and not worth what we paid.

          The morning started out foggy.

          “Look!” I said to Mike. “Lamar’s not wearing his safety vest.”

          He usually does and on this foggy morning, it would’ve been helpful. But don’t tell Miss Rosie he wasn’t wearing it. I don’t want to get him into trouble.           

          I guess I mostly watch out my side of the car but on this trip, as we were going through South Abbington, I was looking out Mike’s side when I spot a Mexican Restaurant.

          “Jalapeno’s Authentic Mexican Grill!” I exclaimed.

          “We’ll try that one this time,” Mike said.

          We went on down to Joann’s. Mike dropped me off and went to the Sleep Number store while I went in and shopped.

          I was disappointed in the sale. There were some things marked forty percent off but the art stuff I was looking at was only ten or twenty percent off. Not enough of a savings to tempt to buy things I don’t really need.

          “Finding any good deals?” I asked a lady shopping the same aisle I was in.

          “Not really. I think they actually marked some stuff up.”

          “Really!”

          “I shop here all the time,” she told me and went on to give me some examples of prices she thought were higher.

          I ended up picking up some watercolor paper. It was fifteen dollars and twenty percent would only take it down three. It wasn’t the recommended 100% cotton paper but I thought it would be okay for practice. I get to the single open checkout and the line was twenty people, mostly women, long. Right behind me was the lady I’d been talking to earlier.

          “I’m not waiting,” I told her and set the paper down.

          Mike was still talking with Kelly Pegg at the Sleep Number store so I walked across the parking lot and joined him.

          Our next stop was Walmart, then Michael’s and Hobby Lobby. Michael’s carries higher grade paints than Hobby Lobby does but for what they had, Hobby Lobby was cheaper. Everything I’ve read said quality paper makes more of a difference in your paintings than quality paints do. I bought some of both. At Michael’s I bought two tubes of level two paints, which is above student but not as pricy as level three artist grade. At Hobby lobby I bought a tube of student grade paint and a set of metallic watercolors. I don’t know what I’m going to do with those yet. You’ll have to stay tuned.

          We stopped at Jalapeno’s on the way home. Judging by the cars in the parking lot, it wasn’t very busy.

          “And it’s lunch time. Is that a bad sign?” Mike wanted to know.

          We went in and were greeted by Alma. She led us to a table in the customerless dining room. That’s to say we were the only patrons.

          Alma was so sweet and we had such a nice conversation with her.

          “Have you eaten at any of the other Mexican places around here?” Mike asked.

          “Not really,” she answered.

          “How about Moe’s?” It was just up the road.

          “Yes! I have been there!”

          “How’s their food?”

          “Not very good,” Alma answered. “It’s much better here. We’re from Mexico. We know how to cook authentic Mexican food.”

          “Where are you from?” Mike was curious.

          Alma said the name of the Mexican town she was born in but I’d never heard of it before. She’s here on a work visa and has been here for about fourteen years. She has two daughters, both born here. The oldest one is fourteen and I was shocked. Alma certainly didn’t look old enough to have a kid that age. She’d like to become a citizen but it takes a long time and costs quite a bit of money.

          A Google search tells me the primary cost is around seven hundred twenty-five dollars. There are also optional costs, such as legal assistance, citizenship classes, and travel expenses for attending USCIS appointments. Hard to come up with when you’re living hand to mouth.

          Alma brought us chips and salsa and we were hooked.

          “This salsa is so good,” Mike said scraping the bottom of the bowl.

          When Alma brought my fajitas and Mike’s sample platter, she brought more salsa.

          My fajitas had onions, peppers, squash, carrots, and mushrooms in it as well as the chicken I ordered. Some of those things I’ve never gotten in fajitas before, but it was delicious nonetheless! The food was much better than the last place — and so were the prices!

          “Are we going to try Moe’s next time?” I asked Mike.

          “No need. If we want Mexican, we’ll eat here.”

 

          I did paint some this week.

          In this one, I lost the sun. I went back and made it stronger and it’s too strong. I can go back and lift some of the paint out, but I’m not going to. This is PRACTICE! At least now I know to make my sun stronger to begin with or just plain leave it alone. Either way, I had fun painting it.

          Speaking of paints...

          I was trying to figure out how to make lids for the dishes I use to hold my watercolor paints. I keep a few take-out plastic containers around to give food away in. I got one from the cupboard and tried to work out in my head how I could make a custom lid for these oblong ceramic dishes I’d gotten for a dollar at a yard sale. I could turn the dish upside down, draw around it and cut it out. But how to attach sides to it? Hot glue? I couldn’t work it out in my head and shelved the whole project. I’d just keep shutting them in my keyboard shelf and pick out the detritus.

          I was able to find plastic lids for the two small round ones. They were a little too big but I could set them on top and it would keep the dust and pet hair from my paint.

          Then a picture flashes in my head. I still had my plastic palette from when I worked in oil paint. I even knew where it was! I went out into the old craft room, opened a cabinet door, and there it was! I opened it and inside was a pad full of disposable palette paper. I took the palette pad out and cleaned the box up. I wasn’t trying to get all the paint off and make it new looking again, I just wanted the dust and dirt gone. I set my watercolors inside and when they’re dry, I can put the lid on. If I put the lid on while they’re still wet, I risked them getting moldy.

          I had my hair permed this week. I just needed something that wasn’t flat, straight hair. I love the fullness it gives me. The curls are actually a little smaller than I thought I wanted, but I did tell Paula she had free reign. I didn’t, and don’t, care a lot. It’ll grow out.

          The first night I slept on it loose. Trying to comb it the next morning was a bit of a nightmare. From then on, I’ve been putting my hair up in two ponytails on top of my head.

          Mike laughed at me the first time he saw it.

          “What‽” I feigned indignation. “I sleep on my side and my back, and a ponytail in either of those places would bother me!”

          It might look funny but my hair isn’t all tangled in the morning. The ponytail holders slide right off, I can comb it, spray a little water on, and to bring back the curls, I use the scrunching cream my Miss Rosie gave me for my new hair. She loves me.

          This is our youngest son and his beautiful wife on Kevin’s forty-third birthday. It’s hard for me to believe my baby is that old!

Kevin gets to share his birthday with his brand spankin’ new baby cousin once removed. 

Keith is the youngest son of my cute little redhaired sister, Diane.

Keith and Kevin are first cousins. Artemi Eve McDonald is still a first cousin only now she's one generation removed. Kevin’s son, Andrew, and Keith’s daughter Artemi are second cousins.

          Birth and death.

          My bestest and dearest old friend in West Virginia got word in early February that one of her Indiana friends wasn’t doing well. Indiana is where Trish and I met and lived for a number of years.

          “She has cancer again and the doctors said there's nothing they can do because it has spread so quickly,” she told me.

          “Once you get cancer, you always have it. It never goes away. It’s laying dormant someplace in your body,” someone told me.

          True or not, I don’t know.

          Trish was finally able to make the drive to see Connie this past week. By the time she got there, Connie could barely talk and apologized.

“That’s okay,” Trish told her. “We know we love each other.” Trish sat and held her hand while she dozed in and out.

          Connie died Saturday, three days after Trish arrived.

 

          With that, let’s call this one done.

          Done!

           

 

Dibbles and Dabbles

 

          Dibbles and dabbles.

          A little of this and a little of that.

          That’s what I think of when I think of my art. I’ve tasted a lot of creative mediums over the years. Crayons. I think we all had crayons and coloring books when we were little. I remember once I colored a couch, or maybe it was a chair, in my coloring book. I colored it two crazy colors. Something like pink with green apple piping all the way around it. I thought it was interesting and showed it to Momma. She was not impressed, not that she made any disparaging remarks. She just said, “Mm-hmm,” and I went on my way.

I had pastels when I was a young teenager. Then I found boys and pot and didn’t do any more art. In the eighties I was inspired by my cute little redhaired sister to get back into art and I dabbled in inks, moved to colored pencils, then oil paints.

 I spent the next fifteen years drinking and stopped doing art all together.

Around 2005, Mike’s brother Cork got me into stained-glass. I went on to dabble in copper jewelry, wire work, making metal flowers from tin cans, ladybugs, book boxes, air-dry clay, concrete clay, fairy houses, and lately, watercolor paints.

What a journey!

As I look back, flitting from memory to memory, I realize it hasn’t all been without sins and regrets. Do any of us get to live our lives without sins or regrets?

Regrets? Maybe. I’ve met people who claim to have none, saying, “Everything I’ve done, everything that has happened to me, has shaped me into the person I am today — and I like the person I am today. How can I regret that?”

Sins? No. From the time we’re eighteen months and stand before our parents and defiantly say, “No!” when asked to do something. Disobedience. A sin.

“Did you take a cookie?”

“No.” The evidence of that lie may very well be found in the crumbs lingering around our tiny pink mouths.

We sin from a time before we even know what a sin is.

I heard a podcast this week. I’m not sure who was speaking, since I listen to several preachers. The message has left me with a good way to handle past sins and regrets.

“Once you have confessed a sin to God, you don’t need to confess it over and over.”

This is exactly what we tend to do when a past sin keeps coming to the forefront of our mind. We don’t “feel” forgiven as we wallow in the regret of that sin and re-confess it over and over.

“To continually confess a sin is to not believe God when He says in 1 John 1:9: ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness,’” he quoted. “Instead, use this as an opportunity to praise God! To remember and thank Him for ALL He has forgiven us for!”

Turn regrets into praises is an idea I found intriguing and shared it with a friend who also faces similar struggles. She was thankful and that gave me the idea to share it with you, just in case you needed to hear it, too.

          I started a watercolor that is maybe a little ambitious for me. I got this far and can’t decide where to go, or even if I should go any further. I shelved it, waited a couple of days, looked at it again, and shelved it again.

          Needing a confidence booster, I decided to experiment with a different way of doing my book boxes. I love the texture when I coat them with wall paste but it gives me a problem in the hinges. The plaster chips off no matter how many times I sand it.

          What would happen if I didn’t use it at all? I wondered and tried that this week on one of my rejected boxes, one that’s put together a little wonky and I don’t care if I mess it up. I miss the texture but I think it’s probably okay to do them without. Now I have to decide on a color for the inside.  

     

          My best old friend, Trish, shared a project with me that she’s been working on.

          This isn’t anything new for her, in that she has been making tissue box covers for a long time, but the half cross-stitch pattern is new and I think it’s just beautiful!

Who doesn’t love butterflies!?

Trish attends several functions every year where she sells nearly everything she makes.

Besides half cross-stitch, Trish also is a dibbler and dabbler. She crochets and paints as well and the next time she visits, maybe we’ll make fairy houses or concrete frogs for her garden or tin can flowers for her fence.

West Virginia has just had another flood that took out the bridge Trish and six or seven other families have to cross to get to their homes.

“This is the fifth or six time it’s been washed out in the eight years I’ve lived here,” Trish told me. “Twice within two months one year!”

The problem is that no one, not the county, not the state, wants to claim responsibility for the pipe that runs under the road, which is what washes out.

Trish sent me a few other pictures of the flood in her area.

The ball field.

I don’t think anyone’s driving under that train bridge.

If Trish lived next to me, she wouldn’t have to worry about her bridge washing out and we could make art all the time!

But, her family lives nearby, and family is precious — as Trish is precious to me. 

Tiger was on my desk. He went from lounging to immediate attention in a jolt. I looked at him. His gaze was fixed outside the door.

A bird? I wonder and swiveled around in my desk chair. I didn’t see anything. I turned back to the computer. Tiger crouched low and jumped from my desk. I lingered for a few moments, finishing what I was doing, before I turned to look. There, outside, facing Tiger through the door, was the feral black and white cat. My movements set Raini in motion. She knew something was going on.

“NO! RAINI, NO!” I yelled, but it was no use. She scrambled across the linoleum floor and dashed through the pet flap in a flash. There was nothing I could do as she chased that poor kitty around the side of the house. A few minutes later, she was back, and I can only guess he got over the fence and she didn't catch him.

I’ve been sneaking out in the mornings and looking to see if he’s in the cat house. Twice this week he was. Spitfire was with him, sleeping on a shelf. The feral’s been sleeping under a table on some old pillows covered with a rag rug. Spitfire hears me and jumps down onto the table. The feral only picks his head up and looks. I’ve not spooked him enough to make him run from the room. I like that he knows he can come here for safety, food, and shelter. 

Mike and I went shopping this week and he took a road he doesn’t normally take. You know what that means, don’t you?

Road pictures!

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!