Copper Dreams

           I painted the book box that had the bricks and butterflies on it. I used red, yellow, green on the leaves, and orange as my undertones, then highlighted everything with metallic copper paint. I’m calling it Copper Dreams.

          Then a thought strikes me. Oh Lord! Now I’m naming them! I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing but at least it gives us a way to talk about a particular book box if you so desired.

          If you’ve seen my boxes in real life, you’d know the pictures don’t do them justice. And the pages of this one look more orange than they really are.

I’m making a new one. This one is going to have a dream catcher on the front. I’m waiting on a mold to come in the mail. I sure hope it wasn’t on that Fed-Ex truck that burned up on the highway this week. Did you see that?

          My lid warped.

          “Wet it and put a heavy weight on it,” Mike said.

          I haven’t got anything to lose so that’s what I did. It’s still under its weight and will stay that way until Monday. That should give it plenty of time to dry. Worse comes to worse, I’ll take it off and make a new lid — or make a whole new box! I wouldn’t give a bad one away. And that’s about the only way I get to keep one.

          I’m working on a glass piece this week, too.

          Okay, that’s a lie.

          I finished a glass piece this week. It was the first project I did using my new-to-me Taurus 3 Ring Saw.

          I’m really excited! Having a saw opens up a whole new world of possibilities in glass making. I can cut shapes with a saw that I could never achieve with just a hand-held cutter and grinder.

          “What did you make?” I know you wanna know.

          I can’t tell you. Not yet anyway. It’s a surprise for Valentine’s Day for a very special and dearly loved person in my life. Besides, it’ll give you something to look forward to later.

          But aren’t you proud of me for not waiting until the last minute to make something? I know I am!

          Credit where credit is due?

          Blackie helped. He found the ends of my copper foil tape very very irresistible. No matter what I did I couldn’t keep him from grabbing my tape. I was considering kenneling him, that’s how bad it was.

          Finally, I moved it out of his reach. He wasn’t deterred, no sirree, not one bit. Instead, he just found something else to play with. Like say, the napkin collection I brought in from the glovebox of the car. I spent five minutes straightening them out and stacking them up so we could use them at the table, I’ll be darned if I was going to let him knock them all over the place!

          After he forced me to clear the table, there was nothing left to play with but my tape. In an effort to get some peace from this persistent helpmate, I tore off the spent paper backing and gave that to him. He happily played with it for a few minutes.

          Then he got up, taking it in his mouth, and jumped from the table, dragging the paper behind him. 

          Where’s he going? I wondered. With camera in hand, I followed.

          Uh-huh. See! What did I tell you! Blackie takes things for Bondi!

          “Peg, she might swallow bits of it,” Mike pointed out.

          “I’m not sure it would hurt her,” I said. He’s always spoiling her fun. But did I really want to be picking up little bits of paper after she finishes with it? No! So, I took it away.

          Blackie can’t tell the difference between spent foil paper and that with copper foil on it still. Yep. I left it on the table unattended! I won’t do that again.

          One more thing about Blackie. His poop test came back. It was negative for parasites. I’m having a really hard time believing it. He stinks — and he shouldn’t. His poop is mushy and stinky — and it shouldn’t be. And by stinky, I don’t mean just the run of the mill cat poop stink, which is bad enough. It smells sick. I just can’t believe it. Was his poop mishandled? Did they actually run the test? I don’t actually believe that every single sample is tested no matter what. I’ve worked with people in a factory setting before. If someone is having a bad day, or running behind, and pissed at the world, I can see them tossing a few in the trash and marking ‘no parasites’ on the paper and sending it back. “I get paid the same, whether I do a good job or not,” is something I often heard. I’m not so naive that I can’t believe something like this can’t happen.

          I love Blackie. He’s a good cat and affectionate. I just can’t stand to be around him sometimes.

          I just don’t know what to do about it. 

          We had snow. A few inches last week. Not enough for Mike to get the snowblower — snowthrower out for. I don’t know what the difference is. I’m just gonna call ours a snowblower.

I wasn’t sure how Bondi would handle the snow. For our Yorkies I had to shovel paths through the yard for them so they could do their business.

          Turns out, Bondi stayed close to the building where there was little snow or just relieved herself in the grass under the awning where the snow didn’t reach. She didn’t go up on the snow at all.

          Monday, we got seven inches of the white stuff!

          Mike was up early and out with the snowblower at first light. If it were me, I don’t know that I’d be all that anxious to get out there and get it done. But since Mike’s doing it, I let him do it when and how he wants.

I took a few pictures and went back in where it was warm. 

After a bit the door opens and Mike sticks his head in.

“Peg! Can you come and help me for a second?”

“What?” I asked when I got there.

“Can you tip it back and pull the handle?” he asked.

Tip it back so he could see inside without bending over too far, pull the handle so he could see if the auger was turning. Sometimes he breaks the shear pins.

          “Okay,” he said. I let off the handle and set it down. “It’s not working very good.”

          “It’s probably all that snow clogging it up.”

          Mike used a broom handle and knocked the snow out.

          Bondi slipped out the door behind me. We don’t normally let her run loose but I didn’t worry. With all the snow I didn’t think she’d go far. Luckily, when I called, she came bounding back. She was ready to go in.

          Mike came in and warmed up and let it warm up a little outside before he went back out. He made a path for me to dump my litter box detritus in the weeds. He made a path around the house for the Kipps should they stop and visit. He made a path to the burn barrel. He made a path to the mailbox. And he made a path through the yard for Bondi.

          He’s a good husband and a good doggie dad.

          Bondi explored her pathway, then jumped up on the snowbank and did her business.

         Geesh! 

          Mike came out in the kitchen while I was working on this blog.

          “Here’s your pictures,” I said and scrolled back up to show him.

          Mike looked over my shoulder and said, “Uh-huh.” Then, just to give me a hard time asked, “Did I give you permission to use my pictures?”

          “Yes! When you married me you gave me carte blanche!”

          “What’s that?” he wanted to know. Actually, it was probably my pronunciation that threw him more than not knowing the meaning.

          “It means you give me permission to use your pictures whenever and however I want!”

           You have to go into a marriage with a writer with your eyes open. You know what they say. Don’t annoy the writer. She’ll put you in a book and kill you off. So, okay, I don’t do that kind of writing, but I still enjoy the analogy.

          Bondi has been spending time at the kitchen door, watching birds at the feeders. And yes, those are nose prints all over the windows. They’ll get cleaned off in the spring, when it’s not so cold.

          Sometimes she barks to go out. After chasing the birds away she’ll snoop around under the feeders. You know what she’s looking for, don’cha?

          Bird nuggets.

          At least she doesn’t eat her own, that’s all I’ve gotta say.

          Bondi, by the way, weighs ten pounds. Mike had me weigh her this week.

          I had icicles hanging from the awning.

          I broke one off and gave it to Bondi.

         It was too heavy for her and it broke when she dropped it. She nosed around at all the pieces until she found one she liked and took it to her burying spot. She rolled it around in the dirt but didn’t bury it — and she didn’t bring it in the house either. Maybe she’s saving it for the next time she goes out.

          We woke to bone-chilling cold here on Saturday morning. Minus 16. 

         “Minnesota cold!” I told my peeps in my morning love note. My beautiful sister Phyllis lives in that cold northern state and has had temps like this weeks ago!

          “Holy sh—,” err, I mean “Holy cow!” I said when she told me.

          She shrugs. “It’s Minnesota.” Like it’s normal for them.

          My more-protected kitchen patio only registered zero.

          I don’t think our furnace shut off once during the night!

          Our outside girls, Callie and Sugar, were warm and snug in their cat room. Thanks to Mike putting a heating run over there, it was 50 halfway up. The floor stays colder due to the cat door but the cats have shelves with beds they can get up on. 

          Have you seen the commercial for Dupixent?

          “Peg, look! There’s a tree right behind that van in the middle of the road!” Mike said.

          Leave it to Mike to notice.

          “Yep. I see it.”

          “Why would they plant a tree there?” he asked like I’d know the answer. Let me ask you. What’s the deal with the tree?

           Mike had an appointment in Sayre to get the results of the test he took last week.

          “Everything looks good. We’ll see you in six months,” Doc said.

          I took road pictures for you.

          Our pretty little creek tucked in under a blanket of ice.

          We pass this place every time we go to Wysox, Towanda, or Sayre. I wonder what he did to his house. 

          I know you’ve seen a lot of these places before, now you get to see them covered with snow.

          Claverack pond.

          We were coming down onto Route 6 from 220 when I saw someone had sprayed graffiti on the overpass. We make the turn and as we get closer, I realize my mistake. It’s only the shadows cast by the trees. I can’t read tree graffiti, I thought.

          I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m silly.

          Frozen bales in the winter sun. 

          Our beautiful Susquehanna. 

          Mike got Bondi a new squeaky toy. I made the mistake of squeaking it when I took it out of the shopping bag. From then on out she wouldn’t stop jumping against the counter, wanting her new toy which sat on top. I showed her who the boss was. I made her wait until all the groceries were put away, then I gave it to Mike.

          Several times every day Mike plays fetch and tug o’ war with Bondi. They both really seem to enjoy the games. Eventually Bondi stops bringing the toy back.

          “Bring it back,” I hear Mike tell her. “I can’t throw it if you don’t bring it back.” I’m guessing she’s totally ignoring him because then I’ll hear him say, “Okay. I’m not playing with you anymore. You cheat.” And I hear his chair squeak as he sits back in it.

          So, he got her a new toy and they set to play. A half hour later Mike says, “She broke it already!”

          “What do you mean she broke it already?” I asked.

          “It won’t squeak.”

          I got the toy and sure enough, it wouldn’t squeak. I set it down in front of Bondi and attempted to take a picture. She wasn’t over the infatuation of a new toy and this is the least of the blurry shots I got.

          Then I picked a toy from her toy box. This is one we bought for Itsy more than 15 years ago and it still squeaks just fine.

          “It’s got thicker plastic too,” Mike says.

          And Bondi doesn’t play with it near as much either. Although she does play with it sometimes, she much prefers the softer plastic squeakers. 

          Just the other day I was thinking about Ginger. About how she would get in my lap and lay there for as long as I sat still. I was missing that. Bondi only ever wants to curl up in the chair behind me and I end up sitting on the edge.

          A couple of days ago she asked to be picked up. I did, scooted forward on my chair, and put her behind me. Instead of settling down like she usually does, I felt a little nose push the back of my arm. I picked up my arm and Bondi crept into my lap and scratched to be let under my lap blanket.

          Sigh.

          I’m happy. 

          I have a little room left so let me tell you about a small book I read. A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park. It’s about an eleven-year-old girl in 2008 who had to walk two hours from her home to a pond to get water for her family. She made the four-hour round-trip twice a day, every day. Sometimes, if she had to take her little sister, it would take her longer to make the trip.

          The story alternates between her and one of the Lost Boys of the Sudan, a refugee and orphan from the war in 1985. The boy eventually came to America, went to college, and raised money to dig wells for his people.

          And that’s how these two met. He was digging a fresh water well for her people, too.

          And because the little girl no longer had to make the long walk to water, she was allowed to go to school.

          We take water — and school — so for granted, don’t we? And can you imagine being eleven and having that responsibility?

           Let’s call this one done!