A Two-Weeker

 

          I missed last week. You may have noticed — then again maybe you haven’t.

          My oldest, most beautifulest, and very much adored sister was here.

          “All that way by herself! She’s braver than I am,” a very impressed Miss Rosie said.

          Patti lives in a sun‑drenched valley in Arizona. She rented a travel van and is making a circuit across the country. She decided it was time to make the trip and visit siblings and friends. She’s always been independent and self‑sufficient and it’s been years since we’ve seen her.

Speaking of friends, I have to tell you, I admire that about Patti — the way she holds on to her long‑time friendships. She still keeps in touch with a few of her college classmates. Patti’s old — older than me, and I’m old! — so that tells you something.

          That little cutie-patootie in her lap is Sammie, her tiny two-year-old tea-cup Schnauzer.

          Sammie steals hearts wherever she goes and breaks them when she leaves.

          “You could leave her here when you go,” I told Patti.

          She laughed. “We hear that wherever we go.”

          I have things to talk about from the week before Patti got here, things while she was here, and things since she left. That’s a lot!

          “How many pictures do you have?”

I know the pictures are some of your most favorite parts. My file has eighty-six photos in it. Whether we get to them all or not remains to be seen.

The first day Patti got here we took her to dinner at the Wyalusing Hotel. She left Sammie in the camper van with the screens closed and the doors open. When we got home about an hour and half later and pulled in, Sammie came trotting down the driveway to meet us.

“How did she get out!?” Patti said after she got her heart out of her throat.

Turns out, Sammie pushed the bottom of the screen out and jumped down.

“When I think of all the things that could’ve happened to her...” Patti said. “A hawk could’ve gotten her.”

I’m afraid I didn’t help. “Or a fox, or she could’ve gotten down on the road and gotten hit, or someone could’ve picked her up — you’d never have gotten her back, they’d keep her!”

“And we may never have known what happened to her,” Patti concluded.

“What did Raini and Bondi think of Sammie?” I know you wanna know.

I kept them separated. Mostly I kept the girls kenneled when Patti and Sammie were in the house. The first time Sammie explored on her own, she was wandering around smelling all the new smells and got close to where Raini and Bondi were kenneled. Raini lunged and barked and Sammie jumped a mile, turned, and ran away. But Little Miss Troublemaker soon figured out they couldn’t get her and she’d go up to the kennels and get them to barking, then dart back. She was such a tease!

I seriously think Raini would kill her. Sammie’s so tiny and gray and not much bigger than a rat.

We spent most of our time chatting, either on the front patio or on my most favorite kitchen patio. Sammie was so curious. There were so many new smells for her to smell, so many leaves to tear to shreds.

“It’s stuck in her beard,” Patti said, and so it was. More than one leaf bit the dust that day!

The day before Patti and Sammie got here, Sammie had found some walnuts that had been tossed out for the birds and ate some before Patti got them away from her.

“She probably didn’t eat much,” Patti said, “but she got so sick. She threw up and was drooling and lethargic. But a few hours later she ate a little food and drank a little water so I knew she’d be okay.”

          But Sammie’s beard was yucky so she got a bath in the sink. Now she looked even more like a rat — a drowned rat.

          This particular time I’d locked the girls out. Raini and Bondi spent a long time barking at Sammie through the window and when they’d stop barking and lay down Sammie would get up there and scratch on the window until they barked at her again.

          “She thinks it’s a game,” Patti said.

          “At least the barking’s not as loud when they’re outside,” I said.

          I’d washed the windows on the door before Patti got here and now they were covered in Raini spit and Sammie nose prints.

Patti’s visit happened to coincide with the layover of Union Pacific’s Big Boy at Steamtown in Scranton, part of its coast‑to‑coast tour.

          “Do you want to go see it?” I asked her.

          “I don’t know what that is,” she said.

          Fast facts about the Big Boy.

          It’s the largest steam locomotive ever built, 132 feet long and weighs 1.2 million pounds. It was designed to climb mountains. It could pull 3,600 tons up a grade all by itself. The name “Big Boy” was a joke at first. When it was first built, a worker chalked “Big Boy” on the smokebox and UP liked it so much they made it official. The firebox is the size of a small garage at 235 square feet and it needed that much to boil 10,000 gallons of water at a time. It could hit 80 miles per hour when most freight steam engines topped out at 40-50 mph. It burned fuel like crazy! At full throttle, Big Boy could use 10-12 tons of coal per hour. It was converted to oil in 2019 during its restoration and will burn 1,000 gallons of fuel per hour. It wasn’t built to be economical, just unstoppable. Only 25 were ever made, only 8 are still in existence, and this one, the 4014 is the only one that runs today.

          “And it’s on a historic coast‑to‑coast tour to commemorate our nation’s 250th birthday,” I told Patti. “A once‑in‑a‑lifetime event.”

          “Sure,” she said.

          When I was checking into it, I discovered Steamtown was selling tickets.

          “That’s for crowd control,” Patti said.

          The museum is normally free but it was just a dollar so we got three tickets. “Not a big deal if we decide not to go,” Mike said.

          Big Boy 4014 rolled into Steamtown in Scranton Monday. The Saturday before, it made another once-in-a-lifetime appearance.

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

          We watched the Big Boy as it crossed the historic Tunkhannock Viaduct.

          “What’s that?” you ask.

          When it was constructed in 1915, it was the longest and tallest concrete railroad bridge in the world at that time. Not only that but when it was finished it was considered the largest concrete structure in the world, period — not just bridges.

          Mike knew it would draw a large crowd so we were there three hours early and people were there already. Some of the viewing areas were already full.

          “Maybe they won’t know about that back road we like to park on,” I said.

          “Not a chance,” Mike said.

          The bridge was shrouded in fog when we got there but I knew when the sun came up it would burn off, at least that’s what I was hoping for.

          People were parking in the freshly baled hay field so we did, too.

          Mike struck up a conversation with our neighbors and after taking a few foggy photos, I pulled out my sketchbook and sketched for a while.

          There were lots of drones in the sky, a powered paraglider, aka a paramotor, and closer to the arrival of the Big Boy, there were no fewer than five airplanes.

          There’s a website where you can view a map of where the Big Boy is in real time. I checked that from time to time.

          This is the son-in-law of the man who owns the field we were parked in. He told us they baled the hay just a few days earlier in expectation of people parking in the field.

          “Does he mind us parking here?” I asked.

          “Not at all. He loves it.”

          He went on to tell us that most everyone expressed their thanks and appreciation and were respectful of the land and he only chased off one guy.

          “He was in a big blue truck,” he said.

          Mike and I did see that guy as he tore past our parking spot and Mike commented at the time that that was so disrespectful.

          The Big Boy announced his arrival with blasts of the whistle. People cheered and watched the tree line expectantly. When he pulled into view, the crowd erupted into loud hoots, hollers, whistles, cheers, and clapping. The crowd swelled with pride, and the significance of the moment was unmistakable. And I have to tell you something else, too. I only went because I care about my husband, not because I cared about seeing the train. I was surprised at the overwhelming emotion I felt. It almost brought me to tears. In that instant, I understood it wasn’t just a train rolling past — it was history breathing right in front of us.

          The train sat there for a long time. I saw a lot of pictures on Facebook and some of the guys from the train got out and waved to the crowd, mostly those on the other side.

          I got a photo of the entire train on the viaduct, twenty-one cars in all. These included living quarters for the staff and a couple of engines in case Big Boy broke down. They could push it wherever they had to go.

          It took us almost an hour to get out of the immediate area, but I’m not sad. It was worth it.

          Monday and Tuesday were the only two days they offered up‑close, personal viewing of Big Boy 4014 next to its sister locomotive, Big Boy 4012, which is on permanent display at Steamtown.

          Our tickets were for eleven o’clock and you’re allowed to enter a half hour before your ticketed time. We left the house extra early in anticipation of having to park and walk a distance. Fortunately, we had a handicapped parking pass because of Patti.

          “If I’m in the car, it’s legal to use,” she told us.

          Handicapped parking was right in Steamtown’s lot, and no one ever checked our tickets. We only had a short walk to get in line and it moved surprisingly quickly.

          The crowd was too large for me to get a picture of the two Big Boys together but you can probably find one if you scoured the internet. We weren’t there very long when they announced they would take questions from the crowd.

          Patti and I stood and listened but Mike’s back gave out, so he found a seat under a tent, grateful to get out of the sun.

          “It was very interesting,” Patti said as we walked away. “We got here at just the right time.”

          “Mike’s never met a stranger,” I told Patti as we walked over to join him.

          We sat at the next table and Patti regaled me with fun and interesting stories. The time passed quickly as we waited for Mike to finish his conversation.

          There were people from all over the country there as well as people from other countries who came expressly to see the Big Boys side-by-side.

          “There’s even a family here who’s seen all eight Big Boys,” one of the attendants told me with a grin.

          Patti’s visit was all too short and before I knew it, Patti and Sammie were on their way.

          I did take road pictures both on Mike’s and my trip to Nicholson, where the Tunkhannock Viaduct is, and on our trip to Steamtown. But I’m not going to show them to you right now and maybe not this week at all. Let’s cover the pictures I have stories for and we’ll see how much space and time I have left.

 

          I did some much-needed cleaning ahead of Patti’s visit.

          “I know you’re not coming to critique my housekeeping skills,” I told Patti, “but I used it as an excuse to clean up some stuff that needed to be cleaned.”

          Our front patio still had stuff on it from when Charlie died and his family threw everything away. We took some of the things we rescued from the dumpster right up to the upper barn but some of the things ended up on Mike’s patio. It was those things we hauled up and added to the things already up there. That’s when I saw this cute little cabinet. I’d forgotten it was there and yes, it was something from Charlie’s.

          “I could use that,” I told Mike and he helped me bring it down to my patio and hang it up. One of Charlie’s kids had drawn on the inside of one door and written on the top. I don’t mind. I cleaned off my patio work space and filled the cabinet in no time at all.

          Something else that needed cleaning was my kitchen window and windowsill. I had to unload both shelves and move my stained glass so I could wash the windows. I wiped the shelves, put some things away, and put the rest back on the windowsill. When I was done I realized the heart and rainbow suncatcher blocked my view of the bird feeders. That would never do. I couldn’t reach it to move it and I didn’t want to drag the step stool back out. If only my arms were a little longer, I thought. An image of the wooden spoon in the utensil holder on the counter flashed in my mind’s eye. I got the spoon and pushed the suncatcher out of the way.

          “You think you’re pretty clever, don’cha?” Momma said with her little laugh.

          I laughed. “Yes, Momma, I do!” At least I thought it was clever.

          Isn’t it funny how we can hear voices from the past as plain and clear as if they were right there with us?

          Speaking of clever, isn’t this clever what my handsome mountain man made for me? The first mistake the art supply store did was send me two tops and no bottom.

          “Why don’t I attach legs to it? That way you can stack it on top and that would give you an extra shelf,” Mike said.

          What it gave me was a place for Tiger to lay.

          Speaking of Tiger...

          I cleaned some things off the table and put them on top of the cart but under Tiger’s bed. My spray bottle to wet my watercolors, scissors, tape, a couple of crocheted coasters my friend made for me, a utility knife. The first time Tiger saw the stuff there was when he’d turned around on my desk and was going to jump back up to his bed.

          He froze.

          “What’s wrong?” I asked. Then I let my eyes follow his gaze and could see he had fixated on the coasters. I reached for them. “These?” I asked and held them out to him. He startled, jumped back, spun his tires knocking everything from my desk, leapt over my hand to the top of the cart, on down the other side to the table, and he didn’t stop until he hit floor.

          I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t afraid that he might’ve re-injured his leg. I took all the stuff back off the cart and when he calmed down I checked him. He didn’t seem to be any worse for wear.

          “How is Tiger?” I know you wanna know.

          He’s as well as can be expected, since I don’t confine him.

          “He’s babying his leg,” Patti said. “When he jumps he lands on his good leg. He’ll be all right.”

           The last time I kenneled Tiger was when Raini hurt him. I’m not exactly sure what happened. We were going out and had no sooner gotten through the door when Raini took off. I didn’t know what she was after until I heard Tiger yowl. I’m guessing he was laying in the patio chair and Raini nipped him to get him to run. I yelled at Raini and checked Tiger. I stroked his side and he growled at me, so I left him alone. I wanted him to have a couple of days’ peace so I put him in the kennel, then I put the kennel on the patio so I could get some peace. The next morning I let him out but I left the kennel on the patio with the door open. He goes in there and sleeps sometimes.

          Speaking of Raini...

          She caught a chipmunk. She shook it violently before I could get it away from her. This was only the second time I’ve had a chipmunk in the yard that I know of and I don’t really want her killing them. The poor thing had a broken back and died a few hours later. But at least it was a quiet death.

          A few days later Raini and Bondi took off. I knew they were after something but I didn’t know what. I thought it might be a mouse. They can kill all of them they want to. Whatever it was escaped into the hole under the house. A little while later Alvin came back out. I got his picture with my phone camera before the girls saw him and chased him back inside.

          I put a fence up in front of the hole so they can’t stick their noses in but if he strays too far, they’ll get him. I also put some nuts on the rock for him. Don’t laugh. I think they’re cute little critters.

          I have always loved how this tree drapes over the Rainbow Bridge.

          On June thirteenth we lost the tree. I don’t remember if it was windy that day or the soil was too saturated, or if the tree just plain got tired and gave up.

          I’ll miss it.

          If Michael’s last eye operation taught me anything it was to take a travel set of watercolors and my sketchbook with me so I had something to do.

          Mike had his one-month checkup the week preceding Patti’s visit. I took my kit with me and did this bird bath while we waited.

          This beautiful lady is Lori. She takes pictures of eyes for the hospital and has taken lots of pictures of Mike’s eye. Through all the visits and conversations, she’s become a friend. I showed her my watercolors and she loves my dog portraits so much so that she’s asked me to do one for her.

On this visit I showed her my sketchbook and let her pick one — if she wanted it.

          “I’d love to have that one,” she said stopping on the flowerpot and bee. “I’m going to hang it over my desk.”

          It happened to be one of the few where I’ve painted on both sides of the paper.

          “I can pick a different one,” Lori offered.

          “No. That’s okay. If you get tired of the bee you can turn it around.”

          I’m happy to share.             

          I knew I’d have wait time when we went to see the Big Boy cross the Tunkhannock Viaduct. When I was tired of everything else, I sketched out two more pictures but didn’t paint them until a couple of days ago.

          You know something? This is probably more than you wanna know about me, but I keep it real here, you know that. And I don’t think I’m so special that I’m the only one, so I’m going to tell you anyway.

          I’m a shy pooper.

          There! I said it!

          When I need a little private time in the bathroom, I tell Mike, “I’m going to play a game.” That’s code and sounds a lot nicer than the real thing. A few months ago I switched from playing a traffic game to reading one of the old books from my library and never changed the code. Anyway, I finished that book and started another one. I’d love to tell you about the first one I read because it was so interesting but I’m almost out of space for this week. It’ll have to be another time.

          The book I’m reading now is a school literature reader printed in 1942. It contains short stories, poems, and excerpts from major American authors like Mark Twain, Jack London, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Amy Lowell to name a few.

          I was reading The Deacon’s Masterpiece by Oliver Wendell Holmes and although the poem didn’t interest me much the pictures did. That’s when I thought, “I wonder if I can watercolor these.”

          Guess what?   I can! I didn’t use a lot of water and it didn’t bleed through. The book has tons of pictures I can paint if I want to.

          These old books, old stories, use words that are good words. They even define certain words at the bottom of the page so the kids would know what they mean. I do know most of them but I ran across a word in one of the stories that I didn’t know.

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

          The word is factotum. Used, “... he limped hurriedly across fields carrying water to players, holding their blankets, answering their every beck and call, and, in short, making himself a general factotum.” It means one who does all kinds of work. Nowadays we would’ve just said he was a gofer.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped expecting readers to grow — and started shrinking the words instead.

Let’s call this one done!

Broken

           Things are broken around here. Maybe not broken broken but not working the way they should.

          Do you remember the expensive five-tier artist cart Mike bought for me? About a month ago I got the cart. The box was damaged, the cart was lightly damaged, and they sent me two tops and no bottom.

          I contacted the company and they issued an order for the correct bottom piece and would compensate me twenty dollars for the damage. “From the photos, it looks like the issue should not affect the normal use,” they said.

          The screw that was torn from the bracket during shipping was in the bottom of the box. Before I agreed to anything I put the screw back in and made sure it would tighten. It did. I wasn’t happy with the dent in the wood but for twenty bucks, I could live with it. I agreed to the terms.

          After waiting eleven days, I finally got the new bottom only to discover it was milled wrong. The sides simply would not seat flush to the bottom.

          I contacted the company again and sent photos.

          They apologized and suggested that, “...slight deformation can happen during transportation or because of temperature changes,” and, “Would you mind trying once more by applying a bit more force while gently wiggling the part left and right as you insert it? In many cases this helps pieces fit properly.”

          Like I didn’t already try everything I could to make it fit, right? I even got Mike to try. But —just in case— I tried again. “Despite all the wiggling and gentle pounding on it, it just won’t seat,” I told them.

          Phoenix Art Supply apologized again and acknowledged how frustrating it must be for me. “Would it be possible to find a local carpenter or woodworker to repair the affected part?” they asked. “We would be happy to cover the repair cost.”

          You know, this upset me. Mike paid a lot of money for this cart, I accepted their first offer for the damage without quibbling, was very patient and waited for the replacement part, which turned out to also be wrong, and now they wanted me fix their mistake?

          “I’ll tell you what,” I told them. “You take the cart back and give me my money back.”

          The next day they issued me a refund, minus the twenty-dollar settlement.

          They never sent a shipping label for me to return the cart so I assume they don’t want it back. In a way, that’s good. I would’ve used two rolls of boxing tape to put their shipping box back together, but I totally would’ve done it.

          “Let’s wait a couple of days and see if it was an oversight,” Mike said.

          We waited a couple of days, then Mike went to work. He used the Dremel and a half hour of his time to make all four of the slots bigger.

          We put the cart together and I can use it.

          So can Tiger.

          I’d no sooner pushed it to my side of the table than he decided it was a good place for a nap.

          “He needs a towel,” this soft-hearted man I’m married to said.

          “No, he doesn’t. He’s perfectly happy to lay on my desk without one.”

          Mike went and got a towel for Tiger.

          “How’s Tiger doing?” you wanna know.

          And that’s something else that’s broken around here. He’s not broken broken and he is on the mend. I’m giving him pain meds twice a day and he seems to be adjusting to life with three legs. He goes where he wants, as evidenced by this photo. We came home from a shopping trip to find him laying in the sun in front of the lower barn door.

          The two pet exits from the house both dump into the dog run. The only way Tiger or any of the cats can get out is to go over the fence, either by climbing the chain link or using the ‘bridge.’ Two logs, one on each side, teepee-style over the fence. I’d just as soon he wasn’t climbing with his ruptured ACL and torn meniscus but short of kenneling him I don’t have a say in the matter.

          It’s not the first time I’ve caught him on the other side of the fence, either. He likes to check the perimeter and mark the spots that need to be re-marked then plop down and soak up the warm summer sun.

          I finished Bentley this week. I was at my desk/painting station adding details and finishing touches and thoroughly enjoying myself and wondered, Why did I put this off for so long?

          I did, you know. I found a myriad of other things to do rather than finish Bentley.

One of those “other things” was out in the yard. It was a beautiful day, too beautiful to sit inside and paint anyway, I justified.

I had some flowers I’ve sorely neglected. I bought them weeks ago and never got around to putting them into pots. I decided this was the day to take care of them. But first, I made a cup of coffee, took it and a bottle of water out to the patio, sat down, and called my beautiful little sister.

“The neighbor stopped by and told me she nominated me for the prettiest yard,” Phyllis told me.

“I’m not a bit surprised,” I told her. “You’re always out there doing something.”

“I was surprised. It doesn’t look all that great to me.”

Isn’t that always the way? We are our own worst critics.

“Then I started looking at all the other yards in the neighborhood and they were plain-Jane,” Phyllis said.

I hope whatever the prize is that she wins it.

After we chattered away for a while and my coffee was gone, I got up and repotted those flowers. They looked really sad. I guess I should’ve watered them once in a while. “They’ll live or they won’t,” I told my morning peeps the next day.

Still putting off Bentley, I played with the dogs. I was tossing Raini’s ball up onto the roof for her when I heard some birds making a heck of a racket.

Must be a cat, I thought. Maybe too close to a fledgling. I think robins typically fledge this time of year. I went over and leaned across the fence. Who do you think was laying there?

Tiger.

On my side of the fence sat my poor, neglected rose bush. But Phyllis inspired me. So I grabbed my scissors and cut away the tall grasses crowding the roses. They were too big and too tough to pull and I didn’t want to disturb the roots of the rose bush anyway.

And if those other things didn’t take me long enough I’d say, “It’s too late in the day to start it now.”

Why did I put it off for so long?! I wondered.

          It may surprise you to know that an answer to that simply rhetorical question popped into my head.

          “What’s that, Peg?” I know you’re curious to know.

          When I left the piece, it was because I was at a point where I didn’t know what to do next so I wasn’t anxious to get back to it.

          Then the day came when I decided I needed to finish it one way or the other. It’ll turn out good or it’ll be a mess and I’ll throw it away, I thought.

I have commissions stacking up behind it. Luckily none of them are time-sensitive because I don’t work very fast.

Once my mind was made up, I picked up the brush, figured out one thing to do, then another and another and this is what I painted.

          The first one is what it looks like scanned into my computer and closer to what it really looks like.

          The second one shows Bentley next to my painting, under my desk light, just so you can see how he looks. How did I do? 

     

          “I don’t like it.” Mike is ever honest with me and I appreciate that.

          I tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that he didn’t like but he didn’t really know.

That brings to mind something my cousin once told me. “I can’t tell you what I like but I know what I don't like when I see it.”

In the end I shrugged it off. You’re going to find as many people who don’t like something as you’ll find people who do.

          “Your brother likes it,” I told Mike later. His brother is the one who commissioned me to paint it. I shoved my phone in front of his face. “This is the picture I sent him.”

          Mike looked. “What did you do to it?”

          “Nothing.”

          “Let me see it.”

          I went out to my desk, picked up Bentley, and took it in to where Mike was sitting at his desk. He compared the picture I sent Cork with the painting itself. “That’s pretty close,” he said. And now he likes it. The only thing I can figure is the light over my desk must make it look different.

          Anyway, Bentley’s done. Except I’ll wax him before I send him off.

          I’ll be excited to start my next commission. It’ll be something like I’ve never done before.

          “What is it?” you wanna know.

          I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to wait and see.

          But speaking of painting...

          I did a couple more in my practice book, even though I said I was tired of practicing. I don’t even mind the dirty book pages. Gives it character, don’cha think?

          Something else that’s broken is me! I’m not broken broken but I’ve found something my body absolutely does not like and revolted to.

          “What’s that?” you ask.

          Sugar-free drink enhancers. Actually, it’s the sugar-free sugar itself that makes me sick.

          Mike’s been drinking the Great Value brand of clear Strawberry Watermelon for months, every since his PA told him to drink more water.

          “You should try it,” he said.

          I did and I found it too sweet. “I don’t have any problem drinking water,” I told him.

          But obviously I do. I like water, it’s what I grew up on, but I definitely prefer to drink my coffee instead. I’ll make a concerted effort to drink three of my water bottles a day. That’s sixty-six ounces of plain, non-caffeinated water. For a while I’ll achieve that goal but eventually I slip back into just coffee.

         Last week I decided to try his drink enhancer again. I kept sipping at it until I started to like it. That’s how I got used to drinking diet Coke — and smoking. Remember smoking? That bad habit that was socially acceptable in the 50s and 60s — when people kept fancy cigarette boxes on the coffee table and offered you one the minute you walked in the door. You’d cough and hack and really hated it when you first picked it up but eventually you came around to not only liking it but wanting it.

          It was that way with this drink enhancer. By the second or third day I was drinking all three bottles, sixty-six ounces, before the middle of the afternoon — and wanted more! It was making me feel full. Oh, wait a minute. I guess what I was really feeling was bloated. I didn’t especially care. Feeling full helped me to not eat as much.

          Then I thought, if three bottles is good, four bottles would be even better. Right?

          By Sunday, only three, maybe four days later, we were in church when I started to suffer some terrible dizzy spells. I took my glasses off and fanned myself. It seemed to help but they continued on and off all day long. By the afternoon I was feeling sick to my stomach as well.

          The next day I woke up feeling fine. I attended to my morning routine, which now included drinking a bottle of strawberry-watermelon flavored water while my coffee cooled. I’d only consumed about half the bottle when I was hit with a dizzy spell.

          Can it be the drink enhancer? I wondered.

          I did a search and as it turns out it can absolutely have that effect on some people. Not Mike. He’s been drinking it for months. Some days he only drinks two bottles, some days he drinks four, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

          What can I drink instead? I wondered. A quick search suggested half a tablespoon lemon with two teaspoons of real sugar in twenty-two ounces of water. That’s barely flavored and barely sweet, but I did it for a day. I didn’t want to drink it but I made myself. Then I decided it was more trouble than it was worth and went back to plain water.

          Guess what happened?

          “You stopped drinking it again?” you answer.

          Yep. You guys know me so well.

          Just today I decided to try a tablespoon lemon or lime juice and a tablespoon of sugar. We’re getting closer to something I could learn to like. I’ll just keep sipping away it and if it gets me to drink more water, I’ll put up with the hassle of mixing it.

Funny how that works. Something I’d do in a heartbeat for someone else, I won’t do for myself. People are weird.

          

          Let’s end with random photos from the week. 

          Our newly repaired bridge.

          The yellow coloring of this tree stuck out like a sore thumb.

Then I noticed at least two more trees with the same golden hue.

          “What are they?” I know you wanna know.

          I think they’re Honey Locust trees, but maybe you knew that.

 

I thought the eagle’s nest was empty when we drove past. On the way home I saw a chick standing on the rim of the nest, but I didn’t get a picture. On the computer I think I see him just behind the front branch. See him peeking out? It appears there’s only one chick.

      

          Hay season.

          I tried to get a photo of the full moon.

          A yellow warbler.

          Raini laying in my overgrown flower bed.

My peonies are blooming. This is the first one to open fully and it’s covered in morning dew.

Forget-me-nots and buttercups.

          Speaking of flowers, I didn’t get any daffies, irises, or lilacs this year. 

          Let’s call this one done!

          Done!