I Can See

 

♫♪I can see clearly now, the blur is gone♪♫

Thanks to my beautiful friend Joanie for that letter blog title, by the way.

You may infer from that first statement that I’ve had cataract surgery, and you would be right.

I was nervous and dreaded it EVERY. SINGLE. STEP of the way. I even told Mike I was sorry I’d started the whole process. Three different eyedrops, four times a day was a pain. But my true dread didn’t start until the morning of.

My check-in time at the eye surgery center was six-thirty.

“In the morning‽” I exclaimed when she called and told me.

She laughed. “Yes. In the morning.”

It’s only about an hour twenty-minute drive, according to our GPS. But that means we need to leave two hours early, according to my husband. “I don’t want to drive that far when it’s dark out, especially with all the deer. Let’s go down this afternoon, get a room, and spend the night,” Mike suggested.

I don’t know why I’ve been taking so many cloud pictures lately, but here’s another one.

This guy sure does like stickers! 

          Crossing the bridge. I don’t know the area well enough to know if it’s Wilkes-Barre or Scranton.

“Do you want us to take care of the dogs for you?” that beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor of mine asked.

“Nah, I think they’ll be okay. They can go out when they need to and there’s plenty of food in the dish for ‘em,” I told Miss Rosie.

Our motel was only about four minutes from the surgery center. After we checked in and settled in, I got to thinking about the pups. We’ve never left them alone overnight before and they’d probably think we abandoned them. I know Miss Rosie would’ve taken Bondi for me, like she did before, but with Raini we couldn’t do that and leave Raini alone in the house.

“Won’t they take Raini, too?” you ask.

That would be too much to ask of anyone plus Raini won’t leave Tux alone. He gets aggravated and growls at her and no one wants a misplaced nip to go wrong.

I guess Mike was thinking about the dogs, too. “Maybe the Kipps’ll check the dogs for us and feed the cats in the morning?”

It’s crazy how we sometimes think in sync. “I was just thinking that, too!”

And ultimately the cats were the reason I called and asked for the favor. I know they would’ve been okay — except Sugar wouldn’t have any food left for the morning and we wouldn’t be home until the afternoon. And checking on the dogs wasn’t a bad idea either.

I called Miss Rosie and she said they’d be happy to check the pups and feed the cats the next morning.

There was that worry off my mind.

Mike laid on the bed and scrolled through the TV stations. I have a book I’m reading. You’re gonna laugh when I tell you what it is. It’s The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klume. It’s a young adult novel — An enchanting story, masterfully told, The House in the Cerulean Sea is about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

I don’t always read all the tags and so was surprised when I see the story drifting into LGBT territory. Despite that, I’m enjoying the writing style and imagination of the author. 

Even in this book I’ve learned something. Maybe I knew it before and had forgotten, maybe I never knew it at all. Aspen trees. They were talking about Aspens. Did you know that a group of Aspen are called a Stand. Every tree in a Stand is a genetic replicate of the others or a “clone.” A Stand of Aspen trees is connected by their roots under the soil, and is the largest single organism, by area, on Earth. You can cut down the trees and new trees will grow up from the roots. There’s one clone that’s said to be almost eighty thousand years old.

I was reading while Mike was watching TV and I did something that night that I rarely do, but as it turns out, it was fortunate that I did.

“What’s that, Peg?” you ask.

I drank a whole bottle of water that evening. Of course, I paid for it. I think I was up twice in the night to go pee, at least once for sure! And that’s why I usually stop drinking by six — six-thirty at the latest.

The next morning, I’m up and looking forward to a shower. That’s when I see this cheap-ass motel only gives you two bars of soap by way of toiletries.

“It figures!” I told Mike. “The one time I don’t pack shampoo and a hair dryer and they don’t provide them!”

Oh, well. It’s not the end of the world. My hair wouldn’t be at its best but I’d showered the morning before so I didn’t stink too bad. A wash rag and new application of deodorant was the best I could do.

Sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my name to be called, was when the apprehension set in. I didn’t have long to wait and was third in line for surgery. They took me upstairs, took pictures of my eyes, took me to another area where I was handed off to another gal who numbed my eye and made marks where the doctor would cut.

“We have to mark it while you’re sitting up,” Kayla explained. “The doctor will see you when you’re laying down and your eye changes shape.”

Then it was off to another gal who took my history in between putting eyedrops in my eye and more eyedrops and more eyedrops! Then she draped a paper gown over my clothes, paper booties over my dirty, nasty sneakers, a hairnet, and a new face mask. Then I was taken back to another area where three chairs were lined up.

“It looks like an assembly line,” I said.

There was one guy in the operating room, one in the first chair, an empty chair, and they put me in the third one. I think they were leaving the middle seat empty because of COVID and they had it blocked off with a cart of supplies. Here Norma, a retired RN with forty-five years under her belt, took good care of me.

“If you’re retired, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“It’s only one day a week and I missed doing what I was doing,” she said.

Norma put the IV line in and didn’t even hurt me.

“You’re nice and hydrated,” she told me. “You can tell right here how well a person takes care of themselves.” She left and came back with a blanket in her hands. “You look a little cold,” she said as she spread a yummy warm blanket out over me. I didn’t know that I was cold until I was covered with all that warmness.

I closed my eyes and thought how easy it was for them to move us around. Herd us like cattle. In one door, a long line of us going from one station to the next, and out the other door. I listened as one of the other gals got Edward from his chair into a surgical chair. I chatted with him while we were in the waiting room together. He had his Air Force Veteran’s hat on. I thought of Mr. B. He always wore his whenever we went out and he glowed when anyone thanked him for his service to our country.

“Thank you for your service,” I told Edward.

He smiled and ducked his head. “You’re welcome.”

“What did you do in the service?” I asked.

“I was in communications,” he said.

Norma came back and interrupted my musings.

“This is called —" I don’t remember its name. “I’m going to tape your eye shut and I don’t want you to even try and open it. Then I’m going to put this on you. It helps to soften the cataract,” she said. After it was in place she left and came back with a syringe. Sitting down beside me she explained, “This is just saline I’m giving you now,” and she took my arm, “You are cool.” With the port in the back of my hand, I was afraid to cover it up. Norma left and came back with a second warm blanket, covering my hand and arm this time.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

“You’re welcome. In a few minutes I’m going to move you to that chair over there. You’ll stay in that one for the surgery.”

She left and I closed my eyes, listening to the goings on around me. Another gal was brought in and took Edward’s seat.

Norma came back. “Okay, let’s get this off you then we’ll get you moved over. You’re next.”

Once I was in the surgical chair and seated the way she wanted me with a pillow under my knees, she left and came back with two fresh, warm blankets and covered me.

When it was time, Norma gave me a warning. “I’m going to release the brake on the chair and it’s going to thump, so be prepared for it.”

It must’ve been some big ol’ hunkin’ brake because when it released it did make a clunking sound and jolted me. Then they made the chair come up flat and took me in the surgery room. They were mean to me in there! When they put the sedative in my vein it felt like molten lava!

“OWWWW!” I cried loudly. It hurt and I was gonna let ‘em know it hurt!

“That means it’s good stuff,” Dr. Bucci said.

And that’s all I know until I woke up. Oh, wait. That’s kinda a lie. Everything’s a little fuzzy up to the point where Mike was walking me out to the car.

“You were in recovery and the gal was giving you instructions when I got there,” Mike told me. “When I saw you with your glasses on, you look just like your mother.”

I grinned. Our mother was not perfect but she loved us with her whole heart and did the best she could. She got us raised, educated, productive members of society, and none of us ended up in jail!

On the way home, I took pictures for you.

Then I thought you might like to see what my mother looks like. I turned the camera and took several pictures before I got myself framed.

I do look like my mother! I thought. I’ve got the same wrinkles around my mouth from pursing my lips when I concentrate, and more importantly — I’ve got a red spot on my nose, just like she did! She didn’t have the scar under her nose or bottom lip like I do from where I fell out of the highchair when I was little, but I’d say I’m definitely my mother’s daughter.

My vision was much improved that day and I was already using it as my dominant eye.

I showed you last week the song board I was working on for Miss Rosie. A couple of days before my eye surgery I sat down to paint the elements. Then I decided to do a double check. I called Miss Rosie. “Is it okay that I have the one leaf hanging down in front of the words or would you rather I didn’t?” I asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she told me.

I spent the next couple of hours trying to reconfigure it. The stems were dry so I couldn’t reshape them. I broke ‘em apart. I can always make new stems if I want to. I rearranged the flowers and used pieces of stem here and there but nothing was striking my fancy. I never was happy with the stems ‘floating’ and had thoughts of making a vase. Now was a good time to do that. I made a vase and introduced something new. I have a tin of these little colored things with prongs on 'em. I’m not sure what they’re meant to be used for but I picked out four and pushed them into the fresh clay. 

Then I went to work painting everything. It’s definitely a lot easier painting when I don’t have to worry about getting it on the background. I trust if any issues arise from this method, my peeps will let me know.

I didn’t like my vase — at first.

My philosophy is becoming world renowned.

Okay! Okay! That might be overstating it!

“To say the least!” you say.

But I gave this advice to my Miss Rosie when she asked me about a piece she was painting and I gave it to my cute little redheaded sister Diane when she asked me about a painting she was working on. She laughed. It’s hard to give people advice on works of art. Your vision might not be my vision.

It really tickled me when, the next morning in our morning love note, Diane iterated my advice.

“Peg gave me her advice for my painting, which I think works for everything! ‘If you don't like it, add more color!’”.

And since it’s my advice, and good advice, too, I might add, I followed it. I added more color to the vase. Then I accidently added color I hadn’t intended to add. My green tangoed with the black that was on my palette and I didn’t see it until I put it on the vase — and I liked it! It was one of those happy accidents.

Everything was painted, dried, and coated with a fixative. All I had left to do now was arrange them, glue ‘em on, and give it to Miss Rosie.

I tried several different patterns. “I wonder which one she’ll like best,” Me asked Myself.

“Why not let her design it?” Myself replied.

Why not indeed!

I took my glue and the board down to Miss Rosie. I set it on the table and swept all the elements off. “Help me with this,” I said. “Then you can say you helped.”

“I liked it the way you had it when you brought it in,” Miss Rosie said with a frown in her voice.

“I’m sure Peg has a picture of it,” Lamar said, and he was so right.

I put things back the way I had them, then I let her have a go at it. After a minute or two she really got into it, moving the flowers around.

“I like this,” she announced.

I glued everything down and took a picture.

That afternoon I took my new eye and my girls out to see what I could see.

I chased this guy the whole way around the stem of a milkweed plant before I could get his portrait.

At the edge of our little pond, the droplets on the edges of the flotsam sparkled like diamonds.

I don’t know what Bondi was looking at.

“Little pond?” you query.

There’s a place in the swale Mike dug that seemed to hold water for a long time.

“You should make a little pond there,” I told Mike. “It holds water better than the big pond.”

When Mike got his backhoe, he dug a little pond. It’s only about ten feet long, four feet wide, and three feet deep — and lots of frogs live there.

The next day I had my day-after checkup. This time I took more road pictures.

I’ve always been so intent on getting a picture of all the tools hanging here I didn’t even realize there was an old car behind them.

The best I can get without stopping.

My checkup was good. Despite having forgotten not to bend over and not to rub my eye, both of which I did, the lens is right where it’s supposed to be and is healing nicely.

My eyesight went from 20/200, legally blind, to 20/40 overnight. I can see!

“How about colors?” everyone asks.

I guess most people notice the colors are brighter but I’ve not noticed that. I wonder if my mind didn’t see them the way they’re supposed to be despite my eye not seeing them. At any rate, the colors don’t seem any brighter to me.

I will tell you something that I do find extremely weird though.

“What’s that, Peg?” you wanna know.

I know you’re gonna think I’m off my rocker, gone around the bend, taken leave of my senses, but gosh honest, I feel shorter! The ground is closer, the sink is higher, and so is the microwave stand. When I sit in front of my computer, I feel like a little girl!

Then I realized the hydraulics on my chair sank.

I pulled the lever under the seat and brought it back up where it belongs and I feel somewhat normal again.

I spent last night reading all the stuff on the TV screen that I could never read before.

I have to tell you something else, too.

“What now?” you say.

I’m more excited about being able to see than I thought I would be.

Having a cataract removed and finishing Miss Rosie’s song board weren’t the only things that happened this week.

Sometimes, when we go to get the mail and it isn’t here, we’ll take a ride down our country dirt roads. Colors are starting to appear. 

The Joe Pye had at least four of these beauties feeding. You may remember that this is the Great Spangled Fritillary.

No cropping required on this closeup! He landed right in front of me!

I thought of my mother. “I was always a little sad to see Queen of the Prairie blooming,” she told me once.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that meant summer was almost over and school would be starting soon.”

I’ve yet to see any Queen of the Prairie. Joe Pye is also called Queen of the Meadow but Queen of the Prairie is an entirely different plant, and Momma knew the difference between the two.

Getting back to our mountain home, we see the township came and took down the branch that had broken during a storm and was hanging above the road.

John, our mail carrier, still hadn’t made it as far as our place yet so we went on down the road to the Kipps’ house.

On the other side of the bridge, I spot a cluster of purple berries.

“Elderberry!” I told Mike. He stopped so I could take pictures.

We lost our Elderberry bush in a storm a couple of years ago. Not that I ever got any berries from it, but the birds did and I was hoping it would come back. It hasn’t.

Going past the mess that was the Kipps’ mailbox and post, I said, “You could fix that for them.” My handsome mountain man can fix just about anything!

Mike embraced the idea, wiggled the post from the ground and brought it home along with the dented mailbox and newspaper box. He took the post apart, took out all the old fasteners (I don’t know if it was nailed or screwed together) and put it back together stronger than ever. He pounded the dents from the mailbox so it would open and close and tightened all the nuts and bolts on the newspaper box.

When the Kipps came home from their vacation, we took the boxes and posts down to them.

“Miss Rosie!” I exclaimed and hugged her tight. Then we sat around on the porch while they regaled us with stories of their time at the ocean with their girls.

The next morning, bright and early, earlier than Lamar would’ve started on his own, we went down to plant the newly repaired post. This time in a new spot. Farther from the bridge.

There’s nothing more handsome than a couple of hardworking men with tools in their hands — unless it would be a man in uniform. Those guys are pretty handsome, too! 

The very next morning another semi-truck hit the guide rail! If Mike and Lamar hadn’t’ve moved it, it would’ve gotten run over again!

>>>*<<<

On a walkabout with the girls, I spot a patch of pink fluff in a dead patch of grass. It looks like little bits of insulation to me and wondered how it got out here, near the pond, for Mike to mow over.

          The more I looked, the more patches of it I found.

I picked a bunch. 

          “They look like little flowers,” Lamar said when I asked him about them.

          So, what did I do? I Google searched it. It didn’t take long to figure out this is a lawn disease called — what else? — Pink Patch. It’s often seen in conjunction with another fungus called Red Thread and I do think I see some red threads there.

          The web site says it’s present in nearly all lawns, nearly all the time. You may have had this before and just never noticed it.

Blue Vervain is blooming. It’s also called Verbena. It’s known to help fight the symptoms of depression. It may also be helpful in promoting sound sleep. Vervain may aid in reducing inflammation and pain, alleviating stomach disorders like diarrhea, and protecting you against parasitic infection. It has also been studied for its antitumor and brain-boosting effects.

I don’t know if I happened to look out the kitchen door or if something drew me there, but I look out and see Blackie with a headlock on Bondi. They stayed like this for quite a while, long enough for me to get my camera. Unfortunately, Raini was also curious about what was going on, went out the pet door, and interrupted the lovefest. I’m going to guess that Blackie was grooming Bondi.

Speaking of Raini, I give her junk mail to chew up. She looks forward to Mike bringing the mail in and will jump excitedly at it. “Yep! You got mail!” I tell her and give her a piece. She happily trots off and settles in to open it — and let me tell you! She does a fine job of getting it open too!

“Why do you let her make such a mess‽” Mike complains.

“Because if I give her stuff to chew then maybe she’ll leave everything else alone,” I justify. “Besides, I’ll clean it up.”

“It’ll just teach her to chew up what she wants to chew up,” is his take on it.

“It’ll teach her she can chew up what I give her to chew up and nothing else.”

She brought my shoe up to bed last night. She doesn’t chew them, she just carries them around.

But speaking of Raini and nighttime…

Raini woke me with a bark one night this week. She got off the bed, barked once more, and was quiet. I figured one of the cats came in the side pet door, but why Raini didn’t continue to bark was a mystery that was soon solved by the crunch of bones. Blackie must’ve brought a mouse in. Whether dead or alive, I have no idea, but the facts remain that Raini got it and Raini ate it.

There is nothing quite like the sound of crunching mouse bones.

That night I dreamed. I dreamed I was putting food down for the cats and when I looked up, there was the prettiest long-haired gray kitty you ever did see, sitting on top of the microwave.

“Mike!” I dream yelled. “There’s a cat in here and it’s not ours!”

I started walking around the house and there were these strange critters in every corner I looked! More cats — that weren’t ours. More kittens — also not ours. A possum, a coon, a critter I didn’t know what it was. A hairless, long snouted, big-eared pink thing. But I remember thinking I’d have to Google it to find out what it was. Then, in the last room I went into there was a bobcat! Can you imagine! I wasn’t afraid of any of the animals and none of them attacked me.

I guess having a doorway to the outside open all night, invites all kinds of strange critters into your dreams.

The next morning, when I was getting out of bed, I see someone didn’t clean herself very good after her midnight snack of mouse frittata, and there was blood on my sheets.

Sigh.

Another night this week, just after we’d gone to bed, Bondi starts barking from the kitchen. “BARK! Bark! Bark-bark-bark!” over and over again!

Translated. “MOM! C’mere! C’mere-c’mere-c’mere!”

I finally get up and see that between barks, she’s snuffling really hard at the space behind the microwave cabinet. “Did you find a mouse?” I asked.

“BARK!” I think that meant yes.

I grabbed a flashlight, shone it in the crack, and there sat a fat little mouse.

“What a good girl you are!” I praised Bondi. She wagged from her head to the tip of her tail.

I pulled the trash can out and Bondi immediately rushed in to see if she could get the mouse from that side. She couldn’t. He was sitting in the middle, halfway from either end of the cabinet. When I was sure Bondi was in place, I took the flyswatter and gave the mouse a little poke. Bondi backed out with her prize in her jaws. She shook him to break his neck and when she dropped it to see if it was still alive, Raini rushed in and stole it.

That’s twice this week that Raini’s had mouse. She seems to digest them well enough. I’ve not had to clean anything up anyway.

 And on that happy note, at least a happy note for Raini, we’ll call this one done!

Done!

 

All Mixed Up

           How about an all mixed up week?

          “Mixed up with what?” you ask.

          Mixed up with last week.

          I got tired last week, yes I did. I got tired and cut our visit short before I was done with all my jibber-jabber. But if I hadn’t’ve been tired, I might’ve told you about my recent reading journey.

          My oldest, most beautifulest, much-adoredest, sister Patti was late answering our morning love note one morning because, “I got absorbed in my book, they always get good at the end, and lost track of time.”

          That piqued my curiosity. “What are you reading?” I asked.

          “Sphere by Michael Crichton. I don’t normally like sci-fi but he’s an excellent writer. It's a page turner.”

          I immediately went to the library and put Sphere on hold. That was back near the end of May. It would be weeks before my turn came up.

          I didn’t just sit back and wait for it. I went about reading whatever else caught my fancy, reading thirteen books in the interim. One of those was In His Shadow by Audrey Blake. It was about the early days of women in medicine and I believe I told you about it. I was reading a continuation of that story, The Surgeon’s Daughter, when my turn came up for Sphere.

          What am I going to do now? I wondered. If I stop reading The Surgeon’s Daughter to start Sphere, there’s no telling when I’ll get it back again. I could delay delivery of Sphere by letting the next person in line have it and it’ll be back to me in two weeks —but it won’t take me two weeks to finish The Surgeon’s Daughter then I’d be without a book until Sphere came back around or I’d be in the middle of another book!

          I decided to take my chances that I’d finish both books before my time was up. I accepted Sphere and poured on the steam to finish The Surgeon’s Daughter.

          “How did you like it?” you ask.

          I’m so glad you asked! I liked it, I really did. And sometimes books inadvertently give you an education — teach you something you didn’t know before.

          “Like what?” you ask.

          In the book, one of the doctors was probing a fractured bone of a boy and pricked himself. (X-rays wouldn’t come into use for another fifty years.) He didn’t tell anyone. The boy dies from tetanus (lockjaw) and the doctor ends up with the infection. Since the doctor had a supporting role in the book, it detailed the progression of tetanus up until he died from it. The vaccine for tetanus wasn’t developed until 1924, much later than the setting of this book.

          “I had no idea that the muscles can spasm so hard it can break your bones,” I told my beautiful friend Jody after church one day. I don’t know how the subject came up unless it was just fresh on my mind.

          “Really‽”

          She seemed interested so I went on. “Did you know there’s a website that tells you all about what it’s like to die from something like tetanus?” Authors can and do take ‘creative liberties’. I wondered how close her depiction of dying from tetanus was so I’d gone to the website to find out. She did her research.

          Jody cocked her head sideways a little. “I did not know that.”

          “Yep. And you can even find out what it’s like to be flayed alive or drawn and quartered…” I let it trail off because I could tell I was grossing her out.

          “I don’t want to know all that,” she said with a nervous little laugh.

          “I stumbled on it when I wondered what our Lord went through when he was crucified for us.” I answered the unspoken question in her eyes.

          “That might be interesting,” she said and our conversation moved on.

          I finished The Surgeon’s Daughter in three more days and started Sphere. Patti was right! It was a page turner! I could hardly put it down and finished it in six days.

          “Wasn’t that a movie?” you ask.

          It was! But I’d not seen it. I made my own movie, in my head.

          Finishing a book, especially when it’s a really good book like Sphere, always leaves me with a letdown feeling. Now I’ve got to find another book to read!

          “Peg, do you ever take ‘creative liberties’?” you wanna know.

          I do! Mostly to make my stories more interesting or flow better, but I always preserve the integrity of the story. Like I might show a road picture in a different set of photos. It still remains a road picture but not necessarily on the day I was talking about when I showed it.

Sometimes it happens because I’ve made a mistake and it’s too hard to fix. That’s thanks to the software I use. Adding words and sentences or whole paragraphs makes my pictures jump around and changes my page breaks. That is such a pain to deal with and can take hours to straighten out. If it’s not a serious mistake, I let it ride. Sometimes I think you’ll call me on it, but you never do.

Then there’s now — this letter blog. I took some creative liberties with my opening quote by my sister Patti. It wasn’t Sphere she was reading when she got all caught up in the story and was late answering our morning love note. But in my memory it was. Since it all happened months ago, we can blame that on faulty memory and not blatant lying. Then when I found out my mistake, I didn’t change it. She did actually say Sphere was a page turner but it was A Place of Hiding by Elizabeth George that caused her to be late. It’s too hard to re-write the segment and makes my story flow nicely, so I left it.

“Did you read A Place of Hiding?” you wanna know.

Not yet. It’s on my ‘holds’ shelf at the library and it’s still six weeks before my turn comes up.

If I hadn’t’ve been so tired last week, I might’ve told you about our trip to the recycle station.

Mike took the back roads and even with my bad eyes, I spotted the Sandhill Cranes in the field. With full zoom and cropping, this is the best picture I have of them.

All of this we saved from the landfill!

On the way home we spot a gas drilling rig on the horizon. 

We’re getting another well close enough to us that we got paperwork informing us.

We made a stop for milk and dog treats at the Dollar General. Standing at the checkout, I glance down and spot one of these.

Immediately, the beautiful face and melodious laugh of my old, old, old, old, old —

“Okay Peg! They get the idea!” Trish says laughing.

She’s not much older than I am but we’ve been friends forever and a day.

The first time I had one of these was because of Trish. Then it seems like I had to have one every day for a week after that — and it’s been forever and a day since I’ve had one.

And this little girl is gonna start us off with this week’s jibber-jabber.

Raini is getting too big for her bed under my desk but she still lays in it. Sometimes all curled up like she is in this picture, and sometimes, when she gets too warm, with just her butt in it.

We took her for a run back to our neighbor Vernon’s pond. It’s the only way she can run flat out and not risk getting hit by a car. She seemed to enjoy it.

When we stopped to let her get back onboard, I saw we had a hitchhiker.

This is a Katydid.

Katydids, sometimes called a Long-horned Grasshopper or Bush Crickets, are close relatives of grasshoppers and crickets and there are more than six thousand species. They live for less than a year and produce one generation of offspring, the eggs being the only life stage capable of surviving winter.

The common true katydid produces the repetitive song for which katydids are named; the song is phoneticized as “katy-did, katy-didn’t.” However, each species of katydid has its own rasping song.

This guy is not a true katydid. I think he’s a Bush Katydid.

“Since we’re out, can we go out to the old house that’s falling down?” I asked Mike.

“Sure. Why?”

“Because I wanna see if the Turtlehead is blooming?” I don’t know what brought these wildflowers to mind and I don’t even know if it’s the right time of year.

“Where are they?” Mike asked.

“If we go out to the house and turn around, they’re beside the road along in there someplace.”

The house is slowly falling in on itself and the leafed-out trees obscure it.

Mike turns around and heads for home. “Is this slow enough?” he asked.

“Sure. They’re kind of a big flower. I’ll see them.”

Then I spot a few. It looks like my timing is good and the flowers are just coming on.

Look at all the dust!

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

I know that it goes by many names including Shellflower, Snakehead, Snakemouth, Cod Head, Fish Mouth, Balmony, and Bitter Herb. But since the flower resembles the head of a turtle, Turtlehead is its popular name.

I also know that it’s a host plant to the Baltimore Checkerspot butterfly.

As far as folk medicine goes, Turtlehead works principally with the liver, gallbladder, and kidneys to rid the body of toxins and infections. The bitter compounds in turtlehead stimulate the secretion of digestive juices, promoting good digestion as well as relieving constipation. Other conditions aided by turtlehead include jaundice, gallstones, and inflammation of the gallbladder. It was also traditionally prescribed for the expulsion of roundworms and threadworms.

It was such a beautiful day that we continued our ride on down to Gooseneck Road. We were lucky we didn’t have a lot of traffic to dust us; that made our ride that much more enjoyable.

 Advertising is a powerful tool. Mike and I both fall victim to its wily ways sometimes. For Mike, it was the Arby’s commercial promoting their new fish strips.

“I’d like to try those,” Mike says every time the commercial comes on.

This week we made a trip to Sayre and Arby’s for just that reason. Mike got the fish, I got the basic roast beef and we shared. It was okay but I don’t think we have to rush right back for it again anytime soon.

We stopped at Lowe’s for a couple of things and coming out we see a guy a few parking spaces over with his hood up. “Are you going to see if you can help him?” I asked.

“No,” Mike said.

I got in, heard Mike open the back door and put the concrete anchors in, but he never gets in. I look and he’s over talking to that guy. 

As I was sitting in the car watching this, thinking of Mike’s first response of “no” then going to help anyway, reminded me of a parable Jesus told in the Bible. You’ll find it in Matthew 21:28-32. One son said no, he wouldn’t go into the vineyard to work, later repented and went. The second son said he’d go but never did. Which did his father’s will?

They move around to the front and have their heads bent over the engine. Mike reaches in and does something, stands there a few more minutes talking, then comes back to the car.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“His car won’t start and we don’t have any jumper cables. I checked the battery terminals but they seem tight. I don’t know. I can’t help him.”

          We stopped at the thrift store and I picked up a couple of stuffed animals for the girls to tear apart.

          “Why do you do that?” Mike asked.

          “You’ll spend seven or eight dollars for a toy for them to tear up. These were only twenty-five cents each. I gave her a dollar for both of them.”

          “So they were fifty-cents each,” Mike points out.

          “No. They were twenty-five cents! I donated the rest.”

We’ll fight about that one till the cows come home!

It started raining on the way home.

“I just washed the car!” Mike lamented. “Now it’s going to get all dirty.”

I couldn’t care less if the car gets dirty. “You’ve got a pressure washer. You can rinse it off before you put it in the garage,” I pointed out.

Heading out of Wysox, the sky starts to open up before us.

We’re almost to Wyalusing and we drive right out of the rain. I can look back over my shoulder and see the rain line.

Wyalusing has a new park. I saw pictures on Facebook and recognized the train bridge.

“Remember when we saw people working down in the flood plain past the junk shop?” I asked Mike.

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s a park down there now.”

“You want to drive down and check it out?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let’s.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “What a nice park! It even has Frisbee golf! I wonder how long it’s been here.”

We drove down the ramp that gives access to the creek which then runs into the Susquehanna. There’s the train bridge I recognized on FB.

We were driving out and see a woman walking away from her car.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Mike said and used the controls on his side of the car to put my window down.

“Excuse me!” I called.

She turned and said, “Hello!” in a bright and cheerful voice.

I love when people like to talk. Too many times this past week we tried talking to one person or another in one of the stores we were in and they just ignored us.

“How long’s this park been here?” I asked.

A light came on in her eyes. “We started it last year.”

Then I recognized her. “You’re Sukie, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” She kinda cocked her head sideways and I could see she was trying to figure out who we were. We’ve only met her a couple of times. Sue Keeney Burgess is the mayor of Wyalusing plus she’s the aunt of Dana, our old insurance agent. Mike would go in to the office to find out something about his insurance and spend an hour talking to Dana. Plus, Dana lived not far from us, so she was kind of a neighbor.

“First, let me say how sorry we are to hear about Dana,” I told Sukie. “It was such a tragedy.” Dana was killed in a car accident a little less than a month ago.

“Yes, it was. We miss her so much.”

Our conversation moved on and Sukie told us about the companies and private citizens who’ve donated to the city park. She was just amazed at the amount of money that was given to the city.

“We’ve got a sign coming for up on the road, we’re going to blacktop the first part of the road coming down into the park, and we’re going to put barbeques in, too.”

Sukie told us this was actually phase two of the plan for the park and got it done before phase one. Something to do with DNR. She also mentioned that she was there to inspect the concrete benches, inscribed in memory of, that were just installed the day before. It was just happenstance that we caught her there and had such a nice conversation.

Our dogs are spoiled. Bondi especially thinks she has to have a new toy every time we come home from the store. I gave them the stuffed bear I’d gotten from the thrift store and they played tug o’ war through the flap in the screen door. They’ve had it for most of a week now and they play with it but haven’t torn it apart.

We also made a couple of shopping trips this week and this is where I get to tell on myself. I saw the commercial for the Cheez-It Puff’d snacks and on the way down the grocery store aisle I snagged a bag and dropped it in the buggy. It wasn’t until I got home that I saw I’d picked up Scorchin’ Hot Cheddar — I didn’t even know it came in different flavors! They are hot! 

They’re also a disappointment. I don’t know what I was expecting but they’re like all the other puffed snacks out there except they’re square. They didn’t really satisfy whatever itch it had created in me so the next trip out I got a box of plain old cheese crackers.

“Extra Toasty” it says big as day. I’m okay with extra toasty. As soon as we’re in the car I open the box to sample them.

“Hmm. Extra toasty is code for burnt,” I told Mike. Another disappointment.

I give up. I’m not buying anymore snacks! Although, I have to tell you that the Doritos have been calling my name and trying to tempt me every time I walk past them!

I’m going to stick to my oyster crackers! They’re never a disappointment to me.

Short of throwing the other two out, I discovered I can eat them if I mix ‘em together with my oyster crackers.

Advertisers are good at making things look better than they really are.

I received a card in the mail this week from a friend of mine. As soon as I saw it, I thought J.D. was making cards on his computer again and thought it was pretty cool. Then I read the note.

“As soon as I knew it was your birthday, I knew what I wanted to send you,” J.D. wrote. “A friend of mine is one of the popular Native American artists in here. We know him as Rue. He’s full blood Kiowa and is into all kinds of art. I especially like his teepees. So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Peg!”

My jaw dropped and my heart swelled! I’ve been gifted a beautiful piece of artwork by a Kiowa artist and I couldn’t be more pleased! I’m going to frame it and I’m going to write Rue a letter of thanks. J.D. I’m going to thank here.

Thank you, J.D. I absolutely love, love, love it!

Something else that came in the mail was a new dog door. Raini and Bondi come barreling through the door in the screen at a hundred miles an hour, chasing each other. As you can well imagine, someone misjudged and took out the screen. It’s not too big of a deal to fix, I just used a screwdriver to put the spline back in the channel.

Putting the dog door in is a different matter entirely.

We decided where we wanted it and Mike cut the hole on the outside of the wall. Then he drilled holes in the corners so we could match it up inside. Our walls are like fifteen inches thick.

Then we went inside.

Yeah. Nothing ever goes as easy as we think it should. Mike had to move the outlet box.

Both the girls come through the flap just fine.

“Let’s get another one and have a flap on the inside, too,” Mike suggested. “It might help when winter comes.” He got online and it was here two days later.

It’s directly under the coat rack and right where I always take off my muddy winter boots. I bet you can’t tell that. The floor paint will never be white again.

They provide a cover you can put on to keep out unwanted critters, but it defeats the purpose of having the door. Raini is completely housebroken — as long as she can go in and out when she wants to. She doesn’t know how to tell me to open the door and this fixes that problem. Plus, we never have to worry about being gone too long.

I don’t feed anything on the kitchen patio anymore since Mr. Mister died, except the birds. There’s no food out there to attract the skunks, possums, or coons. We’ll see if they find the door. What a mess that will be if they do! Can you imagine me running around with a broom and screaming like a banshee to get it out of the house while trying to wrangle two dogs the whole time? I’m really looking forward to that day!

On a walkabout with the girls, I let them out the back gate and they ran right past this guy, never seeing him. I was glad for that!

I stopped and took pictures of the White Baneberry or Doll’s Eyes. This is a toxic plant that only birds can eat.

At the pond, we surprised not one, not two, but three Green Herons!

One flew into the tree over my head.

The other two flew up into a tree on the other side of the pond.

The berries of the Silky Dogwood are turning purple. This is an important plant as the fruit is eaten by game birds, but it’s especially important as a food source for migrating songbirds. The twigs are important because they provide winter browse for deer and rabbits.

The Teasel is blooming. I found a Soldier Beetle sipping nectar from this one.

The first Aster of the year! 

Our new pastor is set to come next Sunday. After service we’re having a potluck. I found a recipe on my Facebook feed for Cherry Bars for a Crowd. I hate to make something untried to a potluck, so I did a dry run.

Now. I don’t need this many cherry bars hanging around my house — nobody does! I had to recruit a couple of friends and neighbors to test it out for me.

Personally, I’m not crazy about cherries. They rank right up there with blueberries in my book. I’ll eat them, but only if there isn’t anything else. I thought the cakey crust was a little much or maybe it just needs more filing.

Mike likes them — although he only ate a very small piece.

The Robinsons liked them, but Steph could see what I was talking about with all the crust.

The Raymonds liked them, too, but Jody agrees with me. Needs more filling.

And I haven’t heard from anybody else.

I’m going to make them for the potluck and I bought two extra cans of filling in case one extra wasn’t enough.

I finished the sport box this week, except for putting felt on the inside. I sure hope the customer likes it!

While sitting on the patio, working on my crafts, I could hear a cricket making his mating call. He lives somewhere over there with the post or flowerpot or water dish or maybe between the three. All I know is that I’d hear him call, and call, and call. It got to where it was just white noise.

Then one day I noticed a change in his tune. I stopped to listen and heard a second cricket. It almost sounded like they were purring. It made me smile.

Well, she only hung out with him for a day or so then was gone. You know how I know? His solitary calls started up again!

Speaking of crafts, this is what I’m working on now — and I feel guilty.

“Why?” you ask.

Because I’ve still got glass projects sitting here that need repair and have been sitting here for months, then there’s Valentines I haven’t finished and sent out. Yep, you heard that right! Valentines! But I think I’ll finish this song board for my Miss Rosie with her mother’s favorite hymn then get back to doing a little glass work.

And here I get to tell on myself again!

I was looking for my other blue rubber band. I know I had two of them but I could only find one. I don’t want to lose my clay so I wrap it in plastic and put it in a bag, put a rubber band around it and put it inside another bag and maybe one more bag just to be safe. I picked up my stack of bags and shook them out looking for that second blue rubber band. I even searched the floor! I gave up and when I picked up the pack of clay that had been sitting in front of me the whole time, guess what I found?

Don’t laugh! It could happen to you!

And now I have to tell you. It’s time.

“Time for what?” you ask.

It’s time for me to get my cataracts removed. I called and made an appointment. Bright and early we got up and it was still foggy when we headed for Scranton.

My eyesight in my left eye is 20/200, legally blind. The right eye is 20/70, low vision.

“I have an opening on Wednesday if you can get your doctor’s clearance,” Dr. Bucci told me.

When we got back in the car, I called my doctor. I can get in on Tuesday. Talk about cutting it close.

“The deadline for a Wednesday surgery is the Friday before,” the gal told me when I called. “But if you can have it here by Tuesday afternoon, we’ll get you in.”

I don’t expect any problems with my pre-surgical checkup. I don’t take any meds and my blood pressure is good.

“You’re not going to blind me?” I asked Dr. Bucci.

“I hope not. That would be bad for business.”

Nonetheless, I’m nervous about having someone poking around in my eye. If I lose my sight, no more letter blogs. If I lose my sight, no more crafts. I think I’d die.

You could say a little prayer for me, if you would.

Three days before surgery, you have to use eyedrops. It was Friday afternoon until the prescription was called in. “If we go over in the morning and get them, we could stop and have breakfast and I can have biscuits and gravy.” Mark’s Valley View only serves B&G on the weekends. I didn’t have to work too hard to convince Mike.

Saturday morning, we head out. It was just past eight and I thought Mark’s would be hoppin’ with a breakfast crowd, but there weren’t any cars there. Pulling up to the door, we see a sign. “Closed Sat. Aug 20^th Due to being short staffed.”

I can’t imagine the business he lost.

We went past Kristi’s Kountry Kitchen because there were a lot of cars there and it’s a small place. We ended up at T&C in Tunkhannock. I got my B&G and ate about half of it. They had a funny tang to them, like they used Worchestershire Sauce in it. It wasn’t the tang of bad meat, I think I would’ve recognized that, or if it was, it didn’t make me sick.

Mike got an omelet and was happy with it and the rye bread. In fact, he liked it so much we stopped at their bakery and got a loaf to take home.

We saw this guy.

“Looks like a project truck to me,” Mike said.

“Maybe he’s gonna plant flowers in it.”  

          And with that, let’s call this one done!