I woke up — which is always a good thing — to Spitfire, standing on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. Curious, I sat up and looked.
What do I see?
A cat.
A cat torturing a … mouse? I’m guessing mouse but maybe it was a mole. It was hard to tell in the early morning light — that and I have Cadillac eyes, so I don’t see all that well.
“Peg, why don’t you get those cataracts fixed?” you ask.
“What and not have a good excuse for a million different things?” I say with a little laugh. “I will. Someday. When I’m ready. Not right now.”
Despite being almost naked (the best way to sleep in my opinion), and despite the chilly morning air, I ran for my camera. Mike was up already and watching TV. He was quite surprised to see me rush into the living room in my state of un-dress.
“Wow!” he exclaims with a big grin. He loves me.
“There’s a cat out there with a mouse,” I say by way of explanation. I ignore his leer, and snatch my camera from the table, where it lives most of the time.
“What cat?” he asks.
“I can’t tell but I think it’s that tabby that’s been hanging around,” I answered. We’ve had at least two different strays visit us in the past weeks. A gray tabby a couple of times and most recently, a big black tabby.
“We don’t need any more cats hanging around here,” Mike says to me. “Don’t feed them.”
“We’re not going to turn away a hungry creature,” I tell him and feed them anyway.
I got my camera and went back to the bedroom window. Spitfire was still watching. I snapped a few pictures but the light was too low and they’re not the best, however, they are good enough to give you an idea of what’s going on.
I watched a literal game of cat and mouse take place.
Cats are cruel, you know that?
The tabby walked away, the mouse sat there. The tabby went back and swatted the mouse.
I’ve seen this battle of life and death before and in my mind’s eye I can hear and see the mouse squeaking up a storm, turning and facing the cat, mouth open, teeth bared, but still no match for it’s mighty foe.
The tabby continued this game of retreat and attack. I’m guessing the cat walks away hoping the mouse will run, but the mouse never does.
I watched for a little while, then dug my socks out of the bed bottom, hurried into my duds, hooked up the girls, took my camera and went outside. I walked around the corner and I see the fun and games are over.
Crunch, crunch… I hear. A line from Jack And The Beanstalk, a story I used to read to my kids when they were little, comes to my mind. “I’ll grind ye bones to make me bread!” I used my full zoom (and a little flash) to take a couple of pictures but I didn’t get too close. If it was the stray tabby, I didn’t want to scare him from his meal.
Today, getting these pictures around for my letter blog, I can tell this is Feisty, our little year-old female.
It’s hard being so conflicted, you know that. I’m sad for the mouse but proud of our cat. YAY Feisty! You go girl!
After the morning excitement, I needed to get everyone fed, then get myself showered and ready for our planned shopping trip to Athens.
My hair is longer than it’s been in fifteen years. I’ve kept it short for so long and made so many trips to the hair salon to keep it that way that I’m taking a break and just letting it do what it wants to do. Grow, don’t grow. I don’t care.
I saved my hair combs from a hundred years and a lifetime or two ago. I have them in many colors and I used to wear them in my hair everyday for work, matching the color to my shirt if I could. But in those days I used to perm my hair. With straight hair the combs don’t stay in as well. Now I had a problem, not a big problem, mind you, but a problem none the less. I wanted to put my hair back in a comb, but I don’t want to perm my hair again. Then I found out that if my hair is damp or if I wet the combs, they will stay in a little better.
I was at the thrift store a while back and picked up a set of Revlon hot rollers. I didn’t even know if they worked or how to use them but I took a chance. After owning them for several months I finally decided to give them a try. I Googled how to use hot rollers and watched a couple of videos and gave it a go. I have to say, it’s the best fifty cents I ever spent!
Since we were going shopping of Friday, I put the hot rollers in my hair, and let them do their magic while we had breakfast. Forty-five minutes later I took the rollers out, finger combed my hair and pulled it back with the combs. I can’t stand to have my hair loose and flying in my face — getting in my way. This is better than a pony tail anyway, don’t you think?
“Shows your gray, Peg,” you say.
It really does. My hair is gray underneath and dark on top so pulling it back does show off my gray — just another perk of wearing it this way.
“Perk!” you exclaim.
That’s right! I’ve been waiting fifty-seven years for gray hair and by golly, I’m going to show it off!
Friday, O Friday, you were dark and dreary — and wet too!
It was raining. As Mike and I climbed the hill out of Wyalusing, my camera in my lap, I said, “I probably won’t take many pictures today.”
“Probably not,” Mike responded.
I thought to put the camera in the backseat, but then I didn’t.
We were following a log truck and halfway to Wysox we see flashing lights.
“Cop,” Mike says but as we got closer we could see it wasn’t. “What’s he doing?” Mike asks.
“I don’t know,” I answered but I thought maybe he was getting something off the road or looking for something lost, maybe.
We round a curve and the answer is before us.
“Accident?” I say with a question in my voice and I scan for wrecked vehicles but don’t see any.
Traffic is moving at a pretty good clip. I’m taking pictures of the emergency vehicles stopped on the road. Then we finish rounding the curve.
“There it is,” Mike says. “In the ditch.”
I turn my attention to the other side of the road and I see it.
“Heck of a way to park your car,” Mike jokes.
Other than the fact the poor guy had gone down in the ditch, it didn’t look too serious. The ambulance was still sitting there, not screaming its way to the hospital.
A few hills and curves later, I exclaim, “Turkeys!” and I point to a field two fields over and up on a hill. I bring my camera up, zoom in as far as it will go, and snap off a few pictures before the trees obscure the view.
“Ain’t nothin wrong with your Cadillac eyes,” Mike says.
“What?”
“Ain’t nothin wrong with your Cadillac eyes,” Mike repeats. “I couldn’t have seen them.”
I laughed. “That’s because you’re driving! And I don’t know that they’re turkeys. When you see big black birds in a far off field you just assume they’re turkeys!”
We saw more tree haulers that day then we usually see in any one day and we followed this guy through the little town of Ulster. And this, my dears, is my current desktop photo.
Don’t say it. I know. I’m weird.
Do you see the buildings on the left? There is an old brick bank building, built in the late 1800’s I think and a big building next to it and next to that is a small barber shop with its back corner hanging over the creek (only in Pennsylvania) and on the other side of the creek was a big house that is now gone — torn down, and all of these buildings are slated for demolition. Turns out the state bought the property to improve the intersection.
“I wonder if there’s still a safe in there,” I asked Mike.
“No,” he states bluntly.
“What?”
“You can’t have it.”
Sigh.
Besides getting the necessities and a few building supplies for Mike, I scored big. A new (to me) top for workouts from the thrift store, yarn and beads to create with. I was channeling my Missouri friend Linda on Friday, O Friday. Orange is her favorite color.
That evening I sat and crocheted a new dishrag while we watched TV.
At one point my yarn ball fell to the floor, under my chair, and I wasn’t in any hurry to pick it up. Next thing I know, I tug to get a little more yarn and it felt like a fish on the end of a line.
“What… Spitfire!”
That little dickens had my yarn ball in his mouth and was walking away with it. He flopped down and proceeded to eviscerate my yarn ball. I took his picture before I took it away from him.
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I have found an outlet for my creations. I’m going to set up at a car show in Wyalusing in June. That’s far enough away that I can make a few things to sell.
Until the weather gets warm enough that I can get back out to my glass shop and make suncatchers, I can continue to make things here at the table. My biggest problem will be pricing. I want to make money but I also want to sell the stuff too.
“Give part of the proceeds to charity,” my cute little red haired sister suggested. “I always buy stuff I don’t need when I know it’s going to charity.”
That’s a great idea. The mobile spay/neuter clinic has been a godsend to us in helping to get eight cats fixed at a price we could afford. I wouldn’t mind giving back. And the animal rescue in Tunkhannock took the baby possums I found on the road, and the bat that got tangled in the pull-string of a light here inside the mill. I wouldn’t mind helping her out either.
Besides pricing, I need ideas on displaying said creations. I think I can hang my suncatchers from strings on the tent poles. Dishrags, pet rugs, and rosaries, can be stacked on a table but I hate to put the bracelets and rings in a box to get all jumbled up and I don’t want to spend a ton of money on displays either. Any ideas?
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Last month I got a letter from Mr. B’s son, J.D. I’d been watching for a letter from him for about two weeks when one showed up. He writes me every few months and my weekly letters brighten his day, as his letters brighten mine too.
Last month I received two valentines cards. TWO! Getting one wasn’t totally unexpected, because I’d sent one. But the other was a complete surprise, enough so as to make me teary-eyed. Thank you beautiful cousin Lorraine. Even now, thinking about it, makes me smile.
This past week I got another letter! Once or twice a year I hear from Carol, one of my bingo ladies from when I worked with Kevin in the kitchen at the Lake Ozark Lions Club in Missouri.
It’s in Carol’s heart to write me more often but because of tremors, it’s a chore for her and she worries I won’t be able to read it. I can see her writing is shaky but I was able to read it okay.
Carol’s letter was full of news and she always includes a few stamps (to help offset the cost of sending her my letters) and for that I want to thank her.
Thank you Carol. That’s very kind of you.
Carol mentioned that she and her husband Jim enjoy the ongoing saga of Peg and Mike’s life and it’s the first thing they open when it comes. She said that she loves all of the pictures especially the kitty ones, but it makes her sad to hear that Smudge has to be kenneled at night so he doesn’t tear the house up.
Well, Carol, I have a little bit of news for you on that front. We no longer kennel Smudge at night. Now, when he won’t settle down, we let him sleep out in the cat room with his sister and cousins.
And lastly, I’d like to share one more bit of news from Carol with you.
Carol has kept all of my letters, from the very first one I sent her back in 1999, she thinks. Me? I don’t remember when Carol came on board. She has them in a box and needs to do something with them. She said it’s about 15 pounds worth and asked if I’d like to have them back.
No, Carol, but thank you for the offer. I’ve kept a copy of my letters since I started writing them.
“Maybe someone would like them as a whole or find a publisher, just starting out. Good stories. I just couldn’t bear tossing them away.”
I don’t know about a publisher but I thought I’d ask you guys and see if any of you are interested in having them. Let me know and I’ll get you in contact with Carol.
What a blessing it is to have you all in my life — and in my heart.
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With a little room left on the bottom of page eight, here are two photos with no particular stories.
A barn, close to the road, with the front collapsing.
And another barn.
Let’s call this one done.
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