Tearing It Out

 

          We’re tearing it out.

          “What’re you tearing out?” I know you wanna know.

          We’re tearing out the dog run.

“Why?”

Simple. Because I don’t want to mow anymore. Mike’s been mowing the big part of the dog run for me but there’s a section that runs down beside the house that’s little wider than a walkway, and that funnels into a larger area at the front. There’s no gate on that end and Mike can’t get the zero turn in there.

Recently, one of our neighbors had nine more sections of fencing they wanted to get rid of.

          “We could redo the dog run.” I plead my case to Mike.

          Mike loves me and denies me very little (if anything).

He got the fence.

And we started that.

“Let’s use the tractor to pull them out of the grass,” Mike suggested. “Instead of busting a gut.”

So that’s what we did.

The tractor worked beautifully pulling out fence and t-posts.

Now, speaking of t-posts...

What comes out must go back in, just in a different place.

“It’s going to kill me to pound the posts back in,” my handsome mountain man said. “I’ve been looking at automatic post drivers on the internet.”

“Great idea! Get it.” I’m all for spending the kid’s inheritance.

“It’s kind of expensive.”

“I don’t care. If we have the money and it saves your health; I don’t care what it costs.”

For a few extra dollars we bought the shipping insurance on it.

Nothing but the best for the Lubys! We got the one that had the most power with the lowest amount of vibration. Guys, this thing is heavy!   

          The little gal that delivered it pulled the box to the back all by herself then Mike set it off the truck.

          “She must be strong,” Mike said and went for the wheeler.

          We were both excited to see our new toy, although I expect Mike will be the one to use it. On the patio we opened the box.

          Surprise!

          It came in its own heavy-duty plastic storage case.

          “If I’d’ve know that, I wouldn’t’ve bought the insurance,” Mike said.

          He unpacked it and stood it up.

          Now, using this thing requires the strength of a body builder. It weighs forty-five pounds.

          “How are you going to lift that to the top of the posts?” I wondered.

          “I’ll have to stand on a ladder.”

          Will this work?

          Will it not?

          That remains to be seen. All I can see is someone has to hold the post until it gets it started into the ground. Any guesses who that might be?

          “If we can’t do it we could ask Pastor Jay to come and help us.”

          Pastor Jay is such a good shepherd of his flock. He’s always there for anyone needing help — and he has a couple of strong boys that could be recruited, too!

          We blocked off part of the dog run so the girls couldn’t get out. They came and watched for a little while before they tired and went into the house.

          I took the time to get a picture for you, even though Mike was waiting on me to hook the chain on the next section.

          Once the fence was taken down, Mike got the zero turn and mowed the section I haven’t mowed for months!

          Speaking of making Mike wait...

          I also made him wait while I took this picture.

          There were woolly bears marching across the section of yard where Mike was driving his tractor and I didn’t want him to run them over.

          When you pick up a woolly bear they curl into tight little rounds. I gave them a gentle toss into the tall weeds.

          No woolly bears were injured during the relocation process.

          “Peg, tell us about woolly bears,” you say.

          In the fall, the woolly bears start showing up on the roads and in your yard. They’re on the move, searching for a good place to spend the winter. People think their brown stripe predicts the weather but it only indicates how well they ate during the summer. A caterpillar with plenty of dandelion, clover, and plantain ends up with a wider band. A lean summer makes a narrow one.

          “But isn’t lots of food in the summer God’s way of preparing them for a hard winter?” you wonder.

          I know, right! I wondered that, too. So I asked Copilot, my AI buddy.

          “Some folks look at a good food year and wonder if it’s God’s way of preparing woolly bears for whatever winter they’re about to face. That’s not a weather prediction — just provision. A well‑fed caterpillar is better equipped for any winter, mild or harsh,” is Copilot’s answer.

          The most impressive thing about the woolly bear?

          Their bodies make a natural antifreeze that keeps their cells from breaking down. In the spring they thaw out and keep going like nothing happened!

Up in the Arctic, there’s a cousin that freezes and thaws for more than ten years before it finally becomes a moth!

          “What do they turn into?” I know you wanna know.

          Woolly bears turn into the Isabella tiger moth.

   

          Speaking of moths...

          I was outside with the girls before bed one night when we all heard a noise. They heard it enough before me that their barking prevented me from pinpointing exactly what it was. They’d stop barking and we’d listen. The sound would come again and they’d bark again.

          “In the house,” I commanded after the third time.

          I went straight through the house and out the front door. I was thinking it was a cat fight. I turned on the flashlight mode of my cell phone and shone it out into the yard, sweeping it back and forth, and waited to see where the cat fight was.

          “What were you going to do if it was a catfight?” you ask.

          I don’t know. I didn’t really think that far ahead. Mostly likely I’d just yell at them but I guess my aim was to see who was fighting.

          Suddenly, I heard it — and it most definitely was not a cat fight.

          “What was it?” you ask.

          It was the scream of a fox. Have you ever heard that? Oh. My. Goodness-gracious-mercy-me! It is a scary sound! Google it.

          The first time I ever heard it, it really freaked me out. Scared me to pieces! I was telling the neighbor about it when their little girl (at the time) asked, “Was it a fox?”

          “I don’t know,” I said.

          Jonecca got on a cell phone, whether it was hers or her mom’s, I don’t know, and called up the sound of a fox scream.

          “That’s it!” I had no idea that’s what a fox sounded like.

          So, it’s dark. I’m standing at the edge of the driveway, not too far from the house in case I had to duck inside, and I heard the fox. Now I’m in fox-searching mode. Most of the time it’s the females that scream, looking for a mate, don’cha know, and I’m watching to see if she’ll come up towards me.

          I was watchful, and alert.

          A moth, attracted to the light, fluttered at me. I saw it. It didn’t scare me. But what did scare me was the giant shadow that suddenly appeared on the ground to my left.

          Flight or fight said it was the fox and I started for the door. But the next second I realized it had only been the shadow of the moth.

          I laughed at myself as I shut the patio door.

          I was still laughing when I went in.

          “What’s so funny?” Mike asked.

          “A moth scared me.” I chuckled. “So I decided that if a moth scares me, I’d better come back in the house.”

 

          Do you remember the gates I talked about last time?

          This past week we were coming back from shopping when Mike missed our turn onto the Veterans’ Bridge that separates Wysox and Towanda.

          “Where are we going?” I asked.

          “You’ll see.”

          Where we went was back to the junk store for the gates!

          “I don’t need those gates!” I told him when I realized where we were going.

          “You said in your letter that you’d like to have them.”

          “Yeah, but I don’t NEED them! Besides, we don’t have any way to get them home.”

          Michael would not be dissuaded.

          It’s good to have friends.

          Lou was coming up this weekend. We met him through our neighbor, and he bought Charlie Cheshire’s old house when Charlie died. Lou lives down near Philly and is the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back and not expect anything in return.

          Friday they picked up my gates.

          I was surprised to see Mike climb out of the driver’s seat.

          “Lou didn’t want to drive,” Mike said.

          Mike’s idea to tee-pee the gates worked really well.

          They pulled the gates off the back and Lou drove the truck out from under it.

          “Those gates don’t look as tall as you said they were,” you say.

          I know, right! In my mind’s eye, and relying solely on memory, they were ten-feet tall. In reality they’re only seven-and-a-half feet.

Together the gates are fourteen-feet wide. Our driveway is wider than that but they’ll still be a piece of awesome yard art!

Mike offered Lou gas money but he refused.

“How about breakfast then?” Mike asked.

“That’d be alright,” Lou said.

We arranged to meet at Ashley’s at seven in the a.m.

“Let’s get there early,” Mike said.

“Why?” I wanted to know.

“Because I want to tell the waitress to give me the check.”

“I don’t think they’ll fight you for it,” I said. They as in Lou and Vernon. We invited Vernon to go to breakfast with us, too.

“I know but if Vernon thinks you’re paying he won’t order anything.”

Have you ever known anyone like that? I knew one other person who was like that. They’re just uncomfortable with “owing” someone.

Me?

I don’t care who’s paying. I’m going to get what I want. If Mike was paying and I wanted steak, I’d order steak. But I never order something expensive just because someone else is paying. If I want grilled cheese and soup, that’s what I’m ordering.

Ashley’s hours say they open at five-thirty. We get there at six-thirty and it’s not open.

“There’s a note on the door. It says they’re closed today,” I told Mike.

We went back to the car and called Lou.

“Let’s go to Pam’s in Dushore,” Mike said.

I got some early morning shots for you.

The rising sun was shining on the church as it stood guard over the town.

          Yes. Gas is four thirty-nine here this morning.

          We had breakfast, which was totally unremarkable. What can you say about toast and fried e—

          Oh! My! Gosh!

          Do you have any idea what I almost wrote?

          No? Let me tell you!

          I was typing away, not thinking about spelling as my fingers usually know where to go, and I ended up with fried eyes! Now that would be remarkable, despite the fact that eggs could look like big yellow eyes staring up at you!

          By the time we sat there and jibber-jabbed for an hour, the sun had burned off the fog.

          Oh my gosh! Life is so funny sometimes.

          I put the last two pictures in my letter blog, saved it, and closed Word. It was Saturday, late afternoon, I was tired, and it was time to make popcorn and head for the recliner.

          Before I shut my computer down, I checked the email and did a fast scroll-through on Facebook.

Guess what comes up?

Egg eyes!

          “What in the world was that post about?” you query.

          I think it was a recipe, but do these not look like eyes?

          This is the week of our county fair.

          Our electric company will give you twenty dollars off your bill plus thirty dollars in vouchers to spend any place at the fair you want to. We registered for the money off our bill and got our six five-dollar tickets. We always spend it on food.

          As we left Claverack’s tent, we split up. I tore off two tickets and gave the other four to Mike. He went for his favorite Italian sausage sandwich stand and I went to see if the church stand was back this year. My favorite thing is the pierogies, but I hear others rave about their haluski. I’ve never tried it because I can’t get past the pierogies.

Last year they weren’t there because they couldn’t get enough help. Sadly, and despite my high hopes, they weren’t there this year either.

          Sigh.

          “What was there?” you ask.

          Instead of the church ladies selling their delicious food, Loch’s had their store in the spot. 

         They sell maple products. And it’s also the place where I got the only other thing I eat at the fair.

          “What would that be?”

          That would be a Walnut Bowl Deluxe. A waffle bowl with two scoops of ice cream, Maple walnut sauce, whipped cream, and a cherry — which I ate before I took the picture.     

          Speaking of the fair...

          Before the church ladies stopped coming, I bought a dozen of the frozen pierogies to take home and make for my beautiful West Virginia friend. Trish would be visiting the next month.

          Trish came and went and the pierogies had been forgotten.

          Thinking about the fair, Mike said. “Are those pierogies still in the freezer?”

          “They are!”

          “Don’cha think it’s about time you made them? They’ve had a birthday in there, haven’t they?”

          “As a matter of fact, they turned two!”

          Two years those pierogies were in my freezer! I didn’t hold out much hope that they’d still be good.

          I thawed and fried them, just the way Momma liked them. I’d already sautéed some onions. And you know what? They were okay! Surprising, isn’t it?!

          While we’re in the kitchen, let me tell you something else that happened this week.

          I bought a gallon of milk. The side of the carton was indented, but I didn’t see it until we were checking out and I was too lazy to go back for a different one.

          That gallon sat in the fridge a day or two before I decided to make pudding. I emptied the last of the old gallon and opened the new one. In went the air, out popped the side, and my full gallon of milk was no longer full! How about that?!

          I let the gallon sit while I crossed the kitchen and got my camera.

          I wondered how much was missing but not enough to measure it.

          I set the camera down and picked the gallon up. There was milk on the counter under the jug. I didn’t think I’d spilled any but I moved it to a new, dry spot to double check.

More milk under it.

I moved it to a different spot, waited a second or two and picked it up.

Guess what?

There was more milk on the counter under the jug of milk.

Now that’s a conundrum.

          The gallon didn’t leak in the fridge and it didn’t leak on the counter until I took the lid off and the side popped out.

          My guess?

          The plastic cracked when it expanded.

          Since I’d just emptied a gallon, I transferred the milk.

          That was weird and has never happened to me before.      

 

          Mike had an early morning appointment for a three-month check of his eye after his second retinal detachment surgery.

          I took road pictures.

          Crossing the Susquehanna into Towanda.

          Onyx is missing. I don’t actually know why I took this picture, but I did, and now you get to see it.

          Dr. McClintic wants to leave the oil in Mike’s eye for two more months.

          “When I get in there and start looking around I’ll decide if I need to put gas in or if I’ll need to put the oil back in,” he told us.

          I think there’s still a little wrinkle in the retina and he’s not sure what’s causing it. If it’s scar tissue he’ll scrape it out and make the decision then.

          So that’s where that stands.

 

          There are a couple of more pictures in my file and I can’t say for sure when I took them — and it isn’t really pertinent.

          A buck crossed the road in front of us.

          I saw this sign and it made me think how confusing our language can be.

          To someone just learning to read English, how would they know if it’s wine-ding or win-ding?

         I was thinking about other words, like the word live. It could be lyve as in, I like to listen to live music. Or it could be liv, as painted in big white letters on a big rock beside the road as you leave Meshoppen, Slow down and live.

Is it win-ding or wine-ding?” I asked Mike.

He thought about it for a moment. “When would you ever say win-ding?”

          “Well, if the wind is blowing really hard, you could say, ‘It’s really winding out there!’”

          It’s okay to have a laugh at my expense. We did.

 

          I saw this and wondered what it meant. I asked Copilot.

          “The left side looks like KC, the right side looks like a person surfing with stars. Put together it reads KC surfing stars.”

          I don’t see it.

          “It could be a personal or small-brand logo or something meant to evoke freedom, ocean energy, or costal lifestyle. There is no universal cultural or religious meaning attached to it.”

          I think AI makes stuff up sometimes. For all we know it could be the remnants of something someone tried to peel off.

          Let’s end with this cutie-patootie. Tiger continues to want to be where we are. He makes it hard to play cards and sometimes sits right smack in the middle of the table, on top of our cards!

          Let’s call this one done.

          Done!

Don't Know

            I don’t know.

“What don’t you know, Peg?” You ask.

I don’t know lots of things, but in this case I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I just don’t feel like writing today.

“Maybe you’ll be okay once you get going,” you say.

Okay! Okay! I know that’s not what you’re saying. Because I know you. Because you’ve told me before.

“You don’t have to write every week if you don’t want to,” you’ve said, and honestly, I know you mean that in the kindest of ways, but what I hear is, “I don’t want one every week.”

I know having a long and rambling letter blog show up on your doorstep every week isn’t everyone’s cup o’ sunshine. One family member (who shall remain nameless) told me so. “Once a month would be enough for me.”

Since my letters often build on each other, I didn’t know how to do that so I didn’t send any more. He never missed them because I never heard from him again.

On the flip side, enough of you enjoy our weekly gabfests that it keeps me going.

So it’s me telling myself to just start. Get in the groove. You’ll be okay. Let the words flow. And so we begin.

 

The scariest thing happened to us this week.

“What’s that?” I know you wanna know.

We were going down Welles Mountain when I heard a roaring sound. Before I could wonder about it too much, I blue car appears beside us in a no-passing zone. A truck towing a trailer is in the on-coming lane. In that instant I just knew we were going to be involved in an accident and I braced myself.

Michael saw the blue car about the same time I did, saw the truck, and didn’t have to think about what to do. In a split second he took evasive action, hit his brakes, and steered to the right side of the road. It was just enough. I watched as the side of the blue car skimmed past our front fender. He was coming over whether we moved or not. And I truly believe it was only by the grace of God that he didn’t hit us and got back over in the nick of time.

“I can’t believe you got pictures of it!” you say.

I didn’t. These are screen shots from the dash cam.

From the time the car appears beside us to the time it’s almost even with the truck, only one second elapsed. One second!

We could be d-e-d, dead!

Then you’d miss me!

But I guess it wasn’t yet our time.

This would be a good time to remind you that one day you’re going to wake up and be dead, too. Do you know where you’ll go after you die? You can’t wait until you’re on your deathbed to ask God to forgive you and cover you with the righteousness and perfection of our Lord and Savior Jesus because you may not have the luxury of a deathbed conversion!

We have a local man who is so convicted in his faith that he’s out there actively trying to bring souls to Christ. He’s preaching the Gospel and urging people to repent and come to Jesus now, before it’s too late.

We stopped and listened for a few minutes.

We’ve seen him a few other times, in other places, but this time happened to be on the same day as our near miss.

And just like that, my not-wanting-to-write feelings are gone!

 

Oh gosh! I’ve got about a ton of road pictures this week!

“Where did you go?” you ask.

We went to Liberty Corners to schedule an inspection for Big Red, then on into Towanda and Wysox and even up to Sayre to do a little shopping.

Speaking of Sayre...

There were at least a dozen straps littering the road from Wysox to Ulster. We didn’t see any before Wysox and none after Ulster. There are two in this photo alone. One you can see easily and the other is up in front of the red van we’re following.

“I think that’s Leo,” Mike said. He has a red van like this one.

The straps gave us plenty of fodder for discussion.

“How do you lose just one strap at a time?” I wondered.

“They were probably in a box and they jiggled out one at time,” Mike guessed.

That didn’t make any sense to me. “If the straps were all together in a box, wouldn’t the hooks get tangled and two or three would fall out together?” No place did we see more than one strap at a time.

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “That was my guess.”

“What if he left them lying on a trailer?”

“He wouldn’t do that. I was always careful to stow my straps before I left.”

Mike was attributing his diligence to someone who may not have been as careful.

We made an effort to count them on the way home but someone was picking them up. We only saw four.

But, speaking of Sayre, do you remember the big boxes that had a big free sign on them?

“I wanna know what’s in the boxes!” my best old friend said.

Well Trish, because you wanted to know, Mike stopped.

“What’s in them!? Don’t keep me in suspense!”

Christmas ornaments! The ones on top, the most immediate ones, were all broken. I saw some a little farther down in the box that weren’t broken but I don’t need any and I wasn’t digging.

Now we know!

Speaking of digging...

If you like to “dig” for deals, this place might be for you! It’s the first time that Mike and I ever stopped here. There’s so much stuff to look at! There’s a set of ten-foot-tall iron gates that I’d like to have. I don’t need them, it’d just be cool to have them standing guard beside the driveway, even if we never closed them. I mean, after all, who wants to keep jumping out of the car to open and close the gates?

In pet news...

I was standing at the counter, making popcorn and getting the nightly treats around for the girls, when I looked at Bondi and saw something in her eye.

“What’s that?” I said and cupped Bondi’s chin in my hand. I gently pulled down on her lower lid and out pops this fat, pink, slimy worm!

“Mike!” I yelled. “I think Bondi’s got a worm in her eye!”

How do you get that out? I wondered. I had visions of getting the tweezers and... how in the world am I going to get a hold of that and not poke her eye out! Maybe I could wipe it out with a cloth?

Mike came out to the kitchen. I picked Bondi up and put her on the table for closer examination.

“How did she get a worm in her eye?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know, but look at this.” I pulled down on her lower lid, it popped up, but when I released the lid, it went away.

I looked at her other eye and that’s when I realized it wasn’t a worm after all. “It’s her bottom lid,” I said. “It’s flipped up.”

I sent a picture to Dr. Lori on Facebook and asked, “Does she need to see you?”

“It looks like Bondi has developed a cherry eye. This happens when the 3rd eyelid cartilage is weak, and it flips the 3rd eyelid inside out. This is a cosmetic problem, but does not need to be corrected unless it causes irritation, redness, or infection,” she said.

Bondi was better the next day without any intervention from me.

See! I don’t know lots of stuff.

 

Speaking of bugs...

I was on the patio, getting a daily dose of sunshine with Bondi, when I noticed the thermometer was covered in a white powdery dust.

“A fine, white, chalk-like residue on outdoor plastic items is most likely sun-bleached oxidation,” Copilot said.

I pulled the bottom of the thermometer out and let it drop back against the post to see if the powder fell off. What fell off, or out, I should say, was an earwig. I thunked it again and another one fell out.

How many are under there? I wondered. I went inside and got a plastic dish tub. They won’t be able to crawl up the side of that, methinks.

I took the thermometer down and there was a nest of earwigs. I brushed them into the tub and found out I was wrong. They can climb the sides of the plastic tub! I thumped it and they fell back to the bottom.

I’ll drown them, I thought and I put some water in the tub. Some of them climbed out of the water and started up the sides. I tapped the side of the tub and they fell back into the water.

I remember reading about drowning fleas. One of the things they said to do is put a little liquid soap in the water. The soap breaks the surface tension, so the fleas can’t stay on top of the water and they sink right through it. I put some soap in and sure enough. Earwigs can’t climb out either.

Now, I have to confess.

There isn’t any real reason to kill these guys, other than the fact that they look creepy. They really won’t crawl in your ear and munch their way out the other side like in that episode of Twilight Zone.

They spend their days tucked away in damp, dark places and come out at night to clean up the world of dead leaves, decaying bits of plants, fallen insects, even a little fungus if they find it. They don’t bite and they don’t spread disease, so there’s no reason to be afraid of them.

“What about those pincers?” you ask.

Those pincers on their rear ends are called cerici and they’re used for defense against other insects, mating displays, and grabbing food. They rarely pinch humans and when they do it’s more of a “hey, move” than a real bite.

And now you know.

Speaking of fleas...

Our girls have been driving us crazy with all their scratching. Scratch, scratch, scratch, day and night! We were constantly yelling at them to stop.

“But it itches,” Mike would say.

“I know. I’ll let them scratch for a minute, then they gotta stop.”

I never thought it was fleas because they wear Seresto collars that are only three months old. They’re supposed to be good for eight months and we change them twice a year.

But guess what?

It was fleas! I took a comb to them and found fleas!

Then I went on a rampage. I gathered all the pet beds and started washing them. I can only get two at a time in the washer.

“From now on we buy the kind with removable covers,” I told my handsome mountain man.

I don’t want to overwhelm our septic system so I only washed two loads a day. On the second or maybe third day of washing beds (I bet we have at least ten of them scattered all around the house) I pulled out one that was especially heavy and just plain did not wash well. It had patches of dirt and hair in random places all over it. Rather than re-wash it, I took it outside and sprayed it with the garden hose. That worked fairly well. Then I hung it over the ladder, in the sunshine, to dry.

I heard Bondi barking. She was outside raising such a ruckus! I looked out the window to see her barking at the ladder with the bed draped over it. I laughed and grabbed my camera. Raini is faster than I am, and confused about what Bondi was barking at, she dashed past me and started barking and jumping at the birds on the feeders. Silly dog. Bondi turned to watch and I caught Raini mid-jump.

I took all the cover-ups from the couches and chairs and washed them. We changed the blanket on our bed. And I vacuumed. Two days in row then every other day. And let me tell you! Vacuuming this place is a job!

I combed the girls every time I caught them scratching and crushed whatever fleas I found. I’d use my thumbnail to push them against the comb and crush them.

I applied a topical flea medicine to help the Seresto.

And finally, I got a big jug of flea and tick spray to spray on the furniture that kills fleas on contact.

Does that mean if the spray doesn’t touch them, it won’t kill them? I wondered and Googled it.

“No. The spray dries quickly and leaves behind a residue that kills the fleas when they walk through it.”

Now we both know.

All my hard work has paid off and it’s given the girls a whole new lease on life. They’re more comfortable and not constantly scratching anymore.

“Where’d the fleas come from?” you wonder.

I’m afraid that’s my fault. I tend to forget about the cats and when I checked I found out it’s been a few months since I dosed them. I applied a topical to them and I’m able to comb Tiger. He rather likes it.

But Spitfire? That shit. He let me comb him for a while then out of the blue he nailed me and made my finger bleed. I was mad! “How about a little warning next time!” I reached for him to pick him off my desk and he growled and swatted at me again. I grabbed a stack of papers from my desk and swatted him, but instead of jumping down he backed up against the monitor, back arched, ears down, fur sticking straight out, paw raised to swat me again.

“Git down!” I said and let him have it with all the fury three sheets of printer paper can deliver.

He growled and held his ground.

I swatted him again and again and kept up a flurry of swats telling him to “Git off my desk!” until he finally did.

“You’re dead to me!” I told him. He’s on his own now, that’s for sure! No more combing for him!

And let’s not even talk about Blackie! If I so much as look at him wrong, he’s gone! It makes for interesting mornings at the breakfast table though, let me tell you!

“Did you come in for breakfast this morning?” I say (because he doesn’t come in every morning), and he jumps from the table and runs into the pantry. I’ll ignore him and he’ll come back and eat his breakfast.

He’s a weird cat. Very unforgiving of me because I have to worm him and put wet stuff on his neck every month (if I don’t forget — and trust me, I’ll never forget again!). But he likes Mike and’ll sit in the recliner with him.

But back to bugs...

I happened to spot this guy outside.

That looks like a roach, I thought and stomped him.

Then I felt guilty.

What if it was only a roach look-like and not a real roach?

Then I answered myself.

Tough. Guilty by association.

I did, however, do a little research on him.

This guy is a wood cockroach. So he is a roach! But these guys aren’t the bad guys of the roach world. The ones that infest kitchens, hide in cupboards, and multiply like crazy are the German cockroaches.

Wood roaches live in leaf litter, mulch, and old logs. If the light of the house attracts them and they come inside, they won’t last long — indoor air is too dry and bright and they die quickly. They’re fast runners and terrible hiders, which is why you’ll see them sprinting across the patio like they’re late for work.

And if I see another one?

He’ll meet the same fate as this one.

This one isn’t a bug, it’s a hummingbird. But I bet you knew that. I was pleased to see him sipping nectar from the volunteer primrose I let grow. Somehow that makes it all worth it, even though I was hoping to see one of those big sphinx moths that favor the evening primrose. 

          In the world of art...

          I added “Love” and a poem to the front of the framed watercolor I did for my friend Trish. Lettering isn’t my strong suit, especially small lettering, but I did my best with such an unforgiving medium as ink.

          Trish composed a different shorter poem for the front. 

          A hand held gently in the tender stillness, one soft squeeze, a reminder of the bond we shared. As strength faded, love remained. One last soft squeeze and a kiss as heaven called you home.

I even added brown paper to the back to make it look fancy.

I really wanted to paint something fun but I didn’t want to spend a long time drawing it out. So I did this one. All the shapes are simple and it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t perfect.

  

Let’s end with road pictures.

I do have two more stories as well as the pictures to go with them, but I’ll save them for seed.

Until next time, just know that you’re all in my heart.

Done!