Rock On!

 

          I didn’t talk about Mike’s stone pillar last week because we didn’t get to work on it very much, but rocks were the focal point of my week this week.

          The week started with strong gusty winds Sunday night. I went out and watched the trees bend and sway. Listened to their creaks and groans and admired the power behind it.

          You either bend or you break, I thought.

We even got some rain, just not enough to make a difference in our creeks and ponds.

With the start of a new week and no obligations on the calendar, Mike and I worked out a deal. I would help him in the mornings with two loads of rocks then he could either continue to work by himself or wait until the next day. That gives me time to make lunch, clean up, and work on my unicorn box. Besides, two loads are about all his back can take.

          We hauled and placed one load of rocks before it was time for my morning love calls. “Are you walking today?” I asked that beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor of mine.

          “I think so,” Miss Rosie answered.

          “We’re hauling rocks but we’ll be back before you get to my house,” I told her.

          We were back with our second load in plenty of time to have a snack before the Kipps arrived.

          “Did you know you lost a limb?” Lamar asked.

          “No, I didn’t,” Mike replied.

          “It’s in the driveway, not on the road, so you don’t have to worry about it right now.”

          After our visit, and before we laid the last load of rocks for the day, we checked out the broken tree.

          “It looks like it might hit the power lines if the rest of it comes down,” I said. “I’ll call Claverack (our electric company).

          We got turned around and, in the treetops, I see another broken tree.

          “That one’s gonna fall in the road,” Mike said.

          We gotta wait for it to come down before we can take care of it.

          I’m walking the girls every night, weather permitting.

          One night it looked like it might rain so I got on the treadmill instead. This time Raini was quicker to jump up on the platform with me and more willing to walk a little longer. It became a game for her and she enjoys figuring things out. Once she mastered how to get on from the side, she decided to try it from the front of the treadmill — and promptly shot off the back, thunking into the wall. I was walking at a pretty good pace but not too fast. She went off the back twice before she figured out how to get herself turned around, but she did it.

          Bondi never did walk with me. She’d stand at the side and take nips at Raini until Raini jumped off and chased her. Then Raini would come back and walk some more. I was actually quite surprised by how much time she did spend on the treadmill.

          With winter a blink and nod away, I can see us spending a lot of time on the treadmill, so we’ll walk outside as much as we can right now.

          I’m pleased that Bondi picked up what to do when a car comes. She heads right for the side of the road, even before Raini does.

          And Raini!

          That stinker!

          No, wait. THAT STINKER!

          “What’s up now?” you ask.

          Raini has decided that after the cars pass us that she’s gonna chase ‘em on down the road! I wasn’t sure the first time she did it but became positive that’s what she was doing when she did it a second time.

          “You better nip that in the bud,” Mike said when I told him.

          The next time we were out and a car passed, I watched her. She got up from her sit into a crouch and I knew lunge was next.

          “NO!” I told her. She immediately relaxed. “No chasing cars! That’s BAD!” I said in my meanest mom voice.

          She remembered, and even though it was a long time until another car passed, she only watched it with envy in her eyes.

          She’s just like a kid! She has to try new things and see where the boundaries are. The next thing we’re working on is her jumping up on us when we come home or just come in from outside. I should’ve stopped it a long time ago but she was little and cute and it didn’t matter. But she’s growing so fast and it won’t be so cute anymore when she knocks me over!

          Speaking of which, last night I saw her standing overtop of Bondi, head-to-head, tail-to-tail with Bondi standing underneath!

          But, back to our walks.

          There’s a stretch of road where Raini likes to run through the weeds.

          She opens her mouth and snaps at the weeds as they pass by.

          I love the view as we’re coming out of a shaded section and the road opens to the sun-bathed field, kinda like in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy sees Emerald City for the first time.

          Just beyond is the turn-around point, at least that’s what Bondi and Raini think. They start heading for the other side of the road where we stop to get a drink long before we actually get there.

          I decided we’d been walking just this far for long enough. This time we were going farther! They were totally confused when I made them come back to my left side and we went on down the hill. At the bottom is a walk-in place provided to fishermen by the hunting club, something they have to do in order for the DNR to stock it with trout.

          The water is so low. All of these rocks are normally underwater.

          Raini was excited to splash around in the water, dash out, run alongside for a few feet and dash back in.

          The next time we walked and headed down the hill she knew where we were going and was so excited, she strained at the leash.

          Can you stand one more Raini story?

          Crinkling packages will snap her out of a deep sleep and she’ll come running to the kitchen. Food prep means food dropped on the floor — sometimes accidently!

          “I don’t think you’ll like these,” I said and let her sniff the package of dried beans.

          “Maybe I will,” she says, moves out of my way, and takes up a station where she can watch.

          “Dried beans?” you query.

          Yep. I had a ham bone I needed to use so I made ham and bean soup.

          On my morning love call to Miss Rosie, I mentioned I was making it.

          “It’s one of my favorite soups but I only make it in the winter,” she said.

          I also made a cornbread to go with it but hadn’t decided that until after I’d hung up. Mike and I have our main meal at noonish and as I was cleaning up stuff and putting it away, I thought of those beloved neighbors of mine, the Kipps. Whenever I make cornbread, I always offer a few pieces to Lamar.

I called. “Would Lamar like some cornbread?” I asked when Rosie answered the phone.

          “I’m sure he would. Do you want him to pick it up when he goes and gets the mail for Mr. Cheshire?”

          “Sure!”

          And we left it at that. I packed him up a share in one of my nifty plastic storage containers, then went about getting bowls out to portion the ham and bean soup up for the freezer — and a lightbulb goes off in my head!

          I called Miss Rosie back. “Would you like to have some ham and bean soup for your supper tonight?”

          Miss Rosie didn’t even need to think about. “I’d love some, but don’t leave yourself short.”

          I assured her I wouldn’t. I was able to give them four cups and keep four cups for our lunch the next day.

          Mike came into the kitchen. “I’m giving the Kipps some ham and bean soup,” I told him.

          Mike scowled. “You’re giving ‘em my ham and bean soup‽”

          I laughed. “I’m flattered that you like it that much, but yes, I am. It’s Rosie’s favorite and besides, I’ve got another ham bone in the freezer — and I’ve got more carrots and celery to use before they go bad so I’ll make another pot.” I chuckled to myself then added an afterthought. “You’d take them out for a hundred-dollar meal but you won’t share your ham and bean soup?”

          “Well, yeah!” Mike said.

          Tuesday, bright and early, we head out to pick rocks before the heat sets in. Mike’s on his Kioti pulling a wagon, I’m following behind with the golf cart and a garden wagon. I spot dew-covered webs and stop long enough to snap a couple of pictures.    

          Our first load back and half of it stacked. We unloaded the golf cart and wagon first before we started on the tractor.

          After all stacked and done for the day, Mike’s pillar looks like this. He even found a stone we got from the Robinsons’ stone yard to use as an address marker.   

    

I spotted something big and orange flying around. When he landed I see he’s a wasp. A Great Golden Digger Wasp. 

These guys are fascinating. They can be up to an inch and a half in size and aren’t aggressive, unless you manhandle them. They go about their business with a single-mindedness that doesn’t allow them to focus on their surroundings, just the task at hand, and it doesn't change its behavior, which is genetic, for any reason. These guys are solitary but if found in large concentrations they’re vulnerable to attack by birds as an easy and large source of food. No other digger wasps are attacked by birds in this way.

The Great Golden Digger Wasp lives for one or two months as adults. The females dig long vertical holes in the ground which are connected to the short side tunnels for nesting. There’ll be up to six such nests during the summer months.

The mama paralyzes a bug for the babies to feed on over the winter. She’ll bring the cricket, grasshopper, or katydid back to the nest but leaves it outside while she checks to make sure there are no other wasps in her burrow. Then she pulls it in headfirst and seals it into a cell with a single egg laid on it. The young’uns hatch two to three days after being laid and spend the winter in the cell to emerge as adults the next year.

Didn’t I tell you it was fascinating?

That afternoon I worked in my milkweed patch. I have a bunch of Goldenrod taking over. 

A lot of it I could pull up by the roots, but some were stubborn and I had to cut them off. 

          The next morning, on our rock run, there’s a flock of turkeys with their young way up in the field. I knew, even while taking the picture, that it wasn’t gonna be good. But did it stop me from trying?

          NO!          

I’ll bring my zoom lens next time, I think.

Vernon’s pond is beautiful with the reflections. 

He’s been working really hard, grading the ground, picking stones, killing weeds in the pond and raking them out, all in an effort to turn this into a picnic area.

          Picking rocks is hard, dirty, back-breaking work. I picked up stones I probably shouldn’t’ve. I don’t know what they weighed, but even Mike was impressed by some of them. I have to confess; I didn’t carry them any farther than I had to. I’d flip them end over end until I got them close, then pick ‘em up and put ‘em in.

          There’s a bank before it levels off to the road. It’s a bit scary for me. After the third or fourth time, I asked Mike if he’d drive it up to the road for me and he did.

          We lumber home under the strain of our loads, not wanting to push the equipment too hard. I don’t mind the slow ride. I take the time to rest and enjoy the view.

          Mike found the perfect rock to cap the address marker with. The only problem is the Kioti wouldn’t lift it high enough to place it. 

          Mike had to get the big tractor out. He transferred the rock, turning it the way he wanted it turned,

 and got it as close to where he wanted it as he could. He can’t see over the bucket so he has to guess.

          Or have me help — a job I hate!

          “Why do you hate it, Peg?” you wanna know.

          I’m just not confident in my ability. If it isn’t just right, there won’t be too much Mike can do about it. It’s much too heavy to manhandle very far.

          All’s well that ends well and in this case, I was able to help Mike get it almost perfectly to where he wanted it.

          Things won’t always go that well, as you shall see.

          This guy landed not far from me and let me get pretty close for a picture.

          “What is it?” you ask.

          This is a Tiger Bee Fly. There are about 800 species of bee flies in North America. It’s easy to be afraid of them since they’re pretty big, this guy is about three quarters of an inch, and they look like they could inflict a painful sting or bite but they don’t do either. These guys should be appreciated for their role in reducing the numbers of truly problematic insects such as cutworms, armyworms, carpenter bees, and grasshoppers. Besides those common insects, they’ll also lay their eggs on other parasites like robber flies, ichneumon wasps, and tachinid flies. A parasite of a parasite is called a hyperparasite or an epiparasite.

          Mike was starting to think about how he was gonna cap his pillar of rocks.

          “Let’s go up to the Robinsons’ old quarry and see what’s up there,” I suggested.

          On the way I spot some pretty lavender flowers. “Flowers!” I exclaim and Mike knows that’s his signal to stop.

          I jump off and as I get closer I can see what they are. “They’re monkey flowers!” I had one grow in my milkweed patch a couple of years ago. I’ve looked for it to come back ever since then, but it hasn’t.

Monkey flower is technically edible, but you probably won’t want to since it’s bitter and mature plants are high in salt. Native Americans dried parts of it as a salt substitute when cooking.

We saw a hawk! I knew there was one living back behind us because I’ve seen him a few times and heard him tons more times. He was almost close enough for me to get decent pictures even without a long lens. 

          There’s an old seeder behind their machine shed. “Hey! I want one of those!” I told Mike.

          “What for?” he asked.

          “We could plant flowers in it.”

          Mike nipped that in the bud. “I don’t need anything else to mow around.”

          We checked out the rocks but Mike didn’t think he wanted to use any of them.

          We’d gone out to pick rocks on a day after a rain and ended up with mud up to our ankles and so much mud caked to the bottom of my shoes that it was like walking on platform heels. “I should’ve worn my boots,” I realized after it was too late.

          “We’re not doing that again,” Mike said scraping mud from his shoes.

Rain was in the forecast for Friday so we changed things up. “Let’s just get a couple of loads of rocks and dump them in a pile,” Mike said. “We’ll take the next couple of days off and let our backs rest.”

That was way okay with me. I had a unicorn box to paint.

 So, Thursday we head out after Mike’s seen the highlights of the seven o’clock morning news. The turkeys were in the field again and it was only then that I remembered I wanted to bring my long lens with me. The turkeys were closer so I got a halfway decent shot anyway.

We hauled one load and I was going to go in and get my long lens before we went back for a second. Did I remember to?

NO!

We hauled a second load and dumped them off into the pile.

“Since we’re not taking the time to put them up,” I told Mike, “I wouldn’t be adverse to getting another load.” Yep. I actually used the word adverse.

I didn’t think the turkeys would still be there so even though I remembered about the lens, I didn’t bother.

          Three loads later Mike thinks he has enough rocks to finish the job.

          “I think Vernon wanted us to get some of the little rocks out of where he’s working,” Mike said.

          Picking a load of big rocks is hard enough. The constant bending to pick up the little ones would be hard work on steroids!

          “Vernon said we could have what we wanted and we can’t use the little ones. At least we’re getting the bigger ones out of his way,” I rationalized. And I was tired of this particular line of discussion anyway since we’d gone around about it several times before this. “I ain’t picking up the little ****BLEAP****ers.” Yes, I actually said that abominable eff word, a word I’ve rarely ever used in my whole life. But I was truly hoping to put this to bed once and for all!

          Despite wearing gloves, my nails took a beating. The other hand was worse.

          And dust and dirt everywhere! It settled on top of my socks, filtered down into my shoes, gathered into armpits and elbow cracks and I’m sure every other crack you can think of as well!

          And dirt wasn’t the only issue.

          You know me, or at least you should know me by now. No namby-pamby stuff here, we keep it real.

          Beside the dirt and sore back from fetching and toting rocks, my ‘roids decided they wanted to have a word with me.

          Me? I can be a little slow at times. I knew something was going on because things were a little itchy down there. I knew it wasn’t a bathing issue because I bath once or twice a month whether I need to or not! All kidding aside, I haven’t had an issue with hemorrhoids in years! And even when I did, it was nothing as subtle as an itch, they always screamed at me! Swelling and pain were my symptoms! That’s why I was slow to even realize that it was my ‘roids. I might not have recognized it as a symptom if one of my sibs hadn’t spoken up in the back of my mind. He told me once a long time ago that his bottom itched and he went to the doctor who said it was hemorrhoids. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I just didn’t know that ‘roids could be acting up without swelling up.

          Knowing what’s wrong goes a long way in fixing what’s wrong.

          I love the rocks. There was an old rock wall there at Vernon’s at one time, and we managed to snag a few that still had their coat of moss on. Moss doesn’t stand up well to being bulldozed over, tossed and mixed with dirt.

          Some of the rocks were huge. So big that Mike would only be able to carry one in his bucket at a time.

          “We could go back and get one or two of those,” Mike said. We have no plans to use them but it would be a shame to have those beauties buried.

Vernon showed up not long after we’d gotten there.

          “I think this is our last load,” I told him. “Thank you so much for the rocks. Can I make you something? Some cookies or I make a fabulous chocolate cake?”

          Vernon thought about it for moment and his hand automatically caressed his ample belly. He shook his head. “Nah. I gotta lay off that stuff.”

          We chatted for a few more minutes when Vernon said, “See that mound over there?”

I turned and look where he’d nodded. “Yeah?”

“I’d really like to have that leveled off but I don’t wanna pick up any more rocks!”

          There it was. The thing I said I wasn’t gonna do. You really do have to be careful what you say because it might just come back and bite you in the butt. Before I could think about it, before I could change my mind, I said. “Level it off Vernon. We’ll pick rocks for you.”

          We went back in the early afternoon to see if Vernon had it leveled off and the storm clouds were just starting to gather on the horizon, marching steadily towards us.

          “Peg!” Mike yelled from where he was working.

          “What!” I yelled back from where I was working.

          “Bring your camera!”

          I’d been using my shirt to hold rocks the same way our grandmothers used their aprons to gather eggs. I made a beeline for the wagon, dumped my load of little bleepers, snatched my camera, and went as quick as I could.  

          “What is it?” I asked as I got close.

          Mike pointed to the pond where two turtles were sunning themselves.

          Mike had his tractor and cart loaded with nice sized rocks and came back to where I was working. My little garden wagon had a good-sized load of small rocks I’d picked from the area Vernon wanted to seed.

          “I think I’m done,” I told Mike.

          “Me, too. In fact, I think I need to take some off.”

          I picked up a few more shirt loads of rocks while Mike transferred some of his big rocks onto the golf cart.

          Mike was getting ready to take the golf cart and wagon up to the road for me when the rain started.

          “I’m gonna get wet,” he said.

          “We could just sit here for a minute and see if it blows over,” I suggested and it did. It blew right over with just a brief downpour, just enough to settle some of the dust.

          Friday came and the storms didn’t.

          “Let’s take Vernon’s wagon back to him,” Mike said.

          “Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it early so I can get a picture of the turkeys.”

          After the morning news we headed out. A little bunny sat for his portrait.

          The turkeys with all their babies were in the field. This is just one group of ’em.

          Vernon was out checking his pond when we got there so we visited with him for a while.

          Back at home, I was at the computer, Mike was going out when he called from the front enclosed patio. “Peg! Bring your camera!”

          It’s gotta be something good if Mike wants me to bring my camera.

          He was standing near the door to the outside when I got there.

          “What?” I asked.

          He pointed and there on the floor sat a little Wren. “Aw. Poor guy.”

          “Get your picture and I’ll open the door,” Mike said.

          I got a little too close for the little guy’s comfort. He took flight and smashed into a window on the opposite side. “Open the door and I’ll chase him that way,” I said.

          When I got to where he’d landed, he wasn’t much interested in moving.

          “Will he let you pick him up?” Mike asked.

          “I don’t know.” I reached down and scooped him up with nary a protest.

          I took him outside and prepared to take a picture as soon as I opened my fingers but when I did, he just sat there. I guess he stunned himself hitting the window.

          It was several minutes before he took off and, in the meantime, have you ever seen a House Wren eye close up? 

          My dryer quit on me. Right in the middle of a load of sheets. “I’ll take them out to the clothesline and finish drying them,” I told Mike.

          “I thought you used your clothesline all summer,” you say.

          In years past that’s been true. I’ve had so much going on this year it’s just easier to dry them in the dryer.

          “Let’s take a ride over to Root’s and see what they have for dryers,” Mike suggested. “We can run a few errands while we’re out.”

          Going over the mountain I took this panoramic shot for you. Aren’t you a little bit jelly? Don’t I live in the most beautiful part of the world? 

          We ended up buying a reconditioned dryer with a thirty-day guarantee and loading it into the back of the Explorer.

          When we got back to Wyalusing, we stopped at the bank. Right behind is a new construction site. We’ve been watching its progression and now we were just baffled.

          “What is all of that for?” we wondered.

          There was a guy on the jobsite, opening the hood of a truck. “I’ll ask him,” I told Mike.

          This handsome guy was very kind as he answered all of our questions. I’m not so sure you’ll find it as interesting as I did so I won’t go into any detail, but this is all for water drainage.

          “Water comes in from the parking lot over here and other places and goes through these pipes. They’re all at a different grade so the first section catches the water and sediment and when it’s full it goes into the next pipe and the next and into the manifolds,” Ben told us.

          “And what is that black stuff? A water barrier?” I asked.

          “No. That’s geotextile fabric. It allows water to pass through but none of the sediment. After we get all the stone in, we’ll fold the geo back over the top like a burrito,” Ben told me.

          “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Mike said.

          “It’s the first time we’ve ever made one but it’s what the engineers specified in their plans. That’s fifty thousand right there just to cover up with dirt.”

          I really like when we meet interesting people with interesting jobs and who’re willing to chat with us.

          Oh! That reminds me! My heart is near to bursting with joy all because we met one young mother in the grocery store who not only let me touch her three-week old baby, she let me smell his new baby scent!

          I was always happy to let people get their baby fix with my babies. I never worried about germs. But I could often tell when they were baby-shy. You could see the longing in their eyes as they looked at the baby. “It’s okay,” I’d tell them. “You can touch him.”

          Now I is one of those who’s been scolded for even approaching someone’s baby.

          Boy, that was some detour my story took. But I meet enough good people, kind people, to keep my faith in humanity alive.

          I spent as many hours this week as I could working on my unicorn box. You might be expecting me to have more done than I do but it’s slow work getting in and around all the embellishments. Now I’m wondering how it would work if I colored my clay before I molded it. That is if I know what color I want it to be.

          “I’m thinking of making the unicorn white with a light brown or cream-colored mane,” I told Miss Rosie. “What do you think?”

          “How about purple?” she suggested.

          I was taken aback because Rosie likes things to look real. When I make her something in the glass suncatcher line, she wants birds to be bird color.

          “I was trying to keep it real,” I said.

          Rosie laughed. “Peg. I hate to tell you this, but unicorns aren’t real!”

          Yeah. There’s that.

          Now I’m thinking I might just use purple and lavender. I’ll have to talk to the lady who’s getting the box for her grandie.

          “Peg! That is one cool paint holder!” you say.

          I know, right! My handsome little redheaded brother made it. It works much better for me to see my paint colors than the canvas DeWalt work bag I had been using. Now I don’t have to pull them all out to find the color I want.

          Thank you, Richard! You’re an awesome brother!

          “What’s the baby powder for?” you ask.

          I’m so glad you asked! You can add it to your paint to make it a little less translucent. It’s supposed to cover better.

          Do you know what’s worse than having cats on the table?

          Dogs! That’s what!

          Our little girl gets up on the table all the time. Twice Bondi has jumped from the tabletop to the stone patio. Not only are we afraid she’ll get hurt, but she’s got no business up on the table anyway! I’d been moving the chairs away from the table to keep her down but discovered it’s easier just to tip them up.

          Both Bondi and Raini like to sit in a chair in the sun so I try to pull at least one out into the sunshine for them.

          The other day I was working out there and thought I had my chair moved far enough away from the table.

          I was wrong.

          Someone modified my liner brush for me. It’s got a divot where a tooth was and it’s bent.

          My birthday is coming up. I’ll be sixty-three on Tuesday and make no bones about it.

          “Do you want to go out for dinner?” my handsome mountain man asked.

          “Sure.”

          “Where do ya wanna go?” was his next question.

          “Let’s just go down to the hotel.”

          “When do ya wanna go?” was his third question.

          I thought about it for a moment. The Wyalusing Hotel only opens the dining room on the weekends, otherwise, you have to eat in the bar. They only serve prime rib on the weekends. That narrows it down to the weekend. Friday or Saturday? Saturday I’m busy writing to you, my faithful readers, and I’d hate to cut our time short if I don’t have to. “How about Friday night?”

          “Okay,” Mike said. “Friday night it is.”

          I told my morning peeps all about it. “We’re going out to dinner tonight even though my birthday isn’t until Tuesday. Who wants to go out on a Tuesday night?”

I was wished a happy birthday by all and my beautiful younger sister Phyllis added an extra note. “I would happily go out with you on a Tuesday or any other day!”

She loves me!

Oh! Speaking of love, I have to tell you something that happened at church today.

Shawn was handling announcements since Lamar and Rosie were gone to Lancaster to celebrate the joint birthdays of Lamar and Jenn.

“We’re having a little technical difficulty up here,” Shawn said of the delay in the start of the worship music. 

“I have to tell you this,” Shawn said to fill up the time. “I woke up this morning and thought, I love my wife. I really, really love Leslie!”

All hearts melted.

“How many of you men can say the same thing?” Shawn asked.

Every hand of every married man shot up in the air.

They’d better, I thought. Or they’ll get an elbow to the rib!

          “Leslie,” Shawn went on, “I didn’t know you were so loved!”

We laughed and I chuckle every time I think about it. Shawn’s not only got a fantastic singing voice, he’s funny, too.

          Friday night we went to dinner. Mike ordered ribeye and I, the prime rib. When our salads came, I asked the gal to take our picture. For some reason the camera wasn’t focusing and the shutter wouldn’t release.

          “Let me see it,” I said.

          Judy handed it back to me and said, “I’ll be right back,” and she left to wait on the only other customers in there at the time.

          Somehow or another, I’d managed to turn my camera off. I turned it back on and tested it on Mike as he put dressing on his salad.

          Judy was slow to come back because other diners were starting to dribble in.

          “I could probably set the self-timer and put it on that table over there?” I said when our salads were gone. I probably could’ve gotten it done, too, if I could remember how to turn the self-timer on! Judy came back before I figured it out and took our birthday dinner picture for us.

          Once set on my course, I couldn’t be swayed. I had to figure out how to turn the timer on! Like a dog with a bone, I kept fiddling with the buttons until I found the right ones, then I took our picture, too.

          Dinner was good. It wasn’t exactly right but it was still good and I’ll not say a bad word about the place.

          For dessert we had a piece of warmed apple crumb pie á la mode and that was perfect!

          Saturday came and it was a day of disasters.

          First thing in the morning, my love note to my peeps got messed up. One of my sibs got dropped from the list when I changed an address and they were left out of the entire morning’s conversation.

          Not really a disaster, more like an omen.

          Then Raini pooped on the floor! It’s been weeks since she messed in the house but the door was closed, access to the pet door cut off, and she didn’t know how to tell me she needed to go out.

          I made coffee and went to work sorting and editing pictures for my letter blog.

Mike went down to work on his monolith.

After a while I hear Mike come in and know something’s wrong even before he yells, “Peg! I need a band aid!”

I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to get one.

“What happened?” I asked.

“A rock shifted and smashed my finger.”

Mike stuck his hand under the water and yelped in pain. He had an inch long split along the length of his pinky on the tender fleshy underside.

Peroxide, bandage, and he goes back to his rock pile and I go back to editing pictures.

The next time Mike comes in he asked for my help. “Can you guide this rock into place for me?”

There’s that job I hate but I can’t say no.

I went down with Mike and watched while he got things ready. “Come up here and I’ll show you what I want,” he said.

I tried. I really tried — with disastrous results. From where I was standing I couldn’t see the back of the bucket and navigated the whole corner of the pillar to the ground.

Sigh.

“I bet the address marker broke,” Mike said.

Seeing's how it’s under the big rock, I bet it did, too!

Mike forgave me but I feel just awful about it. But I also know how these things go. I’ve lost whole letter blogs before and when I wrote them over, they were better than the first time. It was with that cheery note of optimism in my voice that I said, “You can build it back better!”

          Mike unearthed the address marker and confirmed his suspicions. “Do you want to go up to the Robinsons' and see if we can find another one?” he asked.

          “Sure,” I said. Riding along was the least I could do.

          We not only found a new address marker, but I found a couple of interesting-looking rocks I’d like to paint something on.

          But that’ll be for another day. 

          Let’s call this one done!