If Only

           This week…

          Hmmm. This week…

          Looking back, in my mind’s eye, all I can say about this week is it was pretty mundane. And it didn’t get much better when I looked through my photos either. Whereas some weeks have an abundance of photos, this week won’t. Not only that, I’m struggling with quality and content. Considering we’re 47 weeks into the year 2020 and I’ve written you 45 times, I guess I’m entitled to an off week now and then, don’cha think? I’m just covering my bases here in case this week turns out to not be worth the paper it’s written on but what say we get started and see where we end up. My letter blogs sometimes take on a life of their own and we both may be surprised — but don’t hold your breath.

          So!

          We did go shopping this week. With a COVID shutdown looming over our heads here in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Mike thought it prudent to do a little stocking up. We went to Dickson City Sam’s Club and Aldi’s on a rainy day. When I saw this workerman’s ladder it looked a little precarious. As we got closer, I realized it wasn’t nearly so. He had his extension ladder against the sturdy metal ladder that extended a few feet below the sign.

          Several windows in Clarks Summit are painted for the holidays. I missed the one I really wanted; Santa in his sleigh, but got these two which I thought were worth sharing. Maybe not in quality as I was shooting out of Mike’s streaky driver’s side window, but in content.  It’s a strange world we live in today. 

          A motel is getting a makeover.

          Oversized loads are a common site around here with the booming gas industry.

          Machines on a hill.

          The beautiful Susquehanna.

          The bright orange red of the Bittersweet is easy to spot along the road this time of year.

          Bittersweet wasn’t the only thing I was watching for. I was looking for hawks too.

          “There,” I told Mike after I got this shot. “I’ve got a shot of the Bittersweet, now if only I can get one of a hawk too.”

          Coming up Welles Mountain we see a PenDot truck parked at the end of a section of guide rail.

          “What…” Mike started.

          A little farther on we see two guys surveying the roadside. They watched as we approached to make sure they didn’t have to jump for their lives.

          “It looks like the road is slipping,” I said as Mike gave them a wide berth.

          We got past them and there it is! My hawk! But he’s not sitting in a tree, he’d already taken flight. I should’ve been more specific when I was making my wish.

          One of the things that made it into my buggy at Sam’s Club were these Two-bite Brownies. Have you ever had them? They are so good — and I don’t even care much for chocolate! 

           I wouldn’t have bought them except I needed a plastic container for a craft project and this one looked like it would give me the most use.

          “What are you doing now!” you wanna know.

          Well, sometimes my face mask tickles my nose. I’ve seen standoffs made of molded plastic that you can insert between your face mask and face but why buy one if I can make something that would work equally as well.

          A Google search showed a simple one made from a number one plastic container so I thought I’d give it a try.

          I shared the brownies with the neighbors. They’re not as fattening that way. I found an easy way to remove labels from plastic. Mix baking soda and some type of cooking oil in equal portions, scrub it around with your fingers — at least I used my fingers. Then I wiped it off with a paper towel because I didn’t want all that oil down my drain, and wash with soap and water. It works really well. I cut the plastic into two different widths, measured to fit inside my mask, and punched holes with a hole punch. I’ll tell you what! My palm got so sore from using the hole punch that I could only do a couple then had to wait a few days to do more. I wanted a few to share, don’cha know.

          “How’s it work?” you ask.

          I think I like the wider one better and it does the job but now that I have one, I’m not so sure I needed it. Doggone it! I ate all those Brownie Bites for nothing!

          One of the things I couldn’t get on our shopping trip was oyster crackers at Aldi’s. They didn’t have them at the Dickson City location nor at the Tunkhannock one either. Oyster crackers are a seasonal item and they only sell them in the winter. Which means, if you love them as much as I do, you have to stock up to get you through the summer months. I love them so much I think I’m starting to resemble an oyster cracker!

          Another thing I couldn’t get was the big bags of cat food that I buy at Walmart. The shelf at the Tunkhannock store was bare.

          This week had a holiday stuck just about in the middle of it. We had Thanksgiving on Thursday.

          “Mike, I don’t know if I have enough pain meds to get Itsy through till Friday,” I told him. Friday was when Itsy went back to the vet for a follow up.

          “You’d better call and get some then.”

          I called and ordered it. That meant a trip in the opposite direction as Dickson City. A trip to Towanda.

          “We’ll be halfway to Sayre,” Mike said. “You wanna go on up and see if that Aldi’s has your crackers?”

          I had a list with a couple of other things I’d forgotten. Like canned pumpkin. Besides making Pumpkin Rolls for the holidays, I give Itsy a teaspoon of pumpkin when I think she’s a little twitterpated — consterpated — having a hard time going poo! Dogs and cats both like pumpkin.

          On the way up out of Wyalusing a Black Vulture was snacking on the hindquarters of a young buck. These vultures don’t scare easily and he didn’t take flight when we passed.

          “I’m surprised someone hasn’t taken the antlers,” I said.

          “They wouldn’t do that. Not right alongside the road — would they?”

          “I think so.” It isn’t that these antlers were especially impressive but they are valuable. There’s a market for antlers.

          Itsy’s pain meds need to be refrigerated so we did our shopping first. I only took a couple of pictures.

          The Aldi’s store had my crackers so we got a box. The cashier came to my four cans of pumpkin on the line. “I’m sorry, but there’s a limit of two on the pumpkin,” she said. “But I can ring them up separate.”

“Why’s there a limit?” I wanted to know.

“People were buying cases of it and we couldn’t get any for a while.”

Cases of canned pumpkin? I asked but she didn’t know what they were doing with all that pumpkin.

After paying for our purchases we moved to the bagging station. “I’m gonna pee before we leave,” I said.

          “Me too,” Mike said. “Here,” he handed me the key fob, “you wanna put the groceries away while I go first?”

          “Sure,” I agreed.

          Groceries stowed, cart returned, quarter retrieved, peeing out of the way, we buckle up and head to Walmart for cat food, and Mike tells me a story.

          “I went to wash my hands,” he started, “I got soap on ‘em and couldn’t get the water to come on. About the time I thought I’d have to go back in the stall and get some toilet paper to wipe it off, I gave it one more try and the water came on. Then I spit — right in my face mask!” he laughed at himself. “Then I hadda go get a piece of toilet paper anyway!” he finished.

          I laughed. I laughed and laughed. I laugh as I write this. I could see it in my head because I’ve seen it so many times in life. Mike hears water running, he leans over and spits. It doesn’t matter if it’s the sink, the shower, the garden hose, or he’s peeing.

          “It’s kinda like spittin’ in the wind,” Mike said. “Just one of those things you don’t really want to do.”

          When I could take a breath, I said, “That is too funny! You gotta let me tell that story in my letter blog.”

          “No,” he said.

          I begged a little but he kept saying no so I let it rest — for the time being. I intended to try later, closer to the time of the actual letter blog making.

          We finished our shopping, picked up the dog meds, and headed for home. I had one more thing to do before I could kick my shoes off and ditch my bra. I had a Thanksgiving slash fall gift to deliver to my beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor.

          I made a pumpkin with a sunflower and ladybug on it for my Miss Rosie. I finished it four or five days ahead of when I intended to give it to her and thought it was so cute, I had to share it on the internet. Not to worry. The Kipps aren’t on the internet so I knew they’d never see it and I swore everyone else to secrecy.

          “Do you think she’ll like it?” I asked my peeps.

          “No,” my beautiful Minnesota sister answered. “She’ll LOVE it!”

          Phyllis, you were right. Miss Rosie loves it!

          “Guess what I did,” Mike says as we sat around the Kipps’ table chatting.

          I gasped! I knew what he was going to say. “If you tell that story then I get to write about it!”

          Mike laughed and I turned my camera on him. 

          He settled into story-telling mode and I got his picture.     

          The Kipps laughed when he finished. But Mike isn’t the only one who forgets he’s wearing a face mask.

          “We’d gotten our haircuts and went to make an appointment for next month,” Miss Rosie tells on herself. “I had my little pocket calendar in my purse so I got it out to write it down. When I went to turn the page to December…”

          Apparently, it’s as hard to lick your finger while wearing a face mask as it is to spit. 

          >>>*<<<

I was dreading Itsy’s vet appointment. You never realize how far fourteen miles is until you have a crying baby in the car, aka, Itsy. My attention was taken up with her so I only took one picture. I see a tractor hiding in there.

          I tried everything to quiet her. Petting, cooing, covering her eyes, scolding, letting her wander on the floor. It was so bad I was afraid she’d make herself sick. In a last-ditch attempt I put her in her car seat, took a (gentle) hold of her snout and gave it a (gentle) shake and channeled my youngest and most handsome son. Something I’ve heard Kevin say, and in the way he says it, came to mind. “Com’on now. There ain’t no need for all that right there.” It worked. Sort of. Itsy was so intent on trying to bite me that she forgot to whine. I kept up the ‘torment’ the rest of the way to the vet and as long as I did, she didn’t cry.

          Once at the vet’s office I had to take her out of the Jeep and let her walk around in the grass. Every time I tried to sit in the Jeep with her, she’d start her crying again.

          And here’s the bottom line. There’s still blood in Itsy’s urine. Dr. Lori believes it’s age onset kidney disease. She doesn’t think it’s causing her any pain right now but is concerned something else is going on too. Itsy has to really expand her ribcage to get a breath. “Her lungs sound fine, but maybe there’s a tumor or something growing in there.”

          We’re keeping her on pain meds for her arthritis and we’re trying a couple of other things for the rash. Dr. Lori thinks at least some of the crying is behavioral and she gave us a list of things to watch out for that signal the end is near.

          We know it’s coming. In the meantime, we just love on her one day at a time.

          With a sigh, and steely resolve, we head for home. I tried to keep Itsy occupied until we got back to Wysox and the McDonalds drive thru. It was lunchtime and I knew from the last trip we made that if Itsy’s eating, she’s not whining.

          I shared pieces of my McDouble burger with her then switched over to some of Mike’s chicken McNuggets.

          I don’t really think nuggets are all that healthy for us and I’m equally sure they’re not all that healthy for Itsy either. I held on to the nugget as tight as I could and only let her tear off little pieces at a time.

          After three she wouldn’t take anymore and started in on her crying routine again.

          Maybe she’s thirsty, I thought and dumped some water in the lid of a McNugget box. Greedily, she lapped it up.

          After that she wouldn’t take anything else and nothing could dissuade her from crying the last four or five miles to home.

          She won’t have to go back to see Dr. Lori again until it’s time.

          I can give Itsy a couple of baths a week with a mild shampoo to help soothe her skin. And because I want to treat her skin with the meds and not the hair, I shaved her.

          “Oh, Peg!” you say.

          Hey! I didn’t do all that much! Like old men bald as they age, so did Itsy. She didn’t have much hair on top anyway.  

>>>*<<<

          Mike only has me to talk to most of the time. So he really enjoys the visits from the Kipps and his daily phone conversations with our old friend Margaret in Missouri. They’re all more tolerant to conversing about the things that Mike wants to talk about than I am. Not that I don’t listen, I do, but often times make no comment.

          “Listen to this, Peg,” Mike was scrolling through Yahoo News at the time. “It says here that Trump wants to bring back the electric chair and firing squad!”

          And there I go, wandering around in the world of electric chairs and firing squads. In my mind’s eye I see the movie The Green Mile. They executed using an electric chair. That doesn’t seem like a good way to go. My mind turns to firing squads. Days of old, days of swift sentencing, and days of swifter punishment. Men tied to a post; a red cloth heart pinned over their hearts. And I wondered…

          “Would a bullet to the heart kill you faster or a bullet to the head?”

          “I don’t know,” Mike answered my musings.

          “Let’s Google it!” I pulled out my phone and asked Google. Can you guess what came up? Suicide prevention. “I’m not going to kill myself!” I tell Google. And I guess it’s really a moot point anyway. If ever in that situation, I doubt I’ll be given a choice.  

>>>*<<<

          We’ve been watching movies lately. Once we finished the series Heartland, I tried to get Mike interested in another series but he just wasn’t into Cagney and Lacey. We decided to watch Ozark with Jason Bateman. It’s a series about the part of Missouri we used to live in. They talk about the towns in the area and even our iconic Indian on the Strip made it into a scene.

          Speaking of the Indian, here’s a picture I took of it with my then two-year-old grandson sitting on his foot. I had a hard time deciding which picture to show you because I took several cute ones that day of Andrew and the Indian.

The Indian looks kinda rough here and I believe he’s since been restored.

Unfortunately, the locals hated the show Ozark. It was about drug dealers and deals and there was a lot of killing. Not the way they wanted their beloved hometown to be portrayed. I didn’t watch it very long before I knew I couldn’t watch it. The language and violence were terrible. And you know what they say about garbage, don’t you? Garbage in, garbage out. It’s not what I want in my head or my heart or coming out of my mouth.

          Mike, on the other hand, was hooked on the show. And it got into his head and came out his mouth — even though I didn’t want to hear it!

          “MIKE!” I’d scold when he’d start to tell me something he saw. “If I wanted that crap in my head, I’d watch it with you!”

          “It’s disturbing,” he’d say and shake his head.

          “And yet you watched it anyway.” I don’t get it.

          He watched until the end and there won’t be a new season until next year sometime.

          Disney Plus is more my speed. We’ve been watching some of the old classics. That Darn Cat, Treasure Island, Blackbeard’s Ghost, The Parent Trap, The Ugly Dachshund, Davy Crockett.

          Some of them make us laugh. Some of the antics Mike thinks are just plain silly.

          “What’d’ya thinka that one?” he’ll often ask.

          “It was good. What’d you think?”

          “It was okay. But it isn’t something I’d ever pick out to watch myself.”

          “Yeah? You’d pick out stuff like Ozarks.”

          He thought about it for a moment. “That was disturbing.”

I just don’t get it. Even after all this time he still remembers the horrible parts. And the thing is, once you see that stuff, you can never unsee it! Why would you do it?

>>>*<<<

          Look at this handsome family, would ya! I’m sure some of you recognize our youngest son Kevin by now, his beautiful wife Kandyce, and almost eight-year-old son Andrew.

          A little over a week ago, Kevin Facebook Facetimed us.

          “I’m going to be a big brother,” Andrew, full of excitement, burst at the seams.

          “Andrew!” Kandyce admonished. “We were going to do a cupcake reveal with Mimi and Pop-pop!”

          Andrew put his hand over his face.

          I can understand his excitement. He’s wanted a little brother for a long time and now mama was going to have one for him. And we were equally excited for all of them.

          Friday, my phone rings. Unknown caller. Generally, I don’t answer those and let them go to voicemail but this time I did.

          “Hi Mom,” came the masculine voice.

          For a heartbeat I couldn’t say anything. After all these years my estranged oldest son was calling me. “Hi,” I finally managed.

          “Happy Thanksgiving,” and I knew then it was Kevin.

          “Why did your number come up as unknown?” I asked but he didn’t know.

          “I have some sad news.” I could hear in his voice that he was sad. “We lost the baby.”

          “Oh no!” I cried and my heart fell out of my chest and shattered on the floor.

          Kandyce had been seeing her doctor every couple of weeks and just past the 12-week mark, the baby sounded fine, had a strong heartbeat. 

         Then at the next appointment, nothing. No heartbeat. Austin Wayne has gone home to be with our Lord — and the tears leak out of my eyes and stream down my cheeks. I’m incredibly sad for them and if only I could carry a baby, I’d carry one for them.

           Let’s call this one done.