Thankful

          On this Saturday morning, I’m sitting here sorting my week’s worth of pictures, improving the clarity and/or color, cropping, reducing the size to a more-manageable up-loadable size, and think, I took some good pictures this week. Then I realize that if I didn’t have you to look at them, they wouldn’t even exist. So, this week I am thankful. Thankful that you want to see whatever pictures I’ve taken during the week. Thankful that you want to read about whatever adventures or madcap capers I’ve been involved in this week. I’m thankful, and truly blessed, to have you.

          The bud I didn’t know last week opened into a beautiful Meadow Buttercup.

          I guess I didn’t know what a buttercup leaf looked like. At least this kind of buttercup. There are more than 300 varieties of buttercups. 

          My yard is loaded with buttercups, and I couldn’t be happier.

          A honeybee is pretty happy about it, too!

          I love that I’m able to take Raini out without a leash and she mostly stays with me. However, if it comes down to a choice between me and a pile of cat poop, I don’t always win.

The Nannyberry is blooming.

It gets a big purple/black fruit on it that has a big flat seed inside. I’ve read that they are edible but I’ve never tasted one.

The Autumn Olive...

...and Japanese Honeysuckle bushes are fully loaded and the air is sweet with their scent.

          I took pictures of damselflies...

          ...while Raini chased frogs. 

          I was working in the house and Mike was out mowing when he called my phone.

          “Can you come down here?” he asked.

          “Ooookay. Where are you?”

          “Down by the pond,” he answered.

          “Why?” I wanted to know, even as I was grabbing my camera and heading out the door.

          “Because there’s something here you may want.”

          I couldn’t imagine what would be there that I’d want.

          Mike was sitting on the mower waiting for me when I got there.

          “What?” I asked.

          He pointed to something laying in a yet un-mown swath of grass about 30 feet away.

          “What is it?” I asked as I cautiously approached.

          “I don’t know, but I don’t want to get off the mower and move it,” Mike said.

          There it is! There’s the real reason he called me down!

          “Where did it come from?” I asked bending down and picking up what appeared to be something from a piece of machinery. “Is it off your mower?”

          “No. I kicked it up from somewhere.”

          “Yeah. I can see where the blades hacked it up. Where were you when you hit it?” I wanted to know.

          “I think it was over by that bush,” he said pointing to a nearby Autumn Olive. “You should be able to see the hole it came out of.”

          I did look, but I couldn’t definitively identify any such hole.

          I took my treasure back to the house and hadn’t been settled in very long when I got another call. This time, when I picked up the phone and saw it was Mike again, I guessed, “Are you stuck?”

          “Yeah.”

          I guessed right. I took the golf cart down and pulled him out. I’m always saving his butt.

          I have lots to do.

          I have commissions. One for a book box, one for a sign.

I have a new porch sign I want to make for my Miss Rosie. That means I’ve got boards to sand and stain.

I’ve got flowers that my beautiful Jody brought me that needed to be put to bed.

We’re not even going to talk about the abundance of housework that always seems to need to be done.

But most importantly, I had a beautiful patio and a beautiful spring day to rest in. Rest can be so important and so underrated. Doing nothing but drinking a cup of coffee and simply enjoying the moment was what I was doing when my phone rang. My stretchy pants and tee shirt don’t have pockets so I reached up inside my shirt and pulled my phone from the only pocket I always have with me. My brassiere. Checking the ID, I see it’s one of my beautiful sisters.

During our conversation, a Purple Finch landed on a branch close to the sunflower seed feeder.

“Did you know that Purple Finches aren’t purple?” I asked Phyllis.

“No, I did not,” she said.

You many not be crazy about my choice of natural landscaping around the bird feeders but you have to admit a picture of a bird on a branch sure is prettier than a picture of a bird sitting on a feeder.

“There’s something coming up in the buckets I put the Chinese Lanterns in last year.” Phyllis told me she hadn’t gotten any lanterns.

“Is it Chinese Lanterns?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to send you a picture of a Chinese Lantern leaf?” I asked starting to get out of my chair.

“No. Actually I can take a picture with Google Lens and it’ll tell me what it is.”

Phyllis showed me where Google Lens was on my phone and I’ve been playing with it ever since.

It mis-identified my Peony bud.

“Are you sure it’s a Peony?” Phyllis asked.

“Yep. I planted it.”

I tried it on my picture of the finch and it says it’s a Rosefinch. Why Rosefinch is all one word and Purple Finch is two, I don’t know. 

            I tried it on the other shot of my finch and it’s now telling me it’s a House Finch.

I searched all of those on the internet and in my bird book but I still think it’s a Purple Finch.

I opened the app and tried again, this time focusing on the head of the bird and now it’s saying Purple Finch.

I guess, just like with any info you get from the internet, you need to dose it with good old fashioned common sense.

I tried it on the buttercup leaf and it knew on the first shot that it was Meadow Buttercup.

Mike came and sat down with me, and while we chatted the girls started to play. At first, they were chasing each other around the yard. It’s fun to watch little Bondi, nose out, ears plastered against her head, tail straight out behind her, running just as fast as her little legs could carry her — and Raini hot on her tail.

Raini tags Bondi and Bondi, flipping over, wipes out. If she’s quick she can get back on her feet before Raini grabs her back leg. Otherwise, she’s at Raini’s mercy.

Pretty soon, the tables turn and Bondi takes off after Raini — and Raini runs. The games tend to get really loud.

“Settle down!” Mike yelled.

          Races over, they opted for a wrestling match.

          You know darn well there’s no way Bondi can pin Raini, unless Raini allows it. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.

          Break over, I gathered my gardening supplies and planted the Spiderwort, Forget-me-nots, and Vinca that Jody brought me. Raini helped.

          Here’s a fun Forget-me-not fact sent to me by the beautiful and thoughtful Jenn Kipp.

The yellow ring at the center of the flowers turn white after pollination, signaling to insects there’s no more nectar. The insects learn to visit the flowers that haven’t been pollinated yet, ensuring no Forget-me-not flower is forgotten.

          Mike has managed to keep himself busy. Besides getting the mower stuck a second time this week, he’s working on the renovation of the apartment.

          In the apartment, Mike tore out an old, rotted section of floor.

          Mike has a bad back.

Just think about how much an occasional backache hurts you and yet it’s something he lives with every single day. He really has to push himself to do anything.

Mike came in from working and I don’t know what I was doing.

“Peg, could you help me? Please? I just can’t get down anymore.”

How can you say no to a plea like that? When Mike had rested and was ready to tackle it again, I followed him over to the apartment.

“What do I have to do?” I wanted to know.

“Just hand me up the big pieces and I’ll carry them out.”

I got down on my knees and handed all the big pieces of old rotten board up to Mike. He carried them out to the golf cart for the short ride around to the burn pile. Then I used a little whisk broom and dustpan to clean up the rest.

Plumbing was added after the cement slab had been poured so it runs on top of the concrete. That’s why the floor had to be built up on joists.

“There’s a round hole down here,” I told Mike.

I was surprised because it’s not like they just knocked out a patch of concrete all willy-nilly, it’s round.

And I was kinda freaked out, too. The first thing that popped into my mind was a movie I saw hundred years ago about a demon-possessed house. The demons entered the house through an old well in the basement.

Luckily, that didn’t happen here.

Mike replaced the boards and the floor is good and solid now.

He also painted the old dark paneling in the kitchen. I think it looks fabulous!

          I tried a new recipe for a vanilla nobake cookie. It calls for a box of instant vanilla pudding.

          “How are they?” you wanna know.

          Well, the truth is, I kept sampling them all day and still didn’t know how I felt about them.

          I took some to my Bible study class that night and those who tried it said they were good. Some even went back for thirds.

          Mike and I took a few down to the Kipps.

          “They’re okay,” Miss Rosie said. “But I like the chocolate ones better.”

          Something else she really liked was her Bondi time.

          Miss Rosie’s Bluets are blooming and Lamar is careful to mow around the patches of these pretty blue flowers with yellow eyes. Bluets are also called Innocence or Quaker-ladies.

          Their Rhodie is getting ready to burst forth.

          “It must be a different variety than ours,” Mike said. “Ours have come and gone already.

          Who knew there were different varieties of rhododendron? Not us!

          “I wish we’d’ve gotten that kind,” Mike said.

          “If wishes were horses then beggars would ride,” I’ve told him more than once.

          “What does that even mean?” he wants to know.

          I don’t know where I learned this proverb but I’ve known since I was young what it means. Wishing gets you nothing or even the poorest of the poor would have transportation. To this day I wish for nothing. If you Google it, it says it’s a Scottish nursery rhyme first recorded in 1628 and goes like this: If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. If turnips were swords, I'd have one at my side. If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans, There'd be no work for tinkers' hands.

          As we were leaving the Kipps I spot this guy on the dusty porch rail.

“What is it?” you ask.

This is a Stonefly.

Stoneflies are an important food source. Once they reach this stage in their life, they have no functioning mouth parts. Their only purpose is to reproduce and die. Stoneflies lay their eggs on the water and since they are very poor fliers, it makes them easy prey for fish.

When we got home, we found a visitor fluttering against the window on the patio.

          Isn’t he a handsome bird!

          “What is it?” I asked Mike. I was trying to get a look at him while wrangling the dogs into the house as they were furiously trying to get to the bird.

          Mike didn’t know but then again, I didn’t really expect him to.

          I took a picture.

The bird panicked and went to another window, frantically trying to get out. He stopped beating against the window and sat down. His feathers all splayed out looked beautiful. I took a picture thinking they might help me to identify him.

Mike approached him from the right while I opened the door on the left.

          The bird flew to the window where I first got his picture and just sat there, defeated.

          Mike was able to gently cup him in his big giant mountain man hands and carry him outside.

          Feeling the fresh breeze renewed his hope and he struggled to be free.

          Mike opened his hands and the bird took off.

          “What kind of bird was it?” you wanna know.

          I used Google Lens on both shots of him and both times Google tells me this is a Great Crested Flycatcher. Further study tells me this is a large insect-eating bird of the tyrant flycatcher family. It’s widespread in North America and is found over most of the eastern and mid-western portions of the continent. They dwell mostly in the treetops and are rarely found on the ground. Adults usually measure between six and eight inches in length, with a wingspan of around thirteen inches.

          I’ve been doing a bunch of baking lately and my streak of bad luck that started with accidently erasing my external hard drive continues.

          Mike and I picked a day to go shopping. I got out of bed that morning narrowly missing stepping on a present someone brought me in the middle of the night. Yep, it’s another little jumping field mouse.

          Going past the eagles’ nest, I spot an eagle in a tree but didn’t get my camera up in time. I wanted to stop and see the baby eagles. By this time, they should be standing on the edge of the nest testing their wings. Unfortunately, there’s too much foliage between the road and the nest and I couldn’t see a thing. 

          I did spot a hawk across the road. Even though the picture isn’t that great, I’m always excited to see these larger birds of prey.

          Construction had us at a stop. I put my window down and took a picture of the wildflowers. Four petals, these are Dames Rocket. 

          We did our shopping and on the way home we see a sign for computer repair.

          “Just for kicks, let’s stop and see if he can get your pictures for you,” Mike said. 

          So, here’s the deal.

Miss Rosie, you have my permission to skip this part since all the computer stuff looks like mumbo-jumbo to you. And my morning love note peeps already know this, too, so they can skip it if they want.

          The long and short of it is this. It would take my computer twenty-seven days to analyze the eight-terabit hard drive and probably that long to write it to the new hard drive. In the meantime, I can’t use my computer.

          We pulled up to where this guy works out of his house and he came to the door. I told him what I’d done.

          “Oh, I can’t help you,” he said. “Once it’s been formatted, the files are gone!”

          Once he said that, I should’ve just thanked him and walked away. But you know me, I speak my mind. “That’s not true. The information is still there, the computer just marked it so it can be written over — and I haven’t saved anything else to it since.”

           “I’ve been doing this for thirty-five years and I’m telling you there’s no way to get it back once it’s been formatted.”

          I looked at Mike and he twitched his head towards the car.

          “Okay. I guess you can’t help me then,” I said a little sarcastically. “Thank you for your time.” And I tried to smile to soften it a little.

          “Sorry I can’t help you,” he said but I was already halfway back to the car.

          I took a picture of a house on the same road.

         “He really put me in my place, didn’t he? I’m not even a computer ‘expert’ and I know it’s not gone! He’s an idiot!” I told Mike once we were buckled in and headed out.

          “I know,” Mike placated me. “Why don’tcha call Calaman?”

          I did and Calaman said he can probably get the stuff for me. I took both external hard drives out to him and told him what I’d done.

          “How much is it gonna cost us?” I asked.

          “It’s a hundred dollars just to run the software to recover the files. Then I usually cut off after four hours.”

          Mike and I guessed it was gonna be around three hundred bucks.

          The next day I got a call from Calaman.

          “It’s been running all night, it’s about seventy-five percent done, and it’s found three hundred thousand files!” He sounded so surprised. I wasn’t.

          “I told you I had about six-terabits full.”

          “It must’ve gone in one ear and out the other,” Calaman said. “It’s gonna take a week, maybe more.”

          I wasn’t concerned about time. Anything under twenty-seven days was a plus for me.

          “It’s gonna be five, maybe six hundred dollars,” he said.

          Holy sh— crap! I’m in shock and my stomach fell the whole way to the floor. “But isn’t most of the time just letting the computers run?” I asked. “Can’t you keep it down to around three-hundred and I’ll make you cookies?” Like I said earlier, I’ve been doing a lot of baking and I was making cookies at the time of his call.

At this point he said something about trees and branches and I think he was making it all sound way more complicated than it really will be — but I don’t know that for sure. “If it was just a matter of a three or four days then yeah, I could, but we’re talking a week or more now.” He paused and I didn’t say anything. Calaman went on. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make it reasonable for both of us and I still expect those cookies!”

I laughed. “Deal.”

You know something. All of my mom’s pictures are on there. Every picture I’ve taken for the last twenty years is on there. And Kat’s pictures are on there. (If you don’t remember who she is, ask me. I’d be happy to talk about my beautiful daughter, gone too soon from this world.) I would really be sad not to have those, but you know what? I’d get over it.

The week before I messed up the hard drive, I’d taken pictures at church. Pastor Jay was out of town, gone to pick up his son from Bible college in Florida, so we had a guest speaker. A retired preacher and father to one of the gals at my church. The whole family had come to hear him preach. Afterward, I took a family picture for them.

Not even a week later her father had fallen seriously ill. It was life threatening. And to think I might’ve taken the last picture ever to be taken of him surrounded by his progeny and I lost it. I was heartbroken for Lynda.

Now, two weeks later, her father’s turned the corner and is improving.

If it wouldn’t be for those pictures, I’d be tempted to say forget it.

Baking supplies restocked, I decide to make some of those chocolate no-bakes that my Miss Rosie likes. Something Momma taught me to do and something I do to this very day is double check my recipe. I might even triple and quadruple check it as I go along. In this case it was during my double check that I realized I’d added a half-cup of cocoa instead of a quarter-cup.

“I don’t know what line I was reading!” I told Miss Rosie.

“So it’ll be extra chocolaty?” she replied.

“Nope. I doubled the recipe.”

I knew I’d never have time to spoon out a double batch of no-bakes before they set so I patted them into a cookie sheet and cut them into squares.

“They taste the same,” Beth said. She’s the sweet little girl that comes and works out with me. Why a twenty-something young gal would want to come and work out with this old woman, I don’t know. But I’m thankful for her. Otherwise, I’d find lots of reasons to skip my workout.

          I made one more batch of no-bakes this week. This time it was peanut butter. The recipe said to cook it until it reached 230 degrees on a candy thermometer. If you don’t have a candy thermometer, the recipe said, this will take about a minute and a half.

          Guess what?

          I have a candy thermometer! I can’t mess this up, I think.

I cooked it to 230 just like the recipe said and it was overcooked! The cookies were crumbly and didn’t want to stick together. They still tasted good but I’m mad! This one was NOT my fault!

          We took cookies down to the Kipps and Miss Rosie agreed. Both flavors were fine.

          Tux always likes to get a scratch from Mike, even climbing into his lap at times.

          Handsome Lamar put the cookies in the house and Mama Cat took the opportunity of an open door to scoot out of the house. She didn’t hesitate on the porch where we were sitting with all three dogs; she went right down the steps and into the sunshine.

          “We should go,” Mike said. “We’re keeping Mama from sitting on the porch.”

          “No, we’re not,” I said. “She wants to sit in the sun.”

          Miss Rosie agreed with me.

          “Getting her vitamin D,” Mike said.

          I got a picture of a tiny little butterfly sitting on a garlic mustard flower. This guy is a Pearl Crescent. Their wingspan is less than two inches. They’re found in all parts of the United States except the west coast, throughout Mexico, and in parts of southern Canada.

This week I managed to burn the lasagna.

          “I’m so sorry,” I told Mike. “My feelings won’t be hurt if we throw the burnt parts away.”

          The noodles seemed rather tough to me, like they weren’t done. I don’t know how it can be both burnt and not done, but leave it up to me!

          I saw Mike was struggling to cut it with his fork. “Do you want a knife?” I asked.

          Mike flipped his fork over and tapped the bottom. It made a dull thunking sound, not at all what you would expect if the fork was hitting the Corelle plate.

          “There’s something in here,” Mike said.

          “I think there’s just a crust of burnt on the bottom,” I speculated, got up and got him a sharp knife. I felt a little bit bad because I gave him the more burnt side.

          Mike was sawing at it with his knife and couldn’t cut it.

          “Just eat the good stuff off the top,” I said.

          “There’s something in here, Peg!” Mike was adamant.

          I took his fork and poked around for myself. I was gonna show him it was just burnt. Boy, was I shocked when I pulled a plastic lid from one of my storage containers out from under his lasagna!

          “How did that get there?” you ask.

I know, right! I wondered that myself. I’m gonna guess that since I’d pulled both our plates out of the drainer together, a plastic lid was stuck between them and I just plain didn’t see it when I slapped his lasagna on the plate.

          My beautiful Joanie had a yard sale this weekend. During one of our chats on Facebook, she sent me a picture of her handsome husband sitting in the yard. For kicks and grins, I used Google Lens on his picture, just to see what I’d get.

          “What did you get?” you wanna know.

          It sent me visual matches of gray sweatshirts and men in gray sweatshirts.

          I tried Google Lens on this unopened Indian Paintbrush wildflower but it gave me a bunch of wrong guesses, like a spent dandelion. I’ll show you them again after they bloom.

          The world lost Tina Turner this week. All over TV, tributes to her have been playing.

          I was washing dishes when her song What’s Love Got to Do With It came on. In my mind’s eye I see and hear my little girl singing, “What’s love Doctor Do, Doctor Do did it.” My eyes unexpectedly filled with tears and I smiled at the memory.

          But speaking of dishes!

          One of the plants on the shelf in my kitchen window was leaking dirt. I have no idea where the dirt was coming from. At first, I thought it was one of the cats digging in the pot so I just cleaned it up. That wasn’t a bad thing since the sill and the back of the sink needed a good wipe down anyway.

          The very next day there’s more dirt! The cats have been spending almost all of their time outside these days and I don’t believe any of them had gotten up onto Smudge’s old window seat. Now I’m wondering if maybe I didn’t have a mouse living in there.

          I got out my little stepladder, pushed all the suncatchers to the side of the curtain rod they hang from, and pulled my jade plant down. He’s a pretty sorry looking little guy. He’s been dropping his leaves so he’s looking a little leggy.

          I didn’t find anything living in the pot. I took him and his scraggly looking brother, a spider plant down, and didn’t see anything in there either. I cleaned the shelf, the window sill, and the back of the sink. Since I had the plants down, I decided to repot them. I couldn’t leave the jade outside but I left the spider plant out.

          Once the shelves were clean, my attention turned to the window. It had a big splat on it. It kinda looked like a bird dropped a bomb on it. I got out the window cleaner and sprayed the window. The splat was on the inside, so I doubt it was a bird. Likely as not it was a present from one of the cats.

          When I came back in from washing the outside of the window, I was so proud of the sparkle that I had to take a picture. It’s like a holiday around here if windows get cleaned, I thought. Then I remembered it is a holiday. It’s Memorial weekend.

          Thank you to all the veterans who made the ultimate sacrifice while serving our country.

          Speaking of our country, I got a note from my handsome brother David.

          “Have you read One Second After?” he asked.

          “No. Have you?”

          “No, but my neighbor showed me a copy and it looks pretty good.”

          I went to the library on my e-reader and got the book. The forward was written by Newt Gingrich, a politician, author, and fiftieth speaker of the House of Representatives. He said the story isn’t real but it very well could be. I don’t want to ruin it for you if you decide to read it but it’s really scary to think that something like that can happen. I was telling Miss Rosie about it.

          “It sounds like an awful book,” she said.

          Not that the writing was bad, the story line was what’s so awful. “It is!” I agreed with her. “I think after this I’m going to read something a little lighter.” And I am. I’m reading The Borrowers, by Mary Norton again for the third time. After something as horrifying as One Second After, I needed something less serious and more fun.

           Let’s call this one done!  

 

Royal Goof!

             I goofed big time! Royally, you might even say.

“You get in too much of a hurry,” Mike said.

“Not helpful,” I quipped. “I thought I knew what I was doing,” I said to soften the harshness.

“What did you do‽” I know you wanna know.

You’re not the only one!

“Good morning! Good morning!” went my Saturday morning love note. “Nothing I thought was going to get done yesterday got done. Almost nothing. Raini did get her nails clipped. She fought Bobby Jo the whole time! Before this time, she was good and co-operative, so I don't know what changed between last month and this month. Raini didn't puke last time we took her for a nail clip but she puked on the way home this time. Then I spent the afternoon planting flowers and visiting with my best girl Jody. She brought me more flowers to plant. She's a good friend. I screwed up royally yesterday. ‘What did you do?’ I know you wanna know. I'm not going to tell you — but I will blog about it. I love you tons and tons!”

“Peg, I thought you always told your morning peeps first?” my handsome brother David replied.

Normally, I do. But since they only had one day to wait, I thought I would use that to my advantage and create a little excitement for my letter blog.

Friday started out pretty normal. Unremarkable might even be a better word since I can’t remember what I did that morning. I do know that after lunch we did take the pups to Dushore for Raini to get her nails clipped.

Raini wouldn’t get in the car.

“If it made me sick, I might not want to get in either!” Miss Rosie said.

Like I said in the morning love note to my peeps, she didn’t get sick last time but no matter what syrupy-sweet or super-excited tone of voice I used, I couldn’t coax her into getting in the car. She went over and stood by the door to go back in the house. I had to go over, pick her up, and put her in the car!

When we got to Spoiled Pet, I had to drag her inside. Actually, and in the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t try to pull her too hard because I was afraid she’d slip her collar, which she did once not too long ago. Rather than tighten it, I thought she might still have a little growing to do, so I left it alone thinking I wouldn’t have to let it out later. I picked her up, carried her in, and put her on the table for Bobby Jo.

It usually only takes Bobby Jo about two minutes to clip all of Raini’s toenails but it took three times as long this time.

“At night, when she’s in your lap or when she’s really relaxed, play with her feet. Rub the pads and in between her toes and even pull on her nails a little. It’s a dominance issue. Giving you control over her feet is giving you dominance over her.”

I don’t know about all that because last night I did just what Bobby Jo suggested and Raini didn’t seem to mind it much if I fussed with her feet and toes.

When we left Bobby Jo’s, Raini was straining at the leash to get back in the car!

Also, like my love note said, Raini did puke on the way home. Thank goodness for rubber floor mats!

After we were home was when my day started to spiral down into a really, really bad, no-good, horrible day.

I was expecting Beth for a workout later in the day. We’ve missed almost two weeks so getting back into it, I didn’t want to have an overly long or hard workout. I bet she’d like You V2, I thought. I got out my external DVD recorder/player, found the videos on my Seagate external hard drive where I’d stored them, and tried to burn a DVD. I know how this is done, it’s not that hard. Click on the video and tell it to write, aka burn it to a blank DVD. A box popped up showing me the progress. When it was done another box popped up.

“You have files waiting to be written to disc,” it says. I thought it already did that. I clicked on the message and it took me to the page that controls the DVD player. I highlighted the videos I wanted to burn to the disc and clicked on the burn button. Another message pops up saying the files are already on the disc.

S’kay. That’s what I wanted. But when I check the disc — it’s blank!

I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why it said the files are there when they’re clearly not. I switched out the DVD for a new one only to end up with same result. At this point, and not knowing what else to do, I decided to format the disc in the DVD player/recorder. I clicked on format, it gave me the default message that all data will be erased, which was okay with me since I didn’t think there was anything on it anyway, and clicked continue. I glanced up at the screen as the formatting process started and the word SEAGATE jumped off the page big as day. I was erasing all the files on my eight-terabit external storage device!

I panicked! Big time. No, wait. I panicked BIG TIME! I grabbed the plug and pulled the power supply to the external storage unit, stopping the erasing. It couldn’t’ve erased much. When I plugged it back in to see how much I’d lost, I found I’d lost the whole thing!

I’m devastated. I had transferred all my pictures from three older, smaller storage devices onto the huge eight-terabit Seagate storage device and I’ve been adding all my pictures and letters to it for the past three years. It was gone! All of it. Every picture I’d taken since I started taking pictures was gone. The letters are a different matter because I always print a hardcopy for myself. Not to mention everything I’ve written since 2014 is on my web log, aka blog site.

Now that I think about it, and I didn’t think about this at the time, some of my really old pictures are stored on DVDs so I guess I still have those. Small comfort, not that I need it.

At first I was really upset. Then I start talking to myself.

“Do you think you’d ever have done anything with them anyway?”

I did have hopes that some year, some grandchild, great grandchild, or great-great grandchild might find some value in them. But I never thought I’d be a famous writer or photographer, or get a book deal, in fact, that’s not anything I’m even seeking. So, what’s the big deal about losing them? The important part, the important thing is the role my pictures and letters play in the lives of the ones I love and that’s something that’s fulfilled the moment you read my jibber-jabber, the moment you see my pictures, and that’s something that can’t ever be lost.

“What’s the difference if you lost them accidentally by erasing them or if you had a house fire and lost them?”

No difference. Gone is gone.

Nothing like perspective.

Still, if I could have all those files back, I’d sure like to have them back.

I’d gotten the plug out pretty quick so maybe the only thing erased was the file system. Maybe I could download and install a new file system.

That set me off on a Google search which eventually took me to the manufacturer of my storage device. I spent about twenty minutes on their website poking around and looking at FAQs. The nice thing about modern technology is you don’t really have to talk to tech support if you don’t want to. They have something called Chat and you can chat with them instead. I can type so it’s no big deal for me to type out my questions. And you don’t have to worry about not understanding them because of a heavy accent either. I had to jump through a bunch of hoops before I was able to get an agent online.

          I told Theo what I’d done.

          He had me try a different USB port, a different cable, and a different computer to make sure those weren’t the problem. I’m pretty sure he was walking through a checklist of things to try, especially if this is the first time he’s encountered a dumba—butt who’s done what I’ve done.

          “Even if it’s formatted the information is recoverable so long as you haven’t saved anything else to it,” Theo told me.

          My hopes jumped up a notch.

          “We’re good there. I haven’t saved anything else to the device,” I told him.

          “The problem is, when you interrupted the format by pulling the power supply, you may have damaged the device. Then you may not be able to recover any of the files.”

          My hopes dropped two notches.

          “I panicked and I didn’t know it would hurt it.”

          “If I didn’t work in tech support, I might not have known that either. Let’s see if your computer can see the drive,” Theo said. “Open disc manager.”      

          “Okay. How do I do that?” I only know how to do what I know how to do and I’ve never had an occasion to mess around with disc manager. While Theo was typing out instructions for me, I went looking and found it in the control panel.

          “It sees it but it says it’s empty!” Seven thousand four hundred fifty-one point ninety one gigabytes is eight-terabits. Not technically. Technically it should be eight thousand gigs but they always add a program so it’ll run when you plug it in to your computer and that uses a little space.

          “Can you send me a screenshot?” Theo asked.

          I only know how to do what I know how to do and I’ve never had much occasion to use Screenshot, especially when the snipping tool is easier to use. I ‘snipped’ a picture and saved it to my desktop. When you snip something, it automatically saves it to your clipboard and you can paste it somewhere else with two clicks of the mouse. I tried to paste it into the conversation I was having with Theo but when I clicked on paste, nothing happened. I guess I’ll have to do it Theo’s way.

          “How do I do a screenshot? I asked.

          “Press the PrtSc button, open Paint and paste it there. Save the file to your desktop.”

          I went through the steps he outlined and realized I’d have to attach the file to our conversation. That’s when I saw the attach button on our conversation tab. I could do the same thing with the snip I’d saved earlier only I didn’t know that.

          “Your computer sees it so that’s a good thing,” Theo said. “I’m going to send you two files. One is a data recovery program that should allow you to recover the data. The permission license is good for thirty days. The second one is a video on how to use the program. Do you have somewhere on your computer where you can save the files from the drive?” he asked.

          Hmmm. Last I looked, my external hard drive was getting full. And did I mention it’s eight-terabits? My computer, the whole thing, is only two-terabits, if I’m lucky. And not all of that would be free to write files on. No way is it going to fit on here.

          “Maybe you could borrow a hard drive from some family or friends,” Theo suggested. “I’m also going to send you information on proper care and usage of an external hard drive.”

          I laughed. “LOL. I guess I need that.”

          I downloaded the program Theo sent me and looked at the “How To” video. It says it’s best to store the files on your computer before transferring them to another external device because transferring directly to another external device could cause it to become corrupted.

          Fine. But I don’t have a choice.

          It also says not to use your computer while the program is being used.

          Fine. I can get by without my computer for a few hours.

          I shut down all the open programs and started the scan the way the video said to do it. Almost right away it found forty-seven files. All my photos for a year are in a file labeled by that year. There will be twelve sub-folders for the months in the year then sub-folders inside them for the days. With other miscellaneous files, forty-seven main files would be about right.

          I checked on the progress of the scan after a few hours and saw it was almost done. I was guessing it wouldn’t move anything to the file I made on my computer until it asked me if I wanted it to. Then I was prepared for a “Not enough space” message. But I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.

          The next time I checked, it looked like it started all over again, but the original forty-seven files were still listed. Maybe my screen going to sleep stopped the scan and it had to start all over again, I thought and told the computer not to go to sleep.

          The next time I checked I noticed the overall progress graphic was at one percent. Maybe my computer going to sleep didn’t matter at all. Then I saw the estimated time it would take to complete. Five days!

          “Five twenty-four-hour days?” Mike asked.

          “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe it runs a scan for photos first, then scans for documents, then scans again for music, then for videos,” I told Mike. “It takes a long time to go through eight terabits. But what am I going to do with it if I don’t have any place to put it?”

          “Do you want another storage device?”

          I know we paid a lot for the first one and that was years ago. They’d be even more money now. “Not if I don’t have to. Let’s wait and see the results of the scan.”

          I was thinking it might let me transfer a few files at a time. Then I could re-format the drive and put them back.

          I know! I know! I hadn’t thought that one the whole way through. I still didn’t have enough space on my computer to store them!

Then Mike had a thought. “What about Bubby’s pictures?”

I gasped! Of course all of the pictures I took at his going away party were on the hard drive I’d just tried to (accidentally) erase! Then a picture of two files on my computer pops up in my head. One labeled Bubby’s Going Away Party and the other Bubby’s Pix to Post. Because I’d been working with the pictures, I’d saved some of the pictures to my desktop so if I never recovered anything from the storage device, we’d still have those.

          On our next conversation, Mike again asked if I wanted him to order me another external storage device.

          Did I want him to?

Yes and no. I’d been resigned to losing all the files once, I would be okay if I never got them back. But I hated to spend a couple of hundred dollars. I left it up to him.

Mike ordered another eight-terabit external storage drive. He loves me.

Now I’ll wait for it to be delivered. Then I’ll see if I can’t put a few files on my computer and transfer them to the new storage device. Once that’s done, I can format the old one and I’ll be able to use it when I need it. I’m guessing I’ll have eight terabits full in another year.

We made a shopping trip this week. There’s lots of road work happening. Repaving. 

New poles being set.    

   

          Here’s something we don’t see every day.

I know this isn’t a great picture, but I took it to remind myself to tell you our roadsides are blooming with purple. I can’t tell from this distance if it’s Dame’s Rocket or Phlox. They look very similar and have similar blooming times. The main difference is the petals. Dame’s Rocket has four, Phlox has five.

Going through a little town I see cars parked on the wrong side of the street. Every time I see this, I say, “They should get a ticket for that! I got a ticket for it!” Every. Single. Time I say that. It was about a hundred years ago. We lived on a side road and there was a wide spot in front of our house where we always parked. One day the po-po decided to give me a ticket for it. It wasn’t very much money. Three dollars or maybe it was five, but I’ve never forgotten — and I’m not bitter!

We met the nicest gal in Walmart. Rachel had a baby in a carrier in her shopping buggy and that’s what started our conversation.

“Aww, what a beautiful baby!” I gushed as I peeked in. I knew better than to touch. In my day, if a grandmother cooed over one of my babies, I’d hold the baby out and say, “Here, you want to hold him?” Or her. We weren’t so paranoid about germs in those days, or at least I wasn’t.

“Thank you!” Rachel said and beamed with motherly pride.

“You’d better watch her,” Mike said. “She’ll take the baby!”

She laughed, knowing he was just kidding around.

“Only until he cries, then I’m giving him back,” I said. “I did my time with crying babies.”

Rachel gave me that beautiful, radiant smile, bobbed her head and said, “I know, right!”

I thought the conversation was over so I turned away, but when I saw Mike was still perusing items on a shelf, I turned back to Rachel. “That’s the problem with living so far away from my grandbabies, I never get to love on them.”

“Where are they?” Rachel wanted to know.

I have a lot of grands as well as four great-grands but my thoughts turned to Andrew since he’s the only one I’ve ever gotten to spend any amount of time with. “Missouri,” I answered.

“I know it’s hard. My parents have never seen him because they’re in California.”

Mike and I continued shopping and who do you think we bump into at the self-checkouts? Yep. Rachel. We spent another ten minutes talking there. She was open and receptive to having a conversation and she was just plain a breath of fresh air. I love people like her.

One of the things I bought that day was a twenty-four pack of mini cinnamon rolls. They looked really good but when we were heading for home and cracked those babies open, they were dry.

“I’m gonna take some down to the Kipps,” I told Mike. "I don’t need this many and I know you won’t help eat them.”

We put the groceries away and I packed a dozen of the little cinnamon rolls for Rosie and Lamar. When we got there, I confessed. “I brought you some little cinnamon rolls. They looked really good but they’re not that good. They’re a little dry.”

Rosie laughed. “Way to sell ‘em, Peg!”

“If you warm them up in the microwave, they might be better,” Mike said.

I don’t know what’s gotten into Raini. She would always pester Tux until we’d tell her to leave him alone, but this day she was nipping at him and wouldn’t stop, despite repeated orders to do so. I took her down to the golf cart and made her stay by herself while we visited.

Bondi got her loves, then jumped from Miss Rosie’s lap, went down the porch steps, down the hill, and jumped up on the cart with Raini.

“Aw. That’s so sweet,” I said.

She didn’t stay there long and was soon running toward the road. Lamar saw her go and called her back.

Did she listen?

NO!

She didn’t go out into the road. There was a smell coming from the culvert that had called to her and she went to investigate that.

The next day, on my morning love call, Miss Rosie said, “Those cinnamon rolls aren’t too bad, Peg. I warmed ‘em up in the microwave and put a little butter on mine. Lamar ate his without butter. They weren’t bad at all.”

“I know, right! I did mine that way too and they’re pretty good.” I only paused for a second when inspiration struck. “Can I get half of them back?” I’m not usually that quick witted.

Miss Rosie laughed. “Sure.”

But did she give me half of them back?

NO!

My beautiful friend Jody did stop and visit. She brought me some flower clippings to plant. Raini went right up to her but Bondi still barked and growled at her.

When I knew Jody was on her way I went down to the pond with Raini. While waiting for her, I started pulling mustard plants. Raini makes it her job to try and grab them from my hand before I can toss them into the yard for Mike to mow over.

I was reaching for another handful of the prolific weed when I saw this one. I don’t know what it is but it’s got an interesting leaf.

I’ll show Jody, I thought. She knows flowers. Maybe she’ll know.

She didn’t. I guess I’ll have to wait for it to bloom.

Jody helped me pick the spots to plant the clippings that she brought me, then we went in and played a game of Rummikub. Even though it was only the first time she’d ever played it, she won!

“Cheater!” Mike calls.

“I didn’t cheat. And I didn’t even let Peg help me!” Jody laughed and defended.

I did offer to help. She did turn me down. She caught on to the rules pretty quick and even made a couple of fancy-schmancy plays of her own.

 She doesn’t come to visit near as often as I’d like her to.

>>>*<<<

Mike is still working in the apartment. He pulled down the small section of ceiling tile in the little kitchen nook and was shocked by the mishmash of wiring he found up there. He identified the wires and tucked them safely into junction boxes — the way they’re supposed to be!

There were three old ceramic light fixtures up there not hooked to anything and he got those down. If we had known they were there, it would’ve saved us buying a few.

We bought a case of ceiling tiles and sharp new blades for Mike’s utility knife. He measured and cut all the tiles that go around the perimeter. For the rest of the ceiling, all Mike has to do is open the case and drop the tiles into place. There won’t be any cutting so it should go pretty quick. And boy! Does it make the place look nice!

Mike plans on painting the kitchen area to brighten that corner up a little. I think he’d like to paint over all the old paneling but hasn’t got it in him to do that.

Another job Mike is doing is taking up all the black plastic we’d covered the banks of the pond with. It’s not helping keep the water in and maybe we could find a different use for the plastic.

He dragged it out into the yard to dry before he folded it up.

          “What we need is one BIG sheet of plastic,” Mike said.

          “No!” I cried.

          “Why not?” he wants to know.

          “For one thing, it’s UGLY! I’d rather have the pond dry up then to look at that. I didn’t even want you to do what we did. (He wore me down on that one.) And it’s expensive. We have other things we need worse than that.” I didn’t mention that my heart would be sad to smother all the critters that would get caught under the plastic.

 

          The dandelions have all gone to seed but my yard is still sprinkled with lots of yellow. Buttercups are blooming!

          And so are the Lilies of the Valley. These smell so good!

          Speaking of flowers, my beautiful Joanie gave me a purple flower for Mother’s Day. She is the kindest, most thoughtful lady in the world.

          Raini helped me carry the potting soil out into the yard.

          Then, when I turned it upside down to take it out of the pot, Raini tried to help with that, too.

          “Pulling the flowers off isn’t helping! Now stop it!” I scolded.

Speaking of Raini...

She loves to jump so much!

It started innocently enough. I was sitting on the pot one day and she drops that knobby rubber ball at my feet. I’m in the bathroom and there’s no place to throw it so I gave it a gentle toss into the air. Raini jumped for it. She caught it and when she dropped it at my feet, her eyes were sparkling and she had the biggest grin on her face (if a dog can grin). She dropped her head, eyes on the ball, backed up, and her tail was wagging about a hundred miles an hour! Her joy at having jumped and caught the ball was evident. I continued to toss for her and watched as she jumped for it. I will never understand how she flips herself around in midair like she does with her head going in one direction and her back end swinging the whole way around. The fancier her jumps, the happier she is!

“Her leg will never get better,” Mike points out.

So, this week we’ve started a new routine. When we go into the bedroom for the night, I’ll sit on the edge of the bed and toss the ball in the air just so she can jump for it. I’ll play for a good five minutes. Then Raini gets too hot and pants heavily. I don’t think it’s good for her to get that hot so I make her quit.

She’s so funny though. When she drops the ball at your feet, if you don’t pick it up right away, her little eyes travel back and forth between the ball and your hand. Keep taking too long and she’ll snap her jaws two or three times.

I don’t mind telling you that I was worried when we first got her; that she wouldn’t be a good dog for us. Now I can’t imagine my life without her!

>>>*<<<

          The hummingbirds are back! They’ve been back here in Pennsylvania about two weeks now and I haven’t been able to get a picture of them.

          Mike and I were sitting on the patio when a hummingbird flew up to the feeder. He went from one hole to another to another, gave up and flew away.

          “Maybe it’s empty,” Mike said.

          I got up to check and it was loaded with huge black ants! I took the feeder down and put it in Raini’s water tub. Then I got a glove, cupped my hand around the pole and running my hand down the pole, captured as many ants as I could. I hot-footed it over to the water tub, threw the ants into the water, then brushed the escapees who were running up my arm into the water, too. Then I got a fly swatter and started killing as many ants on the post as I could.

          “Peg, it sounds like you were on the warpath!” you say.

          I really was. I don’t want them to come back.

          I was on the computer and a tip came up on how to keep ants out of your hummingbird feeder. I wasn’t even looking for it. How’s that for a coincidence? The only thing I’ve ever tried was Vaseline. I once read the ants wouldn’t cross it. I slathered a thick band of it on the pole and it didn’t work. The ants crossed it. This tip said to use WD-40. Guess what? It didn’t work either. Here’s a picture on ants on both the pole and the hummingbird feeder after I sprayed the pole with WD-40.

          We’ll chalk this one up to experience.

>>>*<<<

          Now that we live in a house and now that I have lots of pantry space, one of the things we do is buy some staples in cases. Fruits, beans, red beets, tomatoes. This last trip home from the grocery we bought a case of kidney beans. I love kidney beans. I could eat them right out of the can. Chickpeas, too. Anyway, I had four cans of fruit cocktail that I’ve been shuffling around the shelf.

          Mike isn’t going to eat them.

          I’m not going to eat them. If I’m going to eat canned fruit, give me mandarin oranges or pineapple.

          I called Miss Rosie. “Do you want four cans of fruit cocktail?” I asked.

          “I won’t eat them because it has pineapple in them but let me check with Lamar.”

          I waited a moment for her to ask.

          She came back on the line. “He’ll eat them. And I’ve got a recipe for a fruit cocktail cake that we like. I haven’t made it in ages but I could make it and give you some.”

          Fruit cocktail cake isn’t anything I can fathom, but I agreed.

          The day after I take her the cans of fruit, her husband shows up at my door with a container of cake.

          Yeah. It was good. I’ve never had fruit cocktail cake before. I called Miss Rosie to thank her.

          “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only way to eat fruit cocktail!” I told her.

>>>*<<<

          Our out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere lumberyard burned.

          The building that burned was the one that housed their equipment to make rough-sawn boards.

          “We’d better get what we need to finish the awning before they run out,” Mike said.

          He figured he’d need about thirty one-by-fours, sixteen-feet long. And since he was making an order to be delivered, he ordered six one-by-tens, twelve-feet long for my porch sign making. All of it rough-sawn hemlock, which is more expensive than pine. It’s a preferred wood because it’s much stronger and harder than pine. Also because, when stained properly, it can closely resemble hardwoods like cherry and maple while displaying beautiful straight grains.

          I thought you might like to see what three hundred forty dollars buys these days.

          We went up to check out the well site this weekend.

          Since no one was working, we wandered in.

          “Take a picture of the hill where we usually sit,” Mike said.

          “That’s what I was thinking, too!” Great minds! So this arrow is where we usually sit when I’m taking pictures.

          “Hey! Look at that wheel! I’d like to have that!” But all I took, all I would ever take, was pictures.

        

All of the pipes and fittings and joints were sorted into bins. I took pictures of those.

Let’s call this one done!