Score!

           I scored big time this week!

          One of the pages I follow on Facebook lets people list things they want to sell or get rid of. Up pops an ad for old windows — free! Several other people had been tagged in the post already so I thought I might be too late. I messaged the gal and — yay! — I was the first to say I wanted them.

          “When do you want to come?” Sara asked.

          “Tomorrow,” I told her. “Around ten?”

          “Eleven would be better,” she said.

          I’d told her I wanted them before I said anything to my handsome mountain man. “Can we go get some old windows?” I asked. “They’re free.”

          “Nooo! What do you want old windows for?”

          “For stained glass,” but I bet he knew that. You may remember that I’ve done a couple of windows, both were gifts for two very dear-to-my-heart people, but I know that people will pay big money for windows like this. That’s something I’ve never pursued for a couple of reasons. The first is time. Between working on the house and my commissions, I haven’t been able to do much else. And two is expense. The last window I bought cost me ten bucks. I know I’d get that back when I sold it but refer back to the first reason.         

          “When?” Mike asked.

          “Tomorrow, around eleven.”

          “What about your class?” he wanted to know.

          “I forgot about my class! I guess I can drop the stuff off and let Mary run it.”

          “Where’s it at?”

          “Muncy Valley.”

          “Where’s that at?” Neither one of us knew.

          I Googled it and found out it’s a little more than an hour away. “We have to take the truck. There’s thirty of them.”

          “I don’t want to take the truck if I don’t have to. How big are the windows?”

          O+ 9

          “Hey!” I exclaimed. “Stop that!” Spitfire, lying on my desk in front of the screen, decided he wanted to help me write. He stretched out and hit the number pad on the keyboard.

I pushed him back up on the desk and erased zero plus space nine.

          Blink!

5241 appears on my screen as he stretched back out and hit the keys again.

          Once again, I pushed him back up on the desk and deleted his cryptic message. This time I was going to move the keyboard but as I pushed it away, he stretched out again.  He doesn’t give up easily.

          Blink!

          A recipe I’d copied to my clipboard appeared in my letter blog. He’d hit a paste key. I didn’t even know I had a paste key up in the upper right-hand corner of my keyboard! That doesn’t surprise me though, there are a bunch of keys I don’t use and don’t know what they are.

          Keyboard out of his way, I deleted the recipe.

          “Are you going to make those?” you ask.

          I don’t know. I like to bake and bake stuff for movie night at the church on Sunday nights. I have a story to tell there, but later. I’ll keep you in suspense.

          Mike didn’t want to take the truck and wanted to know how big the windows were. I messaged Sara and asked.

          “Better bring the truck,” she advised.

          I got to thinking about my exercise class. It starts at nine. If we do a half-hour video, I’d be home in plenty of time to make our eleven o’clock appointment with Sara.

          “I won’t be at class tomorrow,” Mary texted.

          Hmmm. Mary won’t be there, Miss Rosie can exercise at home, if I canceled, I wouldn’t be rushed for time. I called Miss Rosie to cancel class.

          “That actually works for me,” she said. “That way, Lamar can walk Tux and I can wait for the water guy to show up.” Then she threw a hinky in my plan. “Are you going to let Annette know?”

          “Annette! Oh my gosh, I forgot about her! I’ll let her know.” I’m so sorry I forgot about Annette. She’s only attended a few times but planned on coming more often. For all the months I’ve been running this class, it’s been almost exclusively Mary, Miss Rosie, and me.

          A few hours later, I got a message from Sara. “I see you. Pull up to the garage, that’s where it’s at.”

          Oh no! I thought. She messaged me by mistake and let someone else have the windows! Okay, okay. It’s okay. I didn’t have them before, I won’t have them now. It saves a trip and I can have my class. “Did you give them away already?” I asked Sara.

          “OMG! I meant to send that to the lady getting a table tonight.”

          Whew! I really did want the windows.

          Mike never wants to be late and, in his estimation, if we’re not a half-hour early, we’re late.

          The next morning, I was ready early. We needed to leave around ten of ten but, in an effort to make Mike happy, I was ready by nine-thirty.

          I took road pictures.

          The toilet has a new sitter, a blue bunny.

          I left my camera in the truck when we got to Sara’s. People can be funny about having pictures taken of their home and family. We chatted while we loaded the windows and she was right, we never would’ve gotten them all in the car and they’re great windows.

          “I was going to make a greenhouse with them,” Sara said, “but that’s not going to happen. Now they’re in the way and I just want them gone.”

          Sara, a fresh-faced beauty with green eyes, was very personable. Once the windows were loaded and strapped down, she showed us around.

          “I love the truck in the ditch,” I told her. In my mind’s eye, I recalled the many happy hours my siblings and I spent playing out in the...outside. The creeks and fields, the mud and dirt, climbing trees, flying kites. I hear that it’s not so common for kids to do those things these days as they play video games much too much.

          “She takes tons of pictures,” Mike told her.

          “I blog,” I explained, and Sara didn’t mind if I took a few pictures.

          “I don’t care about the kids, but don’t take any of me.”

          I respected her wishes and didn’t take any of her. The boys didn’t seem to want their picture taken either but this little cutie-patootie was happy to let me snap away at her.

          “She’s dirty,” Sara said and like a mother, tried to wipe a smudge from her face.

          I smiled. “It doesn’t bother me.” The kids were playing, looked happy and healthy, and not in front of a TV on this beautiful summer day. I thought that was great.

          Walking back to the truck, I spotted a wildflower I’d not yet seen at my house. I pointed and said, “There’s Queen Ann’s Lace.”

          That led to a discussion on wildflowers. Sara and her husband are interested in being more self-sufficient. They have a nice homestead on a few acres with turkeys, ducks, geese, chickens, a beautiful garden, and they’ve started planting fruit trees.      

   

          We walked under an archway to the garden.

          I looked up. “Kiwis!” 

          I don’t know how long it takes for the vines to produce, but maybe I’ll try growing kiwis.

          Sara is interested in using wildflowers and herbs in her diet and to heal. “We already eat dandelions and I make tea from mullein,” she told me.

          I don’t use wildflowers in my daily life so even though I knew the names for many of those growing around the property, I couldn’t tell her what they were good for — except for Jewelweed, called Pop-its by Sara’s clan. You can make a salve from it that’s a remedy for itching and often grows near poison ivy.

          I took more road pictures on the way home.

          We stopped at a little diner for lunch. The waitperson wasn’t very friendly. There were only three other people in the diner, an old couple at a table and a guy at the counter.

          “Hello!” I called cheerfully when the waitperson looked up at me but didn’t say anything.

          “Hi,” she said unsmilingly.

          We sat down. She fooled around with stuff, none of it looked important or necessary to me, and made us wait. When she finally came to the table, she brought place settings and menus.

          Mike ordered a turkey club and was very pleased. I had a grilled cheese with onion and I was equally as happy.

          The covered bridge near Sonestown. 

          Coming into Dushore you can see the Catholic church perched on its hill overlooking the town.

          Mike backed the truck up to the little side room on the upper barn. Opening up the back, we see the load shifted.

          “I knew I should’ve stopped and checked the straps,” he said.

          We stacked ‘em according to the number of panes they had. A few were broken during the ride home but all in all, I’m thrilled! I scored big time!

          So, my baking story...

          I made two kinds of cookies for movie night at the church. First I made a no-bake called Preacher Cookies. It said they’re called that because when you see the preacher coming down the lane you can whip them up and they’ll be set by the time he gets there.

          I had my doubts, but after the debacle with the Millionaire Bars two weeks ago, I didn’t try to modify the recipe. I’d make them the way they say first, then make alterations if I deem it necessary.

          “What happened with the Millionaire Bars?” you ask.

          Didn’t I tell you‽ We had a picnic the Sunday after VBS ended and invited all the kids and their parents. I made Mounds Brownies (which are really yummy) and tried Millionaire Bars for the first time. It’s a shortbread cookie layer with caramel and chocolate on top. I was following the recipe until it said to cook the caramel sauce for five minutes.

          “I don’t want it to run out when I cut it,” I told Mike. “I think I should cook it longer.”

          “I think it’s done,” Mike said.

          When I finally took it off the heat and spread it on the cooked cookie layer, I knew I’d goofed. It was stiff, starting to set up, and difficult to spread. I’d had hopes it would still be chewy but it wasn’t. It was a hard caramel — still very yummy but not what I needed for this recipe. I skipped putting chocolate on top because I didn’t want to waste it. I knew no one would eat them and I was right. No matter that they were good, I wasn’t keeping them. The last time I ate a caramel, it pulled my crown off. I threw them out.

          Anyway, that’s the story.

          So, this time, even though the recipe didn’t look right to me, I followed it.

          “What’s wrong with it?” you ask.

          It says to boil a stick of butter for one minute. Remove from heat and add peanut butter and vanilla. Pour over oats then add milk and sugar. How is that gonna set up‽

          But, after the calamity with the bars, I followed the recipe. They never really set up the way they should. They stayed very soft and the sugar made them gritty. But they were still good and most of them got eaten.

          I was hedging my bet. Just in case the Preacher Cookies didn’t turn out, I made a batch of Indoor S’mores, a recipe my feisty red-headed neighbor, Miss Rosie gave to me. I sometimes make it with semi-sweet chocolate but this time I made it with milk chocolate chips.

          We were on the way home and I was munching on a leftover Indoor S’mores cookie when it hit me!

          “What hit you?” you wanna know.

          I could taste cinnamon. “Oh no!” I told my personal chauffeur. “I used Cinnamon Toast Crunch instead of Golden Grahams!”

          Speaking of chauffeur...

          Did you know the word is derived from the French term for “stoker” because the earliest automobiles were steam-powered and required the driver to stoke the engine?

          Crossing the creek, we stop and watch four deer.

I’m guessing these two were young because they were play-fighting with each other before they followed the doe and fawn up the hill. 

          We dropped leftover Preacher Cookies and Indoor S’mores at the Kipps’ house — and I didn’t tell them my blunder until the next day.

          “I thought they were good,” Miss Rosie said on our morning love call. “I actually like the hint of cinnamon.”

          You’d think, after all these years, after all the experience I’ve had making millions of desserts, that I wouldn’t mess up, wouldn’t you?

          “Peg, is ‘millions of desserts’ hyperbole or did you actually make that many?” you ask.

          Even though I had a little bakery for about a year, it's hyperbole, my loves. 

>>>*<<< 

          I was able to spend time this week in my most favorite place in all the world.

          “Where’s that?” I know you wanna know.

          My kitchen patio. And besides being in my most favorite place, I got to do some of my favorite stuff. Crafting. I knocked out several projects this week. One of those was working on my giant concrete leaf birdbath. It never did hold water. You might remember that I bought a concrete sealer last year and used it on the bottom of the leaf, but it didn’t work. I’d brought it up under the awning and leaned it upright against the wall so it didn’t freeze and break this past winter. Once the danger of freeze was gone, I set it down and filled it with water. I never thought it would stay full but it was close to the hose and I could refill it when I watered flowers.

          Well, guess what? It started holding water! I thought maybe it fixed itself. Don’t laugh. I can’t even guess how that could happen, nonetheless, I was thankful, moved it out in the yard next to the flowers, and filled it. Out there, it didn’t hold water.

          Maybe liquid glass will seal it, I thought.

          I got my stuff around and while making it, Mike came out.

          “What are you doing?” he asked.

          “Making liquid glass to seal my leaf with.”

          “What makes you think it’ll seal it?”

          I was melting a piece of Styrofoam. I set it down on the grass because it wouldn’t stay upright in the pan I was using, then I went to get a piece of concrete I’d put liquid glass on to show him. I handed it to him and went back out into the yard and picked up the Styrofoam. Grass and dirt clung to the partially melted parts. I pulled it off, dropped it in the grass, and continued melting.

          I bet you can guess what happens next.

          “Oh no!” I cried.

          “What?” Mike asked.

          “I stepped in it! Now I’ve got one pair of shoes with tar on ‘em and one like this!”

          Yeah. I haven’t gotten around to getting the tar off them yet. Luckily, once the Styrofoam dried, I could pick it off. It doesn’t stick to rubber or plastics very well.

          I finished making the liquid glass, flipped my leaf over and dumped a bunch on, spreading it around with an old sponge brush. It dries fairly quickly but I waited a couple of hours before flipping it back over and filling it.

          The result? It isn’t waterproof! Not the results I was looking for, but now I know.

          Miss Rosie has a concrete leaf that I made her. She painted it and it holds water. I resisted painting mine, opting instead for the natural look, but I wanted it to hold water. I broke down and painted it.

A few hours later, the sky turned dark and we had a downpour! It came off the little side awning in sheets!

I thought the paint in the leaf was dry, but when the rain quit and I went to check, the water was a milky blue. I dumped it and hefted its fifty-pound weight, holding it against my belly, and duck-walked it to the patio, should it rain again.

Okay! Okay! It probably isn’t fifty pounds but it was very heavy for this old woman!

Now it holds water. 

          I painted the stone fairy house, giving it stained glass windows. For kicks and grins, I decided to paint it with my glass paint. It won’t keep water out but it doesn’t have to as water won’t hurt the homemade concrete clay. 

          What do you think?

          Let’s see, I made liquid glass, or glass paint like I call it. I painted the stone fairy house. And I painted one of the cats for the commissioned cat mobile. I think I’ll fuzz out the black socks and make his eyes more blue.

 

         Speaking of making things...

          This beautiful gal did a diamond painting of the Last Supper and gave it to the church. It took Barbara a long time to make it.

          “What’s diamond painting?” you ask.

          It’s tiny resin rhinestones, referred to as diamonds, stuck onto a coded adhesive canvas. Each diamond corresponds to a symbol on the canvas, kinda like paint by number.

>>>*<<<

          And now for some random photos to finish up this week’s file.

          This is a Basswood Tree. It's also commonly referred to as the American Linden or the Bee Tree. The wood of the Basswood tree is used for various purposes, including beehives, crating, furniture, and excelsior (wood fibers).

Basswood is also beneficial for wildlife. The fragrant flowers of the Basswood tree bloom in midsummer, a time when few other trees are in bloom. This makes them particularly attractive to bees, which are drawn to the nectar-rich blossoms. That’s why it’s called the Bee Tree. Its flowers are valued by beekeepers for the high-quality honey produced from their nectar. Many birds, including songbirds and blue jays, are attracted to the Basswood trees seeds and use the tree for shelter. White-tailed deer graze on the stems and several small mammals eat its berries.

          Momma cardinal brought her youngin to my feeders this week. It makes me happy.

          I found this guy on my kitchen sink. I don’t know how he got in here. This is a stinkbug nymph.  

 

          I found this guy in the bathroom. I don’t know how much food he can find in there so I gently cupped him in my hands and took him outside and released him on the kitchen patio.

          “Catch some of the bugs out here,” I told him, opening my hand. He jumped ship as fast as he could, hanging from my hand by his safety line. I’m sure he’ll be happier outside.

          I tried to find out what his name is but he’s not in my bug book and none of my apps came up with a name other than Black Widow. I’m pretty sure he’s not that because there’s no tell-tale red hourglass on his back. 

          A foggy, early morning as we crossed the beautiful Susquehanna.

          The eagle’s nest on the way to Sayre is now visible from the road since someone cut a tree (or maybe two?) down.      

  

          Let’s call this one done!