A Mouseful Week

           We had such an interesting week this week, at least I did!

          Sunday and Monday we had snow flurries but nothing stuck.

          Then Tuesday and a big snowstorm struck overnight. We woke up to about seven inches of a very wet and heavy snow.

          The power went out and was out for seven or eight hours, according to my beautiful neighbor Steph.

          I called my feisty, redheaded neighbor. “How long was the power out?” I asked, expecting Miss Rosie to pin it down a little closer.

          “It went out sometime in the middle of the night, like one-thirty or two o’clock, because Tux barked when the generator came on. I’d say it was a good twelve hours or so.”

          I was surprised. “Mike and I were already out of bed when ours went out. I’m thinking it was six-thirty or seven.”

          So, we have conflicting stories and in the end it doesn’t matter anyway.

          This snow brought down a lot of trees, branches, power lines, and power poles. Besides the electric going out, phone lines were down, too. Even though we don’t have a landline we get our internet from one. We were three days without it. I survived.

          On the morning of the storm, seventeen thousand plus were without power. Electric companies from other areas sent their linemen — err, linepeople in to help restore power. Susquehanna County was by far the hardest hit in our area with fourteen inches of snow, one-hundred-twenty broken poles, and two miles of downed wires.

          We didn’t go out to check out the damage, but Wednesday we had to go out for milk and passed a line of utility trucks.

          The snow was melting fast and the ornamental trees in town are blooming! It’ll be another week or so until ours bloom.

By Friday the weather was beautiful! I hung out my first load of wash of the year. There’s nothing like the smell of sunshine and wind on your sheets.

Sometimes the wind was a little much-too-much; my clothespins gave up and let my sheets fall to the ground.

          Something that’s been on my mind lately is "stronger together."

          I noticed on our recent trip to Danville that a lot of trees were being held up by other trees. I thought about getting a picture and captioning it something like, When storms blow through life, be a tree. You get it? Help hold someone up when life is hard for them? Let them lean on you? But it didn’t happen.

With "stronger together" still echoing in my mind, I added a second clothespin. Two are better than one. Stronger together. And it worked. Despite the strong wind gusts, and my sheets whipping around like crazy, they stayed on the line.

          With all the snowmelt, our pond is super full.

          And my Forsythia is starting to bloom! I took a couple of pictures and lucked into having a bee in the photos. I didn’t know he was there until I saw him on my ‘puter.

          I spent most of the week inside, but Friday afternoon was spent on the patio, pricking my finger and bleeding all over the place.

          Most of the time, when making tin can flowers, I’m mindful of the sharp edges and needles that often occur during cutting. But this guy! I’m tellin’ ya! He was born out of a blood bath! I pricked my finger so many times! Bondi smelled it but couldn’t figure out where the hamburger was — not that somebody gives her raw hamburger! Okay, okay! That was a lie. I do give her bits of hamburger and every time I do, I hear Kat in my head.

          “Mom! Raw hamburger isn’t good for you and it’s not good for your dogs either!”

          “Peg, what’s on your craft table this week?” you ask.

          This week I’m working on a couple of commissioned pieces.

          I got out my cardboard and cutting mat and measured for two boxes. I’m cutting along the lines with my box knife as straight as I can, but no matter how careful I am, it always seems to go a little wonky. I’ll call it character but I’d prefer if it were straight.

          Then, in my mind’s eye, I’m putting my vacuum sweeper away when I glance down on the floor of the closet and see my paper cutter propped up against the wall.

          Aye-yi-yi! Why didn’t I think of this sooner! I got up, got the paper cutter out and I have ta tell ya! It’s a game-changer folks! I can cut straight and fast!

          I’ve wanted to try a chest-style box for a while now so while I had all my cutting stuff out, I decided to try one. With no pattern to follow, I tried to work it out for myself and it’s bad. I didn’t even finish it. I threw it away and went with a flat lid for the box.

         This one will have actual store-bought hardware on it. Hinges and a clasp. Although, I have to tell ya. I did try to make a hinge. With the internet down, I had to figure it out for myself. I was feeling pretty proud until I put the two sides together. There’s no way to put a pin in because the pin holes don’t line up. He now lives in the scrap bin. But just because I failed this time, doesn’t mean I won’t try again.

          I’m working these boxes through a little at a time. I don’t want to do all the steps on all the boxes all at the same time because then I’ve got nothing to do while they’re drying.

          One is naked, no plaster of Paris, one is half plastered, and the chest-style box is fully plastered but not sanded.

          While waiting for the plaster to dry, I made molds of my crochet hooks for one of the boxes.

          I’ve been anxious to see how the cheap silicone compares to the more expensive stuff and now I know. I didn’t have nearly the working time with the expensive stuff and lost half a batch of molding material. It set before I could use it.

C’est la vie.  

Besides the fast dry time, it stuck to my hands way more than the cheap stuff did. Silicone is very sticky in and of itself, but if you keep a layer of powder between you and it, and keep working it in, you won’t get much on you. I didn’t have any problem with the cheap stuff but with the expensive stuff I had all of this stuck to my hands even after two washings. I sat and picked at it for a while but figured at that rate it would take me a hundred years to pick it all off. I decided to try a dry Scotch-Brite pad and it worked really, really well! I might’ve lost a layer of skin but that was a fair trade off.

        

          I am so proud of my family. My brothers and sisters and I all have a good relationship but beyond that, they are beautiful and smart and clever and resourceful people, too!

          Case in point.

          My younger sister Phyllis got two Dachshund pups this week.

          Nimueh (nim-way) is a nine-week-old female mini weenie.

          Arthur, Artie for short, is another miniature Dachsie, an eighteen-week-old male.

          They are just adorbs and I’m a little bit jelly!

          Since the pups are so little, Phyllis needed steps and decided to make her own.

          “How did you make them?” I wanted to know.

          “I bought 3 blocks of foam 5" thick. The top is 8" wide, the middle is 16", and the base is 24". I glued the pieces together and used some brown fuzzy fabric and fake leather left over from previous projects. Not perfect but these were the first — and I hope the last — steps I ever make. Rachel reports that it works well and the puppies have no trouble using them. Yay! I'll take that as a win.”

          See what I mean! Clever and ingenious! Phyllis, the steps are awesome! You did good!

          Bondi loves her chewies. Well, I say that but really what she loves is the stuff wrapped around the chewie. After the good stuff is gone, she’s done with them. I used to throw them away but discovered she’ll often go back for the rest of the chewie another time so I’ve gotten in the habit of tossing them in her kennel.

          I heard her barking and went to see what was bothering her. Here Spitfire is laying on her stash of chew sticks. She managed to pull a few out but couldn’t bully Spitfire into leaving. I refused to help her.

          Speaking of Spitfire…

          He didn’t come home last night but he came home for breakfast. Checking him out I see he’s got a bite on his shoulder. It’s not fresh. It’s starting to scab over and doesn’t look pusy. I’ll keep an eye on it.

          And now, knowing I’ve titled this A Mouseful Week, I bet you can’t wait to hear what that’s all about!

          So, this week has been a very, very mouseful kinda week. Since the snow left, the cats have been bringing mice in left and right!

          Tiger brought one in. He’d already killed it so I didn’t need to sic Bondi on it. I never, never, no never, have to put up with cats torturing mice ever again since Bondi will quickly dispatch them — and I’m not afraid to use her either!

          I was really surprised when I saw Tiger playing with his dead mouse. He’d toss it in the air and perform acrobatics catching it.

          Bondi, Blackie, and I watched from inside the dog run until curiosity got the best of Blackie. He climbed the chain-link, balancing on top for a moment, then went to investigate.

          If Tiger let him have the mouse or not, I didn’t care. I went inside.

          The next time I look out, I see Blackie playing with a dead mouse. I’m guessing Tiger let him have it. I doubt he’s big enough to just take it from Tiger.

          But where’s Bondi, I wondered and opened the door.

          There she was, on the patio rug, consuming a mouse of her own. Where this mouse came from, I don’t know. And since there’s not much besides a tail left, I’m guessing she ate the rest of it.

          “Ewwww! Gross!” you say.

          I know, right! I’m right there with ya on that! I didn’t let her finish, tossing the rest over the fence.

          Then I Google it.

If a dog eats an already dead mouse, chances are it was sick or poisoned so it could potentially make your dog sick. But if your country dog is catching and killing country mice, it’s actually a pretty well-balanced diet for him. The biggest issue could be worms but we worm Bondi every month so that’s not an issue.

Bondi hates dog food and only eats it when she’s really hungry. She survives mostly on treats and cat food. If she likes mice and they’re good for her, I’m gonna let her eat them — and if I gotta clean up puke, I’ll clean up puke.

She didn’t puke this one up and I didn’t let her have the one Blackie was playing with. I think one mouse a day is enough until I see how well she digests them.

Sunday morning Blackie brings in a live one. He doesn’t come over the fence well yet so I picked Bondi up, opened the gate, and tried to coax him in.

          He wasn’t understanding. He went to the edge of the yard and put his mouse down. The mouse looked at him for a moment and made a break for the weeds.

          Blackie went after him as he went down over the bank.

          Caught him and brought him back.

          Blackie kept torturing this poor critter but I was hesitant to put Bondi down, leashless, outside of the fence. I didn’t know if she’d take off on me or not.

          After watching for a few minutes, I had enough. I decided to chance it and put Bondi down. She grabbed the mouse and shook the stuffing out of it. She dropped it and checked for signs of life. She’d done a good job.

          I picked Bondi up, she picked up the mouse, I carried her back inside the run, put her down, and went in the house. What happened after that, I can’t say.

          Sunday afternoon, Mike and I are playing cards and Bondi’s on the patio barking her fool head off. I couldn’t get her to be quiet so I went to see what was wrong. There on the rug was a small snake. She didn’t try to kill it and I don’t know why that is. A natural fear of snakes maybe?

          I took him out in the weeds and shook him free.

          I’d originally intended to end this week’s letter blog with the mouse stories but since I’ve got some room left and some time, I think I’ll keep going with an update and some tidbits.

          I wrote about Merl Edison last week. Remember?

          I was writing this week’s blog when I got a message from his brother. He was not happy. “Why would I want you to blog about my dead brother?”

          Even though it was written, it made my heart skip a beat and I was embarrassed. I could read the anger and upset in his words. I tried to explain. “I saw his marker and wanted to take a moment to be sad and mourn for a life lost too young. I lost my daughter and wasn't able to put a marker up. I'm so very sorry for your loss.”

         After I sent it, I thought of lots better ways I could’ve put it. Rather than compound my faux pas, I left it alone.

          I guess I was projecting. Given the opportunity to show a picture of my beautiful daughter or tell you something about her, I’d relish it. I guess not everyone would.

           I felt horrible. I couldn't concentrate on writing anymore. I left the computer and baked up a storm. Our church was having a potluck for a special guest, one of the missions we support, and I made baked beans, Dream Bars, and Lemon Bars.

          One step and then the next gets you where you’re going.

          This is something said over and over by Sister in the book Swan Song. Tired, starving, freezing cold, or injured, she bolstered herself with this mantra. It amazes me how people in books and movies can get shot or busted up and keep on going. Me? A tummy ache can put me in bed all day! But nonetheless, I appreciate the sentiment and it’s very similar to the longest journey begins with one step. Sometimes we need to remember that and just take the first step.    

          Speaking of movies...

          I’ve seen two in the past few weeks I wanted to tell you about.

          Do you know, or have you heard, about Rubin "Hurricane" Carter? He was an American-Canadian middleweight boxer, wrongfully convicted of murder and later released following a petition of habeas corpus after serving almost twenty years in prison. Twenty years!

          Mike and I watched the movie and if it aligns with the true facts (I know that’s superfluous but couldn’t help but say it) but if it’s anywhere close to the truth, I’m shocked and horrified at the miscarriage of justice perpetrated on this man.

          Lastly, the Newsy channel showed The Hidden Life of Trees. I think there’s a second part playing tonight. It’s amazing! Astonishing, even!

          Did you know that trees share nutrients through their root system? Including with their competitors. The system is to everyone’s advantage, because a grouping of trees creates an ecosystem that, among other things, can regulate temperature, store water, and generate humidity.

Or that they get together and decide whether or not to bloom? It was focused mainly on the beeches and oaks. The deer, wild pigs, birds, and squirrels can eat a lot of nuts and wipe out a year’s worth of seeds. By not blooming every year, the critters can’t count on them for a food supply. When the trees do bloom, the lower critter population, and abundance of nuts makes for more baby trees.

Trees feel pain. When a caterpillar takes a bite out of a leaf, the leaf sends electrical signals back (to where, I don’t know) and the tree will send out a chemical to spoil the caterpillar’s meal. But trees live in the slow lane. The pain signal only travels at a third of an inch per minute and it can be an hour or more for the tree’s defensive compound to reach the leaves and spoil the pest’s meal.

It was fascinating. There’s more, but I won’t go on. 

In fact, let’s call this one done!

Done!

Panama

           I have so many things to talk about this week! I have my usual assortment of mundane subjects to regal you with and on top of that you can add an auto accident. On top of on top of that, you can add blessing from a friend and for the cherry on top, we can add a road trip with lots of pictures. That gives me quite a variety of subjects to choose a title from. I’m going with Panama!

          “Why Panama?” you ask.

          My beautiful cousin Lorraine and her handsome husband Mark have sold almost everything they own and are moving to Panama!

          “Get outta here!” you say.

          No! I’m not kidding.

          My handsome mountain man just can’t get his head around it. “I can’t imagine selling everything you worked your whole life for and moving out of the country.”

          But they’re doing it.

          “Why?” I asked Lorraine.

          “The temperature where we’re going is always between sixty-five and seventy-five degrees. They have a lower cost of living and a fantastic health care system,” she told me.

          At our aunt’s funeral, Lorraine offered me a few things. She didn’t have them with her but would arrange to get them to me. One was a Sunday Missal that belonged to our grandmother. We both thought it was a Bible until I looked a little closer.

          And a walking stick my mom gave to her mom.

“She used it, too,” Lorraine said.

          I can’t help but wonder if it was made by my brother Mike. He once asked me to keep an eye out for small trees or branches with vines twisted around them because they made, “…awesome walking sticks.”

          Lorraine and Mark sold their house within two days of putting it on the market and closing was this week.

          “Let’s meet in Danville and I’ll give you the stuff,” Lorraine suggested.

          You know what that means, don’cha?

          Road pictures!

          One of the very first pictures I took was where a car crashed into a house. And not just any car, but the car of one of my Facebook friends.

          “What happened, LeAnn?” I asked.

          “Well, we were out of power and I went over to my sister's house to pick up a generator. I was on my way back home just coming past Eplers and a water truck came around the corner too sharp. I didn't even think anything of it because those trucks cut that corner all the time so I tried to get over, but must've gotten over too far. At the time I didn't know what happened and thought I just lost control. When I got back on the road, I was heading for the pond so I corrected really quick and tried to put myself back in the ditch. When I did that, it threw me again, but this time I was all over the road and went down over the bank. I don't remember much in between that and when my family got to the ER. Looking at everything now, what had happened was when I got into the ditch, I blew a tire because the drop off into the ditch is almost 8 inches deep. So, my tire blowing out caused me to lose control and I locked up my brakes so I had no control anyway at that point. But between the way I fared and the way my kids fared we had an angel over us that day. My kids didn't have a scratch on them and I'm so thankful for that. God has bigger plans for me and I'm still here.”

          LeAnn’s little ones were in their car seats and weren’t hurt at all. LeAnn walked away with bruised ribs and a broken orbital bone.

           The house where the clothes were still hanging in the closet? It’s fallen.

          And there’s a new toilet and toilet sitter!

          “So tacky,” Mike says.

          I’d never do this but I do like seeing their driveway guards.

          Bondi went with us. She does so well in her car seat. She’s a year old now and I hope she’s done growing. There isn’t much room left in the car seat!

Millville is the site of John Eves' Mill. The marker reads, “On this site, the first settler in Columbia County erected a mill in 1785 or 1786. It burned to the ground in 1849 while owned and operated by George Masters. Rebuilt in 1852 by George Masters and John Betz, the business prospered and passed through several families and operators.

In 1966, the milling was discontinued and the site sold to Paul K. Girton. A variety of businesses were conducted here until 1996, when again the mill was nearly destroyed by fire.

The foundation has been saved to allow interested parties to study the water works and underpinnings of the namesake for this community.”

We passed through an Amish community.      

 

          Going, no laundry. 

          Coming, the laundry got hung out to dry.

          When I put the two towns in Distance Between Cities it said it would take us an hour and fifty-five minutes to get to Danville. We were to meet Lorraine at noon.

          “What time do you want to leave?” Mike asked.

          “The app says two hours, we’re meeting her at noon, so ten or nine-thirty?”

          “Or earlier?” Mike asks.

          I know he doesn’t like to be late, but I thought I’d padded it enough to please him. “Or earlier — if I’m ready,” I agreed.

          I was ready and we did leave earlier than nine-thirty. We put the destination in the GPS in the Explorer and it gave us an arrival time of ten-thirty.

          “Why the difference?” I questioned.

Mike didn’t know. “Let’s leave anyway. We’ll take our time and drive around when we get there.”

          We ended up behind a truck at a traffic light. We’re in a left turn lane. The guy in front of us and everyone in the line behind us has their left turn blinker on. But beside the signal is a very clear and very definite symbol for NO LEFT TURN.

We sat there while the other three directions got to go at least four or five times and we never got the green light.

The guy behind us honked.

“Did we miss seeing a green arrow?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Mike said.

“Hey! Where did the NO LEFT sign go?” I couldn’t see it anymore.

“It must be one of those signs that opens and closes,” Mike said.

The guy ahead of us got tired of waiting, veered into the other lane, and made a right turn at the light. Other drivers, also tired of the wait, followed suit. We moved to the front of the line. I watched as the car behind us got out of line, made a right, then I couldn’t see him, but I’m guessing he made an immediate left and went around the business on the corner because I see him coming out of the parking lot and zooming in line ahead of a U-HAUL. He got to the light and before he could make his right turn, we got a clear and definite green light and arrow.

“That guy was behind us.” I point to the little red car sitting at the light. That’d be me. About the time I decided to change lanes I end up having to wait longer than if I’d’ve just stayed put. We’re guessing the truck that was ahead of us missed the trigger plate.

          We went back to Perkin’s and I walked Bondi while we waited.

          Lorraine arrived early, too so we didn’t have to wait till noon to visit with this beautiful lady.

          Our server was Shannon and we enjoyed her. She gave us our menus and went for our drinks. While she was gone, I read the choice of sides to my tablemates. Lorraine ordered an omelet, I got country fried steak, and Mike got a club sandwich.

          “Do you want fries with that?” Shannon asked.

          “What are my choices?” Mike asked.

          Aye-yi-yi! That man! “Shannon!” I exclaimed. “I just read the choices to him. Does he ever listen to me? No!”

          “She yells at me all the time!” Mike said and he had fun with that the rest of the day.

          Shannon enumerated the sides for Mike and after a moment's thought, he got the French fries anyway.

          We had such a super nice visit. I hope to see Lorraine again before she leaves for Panama — and I hope to someday visit her in Panama!

          Things can look different when coming from the other direction. There might be some repeats although I try not to do that too often.

          Bondi was getting restless. She wouldn’t stay in her seat and she whined a little.

          “What is wrong with this dog‽” I wondered.

          “Maybe she’s thirsty,” Mike guessed.

          She was thirsty! She was very thirsty! I’m such a bad mom for not thinking of it myself. After a nice long drink, she settled down and slept the rest of the way home.

          Speaking of the way home…

          We were serenaded with squeaks from our to-go boxes every time there was a little bump. Our portions were so large, Mike only ate half his sandwich and I only ate half my country fried steak. That and we’d bought a little snack at the gas station when we stopped to pee. “Isn’t that annoying you?” I asked. “If you stop, I’ll fix it.”

          “No,” Mike answered. “I guess it’s bothering you more than me.”

          In my mind’s eye, I could see myself popping my gum on many, many car trips. I think most people would find that very annoying and yet Mike never says a word. “Of course it doesn’t annoy you — you live with me!”

          Car trips aren’t the only time I pop gum. In fact, I can’t chew gum without popping it. In a Walmart one time, Mike was in electronics while I browsed the craft section. I was popping my gum and noticed I’d attracted the attention of a young girl. She kept looking at me. When I was done browsing, I had to pass right by her. “That’s how my husband keeps track of me,” I told her and her mom politely laughed. I bet she thought I was annoying! I could never chew gum around Ginger because the popping
scared her to death.

          I Googled Merl Edison. He was a third, as in Merl Edison III. As you may well expect, this young twenty-four-year-old man died as a result of a car accident. As you may also well expect, it hits close to home. I wanted to put a marker up where Kat died but it wasn’t possible. It would’ve been in someone’s yard.

I looked at the tribute wall on his obit and was surprised there were only three condolences. I added mine. Although it’s been almost a year and half since he died, I know you never get over the loss of a child. I also noticed there was no picture of Merl on his obit. That got me to wondering and I spent the next little while searching for him and his kin on Facebook. I thought if I could find his picture, I’d add it here and we could all take a moment and be sad for the loss of his life and so many others who’ve died in auto accidents. Unfortunately, none of them responded to my request. I can’t say as I blame them. To them, I’m just some crazy old woman.

Oh! Oh! That reminds me!

We passed a mailman putting mail in roadside boxes. Mike and I often read signs to each other as well as comment on things we see.

“Mailman,” I said.

“I don’t think you can say mailman anymore. Mailperson,” Mike corrected.

WOKE is a term that is still confusing to me. It means to be alert to injustice and discrimination in society, especially racism. Sometimes I think we take it a little too far and I defended my position. “Mailman is a job, a position, like chairman, and doesn’t necessarily define the sex of the person.” I didn’t come to this conclusion on my own. I once heard a preacher talking about the use of the word ‘man’ in the Bible. “Sometimes it means human and includes women as well as men,” he said.

Do you agree or am I not being WOKE enough?

One thing is for sure. You don’t ever want to Google “does chairman denote sex or position”. It’s better to ask Google to define chairman.

Sometimes, the old barns and houses are really close to the road. The barn on one side, the house on the other.

“Why?” I asked my mother once.

“Because in the old days, when someone would come to see you, they’d ride right up to your house. And the roads often times followed those old tracks,” she told me. “And sometimes that would split the farm.”

          Cousin Lorraine gave me many more things than just the Missal and walking stick.

          “You don’t have to take anything you don’t want,” she prewarned me.

          “Unless you have someone else to give it to, I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

          At home, I unpacked and the car and stacked it all on my dining room table. It’s about the only thing the table is good for. We never have dinners there.

          I am so tickled with the things Lorraine gave me; some things more tickled than others. Just a few weeks ago, Mike was wishing for an electric knife. Now we have one!

I was looking at a recipe that used a dough hook attachment on a mixer. Mine doesn’t have one of those, but now I’ve got one that does!

An old envelope with our grandfather’s return address. Grandpa Smith was a blacksmith. He made all kinds of things including wagon wheels and all the stanchions in the barn. He even made an attachment for Grandma’s sewing machine that would flip a hem for her, Mom told me.

A framed Last Supper. Lorraine doesn’t know anything more about it than it was in a trunk with some of my Uncle Jude’s things. He was an OFM. Order of Friars Minor.

Essential oils and a brand-new diffuser, nice Pampered Chef cutting boards and other utensils, a square tube pan! Who ever heard of such a thing! Mixing bowls, two beautiful Longaberger Baskets, a mortar and pestle, a ceramic Christmas tree and nativity set that Rosemary made. A couple of cookbooks and a cookbook stand.

          “It keeps the pages clean,” Lorraine pointed out.

          “But that’s how you know when a recipe’s really good!” I told her.

          She laughed. “By all the stuff on the pages.”

          I’m not going to list everything she gave me but I have to tell you, some of the stuff has already been pressed into service and found new homes nestled amongst my own treasures.

          I made a cinnamon bread to send to my beautiful sister Phyllis. I used a melamine mixing bowl, mixer, spatulas, and recipe holder from my new acquisitions. I couldn’t help but wonder, was this her favorite bowl? Favorite spatula? There are things I have that are my favorites. I can’t imagine how hard it was to give away things that maybe had memories.

          “The more things I got rid of, the easier it got,” Lorraine said.

          “If it’d be me, I’d have a storage unit,” I said.

          She laughed. “Yeah. I have one of those. It’s full-up of things I just can’t part with.”

          Speaking of Phyllis…

          The dragon molds my sisters bought for me to make Dragon Dreams, a book box, for Phyllis came with a second smaller version of the dragons. So, I made her a Mini Dragon Dreams book box. It’s half the size of the original and I tried my best to make it twinsy. I couldn’t duplicate every element but I think Phyllis was pleased.

          We had some really beautiful days this week. Things are starting to get green. My first fancy daffie of the year bloomed.

           And I almost missed the pussy willows! Most have gone to seed already but I did find one or two that haven’t.

          My first breakfast of the year enjoyed on the patio — oatmeal. You have to make it in a big bowl so it doesn’t boil over the top and make a mess in the microwave.

          And Bondi loves the morning sun! She can jump up into the chair herself, something our Yorkies would never do.

          I started cutting cans up for flowers again. My first one of the year.

          And I walked down to get the mail in my bare feet! It was wonderful!

          Blackie.

          I know I said I wasn’t going to let him out but he wanted out. I don’t have the heart to deny him the feel of spring grass on his feet, a spring breeze on his face, or the warmth of the sun. I can’t deny him the pleasure of chasing a grasshopper, or a bird, or a butterfly, or climbing a tree. I just don’t have the heart to deny him all the things that make life worth living.

          Mike is mad at me.

          “I’m not buying you any more cats to get killed on the road,” he said.

          C’est la vie. 

          Our first patio visit with the Kipps as they were heading home from their walk.

          Both Tiger and Spitfire bring their kills in for us to see. Is this not the fattest mouse you ever saw!

          Spitfire came in wet and covered in mud! I can only guess he got into the pond and stirred the mud as he struggled to get out.

          I took him to the shower, climbed in with him and shut the door. I waited for the water to warm and as soon as the spray hit him, he tried to climb the walls. There was mud splattering all over the place! I cooled the water off even more and he settled down. Poor cat thought I was trying to boil him alive!

          I think it’s amazing that Bondi knows our road after having been on it only a few times. She knew when a car shouldn’t be parked on the road and this day she saw something else that didn’t belong there. She alerted on it and barked. Every time I took a step she put herself between me and it. Don’t worry, I wasn’t a-scared. We got a little closer and it was too close for Bondi’s comfort. She got behind me.

          “Come on,” I urged. “Let’s check it out.”

          She put her brakes on and I had to all but drag her!

          What was she scared of?

          This.

          A mossy world inside a tree stump.

          On the Kipps' second patio visit, we had a bit of excitement.

          We were sitting there visiting when Mike says, “Here comes Tiger. He’s got something.”

          I got up to see what it was and before I got to the gate, Tiger put the mouse down. On a sprint for his life, the mouse came through the fence and into the dog run. I did NOT want that critter to get into the house.

          “BONDI!” I yelled. I don’t know if she’d been playing with Tux or paying attention to me or if she saw Tiger coming, but she saw the mouse! A brown streak races past me and she nailed that mouse! I’m so proud!

          Bondi whipped it back and forth and killed him, nice and fast. I hate that the cats torture them so.

          Bondi put the mouse down and watched it for any signs of life. There wasn’t any movement. She picked her mouse up and I had to chase her around a little before I could get it away from her. I don’t want her eating it. She’d just puke it up and I’d have to clean it up.

          After the mouse was safely tossed to the other side of the fence, I washed my hands and took my seat at the patio table.

          “I guess that answers your question,” I told Mike.

          “Yep,” he said.

          Rosie looked perplexed and I explained. “When Mike plays with Bondi, she’ll shake her toys really hard. Mike asked me if she did that to a mouse when she caught it.”

          Tux found the water bowl I’d washed and put out for him. Bondi could’ve had a drink anytime, but did she? NO! She waited until Tux got a drink then she stuck her nose down in beside his and got a drink, too!

          I spend so much time letting critters in and letting critters out and in and out and in and … well, I think you get the idea.

          “Mike, do you know what I need?”

          “What?” he answered.

          “A pet door for the screen door.”

          The next day this shows up in my mailbox. Mike’s a good husband. It was easy to install and it didn’t take Bondi any time at all to learn to use it. Granted, it’ll only be useful on days I have the door open, but I’ll take what I can get.

          My beautiful friend Joanie is such a blessing. Despite going through chemo, she made candy eggs for Easter. She put them in an egg carton. Isn’t that the cutest idea! Written on the top was the color code. If it has a purple flower, it’s peanut butter, yellow is buttercream, and white is coconut. Isn’t that clever! And she sent her husband to deliver them.

          “Peg!” Joanie says. “I sent you twelve eggs!”

          Talk to Ben.

          Just kidding! Joanie’s husband did deliver a full dozen. I was too busy enjoying these amazing candies to think about taking a picture. The coconut and peanut butter were good but the buttercream was out of this world!

          Something else Joanie’s doing while she’s resting and recuperating from all the nasty poison they pump into her, is crochet. She made these beautiful lap afghans for Miss Rosie and me. I know why she made one for Miss Rosie. You can’t have a better friend then Miss Rosie. She’s kind, thoughtful, and generous. Always helping out when she can. I just don’t know how I got lucky enough to get an afghan, too! They’re absolutely beautiful. Thank you, my friend.

          Would you include Joanie in your prayers?

          Let’s call this one done!