All's Well

           Here we are. Two months in, the last day of February. The hours, the days, the weeks just fly by me! Wait until you’re my age then you’ll know what I’m talking about!

          The start of the week saw more snow moving into our area. It wasn’t supposed to snow until late morning. They lied to us.

          “I need a two by four to finish the ceiling in the utility room,” Mike said. “Let’s make a trip to CC Allis before the snow starts and get it.”

          “We don’t have to go today,” I point out.

          “Yeah, well, let’s just go get it so it’s here when I’m ready to work on it. Besides, you can make pictures,” he added, always his way of getting me to go someplace with him. How could I refuse? I made a travel cup of coffee and off we went. It was clear when we left the house...

          ...but about halfway there, snow started.

           I was worried the roads were getting slick and I was whiny. “We didn’t have to do this today,” I said — and not for the last time on this white-knuckle drive either.

          “It’ll be fine,” Mike said, confident of his bad-road driving skills.

          The lumberyard, CC Allis, you may remember, is out in the middle of nowhere.

We got part of our order. Mike got the piece he needed to finish the ceiling but I want him to build me a new bookshelf too, and unfortunately, the boards he wanted were frozen in the pile.

          Mike came back to the Jeep. “Can you go back in and get our money back?”

          “Sure,” I agreed and we went back to the store.

          On the way home the roads were worse and I was feeling pissy that we’d ventured out for such a non-essential reason. “We didn’t have to do this today,” I said for like the third time. I know I was testing the limits of Mike’s patience.

          “Pffft! It’ll be okay. Don’t you trust me?”

          “I trust your driving, just not everyone else’s! Accidents don’t have to be your fault to happen!”

          Close to home, going past the Cargill plant, it must be shift change. Cars were lining up to pull out of the parking lot.

          “How’d you like to be that guy?” Mike nodded toward a bicyclist.

          “I wouldn’t.” Although there are lots of reasons for a person to ride a bike to work, no car, have a car but it broke down, exercise, the one it usually is, is the one I voiced. “He probably lost his license.”

          We got home safe and sound and you know what they say. All’s well that ends well.

>>>*<<<

          I’ve been letting Tiger go out a little more lately. If I look out and the birds aren’t hitting the feeders, I’ll let him go out.

          On this day I went to check on him. He wasn’t sitting under the feeder where he normally is, instead he was heading out across the yard. I opened the door and stepped out. “Tiger! Come back here,” I called. Just about that time he jumped and I heard squeak, squeak, squeak. Uh-oh! I think and went back in for my camera. “I think Tiger got a bird,” I told Mike and rushed back out.

          I didn’t see a bird. I didn’t see anything. It got away, is what I think and turn to go back in.

          “Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!”

          Tiger was sitting there looking at a spot in the snow where the cries were coming from. 

          They quieted. Tiger nosed in the snow and the cries started again. Poor, pitiful cries! A critter broke from cover, ran a short distance, and dived into the snow. All I saw was a dark blur (Oh! Speaking of dark blurs, that reminds me of something else, but I’ll tell you about that later.) And the crying started again. I poked the snow with the toe of my shoe but didn’t see anything. Then a nose poked through, crying the whole time.

          He turned his face to me and his little eye glinted. I felt so sorry for him!

          I picked Tiger up. “Why don’t you let him alone?” Tiger didn’t answer me. I started to carry him to the house. Silly! I heard in my head. There’s lots of mice. Better to let the cats get a few. I put Tiger down. Just then, this little guy broke cover again. But I was ready for him. 

         Tiger? Not so much. He just watched him go. Do you think my talk with him actually worked? And this guy isn’t a mouse, he’s a vole. Mr. Vole dived under the snow again and continued his squeaky crying.

          I just know you’ll be proud of me when I say I walked away and left him to his fate.

          “Peg, what do you know about voles?” you ask.

          I’m so glad you asked! Voles prefer to be outside and don’t often take up residence inside a residence.

          Voles can live a year but more often it’s three to six months.

          Voles can be either monogamous or polygamous. Gestation is three weeks and the young reach sexual maturity in a month. Females can have five to ten litters a year.

          Male voles are territorial and aggressively defend their territories which often include territories of several female voles when possible. And they’re terrible fathers, offering no parental care to the young.

          Something that surprised me, and may surprise you, is in a 2016 study on the behavior of voles, it was found that they comfort each other when mistreated. I don’t know who or how you mistreat a vole and I’m not going to let my mind go there. But I know his poor pitiful cries touched my heart.

          Later, when I checked, I didn’t find any dead voles on the patio or any evidence that one had been had.

           Okay, I better tell you my little dark blur story before I forget.

          We were in bed, watching TV. Normally, when Mike is done watching, I’ll let him turn the TV off and I’ll read for a while. But whatever was on TV this night had my attention and I continued to watch after he’d rolled over and started to gently snore.

          Then I see it! I see a dark blur scurry across the ceiling! My heart skipped a beat as a scene from a horror movie flashes before my mind’s eye. A demon crouch-running across a ceiling, stopping to turn and glare at you over his shoulder with his evil red eyes, issuing a menacing hiss.

Yeah. I don’t watch those kinds of movies anymore, besides this guy was little, like a mouse. I turned to look at it and it disappeared. My heart was still pounding hard when I turned back to the TV. My dark blur of a mouse ran across the ceiling again, and again, when I tried to focus on it, it was gone. Just a floaty, is what I think and smile at my silliness — and wild imagination!

           And this is your gratuitous handsome guy Smudge shot. He followed me to the mailbox one day.

           Speaking of handsome guys! Tiger is my handsome guy!

Mike had a few saltines left in the bottom of a sleeve on the table. He picked ‘em up and untwisted the top. Well, you-know-who comes running! He still loves crinkly things. Mike took the crackers from the wrapper, wadded it up, and tossed it for Tiger. The game was on! Only Mike won’t play with him. Tiger brought me the crinkly wrapper and how could I resist! We played fetch for a while.

Do you remember I lost a whole batch of yogurt? That was the last time I’d made yogurt. Then I got bronchitis and had to be on an antibiotic and they recommend you eat yogurt. So, I started buying it from Aldi’s. This guy right here likes yogurt. It doesn’t seem to matter what flavor it is either. Tiger almost always pays attention to what I’m doing and when he sees me get a yogurt and settle in my desk chair, he’ll jump up and sit in front of me. He turns on the old purr machine and licks his lips. Every bite I take is intently watched from cup to mouth. He licks his lips again and dances with anticipation. I ignore him. I’ll let him have some but only after I’m done. I don’t have any desire to share a spoon with him. He licks his lips and reaches out to pull my yogurt cup toward him. I’ll pull it back out of reach, but not too far. Tiger makes eye contact with me and looks at the cup, begging for a bite and licking his lips. With the yogurt cup out of reach, he tries for my spoon-holding hand, giving it tap. I feel sorry for him and gobble the last bite I’ll eat. I always save him a bite then let him lick the container.

Tiger helps me with my Bible study too.

He turns the pages for me.

          Tiger’s more attentive than most dogs and the best cat I’ve ever had.

          “God knew what He was doing when He gave you Tiger,” my beautiful best Missouri gal says.

          Tiger, as you may recall, was supposed to go to someone else who backed out, making it possible for me to have him. And since Mike doesn’t want another dog right now, Tiger fills that niche.

          Right now, Tiger’s curled up here on my desk, between the keyboard and monitor as I visit with you. And he curled up and napped while I did some sewing this week too.

          I made ear savers for my beautiful Minnesota sister. I have to tell you; I’ve been using just black thread for all my masks because I didn’t want to invest in a zillion spools of colored thread. But in Momma’s old sewing box, and in the gifts Miss Rosie has given me, were little spools of colored thread. Since it doesn’t take a lot of thread to sew a button on, I decided to try and match them as close as I could.

Phyllis doesn’t have face masks to match all these patterns but since the masks are reversible and a solid color on the other side, she can use a patterned ear saver with a solid color mask. Or whatever strikes her fancy-schmancy. And Phyllis, if you need more, I’d be happy to make them for you.

How long have I been making face masks for now? I don’t even know. But even after all of the masks I’ve made, I still make mistakes!  

          Case in point.

          I made this one and when I flipped it right side out, I saw I hadn’t put it together right.

        I’ll just keep it for myself, I think, rather than tearing out all the stiches and fixing it. I put the elastic in, back stitching so they don’t pull out, and closed up the seam. The first time — the very first time— I wore it, I realized it wasn’t going to work. The raw edges were a constant source of tickle to this old nose. I thought about tossing it but I liked the way the pattern came out. Now I had a lot more seams to rip out!

          Even though my niece thinks this is an old lady pattern and she’d never wear it, I rather like it. Oh, wait, I am an old lady! That explains it!

          Besides ear savers (and fixing this mask) I made more face masks. My heart nearly burst when my oldest, most beautifulest, and much-adored sister (not that I put her on a pedestal or anything) asked for a couple of masks. Patti was highly successful in her career and now that she’s retired, can afford anything she wants. The fact that she wanted a couple of my face masks pleased me. (They’re in the mail so as of yet I don’t know if she likes them.)

          I want people to like the things I make for them. So, unless it’s a secret or a surprise, I’m gonna ask what you like. I never want anyone to accept something because it’s the polite thing to do, then never using it or worse yet, throwing it away. Giving it away isn’t as bad.

          “No flowers,” Patti told me. “Geometric patterns or maybe a peace sign is the boldest I’d go. And no black. Red is my favorite color.”

          I had to laugh. That other sister of mine said, “No red.”

          So, I went shopping. I found a couple of Southwestern patterns that I liked but since Patti lives in the Southwest, I thought they might be too cliché. I made ten masks for Patti, a mix of the new patterns I bought and what I already had.

I’m sitting there, happily sewing away, and I can hear Patti in my head. I’d made Momma a goodie box and might’ve overdone it a little. “Peggy! This is way too much! Just a few of each would’ve been enough!” she berated — but for educational purposes and with love.

So, when Patti opens the box with ten masks in it, I can hear her say, “I don’t need ten masks!” with love, of course.

I better not do that, I thought and can hear Patti sigh with relief. I pulled the piece I’d been sewing from the machine and see I’d just sewn it wrong. Now I’m sighing. My daydreamin’ let me stitch across the top instead of down the front like I should’ve done.

I was getting ready to put the final two seams in and wishing I had a matching color rather than the black I normally use, it would just look a little nicer, when my eyes fall on the small spools of thread still sitting on the table from sewing buttons and ear savers — and there was a matching color! I don’t have to use the matching color for the whole mask! Only the final seams that actually show! I’m such an idiot! It took me this long to figure that out!

When I finished, I sent Patti a picture, asking her to pick what she’d like to have. To my surprise, she liked the Southwestern patterns best and only wants two.

“What are you going to do with the rest?” you wonder.

          Never fear. Someone, someplace, will take a shine to one of ‘em and ask if it’s spoken for and even if it is, I have enough material to duplicate most of what you see here — not everything though. And when I start going back to church, I’ll need more than just the two I currently use.

          I’d taken my sewing machine off the table and put everything away once, when I thought I was done making masks, but now it’s all back out again. I’m so glad it doesn’t bother Mike for it to be sitting there.

          Speaking of going back to church…

          For a while, when COVID first hit, our church services were held in the parking lot. When it moved back indoors, Mike, my worrywart, was afraid if he got COVID that he’d die. He asked me to not go until we got vaccines.

          In Pennsylvania, Mike qualifies to get a shot because of his age, I don’t, but I couldn’t find any place to get him one. Finally, I called AAA, Area Agency on Aging, and was told there was a clinic with openings for the following week, but it was in Wellsboro. Sixty-six miles, an hour and a half drive. Did Mike want to go that far?

          “I want to get the shot,” Mike says. “I guess we can make the trip.”

         Can you say road pictures!

         I thought this view of a far-off farm was more interesting when I saw the deer in the lower right-hand corner. 

         Printed, this image doesn’t have nearly the detail it does as when you see it electronically, so for the three of you who get it printed, sorry.

         The other times I’d been past this place I didn’t realize it was still in operation. 

         But that looks like a fresh bag of something sitting there on the corner of the dock.

         Coming back through, I see there’s a pickup truck where the big truck had been and they were loading it.

           Somebody somebody loved died here. There’s enough info that I could look it up.

           Amber was 28 when she crossed the center line and hit a heavy-duty service truck. I think the guy in the truck was okay because he was never admitted to the hospital.

Amber was married and had two daughters.

I don’t know why her memorial marker lists her maiden name and her obit lists — what I assume — is her married name.

And this is the place you’d insert a sad emoji with tears running out of its eyes.

           We were getting close to Mansfield, which isn’t far from Wellsboro, when I got to thinking about these COVID vaccines. I guess I’ve been hesitant in committing to getting one because of all the fearmongering going on out there.

          “Are you going to get one?” Mike has asked at least two dozen times.

          “I don’t know,” I told him. “I can’t get one right now because I’m not eligible so I’ll make up my mind later. I just worry a little about trusting the government too much. In history we saw how Hitler controlled citizens by turning one faction against another and even getting the Jews to turn on their own people! We can go even further back in the history of our own country and see what our government did to the American Indian and the Africans. (No hate mail, please.) They’re even talking about making the vaccine mandatory.”

          “It’s for your own good!” Mike insists. And that’s what they told the Indians.  

          We could debate this subject until we’re blue in the face. Suffice it to say, I decided to leave it up to God. If you want me to get this vaccine, Lord, then make it so, is what I prayed or something to that effect.

       Then we were at Mansfield. This building is part of the college that our beloved Miss Rosie attended.

I caught this horse jumping a little creek or maybe it was a ditch. There are some geese in the field with him.

On the way home a lot more animals were out. I see goats and a cow.

          Then we were there. Wellsboro High School. Signs told us where to go, where to park, where to enter.

          “You go check in while I pee,” I told Mike. When I came out, a gentleman ushered me to a table where three people sat, registering people. Mike was the only one being registered at the moment and was sitting in front of the middle guy.

          “Are you getting a shot?” the gal on his right asked as I approached.

          “No. I’m with him,” and I put my hand on Mike’s shoulder.

          “Jack will show you where to go next,” the guy said when Mike was done and pointed to where Jack was standing. We’d just gotten there, standing in front of Jack, when the man that registered Mike yelled, “How old is she?”

          I heard him. Is he talking about me? I wondered but didn’t say anything.

          “Hey Jack!” he yelled getting our attendant’s attention. Jack turned. “How old is she?”

          “Huh?”

          “The wife!”

          By this time Mike knew he was asking about me and answered. “62!”

          Turkey. I’m not 62 yet!

          “Any underlying health conditions?” he wanted to know.

          I shook my head. “No,” and shrugged an I’m sorry.

          He thought about it a minute and walked the twenty feet to where we were standing. “Is your BMI 35%?”

          “I don’t know,” I told him honestly. “But I am fat.”

          “Come on back over here.”

          I followed him back to the chair Mike had recently vacated and sat down. He started to ask questions and that’s when I remembered, “I have bronchitis.” Although my lungs don’t hurt right now, I still have a cough. Especially first thing in the morning. One of these days I’ll take my sister’s loving advice and see a pulmonologist. But not right now.

          “That’ll work!” He seemed almost too happy. “I can get you in.”

          And I got my COVID shot.

          In the car, heading for home, I asked Mike, “Are you surprised I got the shot?”

          “Yeah.”

          Then I told him about my little prayer and Mike had something to tell me too. “I asked him to.”

          “What? What’d’ya say to him?”

          “I said, ‘why don’t you get my wife a shot too.’”

          Does that take away from my belief that God answered me? No. Mike didn’t know about my prayer and the guy let us walk away. He could’ve let us keep right on agoin’.

          I had to tell another Christian. “Miss Rosie! You’re not going to believe this,” and I told her about my prayer and how it was answered.

          “Actually, I would,” she told me. “When we were trying to get our shots, I was on the phone for hours trying to get through to someone. Finally, I prayed, God, if you want us to get this shot, Your gonna have to help us. The very next time I dialed, I got through. And that was how I was able to schedule our shots!”

          I didn’t see these frogs in time to get a picture when we passed the first time and I missed them on our way out of town because I was talking to my Miss Rosie. Mike, bless his heart, turned around for me — for you! 

>>>*<<<

Mike got his ears lowered this week, as Patti would say.

          “What’s Mike having done to his ears?” one of my morning love-note gals asked.

          “He’s getting a haircut.”

          She laughed. “Oh. I thought he was getting plastic surgery or something!”

          I would’ve sent him by himself but I needed to mail a couple of packages. That means more road pictures! Can you stand it?

   

       I missed this shot and Mike turned around for me again. Twice in one week!

          “It’s got pretty green and blue windows,” I begged. Begging isn’t beneath me when it’s a shot I really want.

          “It’s just tarps!” Mike exclaimed when he saw it.

          “I don’t care. I still like it.”

>>>*<<<

           Y’all know that my husband isn’t influenced by commercials at all, right?

NOT!

“McDonald’s has a new chicken sandwich out that’s supposed to rival Popeyes,” Mike says. “You wanna go to Tunkhannock and get one?”

“Why not? We can stop at Aldi’s and get some eggs.”

We left early and did our shopping before going for lunch. Something else I wanted to look for at Aldi’s was a special buy called Brekkie Bites. These breakfast cookies are marketed as gluten free, allergy friendly, kosher, vegan, and non-GMO. The gal that does the review for Aldi’s items said they were good and a new favorite of her family’s so I got some to include in Andrew’s next goodie box.

Mike and I get in line at McDonald's. Even though it was a tad early for lunch, the cars were lined up almost out to the road. When it’s finally our turn, the gal behind the speaker says, “Our credit card machine is down so it’s cash only today.”

Cash! What the heck is that! We left the line. “We can get a Whopper at Burger King,” I suggested. I know he likes those.

“I had my heart set on one of those new chicken sandwiches. Where’s the next closest McDonald's?”

“Wysox?” That’d be like forty miles in the other direction.

Mike pulled to the side and punched McDonald’s into the GPS. Fifteen miles in South Abington. “Wanna go?” I asked. “I’m not that hungry, I can wait.”

Mike really wanted that sandwich! We went.

We’ve been on these roads many times because it’s the way we go when we go to Sam’s Club. Passing through Clarks Summit stand the remains of their recent ice festival, most of them so far gone you can’t even tell what they were.

At McDonald’s we once again took our place in a long line. Mike ordered our sandwiches and we made our way to the pick-up window.

           “Look at the fence,” Mike says. “They hit it.”

          It was tight, going around the end, but it wasn’t that tight! Judging by the scars on the fence, a lot of people do hit it though.

          We got our sandwiches and claimed a parking spot to sit and eat. I got a Deluxe so it had lettuce, mayo, and tomato. Mike just got the Crispy which only has a pickle on it. If I’m blowing my diet, I’m going all the way. It was a generous piece of chicken, lightly breaded, nice and crunchy and it was pretty good.

>>>*<<<

Lastly, let me tell you what a dumbass thing I did.

          Mike was on my computer, doing something, I was trying to head to the bedroom to change from my going-out-in-public clothes to my slop-around-the-house grubbies, and he kept asking me questions, distracting me. So, you know where this story’s going to end up right? It’s going to be all Mike’s fault.

          I glanced down and saw the cats’ water bowl needed freshened. While answering whatever question Mike asked, I dumped, rinsed, and refiled it. Then I went to change my clothes. Coming back into the kitchen, I hear the microwave beep. My coffee’s done, I think. Then I see my cup sitting on the counter! What’s in the microwave then? I wondered and opened the door. There was the water bowl — a metal water bowl!

          “Oh! My! Gosh!” I exclaimed. Mike turned and saw what I’d done.

          “Does it still work?” he wanted to know. It does, but I’m surprised I didn’t blow it up!

           Let’s call this one done!