No Time Clock

 

“I’m not doing it!”

“Not doing what?” you ask.

“I’m not punching no time clock!”

That’s what Alvin told me. And I believe him. Sometimes I see him at ten in the morning and sometimes I see him at two in the afternoon. But mostly I don’t see him at all. He comes, stuffs his cheek pouches full of almonds, walnuts, and cashews, then he’s gone.

“Expensive pet,” you say.

Not really. The nuts were getting old and I would’ve tossed them out anyway. Once they’re gone we’ll have to re-evaluate the situation. But we may not have to worry about that for long anyway.

“What makes you say that?” you wanna know.

In a word...

Tiger.

I’ve seen him in the yard several days this week doing what a cat does best. Waiting patiently for its prey. Usually, Tiger lies under the peony bush, but here he’s lying under the bird feeders. He’s definitely focused on Alvin’s feeding station, so I don’t wonder that he’s seen him there.

Alvin better be smart and vigilant or he won’t live long.

Speaking of Alvin’s feeding station...

Since I seldom see him, I usually just check to see if the dish is empty. This time there’s a Harvestmen on it.

Harvestmen are also called daddy longlegs or shepherd spiders, as the Europeans called them because of their long, staff-like legs.

These guys are not spiders, they’re Opiliones. They don’t spin silk or build webs, and they don’t have venom or fangs. Instead, they live gentle little lives as nature’s cleanup crew, nibbling on soft decaying plant matter, tiny insects, and fungi while exploring the world on legs that can stretch ten times longer than their bodies.

“Is he eating the nut?” you wonder.

I wondered the same thing but he’s not. He’s using the dish as a perch, getting out of the sun, exploring (they’re curious wanderers), or just plain resting. They often sit still for long stretches of time.

Something that doesn’t sit still very long are hummingbird moths. I took Raini out one day to see what we could see. The bergamot patch was my first stop.

Goldenrod is blooming and abundant! That means there’s lots of it! And that’s a good thing because it’s one of the most important late-season nectar sources for bees, butterflies, and migrating monarchs.

In folk medicine it was used to soothe sore throats, support kidney and urinary health, ease inflammation, and make teas and tinctures.

Goldenrod and ragweed are often confused because they bloom at the same time. Ragweed is what people are allergic to, not goldenrod. The pollen in goldenrod is heavy and sticky and carried by insects, not the wind. So it doesn’t blow into your nose the way ragweed does.

 Our next stop was the pond where I captured a picture of a Blue Dasher dragonfly. These guys patrol the pond and the surrounding fields and happily eat mosquitoes, gnats, and flies all day long!

Look at these eyes!

“Traitor!” they seem to be saying.

We’re on our way to the vet and I think she knows it. Although, I’m not sure why she’s so unhappy. She’s only going for her weekly laser treatment.

“How’s she doing?” you ask.

I don’t see any improvement over the last two weeks. She has a roach back now and I suspect it’s from dragging herself when she was paralyzed. I’m hoping it’ll go away but I’ll have to remember to ask the vet about it when we see her later this month.

Bondi also swings her right leg around rather than bend her knee in a normal walking way. I don’t know what’s going on with that.

Lately Bondi has been going out the pet door but she won’t come back in it. She’ll sit outside the door and bark at me. If I open the door and she comes in, all is good. That’s what she wanted. If I open the door and she stands there begging me with her eyes, and the sun is shining, I know she wants to sit in the sun. Why she won’t lay out there by herself, I don’t know.

We were soaking up sunbeams one day when something falls into the grass near Bondi. She gets up and smells it but has no interest in it. I could see from my seat that it was a caterpillar.

I decided you wanted to see it so I got a purple measuring cup I use for crafts that was sitting on the patio table and scooped him into it.

Now, I didn’t automatically touch him because I wasn’t sure what he was and some caterpillars have hairs that can cause redness, itching, mild swelling, and a rash similar to fiberglass irritation. Not dangerous, just uncomfortable. And I sure didn’t need that!

I was right to be cautions. This is a Tussock Moth caterpillar and they do have the irritating hairs. These moths are not picky eaters. Tussock moth caterpillars feed on apple, birch, oak, willow, cherry, and many garden shrubs. They can defoliate small trees if there are a lot of them, but usually they’re just part of the natural cycle.

Their adult form is surprisingly plain compared to the caterpillar. Female tussock moths are wingless, staying near their cocoon to lay eggs, while males are small, grayish‑brown moths that fly around looking for mates.

Birds, parasitic wasps, and other predators rely on them as a food source. And despite their flashy looks, they’re native and have been here long before us.

More than you wanted to know?

I do try to accommodate the girls when I can. Often I’ll play a little ball with Raini while Bondi is sunbathing. But if it’s hot we don’t play long. We’ll go sit on the patio with Bondi.

On another sunny afternoon, Raini, lying in the shade nearby, emits a growl low in her throat, then a bark. I look to see what’s bothering her and she’s looking out beyond the fence. Standing there watching us was this beautiful guy.

I was really surprised the girls didn’t run barking for the fence, which allowed me to get a few photos before we heard a car approaching and the buck turned tail and ran.

Two butterflies came to the patio and one flitted past Raini. She snapped at him but missed.

“Don’cha hurt that butterfly!” I admonished her.

I got a few shots of the Red-Spotted Purple butterflies. One landed in the grass and this one settled on one of my “natural” bird perches.

I could show you a “better” shot of him, but I rather like this one.

At least four days in a row we’ve heard a hawk circling the fields near our house, calling. And calling. And calling!

“Why would he do that?” I bet you’re as curious about it as I was.

There are several reasons. Calling to a mate, warning a stray hawk, but most likely it was because they have teenagers nearby.

When the young hawks fledge they’re called branchers. They’ve left the nest but are still awkward in flight, going from branch to branch, and begging for food. The parents call to encourage them and also to keep track of where they are.

Despite my best efforts, I didn’t get a decent shot of him.

I did get a shot of the DNR truck and trailer passing us when we were out on the golf cart. He’s hauling live traps. I assume he’s going back to the building on the state game lands not far from our house.

How about some road pictures?

They’re working on the road between us and Dushore.

I spot some pretty red bee balm as we went through the construction site but I didn’t get my camera up in time.

“On the way back I want to get a picture,” I told Mike.

Mike slowed and I took the shot.

We were first in line and followed the pilot truck until he peeled off.

There were big trucks hauling loads in both directions and I saw more than one that didn’t have their load covered. “Why don’t they cover their loads?” I asked Mike. “Is it hard to do?”

“It’s a lot easier now that they have automatic rollers than it used to be when you had to do it manually.”

Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?

In the kitchen this week I made homemade rolls. The recipe makes sixteen and I don’t need sixteen. I shared them with the Kipps and froze the rest. So far I’ve had a meatball sandwich and chicken salad sandwich with cucumbers. Both were yummy!

We stopped at a roadside stand and bought cucumbers, zucchini and yellow squash for twenty-five cents apiece.

I’m not much of a pasta eater. Never have been. But Mike enjoys a dish of spaghetti from time to time and I would have one with him, at least the first night. I would freeze the rest and maybe eat something else when he wanted spaghetti again.

Then Mike switched to whole wheat pasta for his health. Regular pasta is tolerable but that wheat stuff is awful! I cannot eat that! Nope. Can’t do it. I detest it!

I know! I know! Them’s some strong words! Let me assure you there are some strong feelings behind them strong words.

And that, my loves, is why I bought zucchini and yellow squash.

I washed and shredded it.

I put it in a strainer and let as much liquid drain as would.

Transferred it to my flour sack cloths, then onto a baking sheet in a thin-ish layer.

I baked it for twelve minutes, let it cool for a few minutes, then put it into portion cups and into the freezer.

This is what I’ll eat under spaghetti sauce and meatballs. Maybe I’ll even pull out one of the rolls and make a cheesy garlic bread to go with it the next time we have spaghetti.

That ate up an afternoon. Maybe not all afternoon but enough that I didn’t want to take on another project before popcorn and recliner time.

Oh! Popcorn! That reminds me! One of the websites I subscribe to (for free) is Word Trivia. They give you a word and four possible answers. A lot of times I only play if I already know the word or think I know it. Sometimes the word intrigues me and I guess at the answer. Sometimes I’m right, sometimes I’m not.

Spoonerism came up one day. I didn’t know what it meant so I played.

Do you know what it means?

The choices are stealing, singing, mixing up letters or words, cooking.

I don’t remember now what I guessed.

Spoonerism is a linguistic phenomenon where the initial sounds or letters of two or more words are swapped to create humorous or nonsensical phrases.

That happens to me a lot! Well, not so much now as it used to. But one word you do not want to mix the letters up in is popcorn. You get copporn.

Hmmm. Nope. Don’t wanna mix them up ever again.

I still remember one from my growing up days that Pop used to say. I won’t tell you the whole thing but it starts with, “Siss on you pister...” It ends with the last two words switching first letters. One is much, the other is the f-bomb. So even though I wouldn’t technically say it, I don’t want to offend anyone.

 

“What did you paint this week?” you wanna know.

What did I paint?

Well, I can tell you what I didn’t paint.

I didn’t paint any practice pieces.

I am working on a commission and I’m about 85% done with it.

I knew fairly early on that I wasn’t happy with it but I persevered. Stuck to it, don’cha know.

          I got to this point, a point where I’m down to the nitpicky details, and I’m wondering if I should even go on.

          I shared it with some of my peeps but I didn’t tell them what I thought was wrong with it, only that I was thinking about scrapping it.

          “Why would you scrap it? Perspective? Your shadows and highlights are well done - not muddy or overworked. And doing a portrait with glasses isn't easy, but I think it looks fine,” my friend Jody said.

          She loves me.

          No one picked up on what I thought was wrong with it but two people say I got his chin wrong. One of those two was the client who also said his lips are too pursed.

          I don’t even know what she means by that.

          My handsome brother-in-law said to get rid of the guy because the Porsche is perfect!

          I don’t know about perfect. It’s my first car and he could tell it was a Porsche without me telling him, so that’s a win.

          “What is wrong with it?” you ask.

          The same thing that I hated in all the portraits I’ve done thus far.

          The shadows.

          I am not happy with the shadows on the faces. To me they look dirty, like actual dirt as opposed to shadows. Obviously I’m the only one who thinks that. I used the blue for shadows that every portrait painter I’ve watched said to use. Ultramarine blue. I simply don’t like it. Copilot suggested I use indanthrone blue instead. It’s sometimes spelled indanthrene, and could be called royal blue.

          I ordered it. If it doesn’t suit my eye, I don’t know what I’m gonna do!

 

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!

Just As Well

 

It’s just as well that I have next to nothing to talk about this week.

“Why’s that?” I know you wanna know.

Why’s that? It’s because this weekend is the annual rummage and bake sale at our church.

I spent a day baking lemon bars, coffee cake, and no bake cookies.

I even ordered fancy-schmancy 6”x6”x3” paper boxes with windows to put them in.

I didn’t order them soon enough and as sometimes happens with Amazon, the delivery was delayed. They were supposed to be here a day before I needed them but they didn’t make it. I’d have to package them the old-fashioned way. Plastic wrap for the save! It won’t look as pretty but it’ll have to do.

  

I also spent a few hours several days in a row cleaning out clothes that I’ll never wear again. I’d found a really nice pair of slacks with a matching vest that I wore thirty years ago. I held it up and it’s hard to believe I was ever that small. Now I wouldn’t be able to fit one leg into it!

Speaking of too small...

I found a whole drawer full of teeny-tiny pieces of cloth with strings attached. No one would want these. And you know that’s the truth! I piled them up and snapped a picture. I thought you might get a kick out of it. Then I trashed them.

I went through dresser drawers and closets. Shirts with spots went into the trash to keep my underwear company. Shirts I haven’t worn in forever but were still in good shape, I washed. As I went through things I found jeans, shorts, sweaters, scrubs from my care-giving days, hats, gloves, scarves, jackets, and even a couple of sets of bed sheets I could get rid of.

I packed a couple of boxes with dishes I haven’t used in a really long time and couldn’t see myself using again. Might just as well get rid of them, I thought.

I packed a box of jigsaw puzzles — and there’s ten times that many still out in the old craft room.

Another box I packed with shoes.

And another box with craft stuff. Watercolor paints I won’t use because I’ve upgraded to better paints. Someone else might just as well use them.

I don’t know how many loads of laundry I did, but I wanted things to be nice and fresh. I don’t know how many boxes I packed because I didn’t count that either. But one thing’s for sure. It felt really good to get rid of stuff and have it benefit the church.

 

Bondi continues to improve. I watched her run across the garage on her way to the car and her backend went completely sideways and almost overtook the front end! She didn’t fall but it did make me laugh.

We’re also continuing laser treatments for her. She had a treatment this week. Pulling into the parking lot at the vet’s I spot something I thought was a fungus growing on the end of the fence. As we got closer I see it’s just a hair clip someone lost and someone else put up there for them to find.

          “The trees are turning yellow,” I said as we were coming up Welles Mountain.

          “It’s probably stress,” Mike said. We sorely needed rain.

          Finally the rain came.

          All at once!

       “It would be better if it was a slow, soaking rain,” Miss Rosie said.

“It’s too late for most of the flowers I’d planted,” I told her. “I was counting on God to water them.” I love having flowers to attract the butterflies and hummers. I’m just not good at tending to them.

 

          Speaking of flowers, Deptford Pink is blooming. Actually, it’s been blooming, I just haven’t taken a picture until now.

My hydrangea bushes are starting to bloom.

I planted two little bushes at the base of the utility pole, even though you’re not supposed to, because I thought they’d just die like most all of the trees and bushes we’ve planted do — did.

Instead, it seems to be flourishing! It’s huge!

“You can trim that back,” Patti, my oldest and very much loved, sister said.

“I know,” I replied. Then turned around and showed her my rose bush. It was doing well and had big long whips on it. “I cut my roses back,” I told her. Now it just looks short. I only got one or maybe two tiny yellow roses on it this year and now, with so little rain, it looks sad. I should’ve left it alone.

Mullein is blooming. I never thought mullein flowers were especially beautiful but these are.

Mullein is a biennial plant, which means it’s a plant that takes two years to grow from a seed to fruition and die. It starts as a low, fuzzy rosette in its first year and then shoots up a tall flower spike in its second. The soft, velvety leaves are one of its most recognizable features — early settlers even used them as makeshift shoe liners and bandages.

The tall, dried stalks were once dipped in tallow and used as torches, earning names like “witch’s candle” and “hag taper.” The yellow flowers open in the morning and close by afternoon, and small native bees often sleep inside them. Later in the season, goldfinches perch on the dried seed heads to eat the tiny seeds.

Historically, mullein was widely used in folk medicine. The dried leaves and flowers were made into teas or syrups for coughs, chest congestion, and sore throats, and mullein flower oil was a long‑standing traditional remedy for earaches. The soft leaves were used in poultices for minor skin irritations, and in some traditions the dried leaves were burned and the smoke inhaled for asthma or bronchial issues.

Something new this week is this guy! Spitfire has been getting on my desk and eating Tiger’s food.

“It’s the same food that’s in his dish over there,” I told Mike. I don’t know if it’s because it’s on my desk or in a different dish that makes it more attractive to them.

Then, instead of getting down, Spitfire stretched out for a nap.

Mostly I tolerate a sleeping cat on my desk. Spitfire thought his pillow was too lumpy and knocked my brushes to the floor. After the second time of picking them up I put them someplace else.

          I am working on my commission, which you’ve yet to see, and it’s a serious piece. Sometimes I just wanna paint something for fun. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that also means that I have to draw it first. So I pick simple stuff that won’t take long to draw.

          My camera always makes the yellows pop. They’re not this obvious when you look at it in real life.

          I painted a second practice piece, with a little help from Spitfire.

The little painter girl is holding a brush in her left hand but Spitfire has his foot over it. I could’ve taken another photo but this one is too cute not to show you.

          “You should’ve given her curly hair,” my best old friend said. “She’d look like a little Bob Ross.”

          Miss Rosie had a different take on it.

          “That’s the way I look after I paint,” she said.

          I’m more than halfway through this old book I’m painting in and I’m thinking about doing something different.

          “Like what?” you ask.

          I don’t know. I hate the thought of closing the book up and putting it on a shelf with the other sketchbooks, but what else is there to do with them? I could paint on watercolor paper and hang them. But where? Wall space is at a premium in my house. And besides, do I really want them thumbtacked to the wall?

          Sigh.

          I guess it’ll end up on the shelf with the others.

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!

Forgetting

 

I do the same thing every morning. If it’s a shower day, I shower. Dress. Take Bondi outside to do her “bidness,” wipe her little cootchie (or I’ll get a wet spot on my shirt!), put her in her kennel where she’ll sleep for a few more hours.

Before Bondi got hurt, I didn’t do that part. Nonetheless, it has worked its way into my routine.

I’ll turn on the TV in the kitchen for the morning news. Sometimes I listen, sometimes it’s just on.

Then it’s on to the cats. If Spitfire’s in the house he’ll loudly demand his breakfast — RIGHT! NOW! I show him who’s boss! I don’t hurry. I just go about my routine. I put a little water in the microwave to warm. I retrieve the cat food dishes from the floor, and this part can be a little tricky. Loudmouth is sitting on the very edge of his feeding station (a butcher block that stands at the end of the counter) and besides his incessant demanding, he’ll swipe at me if I get too close. I set the dishes at the end of the counter, on the other side of the microwave. Then I go for Sugar’s food dish.

Sugar’s an old gal. She’s perfectly happy to sleep the days away in her condo and have a servant bring her food, water, and carry away her litter.

Raini is paying close attention to me at this point. Sugar never eats all of her food and I set the remnants on the floor for her. She does a good job cleaning out the dish.

I skirt the claws reaching to grab my arm as I round the butcher block and head to the pantry for the canned cat food. On the way past the fridge I open the door to see if there’s a half can left from yesterday. If there is, I take it out. If there’s not, I need two cans from the boxes that sit on the floor.

Boxes. Plural. I have two boxes of canned cat food. Shreds for the inside cats, pâté for Hatch. Don’t ask me why. It’s just the way I do it. I carry them back to where I work, where the cat food dishes are waiting, and the microwave is now announcing the one-minute water is ready.

I take the hot water out and set it nearby.

Right above the microwave is where Mike’s cup lives. I open the cupboard, take the cup, fill it with water, drop a tea bag in, pop it in the microwave, and set it for two minutes.

Every morning. My routine never varies much.

Until this morning.

I draw the water for Mike’s morning cup of green tea, set it in front of the canister that holds his tea bags, and instead of getting a tea bag, I pick up my jar of coffee and drop a spoonful of crystals into his cup of tea water. They float in cold water.

Aye-yi-yi!

I’ve done this before, but not often.

I dumped it and start again.

Now I’m back on track.

Sometimes the other two cats are here, sometimes they’re not, and sometimes they wander in while I’m making them breakfast. Tiger lounges on the table like he’s the king holding court. Blackie jumps onto a chair so he can take his place next to him. Sometimes Tiger lets him, sometimes he’s feeling a little mean and swats him back to the floor.

Nothing like a little drama in the morning.

I open the drawer under the microwave and get the can opener.

“Don’t the cans have pull tabs to open them?” you say.

Yes. Yes, they do. Using the pull tabs leaves a lip and a sharp edge that cuts my rubber spatula and no matter how hard I try, there’s always cat food left under the lip, and it’s too expensive to waste. I use the can opener.

I portion the shreds between Spitfire, who’s still yelling at me, Tiger, Blackie, and Sugar. I always give Spitfire the lion’s share for two reasons. One, because he’s older and seems to need it more, and the other reason is because Tiger, Blackie, and Sugar never seem to eat all the food I do give them. Sometimes Tiger won’t even touch his.

I guess he doesn’t like the flavor.

Too bad, so sad. There’s always dry food available to them.

Once I have as much scraped out as I can, I dump a little hot water from the cup to the can and run it around with my spatula. There’s no use to wash it down the drain where it does no one any good. I’ll add a little of the dregs to each of the dishes and stir, under the advice of the vet. It gives them more moisture and prevents crystals forming in their urinary tracts.

Then I turn to Hatch’s bowl. Somewhere along the line I’ve put about a cup of dry food in his bowl. If I haven’t already done so, I’ll do it now. Then whatever’s left from rinsing out the cat food can, I’ll dump in his bowl, add the half can of leftover food along with more hot water and mix it a little. This gives him a warm, soupy mixture. He never complains.

Empty cans get a final rinse and set on the sideboard to drain before being tossed into the recycle bag. I don’t need rotting cat food to stink up my house.

At this point I’ve listened to Spitfire complain long enough and give him his dish of food. He tucks in and quiets down. Tiger and Blackie, who wait more patiently, get theirs.

Mike’s tea is done. I pull it from the microwave, set it aside, and put a cup of water in for my coffee. Poke three and the microwave starts. Three minutes. It’ll be done before I’m ready to sit down with it.

I pick up the two remaining bowls of cat food. One gets dropped off for Sugar, the other goes out to Hatch.

I push the cat room door open and hold it with my foot. Before I go in I reach into the bag of dry food that sits outside the door and get a scoop of kibble for his dish. I never put the bag inside the cat room or the wild things that visit in the night would have it empty in a week — or less!

Sometimes Hatch is waiting for me.

If he is I greet him with a cheery, “Good morning, Hatch!”

I swap bowls, picking up yesterday’s empty and replacing it with today’s full one.

Sometimes he wants me to pet him. I can tell because he purrs as he winds himself around my leg. If I pet him and he deems it not long enough, he’ll swat my foot.

Sometimes Hatch doesn’t want me to touch him and he sits just inside the door and won’t come close.

Most times he just tucks into his breakfast.

Sometimes I pet him.

Sometimes I don’t.

When Hatch isn’t waiting for me I open the outside door, surprising the deer feeding there, and yell, “HATCH!” Wait a second and repeat, “HATCH!” If he’s near and hears me, he comes trotting around the side of the building like he knows his name.

Once Hatch is taken care of for the day, it’s back into the house I go. In the pantry is a thirty-gallon trash can where I keep sunflower seeds out of reach of the mice and bears. Not that I have bears in the pantry, mind you, but I did lose a bucket of sunflower seeds to a bear one year when I used to leave it on the patio.

I get a scoop of seeds and head for the kitchen patio. Opening the door can be tricky. Every time I go out, someone thinks it’s time to play ball. Raini barrels past me. I’ve learned to rattle the handle and wait. She’ll dash out the pet door thereby saving me from being bowled over.

Raini is smart though. When Tiger scratches at the door to come in, all I have to do is announce, “I’m letting kitty in!” Raini doesn’t move from her bed.

The birds are usually up and their morning songs bring a smile to this old, wrinkled face.

Raini finds a ball in the yard, brings it, and drops it at my feet.

Fill a feeder, toss the ball. Fill the other feeder, toss the ball. Stand there for another minute or two tossing the ball.

Now my thoughts are turning to one of the most important parts of my day.

I go back in, deposit the birdseed containers back in the bin, put the lid back on (sometimes I forget to do that, too), and head to the computer to tap out a morning love note.

The microwave beeps.

I stood there puzzled. For the life of me I could not remember what I had in the microwave! I opened the door and there was my coffee cup, the water hot and ready for a spoon of crystals.

Heavens to Murgatroyd!

Coffee!

And I had forgotten!

I know forgetting is a part of getting older but I forgot two things on the same morning! Putting coffee in the tea water I chalk up to distraction. But my first cup of coffee for the day? How could I!

Now I’m worried!

I really don’t want to get dementia. Then again, I bet no one does.

 

I got my new set of expensive Schmincke watercolors this week. They came wrapped. I had to unwrap each one and put ‘em back in the tin.

Is a half pan a half pan, the world around? I wondered. Just for kicks and grins, I got one of my other pans of paint and compared the size.

It looks to me like the outside is the same size. The inside? Judge for yourself.

“Have you used it yet?” you wanna know.

I have started a commissioned piece and I’m not as thrilled with this expensive paint as I had hoped I’d be. Maybe there’s a learning curve. Maybe I should’ve done a practice piece or two. I don’t know. But I’ll stick with it for a time because the light fastness is better in the expensive paints. Although my set of Phoenix watercolors rates almost as well as these do.

 

Speaking of art...

We were at the traffic light waiting to cross the Veterans Bridge to Wysox when I see these paintings propped up in a storefront. I don’t know anything more about it than that.

We had gone to Walmart after Bondi’s laser treatment to pick up triple flavor kabob treats for the dogs, a few grocery items, and lunch for us. Mike waited in the car with the pups while I did the shopping.

Oh! Here’s a tip for you. Don’t leave the shopping list in the car! I did and I wasn’t going back out for it. When Mike waits in the car, he drops me off at the door then finds a place to wait. I didn’t know where the car would be. Besides, I thought I could remember everything.

“Why didn’t you call Mike and have him read you the list?” you ask.

That’s a great idea — except my shopping list is on my phone — in the car!

I ran the list in my head, chicken tenders for Mike, a hot dog for me. I stopped at the deli and got lunch out of the way first. I have my priorities straight, don’cha know. A bag of baby carrots. Yogurt for my starter to make a fresh batch of homemade yogurt. Milk. Cat food, both dry and canned. Glucosamine Chondroitin and Tylenol PM for Mike. Laundry pods.

“I thought you used homemade laundry soap,” you say.

Most of the time I do. Right now I’m washing things for the church rummage sale and the Gain Flings have a long-lasting scent that will let everyone know things were freshly laundered.

I checked out, went out, and stood in front of the store for a moment. Then I spotted Mike and headed his way. After the bags were loaded I checked what I bought against the list. I came out with everything but the kabobs! OY!

Mike drove to the back of the parking lot and parked in a tiny patch of shade while we ate lunch.

An empty plastic bag danced its way across the road.

“That’s why they outlaw those,” I said and tipped my chin in the direction of the bag.

Mike had been watching the action so he knew what I was talking about. “Yep.”

I almost always take my own shopping bags in with me. After I empty the bags at home, I put them back in the car.

“I’d forget them in the car,” you say.

You only have to go back for them a couple of times before you remember to take them in with you.

 

I saw a license plate I’ve never seen before.

“Where’s it from?” you wanna know.

It’s a Choctaw Nation tribal plate.

Across the top it says CHAHTA SIA HOKE! AI says it translates to “I am Choctaw!” Chahta means Choctaw, Sia is I am, and Hoke is an emphatic ending similar to indeed or truly. So the whole phrase means, “I am Choctaw, truly.”

You probably see your share of them out west but here in our beautiful state of Pennsylvania, it’s the first I’ve ever seen.

Speaking of seeing...

I saw a hawk atop a pole. By the time I got my camera up, he’d launched himself.

And the same for this Blue Heron. He was in our creek but by the time I’d gotten the camera up, he’d taken flight.

There’s a small business in Wyalusing that deals in pallet re-sales. They’re transitioning from home goods to food. Shannon, the gal managing the place, is getting rid of stuff that doesn’t or didn’t sell. One of those things was a ton of whiteboards.

It’s kinda funny.

“What is?” you ask.

Just this week I was thinking about using the projector I bought to transfer an image to my watercolor paper. I got to looking around and there isn’t any wall space for me to be able to do that. Then these come up on Facebook. “Free!” It said. “All sizes. Come and get them.” That would be the perfect thing for me.

“On the way home can we stop and get one?” I asked Mike.

By then they were all gone. “I posted that Monday and they were all gone in a few hours,” Shannon said. We were there Thursday.

I was on my way out when she sees one leaning against the wall. “You can have that one. I don’t know why they didn’t take it unless it’s because the others were glass.”

It was bigger than what I would’ve chosen if I’d’ve had a choice.

And it wouldn’t fit in the car.

We went home, put the perishables in the fridge, got out Big Red, and went back for it.

It’s big.

“Where are you going to put that?!”

I don’t know just yet. But it was free! I’m thinking I can stand it at one end of the utility room and put my projector at the other end.

Something that wasn’t free and was, as a matter of fact, expensive, are the parts to turn a section of fence into a gate. Two hinges, and you have to buy the bolts separately, and a latch was over forty bucks! Where have I been?! I was thinking ten or fifteen would cover it.

Mike had to get down on the ground to put the bottom hinge on and nothing is ever easy for the Do-It-Again Luby’s. We bought the wrong size hinges. It’s too far to take them back and we wanted to do the job now, not next week.

“I’ll just cut one of the connectors we took off in half and put that in,” Mr. Make-It-Work said.

Mike was right. Other than having to get up and cut them, it worked beautifully to make the too-big hinges fit.

We still have to figure out a way to make the latch work because the other end doesn’t have the same kind of fence or post. We used a piece of wire to keep it closed until we can get back to it.

Hinges make it so much easier to bring his riding mower in when he mows the dog run for me.

 

Speaking of our fence and making things work...

Here’s that handsome Spitfire coming across the bridge we made for the cats. Two logs stood tee-pee style, one on each side. Our cats have claws and no problem climbing the bridge. Of course, if you have a Blue Heeler nipping at your tail, you don’t need a bridge. You can practically clear the fence in a single bound!

Do you remember when I got all those strawberries a while back? It was a deal something like buy two get three free. I turned all of it into pie filling with sugar-free Jell-O using Miss Rosie’s recipe. I used some of it right away and put about five cups in a bowl and tossed it into the freezer. With Lamar needing special attention at this time, I know Miss Rosie isn’t able to keep up with making them desserts, so I got the bowl of strawberry pie filling out and thawed it.

“It’s watery!” I told AI.

“Gently heat it, but don’t boil it,” Copilot advised. “It will reactivate the Jell-O.”

What did I have to lose? Nothing!

I blind baked my pie crust according to the package directions. And I didn’t have to put beans or rice or anything in the shell. I just had to poke it full of holes. It works. Crust cooled, strawberry filling cooled, I combined the two and chilled overnight.

It worked!

Copilot isn’t always right but it was right this time.

This wildflower is Bouncing Bet or Soapwort. The leaves and roots make a mild soap that’s been used for centuries.

The name “Bouncing Bet” supposedly refers to a cheerful washerwoman (“Bet”) who used the plant for laundry. It was brought to America by European settlers specifically for washing textiles. If you shake a jar of water with crushed leaves, it foams like dish soap — kids used to play with it as “nature’s bubbles.”

I pushed away from my desk, got up, and stretched. “I THINK I’M DONE!” I announce loudly so Mike, who’s watching TV in the other room, can hear me. I walk halfway into the living room. “Unless something else happens between today and tomorrow when I post it!” Then I added, “I’m going to take the dogs out for a while.”

And something did happen!

Something big!

Something unexpected!

But definitely something happy!

I took the dogs out for a little sunshine and a ball tossing session. It was hot and I didn’t want Raini to get overheated, so I wouldn’t play long. I’d only played for a few minutes when I hear the birds making a ruckus behind me.

There must be a cat close to the nest, I thought and it was the perfect excuse to stop tossing the ball.

I walked over to the fence, my arms resting along the top rail, and I looked for the cat. I couldn’t see one but I could spot the bird. She, or he, sat on a branch nearby, a bug in its mouth, chirping loudly.

I watched as she, we’ll call it a she but she could be a he since both parents feed the young, she flitted from branch to branch before getting up the nerve to land close to her nest.

Surprise!

She landed on the toe of the boot! I wasn’t one hundred percent sure her nest was inside until she hopped up to the opening, leaned in, and gave it to the crying babies inside. Her nest is inside the boot birdhouse my oldest and much-adored sister made for me! This is the first time I knew for sure that someone has taken up residence here.

And guess what?

I didn’t have my camera.

Raini had given up trying to get me to play ball while I watched the birds and found a spot in the yard to have a rub. Bondi was laying in the taller grass by the fence line, soaking up the sunshine. I made eye contact with her. “I’ll be right back!” I told her. “Stay. I’ll be right back,” I repeated. Most of the time the dogs will wait if I’m just making a fast trip into the house and today was no exception. Bondi waited, but I guess Raini didn’t think I meant her because she followed me.

The nice thing about putting my cameras down in the same spot every time is it enables me to find them quickly. I grabbed up the camera with the big lens and went back to my station at the fence. I knew the wrens would make many trips feeding the babies so I waited for one of them to show up. It didn’t take long. This one must be the male because he was too afraid to take his bug to the babies. He just hopped around the trees and bushes but wouldn’t go in. The chicks could hear him and cried for the food.

I can tell from the picture that he’s caught a Robber Fly.

Did you know that wrens are devoted to raising their young? They’ll make hundreds of trips in a day and keep it up for nearly two weeks. I smiled when I thought of all the bugs that won’t be able to “bug” me!

Mama came back and didn’t hesitate to go to the babies. She dropped off the bug, picked up a poop sack, and flew away to drop it away from the nest. How awesome nature is to make it easy for the parents to keep the nest clean and odor free.

Eventually he came to the toe of the boot, with a bee in his beak now, looked at me, flew behind the boot to the rooftop, hopped down and peeked under the roof, then went to the door and fed a baby.

Even after the young wrens fledge, the parents keep feeding them for another week or two. They’re intentional about what they bring, too — always insects, never seeds — because baby wrens need protein to build feathers, bones, and muscle at the incredible pace nature demands. Since it’s almost August, I’m pretty sure this is their second brood of the season. For such small birds, they put in an enormous amount of love and labor. 

Someone else who puts an enormous amount of love and labor into something is me! Every week when I sit down to have a visit with you. 

Let’s call this one done!

Done!