Love

 

          “When I first got there to see her, she knew who I was,” Trish told me. “She couldn’t talk very well because the cancer was near her esophagus. I held her hand and we cried together. By the next day she could hardly talk at all. As the days progressed she got weaker and weaker. When I would remind her of our antics over the years she’d squeeze my hand. This is the last time I saw her and her niece took the picture. Connie only lived four days after I got there.”

          Connie was in Indiana. Trish was not, although she lived and worked there for many years. Several years ago she went back home to West Virginia where she is now.

          “When I left that last day I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. I know Connie could feel my love for her. I kissed her cheek and told her I’d see her soon. (Sigh.) Soon will have to be in heaven because she died the next morning.” Then Trish asked, “Will you paint this for me?”

          “Sure. I’ll give it a try. I’ll paint your hands and do a soft background.”

          “Noooo. Do the blanket, too. It was her favorite blanket.”

          Whether it was her favorite because of the characters or because it was a soft and comfortable blanket, I don’t know.

          I painted it — and honestly, it came out way better than I thought it would. Watercolor always surprises and delights me that way. It gets to a point where I think it’s gonna be trash. That’s when I quit and look at it again the next day. It’s not so bad, I’ll say to myself, or, I can always trash it if it doesn’t work out. And I keep working on it. Following through gives me experience if nothing else, but in this case, it came out.

          I sent Trish a picture of it.

          “I had to sit here a few minutes till the tears stopped, well almost stopped. I knew you would do an excellent job, but you have outdone yourself,” she said.

          “She cried? Why would you want a painting of something that makes you cry?” you ask.

          I know, right! I wondered the same thing, so I asked her.

          “This reminds me that Connie and I were dear friends and we were there for each other— even through difficult times,” she said.

          I made a few tweaks after this picture was taken but nothing major.

          “Would you like to title it?” I asked Trish.

          “LOVE. Let’s call it LOVE.”

          Then I thought I might have a frame. I pick them up from the thrift store for next to nothing and keep them for when I want to frame something.

          I dug through my stash and the frame I wanted to use was a framed inspirational quote from Hobby Lobby. It had a soft pink background with white words so stylized I had to look at it hard to read it. The leading s’s really threw me.

Find what sets your soul on fire, was what it said.

          I flipped it over. Fifteen ninety-nine was what the original owner paid for it. I gave a dollar. I ripped off the brown paper backing and pulled out a ridiculous amount of staples. But that was only the beginning. Under the brown paper was a foam board holding the glass against the frame and again, they used waaaaay more staples than I thought was necessary.

          “They really don’t want you taking it apart,” I told my handsome mountain man. But I stuck with it! I am nothing if not tenacious, stick‑to‑it‑iveness, determination, persistence, not giving up.

          The frame is about fourteen inches square and I pulled more than twenty staples holding just the foam board. Some I had to pry up with a screwdriver first and some I had use the needle-nose pliers. When I broke a staple in two, I switched to regular pliers. Twenty! Twelve would’ve been plenty, I’d’ve thunk. You know the past tense of think? Think, thank, thunk. Just something from my growing up days.

          The mat is seven inches square and even though my painting was larger than that, I thought we could cut the superfluous stuff from the bottom. You know superfluous? Unnecessary, redundant, needless. Kinda like my words sometimes.

          Tiger helped me frame it.

          And this is what it will look like. I don’t have it fully mounted yet because I wanted to get my client’s approval before I chopped it up.

          Trish agreed.

Then I had an idea. With all of that white matting, what if we put LOVE in fancy script at the top and a poem on the mat on the bottom?

          I told Copilot, my Artificial Intelligence buddy, the story of the painting and asked it to write a poem for us. Copilot made three short poems and I asked Trish to pick one.

“Can we use them all,” she asked. She liked them all! See! Superfluous! She wouldn’t’ve asked to use all three if she didn’t like all three!

A hand held once, a hand held last, love staying present even as strength slipped away. What remains is the part that never let go. In her fading grasp, love was the thing that stayed. A final moment, soft as breath — two friends holding on until one could no longer answer. Her hand grew still, but the bond never did. In that last quiet moment, friendship carried what her body could not. A final touch, a lasting love — held once, held always.

Not very rhymey, kind of long, and I’m not sure if I’ll get it all on or not. I guess it depends on how big I make the letters. But I’ll give it the old college try and take a picture for you. I know what I want it to look like, we’ll just have to wait and see if it ends up that way.

I hope to get it in the mail to her next week.

          Speaking of art...

          Have you ever heard of encaustic painting?

          “What is it?” I know you wanna know.

          Encaustic art is painting with melted beeswax. The wax is warmed and mixed with pigment, then applied with simple tools like a small iron, a heat gun, or a paintbrush. Because the wax can be reheated and fused, artists can build layers, embed bits of cloth or dried flowers, and create textures that feel almost sculpted. And it’s been around since ancient Greece. Artists were using heated beeswax and pigment more than two thousand years ago to decorate ships, create portraits, and preserve color.

          “Are you going to try that?” you ask.

          Nope. I’m not. I love, love, love watercolor. I’d just never heard of this before and thought it was interesting. I pulled two examples from the web for you, but you can always do a search for yourself if you’re interested.

          Speaking of Tiger (a while ago), he stars in several photos this week.

          The jar I use to rinse my brushes has become his own personal watering hole. I don’t let him drink it if there’s very much paint in it. I’ll dump it and get him clean water. Whether I’m painting or not, I keep the jar on my desk for him. And he’ll drink out of it so often that he sometimes has to stick his whole face down in the jar. When I see that I’ll top his water off for him.

          I had to laugh when I saw he had his foot in the cup I use for paint. Lucky for both of us, I hadn’t used it since the day before and the paint was dry — or I’d’ve had green paw prints all over my desk!

          I don’t buy cheese crackers very often but I did get a box this past week. I’ll put a handful in my popcorn at night or sit at my desk and eat a handful for a mid-afternoon snack.

This guy spends a lot — wait a minute. This guy spends A LOT of time on my desk and he saw I was eating something.

          “Meow?” he said.

          Let me translate that for you.

          “Can I have some?”

          “Okay, but you won’t like it,” I told him.

          Just like a contrary child, he had to prove me wrong. He ate one. Well, he ate some of one. The rest ended up in crumbs on my desk. And if Tiger thought the crumbs were too big, he’d pick it up and crunch it into smaller crumbs!

          Aye-yi-yi!

          When I saw him eating it I immediately thought of my handsome son Kevin’s cat. Eclipse liked something cheesy too, but I don’t remember if it was Cheetos or Doritos.

          But speaking of Tiger making a mess while he’s eating...

          He always leaves little chunks of cat food all over my desk. A couple of days ago he flipped his head and a small chunk went flying. I thought I heard it hit the floor, and that’s okay. Raini will eventually find it.

          Well! Let me tell you! I get down to the last swallow of coffee and felt a chunk in my mouth. I spit it back into the cup so fast! I looked and there, sitting on the bottom, was the flipped chunk of cat food. They don’t float.

          OY!

          Bondi continues to make sure I get a daily dose of sunshine — if the sun is shining! She won’t sit out by herself. I pulled my pant legs up and let these old gams soak up the sun.

          I was almost too honest and started to write, “...these hairy, old gams...”   That’s an old-timey word for legs and might be more than you wanted to know about me.

I haven’t shaved my legs in years, and I don’t wear shorts, because my house is always cool, and I won’t have to worry about the social stigma.

Some of you may not know that leg‑shaving wasn’t the norm until the 1930s when hemlines rose and nylon stockings became popular. Magazines and razor companies pushed the idea hard, and it gradually became the norm. Besides, who am I to buck a centuries‑old practice for some new‑fangled beauty rule?

Although I have to tell you, getting old has its advantages. Not many of them, mind you, but one of them is the hair on the human body becomes sparse. It gets less and less.

“What about when you wear your Sunday-go-to-meetin’ dresses?” you ask.

If I wear a dress to church, I wear my black stretchy exercise pants underneath. Problem solved.

          On this sunny afternoon, we were joined by both Tiger and Spitfire!

          We were out earlier one day and the grass sparkled with dewy diamonds!

One more Tiger story.

          I was at the kitchen sink and see that Tiger had something out on the walkway.

          Oh no! Methinks. He got Alvin!

          I didn’t want the dogs to get him if he wasn’t dead and I couldn’t outrun them.

Bondi was in the chair with Mike.

          “Tiger’s got something!” I called. “Don’t let Bondi get down.” Then I yelled for Raini. “Get in kennel,” I told her when she came. She’s obedient and did.

          I grabbed my camera and went out.

It didn’t take me long to realize what he was watching was a snake and not a half-dead chipmunk.

As I approached, Tiger moved between the snake and me. The snake followed his movements. I thought about going back to the patio for a stick to encourage him to move on, but before I could, Tiger circled him and the snake took off toward the flowerpots. Snakes can move fast, and just like that, he was gone. He’d better be smart about sunning himself on the stones or he’ll end up as a whip in the mouth of a Blue Heeler.

          I went back in the house and Mike let Bondi get down. I let Raini out and went back to washing the dishes. They knew something was going on and made a bee-line for the out-of-doors.

          I watched from the kitchen window as Bondi found the spot where Tiger and the snake were.

          “The snake was on the stone,” you say.

          You guys don’t let me get away with anything, do you?

          You’re right, the snake was on the stone when I saw him, but he came from somewhere and maybe he left a little somethin’-somethin’ in the grass. That’s the only thing I can think of that would catch Bondi’s attention like that.

          Whatever was there, Bondi liked! She liked it so much she wanted her whole body to smell like it. She rolled it all over one side, got up and sniffed to make sure there was still scent left, and rolled it on her other side!

          Aye-yi-yi!

          She’s gonna smell good when she comes in, I thought, but when she came in I couldn’t detect any odor. I’m sure her nose is a hundred times better than mine.

          Speaking of Bondi...

          She had a vet check this past week. She’s fine, by the way. There hasn’t been any change.

On the way to the vet Raini got down on the floor. She’s done this before and I don’t exactly know why she’s doing it.

“Is she feeling sick?” Mike asked.

That’s a fair question. Raini used to get carsick until she was about two and half years old and we taught her to get down and puke on the Weather Tech floor mats. But she hasn’t been sick in the past couple of years.

My only guess is she wanted the bed Bondi was in. Although, in the past if Raini wanted the other bed she’d simply take it, and crowd Bondi out.

          Speaking of critters...

          Something got up and knocked down my jelly feeder. It’s a two-dish system. The outer plate holds water and creates a moat to keep ants out. I set a smaller dish with jelly in the middle of it.

          The girls had already been out before I knew it was broken and for half a second I worried that they might’ve gotten into the grape jelly. Then I thought that whatever knocked it down likely ate the jelly.

          When I went out to pick up the pieces, I didn’t find any grape jelly.

          “Peg, I thought you were using juice from your canned fruit,” you say.

          I was but the birds stopped coming around and I really missed seeing the orioles. I went back to buying grape jelly.

          I’d only had it out for a couple of days when I saw the first Orchard Oriole return to the dish. They’re so pretty.

          Lastly, there’s a critter chewing on one of the trees beside the Kipps’ driveway.

          “A beaver,” Mike says.

          “I think it’s a porcupine,” I said. “I can put my trail cam out and find out for sure.”

          I may be wrong. My thinking is a quill pig gnaws on trees to keep his teeth short. A beaver cuts a tree down.

          In the kitchen...

          I made shrimp Alfredo this week. I bought the ingredients to make it for when my oldest and much-adored sister was here for a visit. We never got around to it — and the shrimp isn’t getting any younger!

          Making Alfredo sauce reminds me of my cute little redheaded brother.

          “I just buy it,” Richard said. “It’s too hard to make.”

          “It’s not hard the way I make it,” I told him, and when he was here, we made it together. The recipe I have came out of a Kraft Food magazine. They used to send them to me but I haven’t seen one in years!

          “How do you make it?” you may wonder.

          It’s just balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing, minced garlic, chicken broth, cream cheese, and parmesan cheese. I use frozen pre-cooked shrimp so I thaw it and add that at the end to warm it. Cook your noodles and you have an easy, delicious Alfredo. Sometimes I make it with chicken and broccoli instead of shrimp.

          I took road pictures on the way to the vet. After Bondi’s treatment, we went up to Sayre and did a little shopping and had lunch. Then we hopped over to Waverly and filled the car with gas. It’s a little cheaper in New York. Then we came home. Here are those photos.

          “It looks like rain,” I said as we crested a hill and headed to Evergreen. I unintentionally framed the church between two power poles. 

          And it did rain on us. 

          All along the roadside you’ll see invasive Chinese Knotweed flowering.

          “We should learn to eat it,” I told Mike.

          “You can eat it?” you wanna know.

          You can! Not the whole scraggly plant, mind you, but the tender parts — the young leaves, the shoots, even the flowers and berries. Folks in parts of Asia use it the way we might use rhubarb or sorrel, as a little sour note in soups or fish dishes. It’s one of those plants that looks like trouble but ends up being perfectly harmless if you know what you’re doing.

There it is — a ton of free food growing right under our noses, just waiting to be harvested, if we only knew.

Mike circled around the Dandy parking lot, both to kill a little time and to see what trucks were there.

          “Look at all the birds under the car,” I said.

          “They're getting out of the rain,” Mike said.

          I knew immediately he was right but that’s not what I thought was going on.

          “What did you think?” I just know you wanna know.

          To me, the car looked like it’d been through the mud and I thought they were looking for seeds or bugs that dropped off the car. We get closer and I could see that what I’d mistaken for mud was a rusty bumper.

We drove out of the rain as we headed to Sayre.

          Whatever is in these boxes has been there and free for a very, very long time.

          “I wanna see what it is,” I told Mike for the umpteenth time.

          “You don’t need it, no matter what it is,” he always replies.

          He’s probably right. I don’t need it. I just want to satisfy my curiosity.

          In the Walmart parking lot, I saw this on the side of a car.

          “But did you die?”

          I wondered what it meant.

          Then we drive behind the car and I see this one. 

          “My driving scares me too.”

          Now I get it.

           In Waverly we passed a house that’s burned. I counted at least five mailboxes so that’s up to five families displaced.

          “Why you always wanna take pictures of other people’s heartache?” Mike asked, and not for the first time either.

          I should’ve said something theological like, “So my peeps can pray for these people.” But I didn’t. I just took the defensive.

          “You watch people’s heartache all the time on the TV.”

          For the next few days, every time I caught him watching Cheaters, or People’s Court, or Parking Wars, or Cops, I’d say, “How come you always wanna watch other people’s heartache?”

         

          A window is broken at the Aldi store.

          “What happened?” I asked the cashier as we checked out.

          “The mowers caught a gas cap and threw it into the window.”

          We took a golf cart ride and I took more pictures for you.

          Our golf cart has taken to belching out great plumes of oily smelling smoke.

          Now I’m afraid.

          “It’s not going to quit on us, is it?” I asked.

          “I hope not,” Mike answered.

          “I guess we can always call the Kipps if it lets us sit.

          This is the soft pink of Joe Pye and the vibrant color of Purple Loosestrife.

          The field was full of the Joe Pye weed.

          I keep looking for Queen of the Prairie, but I’ve yet to see it.

“When I saw Queen of the Prairie, I knew school would be starting soon,” Momma told me once.

          A rain chain hanging from a tree.

          Cows.

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done! 

Homecoming

 

          Tux is home!

          Tux is finally home!

          It all started when our friend and neighbor Lamar Kipp had to have heart valve replacement surgery.

          “I called Kim and she said she could take him,” Miss Rosie said. “It wouldn’t be fair to leave him home alone all day while I’m at the hospital with Lamar.”

          That was 54 days ago.

          Then, when Lamar did come home from the hospital, they couldn’t bring Tux home for a variety of reasons. For one, with his chest having been recently opened, they couldn’t chance Tux jumping into Lamar’s lap. But the main reason is because he has become extremely cranky in his old age. He doesn’t like anyone else in the house. I know when Mike and I visit, Tux will let us in, but when we go to leave he’ll growl, bark, and even nip. He gets wild, Cujo-esque even. He has to be held back. What with visiting nurses and physical therapy people coming to the house several days every week, Tux would be a wreck, not to mention how upsetting it is for Rosie and Lamar.

          “I called Kim and told her what was going on. She said she can keep him as long as needs be,” Miss Rosie (or maybe it was Lamar) said.

          This past week, Lamar was released from both visiting nurses and PT.

          “Will you go get Tux for us Thursday morning?” Lamar asked.

          “Sure!” Mike said. He didn’t even hesitate.

          I took a few road pictures for you.

A committee of vultures. That’s what it’s called when they’re perched in tree.

Turkeys.

          I took a picture of the cross on the hill both ways. Coming and going.

          After going about a hundred miles out into the middle of Nowheresville, we turn off onto a dirt road.

          A couple of miles later we see the sign for the Kennels.

          We pull to a stop and I hear a big, deep, “WOOF!” in greeting.

          “Hey bud!” I say in return, and he continues to tell me all his troubles.

          Another dog barks. There on the left is Tux!

          “Hey Tux!”

          And Tux talks to us.

          “It looks like he’s ready to go home,” Miss Kim says as she walks towards us.

          She went in and brought Tux and his food out to us, then, once Tux was in the car, we had such a nice conversation with this lovely woman.

          “Is he the longest stay you’ve ever had?” Mike wanted to know.

          “Oh heavens, no. I once had a dog here for nine months. I couldn’t get them to come and get him and they wouldn’t pay me. He was a beautiful Doberman. She gave me every excuse in the book. My mother’s sick. My mother’s in the hospital. My mother died. I’m getting evicted and my kids don’t have anywhere to go. My husband’s in jail.” Miss Kim shook her head, repeating the litany of the excuses she heard for months. “I finally had to get the dog warden involved. He’s such a nice guy,” she added as an aside. “They had to sign the dog over to me.”

          I think, but I don’t know for sure, that she sold him to cover her expenses.

          I took more pictures on the way home.

          One of the things we noticed on our drive was the abundance of small branches and leaf bunches on the road.

          “It looks like a big truck went through here,” Mike said.

          I was remembering the storm from a day or two before where we lost power for a short time. “Maybe it was the storm that went through.”

          Then! Then we start to see several big trucks hauling oversized loads!

          “You were right,” I conceded. I should’ve known better than to question the observations of an old truck driver.

          We were behind Loud N Heavy for a good part of the way. This bull hauler is heading for the kill plant. We watched, and I held my breath, as he continually crossed the double yellow on the curves.

          You can smell the kill plant before you ever get there. “It smells like death,” I said as it came into view — a smell I always notice when we drive past.

          Circling overhead was a kettle of vultures. That’s what they’re called when they’re circling in the sky.

“See! Even the vultures know!”

          We pulled up to the Kipps’ house and Miss Rosie came out onto the porch. She had the biggest grin on her beautiful face!

          Opening the back door, I let Tux jump out and run up to Miss Rosie. She gave him such a big hug!

          Homecomings are so sweet.  

          Speaking of dogs...

          We had two visits to our vet two days in a row. The first day was for Bondi’s laser treatment, and the next day was for Raini’s checkup and rabies shot. I didn’t ask for them to try to do both on the same visit because I didn’t realize they were back-to-back days. Raini’s appointment had been scheduled weeks before.

          Settling up Raini’s bill and saying goodbye to the girls, Vicki said, “So, am I going to see you tomorrow?” She’s funny.

          “No, but I’ll see you next week!” Bondi has another laser treatment and a checkup with Dr. Lori.

          I tried to find different things to photograph for you.

          Look at all the Rose of Sharon!

          We usually leave plenty early. Mike likes to take a few minutes to circle around the Dandy and check out the trucks parked there.

          Across the road is a little restaurant.

          “Awww,” I said and snapped a picture of a heart-warming hug. Brother and sister meeting for breakfast? Clandestine lovers? One or the other coming home after a trip and meeting for breakfast? Who knows? The only think I know for sure is it was breakfast time.

          In the parking lot I see a small truck flanked by two semis.

          “He parked between two big trucks,” I said.

          “And he parked so he could get some sleep,” Mike said.

          Mike and I have been together so long it’s like he can read my mind. I was puzzling over Mike’s sleep comment when he said, “So the lights of vehicles coming in don’t shine in and wake him up,” he clarified.

          Between the time we went to the vet and went home, someone lost a tire all over the road. 

          Despite having made the trip two days in a row, I still missed a picture I wanted to show you.

          “What was that?” I know you wanna know.

          The naked ladies! I just don’t see them far enough in advance to get the picture so I went and got one from the internet for you.

          The first time I ever heard about naked ladies was when we were taking our old friend Margaret home after having dinner out. She pointed them out to me.

          “What are naked ladies?”

          Rein in your imagination there! Naked ladies are a lily with naked stems.

      

We decided to drive on into Dushore and visit Momma, Pop, and brother Mike. We also remembered our beloved Aunt Marie and family who’re there as well.

On the way up to the gravesites, I see a squirrel feeding in a puddle of... cracked corn? Maybe it’s cracked corn.

A little farther on, but still at the same house, just in a different part of the yard, were crows and squirrels feeding together.

 

The grass around the headstones isn’t as bad as it was when my oldest sister was here. I contacted Dean about it.

Dean apologized and said, “We only have two working and one student. They try to mow and are slow in trimming, which takes so much time. The problem is finding someone to work. It’s just about impossible. I’ll mention it to the guys.”

          Oh my gosh! Think about trimming around all those headstones! I never thought about it until that moment, which is stupid, I know, but I just didn’t give a thought as to how much time it would actually take to do that job! You’d just about finish and have to start all over again!  

 

          Coming back through New Albany we stopped at the roadside stand and picked up our first tomatoes of the season. 

          Then Mike took a side road and I took pictures of some of the houses and the old mill.

          On the Wyalusing New Albany Road sits a cow someone fabricated out of an old oil tank, some old milking equipment, and a milk can.

          “It’s getting rusty,” Mike said.

          And just like magic, the next time we drive past we see someone has painted it. They also took off the old milkers that used to be an udder and I don’t know what else. I could go back and find my old pictures of it but that sounds time consuming so I’m not gonna do that.

          At home, I chunked up the tomato we bought at the roadside stand and added a generous dollop of cottage cheese. This made me think of Margaret again because this was her favorite thing to eat in the summertime. It would be her whole meal. Us? We had a side sandwich and baby carrots with ours.

          It’s funny how some things bring back memories of people. Some who’ve gone on to be with the Lord, like Margaret, and some who are with us still, like my beautiful West Virginia friend Trish.

          When we were going out to pick up Tux, besides leaves and small branches all over the road, there was a plethora of dead critters, too.

          “Skunk,” I said when I got a whiff of the unmistakable aroma of Pepé Le Pew. It seemed like it stayed with us for a long, long time. Something Trish said a hundred years ago in a similar circumstance came to mind and I repeated it. “What, did we bring it with us?”

          “I guess so,” Mike said.

          An off-hand comment, said once, came to my mind more than forty years later and made me think of her.

 

          But back to food...

          A recipe came up on my computer and right now I can’t tell you where. I don’t know if it was Facebook or if it came in an e-mail from one of the food websites I subscribe to. At any rate it was for lemon pie and you know who loves lemon don’cha? Well, let me tell ya! My Miss Rosie loves lemon. It might not be her most favorite flavor (although I think it might be) but I know it’s right up there near the top of her favorites list.

          “And it only has three-ingredients,” I was telling her. “Lemon, sweetened condensed milk, and...” My mind drew a blank.

          “Eggs?” Lamar supplied.

          “Yes! Eggs!”

          “Don’t tease me,” Miss Rosie said.

          It was the next day that I made it. The filling only has three ingredients but if you make your own crust, it has a few more than that.

          Let me tell you! This pie was a challenge for this old woman. I do some crazy stuff sometimes whereas if I’d just stick to tried and true, I wouldn’t have near as many stories to tell you.

          “What did you do?!” You just know somethin’s comin’, don’cha?

          The crust is just what you’d expect. Crushed graham crackers, sugar, butter. Well dummy me gets the idea to put the butter on top of the cracker crumbs and sugar that were already in the bowl and let the butter melt in the oven while it’s preheating. I figure that’ll save me one dish to wash.

          I didn’t exactly know how long to leave it in there but when I could smell something burning I decided that would be a good time to check it. I pulled the bowl from the oven and the butter was indeed melted. The cracker crumbs against the edge of the bowl were browning (I’m not saying they were burning, but they probably were), the butter had its way with the sugar and was making candy. Things might’ve turned out differently if I’d’ve mixed the cracker crumbs and sugar together before I put the butter on and stuck it in the oven, but I didn’t. I got a fork and mixed it together, then took a taste. It didn’t taste burnt and the crunchy sugar chunks weren’t entirely unpleasant.

          I let the crust cool, per the instructions, and made the filing. I popped it back in the oven and set the timer for the low end of the suggested baking time. When the timer went off I opened the oven door. It barely had any color on top. I reached in and jiggled it. It seemed set — but it wasn’t brown at all! I took it out and set it on top of the stove.

Don’t they check these kinds of pies with a knife? Methinks. I inserted a knife into the center and it came out with pudding on it. Does that mean it’s not done? I wondered. It took me an embarrassing long time to decide to put it back in the oven for three more minutes of baking time. That would’ve been the top end of the suggested time. I started the oven, put the pie back in, and went to do the dishes. I thought the oven would’ve stayed hot. After a couple of minutes I hear the chime that indicated the oven has reached the set temperature.

If it wasn’t hot, then it needs more time, I thought. But dummy me never looks in the oven, just resets the timer for three more minutes. I guess we were about two-and-a-half minutes in when I could smell my pie burning — err, caramelizing. Yeah. Caramelizing. That’s what I’m calling it.

“I’m not saying it was burnt,” I told my sister on the phone.

I’d already started to cut it before I thought to take a picture. I thought if I tasted it and it tasted burnt, we could just scrape the top off and eat the rest!

Well, it didn’t taste all that bad, and if you add a big spoonful of whipped topping, it hides the color. Win-win!

I took a little more than half the pie down to Miss Rosie.

“I thought it was fine,” she said. “In fact it was better than fine.” And she eats it sans whipped topping! That means naked. No whipped topping for Miss Rosie. Nope. She doesn’t care for it. Sans means without, but I bet you knew that.

We’ve been having trouble finding the drink enhancer that Mike likes. It’s the Great Value brand, strawberry watermelon flavor, sugar free, and clear, drink mix. 

We’ve been looking for at least two, possibly three, weeks and both the Sayre Walmart and the Tunkhannock Walmart have empty shelves in the drink enhancer section. One of the missing ones is the one Mike likes. It’s a good thing we keep a decent size supply on hand because he’s not out yet. But it’s down to two and it is getting worrisome. So much so that we bought the same sugar-free flavor in packets but it’s not clear. He doesn’t like it as well.

Thursday night, Mike says, “You wanna go to Tunkhannock tomorrow?”

“What for?”

“Walmart.”

“For what?”

“Drink mix. I found it online and ordered it for pickup. I already paid for it and it’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Good. You found some. Does that mean it’s back in stock?”

          But Mike couldn’t guess.

 

Once again I tried to find different things to take pictures of for you.

The geese are flying on this foggy morning. I don’t know which direction they’re going, so don’t ask me.

A funny-looking boat. It has a very high bow, three angels blowing trumpets, and a Bible reference on the side. I looked at it and looked at it and tried to figure out what it might be all about. Why such a high bow? Why the Bible reference? We’re almost past it before I decided to take a picture. Even then I had to turn around and shoot it through the back side window.

Can you see it well enough?

We parked in a designated space at Walmart and let them know we were there. We only waited a couple of minutes before a young man brought our order out to us.

Raini barked viciously.

Once the young man scanned the pickup code on my phone, he gave me the bag and left. I opened it up, and it’s a good thing I did, too! “It’s not sugar free,” I told Mike. “And it’s not clear. Do you want me to return it and get the right stuff?”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

He dropped me at the door and I went to the service desk. “I can’t let my husband order stuff,” I told the gal. “It’s not sugar-free.”

They’re pretty good about returns and didn’t give me a hard time.

I went back to the drink section and they still didn’t have the kind he likes!

Aye-yi-yi!

They do have the packets of sugar-free strawberry watermelon but it’s not clear. He’s gonna have to drink that for a while until they get his favorite back in stock.

 

I did take a few road pictures for you. This one is one I missed putting in when we went to get Tux. If Word wasn’t such a pain, I’d put it where it belongs, but stuff would start jumping around and every page after that would be wrong.

I took a picture of this dark cloud as we drove towards Walmart. We get closer and it was only then I realized it was the top of a mountain peeking through.

Mike took a side road and I got pictures from off the beaten path.

We drove through McCarthy Equipment.

They had an auction there some time ago and now the place is neglected. The fields where the equipment sits used to be kept mowed. Now it’s all overgrown.

We drove through the little town of Laceyville. The road before you hit the business district has such tall weeds that they overhang the road and if you drive on your side, the weeds brush the side of your car. 

At home...

I’ve been watching this “weed” grow in my flower bed. I just wanted to see what it was.

About a week ago I thought it might be goldenrod or maybe ragweed but I didn’t investigate. I just waited patiently for it to flower.

Surprise!

It flowered and it’s a primrose!

Evening primrose opens at dusk and the pale yellow petals catch whatever moonlight there is. Indigenous peoples used the plant for bruises and skin irritations, and later folks even cooked the young roots, saying they had a peppery bite. The real fame came from its seeds — pressed into an oil rich in gamma‑linolenic acid, sold for everything from skin troubles to general wellness. Moths adore it, especially the big sphinx moths, and one plant can scatter thousands of seeds, which is why it shows up along every roadside and field edge around here. It’s a humble little thing, but it’s been useful, beautiful, and persistent for a very long time.

When I was taking pictures of the flower, I saw a crane fly tangled in a spider web. If the web had a spider, I would’ve left him to his fate, but it was an old web and there was no spider in evidence. I freed him and sent him on his way.

Crane flies look like giant mosquitoes but they are in fact harmless. They don’t even have working mouths, and they only live a few days — just long enough to mate and flutter around the porch light. But those few days matter, because they’re an important food source for birds, bats, and even bigger insects.

 

I changed the towel in Sugar’s condo this past week. It was just chock full of cat hair. I took it outside and shook it, which I immediately regretted. The wind carried all the cat hair back on me. I turned around but kept shaking it out. I didn’t need all that hair clogging up my washer. When I was done I looked like I had a cat hair coat on! Okay! Okay! That’s hyperbole.

I hung the towel up and sprayed it down hoping to get even more cat hair off of it. I don’t think that was very effective. However, it worked great as a butterfly magnet. I had a Red-spotted Purple and two White Admirals land on it.

We were just coming home from a golf cart ride when I see a funny looking bee hovering. I got off the cart and found this guy. It’s hard to tell from my photo but he’s got a fuzzy yellow tuft on his butt. I knew then what he was.

He’s a bee fly. They look like tiny bees, but they’re actually a harmless nectar‑sipping fly. The adults hover like little hummingbirds, while their larvae play a more dramatic role, sneaking into solitary bee nests and feeding on the developing young.

And I found a fuzzy, pale yellow caterpillar.

This is a Virginia Tiger moth caterpillar. When he grows up he’ll be a pretty white moth.

 

Let’s do a few bird photos next. 

I managed to get a couple shots of our resident hawk two different times.

I’ve had a couple of water stations out all summer, but this yellow finch is the first, other than bees, that I’ve seen use it.

I was standing at the kitchen sink and took the picture through the window and window screen. There’s something funny about this picture that hurts my eyes to look at it, but the bird came out clear enough.

We were just pulling out of the driveway when I see a Green Heron up on the powerline. I knew we had at least one visiting the pond but I can never sneak up on him to get his picture. You can tell he’s a Green Heron because he can extend his neck super long.

I’m ending this week with the painting I made for my best girl in Missouri. Every part of it carries someone she loves: the blue for her husband, the hummingbird for her father, the butterfly for her mother, the sunflowers for a dear friend now walking with the Lord, and the little ladybug for her beloved dog, Ladybug, who’s gone too. And of course, I worked in her favorite color — orange. Linda helped me design it, and she chose the title. My first officially named painting is “Whispers.” I’m slow to learn, but I didn’t realize artists title their work and write it on the back along with the date and their full name. Now I do.

 

Let’s call this one done!

Done!