Love-Hate

           This week has been all about creating. I've been working on practice watercolors in my sketchbook. It's called practice for a reason. I can see areas in each piece that I'd like to improve or change. The best part is, knowing I don't have to show these to anyone takes a lot of pressure off. It allows me to experiment and have fun with the process.

          All of these were done with tutorials. There are two ladies I follow that I really like. She says, “Make a half circle.”

          I make a half circle.

          Most of the time they tell you to use whatever colors you want but I usually use whatever color they’re using.

          I love doing tutorials because you end up with something recognizable and I always learn something. I like this, I don’t like that. Paint is too wet or paint is too dry. It even gives me practice fixing or trying to fix mistakes — which, by the way, I don’t do a lot of in my practice book. Mostly because its better not to make the mistake in the first place. So unless it really bugs me, I’ll just flip the page and not look at it anymore. But I have to tell you that I’m in love with watercolors like I’ve never loved any other paint medium.

          I have to tell you something else, too.

          I have a burning desire to make my own art.

          You guys have given me great practice in taking photos and I’ve taken some really nice photos over the years. Now I look at my photos and my fingers itch to try and paint them. These next two PRACTICE pieces were painted using photos as inspiration. They don’t look exactly like the photos because like my friend Susan says, “If I wanted a photo, I’d take a photo.”

                                                                        >>>*<<<

          I have a love-hate relationship with my Cricut cutting machine. When it works, it’s great. When it doesn’t, then it’s a huge pile of frustration.

One of the websites I follow has been offering fall clipart for several weeks now. The images are so pretty.

Another website I follow offered fall themed digital papers this week — and I loved them, too. That’s when it hit me. That’s when I was inspired to combine the fall digital papers with the fall clipart to make some fall greeting cards! I mean really, I had to!

          I spent an afternoon sifting through files, trying to decide which images and which digital papers I wanted to use. Then I printed a bunch of papers. For the images, I decided to use my Cricut. It has a function where it will print, then cut out an image. And that’s what I wanted to do. It would save so much time over hand cutting — and it would be so much neater.

          Famous last words, right?

I didn’t have a plan other than I knew I didn’t want to spend days making cards. I’d make one design and copy it for however many cards I decide to make. I just jumped in with both feet and let the chips fall where they may.  

          The first thing I had to do was upload the images to the Cricut software. Sizing them would be a little trial and error since I wasn’t exactly sure how big I wanted them. Some elements I knew I wanted to use on all the cards, so I’d print multiples. The images could all be different depending on who I was giving it to, so I’d only print and cut one.

          When I had all the images uploaded and saved to mats to print and cut, I got the Cricut out. I sent the job to the printer, loaded the cardstock into the Cricut machine, and my troubles began. It was making a whole bunch of little cuts, like it was cutting pixels instead of the whole image and it made a couple of holes in the paper before I stopped it.

          Well! I thought. I guess I’ll be cutting these out by hand!

          I spent the next couple of hours printing and trying to cut. One time it was cutting the image, but it didn’t match up to where the image was printed on the paper, cutting through them rather than around them.

          I rebooted the software.

          I rebooted the Cricut.

          Then I thought to check the memory on my computer and it’s almost full. That’s likely what’s causing my problems. I spent the next long time, hour, maybe more, moving photos to the external storage device. Then removing unused programs. That gave me a little more memory. Rather than use the print then cut function, I just cut simple shapes from the Cricut software and the Cricut did okay with that. I didn’t try the print then cut feature anymore because by this time, I’d had enough. Enough time and aggravation trying to get the machine to work and enough images already printed that I’d have to cut out by hand.

          I’m thinking I need to take my computer to the computer doctor and let him clean it up. Either that or use the internal software already on my computer to set it back to factory. That’s a problem for another day. All in all, I spent three days making fall cards.

          During this whole card making process, I got to thinking about all the times I passed up shape-making hand-held punches. I didn’t need them, didn’t know I’d ever need or want them, so I didn’t buy them. I still don’t need them. After all, my Cricut is supposed to be able to make them for me, but it sure would’ve made my life easier if I had a punch that would punch out hearts or stars. I got on Facebook Marketplace looking for some and found a hand operated machine called Sizzix that has different dies with it. The lady was asking forty but would take thirty.

          “Mike, how about a road trip to Hughesville?” I asked.

          “What for?”

          I explained what I wanted and all he said was, “Let’s go.” He really is a good husband and indulges my need to create.

          So! Road trip! How about road pictures?

Hughesville is about an hour away and the GPS took us right to her house. She professed to not knowing anything about the Sizzix. “I’m selling it for a friend.”

I didn’t know much about them except they cut shapes. It looked like it was in good shape and had a bunch of dies with it. We paid her and headed for home.

          To get back to the main street, Mike turned up an alleyway.  

What do you think these blue and red things are used for?

          The first thing I did when we got home was play with my new machine — and boy did I get an education!

          Did you know that this machine, besides cutting shapes, can cut letters?

          Yeah. I didn’t know, either! It makes sense that it can cut anything there’s a die for and what I got was a whole set of letters, numbers, and a few symbols, like dollar sign, comma, ampersand, etc. It also came with colored cardstock, a slide cutter with an extra blade, scissors that cut a pattern, and a couple of other templates used in cardmaking. What I didn’t get was what I really wanted. Shapes.

          “So, we wasted our money?” Mike asked.

          “Not necessarily. I can use the letters to spell out stuff like HAPPY BIRTHDAY when I’m making cards and maybe I’ll find some of the dies that I really wanted.”

          Mike got on the computer and looked around for some. They’re out there, but I don’t want to pay that much for them.

          “Let’s wait and see if I can find them at a yard sale sometime.”

          But in the back of my mind, I’m tumbling over things I can use to make homemade dies!

>>>*<<<

          My morning peeps have already seen my progress on my newest commission. The guy asked for a cross. Then, a few weeks later, asked for an open book. It’s for his wife for Christmas.

          “I’ve never done an open book before,” I told him. “But I can try.”

          “How about a cross sitting on an open book?” Mike suggested.

          And this is my attempt at an open book. It’s meant to have lots of character, aka, ragged edges, and I’m gonna try to make it look old and antiquey when I paint it. The cross is one of my molds so it’s pretty much perfect — at least until I paint it!

>>>*<<<

          Mike and I decided to go out for lunch and we decided to go to a local place for a salad and slice of pizza. The restaurant opened at 11 and it was, like, a quarter after when we walked in. They did not have even one pizza out of the oven.

          “We have cheese and pepperoni coming out in a few,” she said.

          I turned to Mike. “You wanna go someplace else?”

          “Yeah. Let’s go to the Ram Zone and try one of their pizzas. They’re supposed to be really good.”

          We went in and found a table. This gal came to take our drink order. She had a sparkly personality and you knew right away that you were gonna love her.

          Becky left and came back with our drinks. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”

          We were sitting right in front of the air conditioner and it was blowing on us. “You wanna move to another table?” I asked.

          “Yeah. Let’s go up there,” Mike answered and nodded to a booth farther away from the blowing, cold air.

          Becky was going past with food for another table.

          “We moved,” Mike said. “It was cold over there.”

          “I figured,” Becky said over her shoulder.

          “It’s probably not the first time it’s happened,” I told Mike.

          When she came back for our order, Mike asked, “Can we get a pizza?”

          “No. We don’t have pizza on the menu anymore,” Becky said.

          “Do you have a pizza night?” I asked thinking it might be a special sometimes.

          “No. We don’t do them at all anymore. I wish they’d bring ‘em back because so many people are asking for ‘em,”

          Mike got the pulled pork BBQ and I got a mushroom Swiss melt. Mike was sad. His BBQ was just okay but my burger was really good.

          Becky picked up Mike’s unused straw from the table we vacated earlier, then laid the ketchup on its side. “I wonder why she did that,” Mike mused.

          When we had a chance to ask her, she said, “I do that so I remember I haven’t wiped the table yet.”

          “How clever!” I exclaimed. That would’ve been a helpful hack to know back when I waitressed a hundred years ago.

          “What’s your last name?” I asked thinking she reminded me of someone.

          Becky hesitated and her eyes went up and to the left. “Ferris,” she finally answered.

          “Why did you have to think about it?” I asked, puzzled.

          “Ferris is my married name.”

          So, it’s new to her, I thought. “Did you recently get married?”

          “Pffft! No! Married twenty years!”

          Now I’m curious. “What was your maiden name?”

          “Woodruff,” she said.

          I’m going to guess that she hesitated because she had to decide if I was asking about her family name or married name. I’ve been asked several times in my life who my parents were.

          Becky was — is just such a beautiful lady! I bet all of her customers love her.

>>>*<<< 

          All y’all know that I make mistakes and I don’t mind telling on myself. Look what I did.

          “What are those?” you ask.

          Those, my dears, are the food cups for my bird cage. I washed them and you can’t put food in wet cups. No matter how dry I think I get them, I always end up with food stuck to spots I’d missed. I put the oven on its lowest heat and put the cups in to dry. I use the oven to dry stuff all the time!

          Hmmm. I didn’t think the oven would get hot enough to melt the thick plastic. Obviously, I was wrong. Maybe the plastic they use has a low melting point and it’s not my fault at all! Yeah! Let’s go with that one! I had no choice but to use them anyway. They still held food. I could still hook them in place on the side of the bird cage. I just couldn’t put the covers back on them.

          Mike, that dear, sweet, long-suffering man of mine, ordered a new set.

          That’s not my only blunder this week either.

          I got a notice from my insurance company that my claim was approved.

          I didn’t file a claim, I thought and went to the website. There was a claim filed for two prescriptions and I don’t take any prescription drugs. I didn’t recognize the names of the drugs and, of course, they have them listed by the prescription name and not common name. What the heck is Fluz-own — that’s how I said it in my head. The other one I didn’t even try to say in my head. I looked to see who prescribed them and it was Gil. A hacker name if I ever heard one.

          “You’d better call,” Mike said.

          So, I did. The lady I talked to was getting me so frustrated! She verified my information twice. I’m thinking she was having computer trouble or something. Then she wanted to know my email.

          “Wait a minute. You just sent me an email saying you approved my claim so you have my email,” I said.

          “It’s not on here,” she said. “Do you want me to put it on here?”

          “You already have it.... Wait a minute. Am I even talking to my insurance company?” I questioned.

          “Yes. You are.”

          “Then let’s get to the reason I called. You pulled up my account. You should be looking at the same thing I am. I didn’t file a claim.”

          “Here’s one for Flu-zone...”

          As soon as she said it, I knew what it was, and I bet you do, too! I’d gotten my flu and COVID shots. That’s what the claim was for.

          “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I did get those shots! I thought someone hacked into my account and filed a false claim.”

          She was very understanding and assured me it was just fine that I’d called.

          “You can’t be too careful these days,” my Miss Rosie said when I told her.

          Now, speaking of the Kipps...

          I love the Kipps, you know that. But I had to sit them down and have a heart-to-heart talk with them.

          “What’s going on?” I know you wanna know.

          I was making a new recipe. It’s called Marry Me Snack Mix. The recipe is fairly straightforward and I’d gotten all the stuff I needed to make it, but when I set about making it, the salt in the recipe was not listed in the directions.

          I’ll call Miss Rosie, she’ll know, I thought. I called, or rather, I tried to call. I kept getting a message that it wasn’t in service. Actually, I don’t remember the exact words from the message, whether it was that or the call couldn’t be completed, I don’t know. All I know is I wanted to talk to Rosie and I couldn’t! I tried for half an hour before I gave up and messaged her daughter, Jenn. “Do you know if their phone is out?” I asked.

          “I don’t know. Let me try,” Jenn said.

          She tried and she couldn’t get them either.

          I tried both Rosie’s and Lamar’s cell phones thinking if their landline was out, they’d turn their cell phones on. They didn’t. It went straight to voicemail.

          Well, luckily, I have a sister who’s a genius in the kitchen so I called her.

          “The recipe calls for me to melt the butter, sugar, and corn syrup in a pan. Then I boil for one minute, take it off the heat and add the vanilla and baking soda. No where does it tell me what to do with the salt,” I told Phyllis.

          Phyllis pulled up the recipe and looked for herself. “You’re right. It doesn’t say what to do with it. I think I’d put it with the butter and sugars in the pan.”

          So that’s what I did.

          The next day I had a talk with the Kipps. “Do they charge you when your cell phone is on?” I asked.

          “No. It’s the same every month no matter how much we use it,” Lamar said.

          “Then why don’t you leave your phone on when you’re home?” I wanted to know.

          Lamar thought for a second. “I turn it on when I leave but when I’m home I turn it off because we have the landline.”

          “But if your landline goes out, how can I get a hold of you?” I wanted to know. “Rosie, I needed you and I couldn’t get you!” I cried like my life depended on it. I was being overly dramatic. If I had really needed to talk to either of the Kipps, I would’ve jumped in the car or on the golf cart and gone down there.

          “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “What did you need me for?”

          I described my plight with the salt and what I did.

          “I agree with your sister. Put it in the stuff on the stove.”

          “I asked AI (artificial intelligence) afterward,” I told Miss Rosie, “And he said it goes in with the vanilla and baking soda. I told him, ‘Uh-oh. I already put it in with the butter and sugar.’ AI said it would be okay, and it was.”

          “I think the issue with the cell phone is Lamar forgets to charge it,” Miss Rosie said. “But honestly, we would rather people could get a hold of us at any time.”

          “Just put the charger there by your chair and when you sit down, plug it in. It just takes getting in the habit.”

          The next day, when I made my morning love call to that feisty redheaded neighbor of mine, Miss Rosie said, “When Lamar turned on his cell phone, he got a message from the provider that our phone was out and they would fix it as soon as they could.”

          Ha! Vindication!

          By the way, it's a really good snack mix.

          I want to end this time with the remaining photos in my file.

          I think we’ve been behind this motorcyclist before. He wears a backpack and passes in no passing zones. Maybe he loves the thrill of being a rebel. Maybe he’s always running late. I just hope he’s careful, even if what he’s doing is illegal. 

          Out of the corner of my eye, I caught an image of strange, skeletal birds sitting on the wires. When I turned to fully look. They’re wire separators.      

          Lastly, out by one of the posts that supports the kitchen awning, I see a mound of dirt pushing up. I puzzle over it but don’t investigate.

          A few days later the round caps of fungi appear.

          Then a few more days pass and they’re fully open and huge!

          I don’t know enough about mushrooms to know if they’re edible, so I took a photo and asked AI.     

“The mushrooms in your photo appear to belong to the genus Macrolepiota, a parasol mushroom known for its large size and distinctive cap patterns. The light brown caps with darker centers and white edges are characteristic of this genus. However, accurately identifying mushrooms can be tricky without more details, such as the gills underneath the cap or the habitat where they were found. It's important to be cautious, as there are some lookalikes that can be toxic.”

Well, then. I guess I’ll pass.

Something I will never pass on is reminding you how important you are to me. You’re all in my heart.

Let’s call this one done.

 

This Is It!

           This is it!

          Or, at least, this should be it.

          “What?” you ask.

          This should be the letter blog that catches up all the fluff and bits of my life that fluttered by the wayside when our family was here for a visit.

Coming across our little bridge, I see Northern Pintail Ducks all lined up, grooming themselves on a fallen tree in the creek. These elegant ducks feed mainly in the evening or at night by dabbling at the water's surface and upending in shallow waters, which means they spend much of the day resting. Their long necks let them reach food from the bottom, up to 12 inches deep, a trick that other dabbling ducks like the mallard can't do.

The electric company came and moved the high-voltage power lines that ran straight overtop our mountain home. No one knows why they were originally installed like that, they never run power lines over a structure, but all agree it wasn’t a good thing.

They brought two new poles and moved one. I’ve never seen the process of setting electric poles from start to finish. Like most of you, I’ve only seen glimpses of it as we’ve driven past. It was interesting to watch.

The first thing they did, once the trucks were in place, was to put a heavy-duty tarp down to catch the dirt. I thought, Cool! They’re not going to mess up the yard.

One of the guys stood by with a shovel and helped direct the dirt from the blades of the auger to the tarp.

There were linemen working all around us. Everyone knew their job and everyone did their job.

To reuse the old pole, they first had to remove the old cables and light fixture.

          Another lineman was preparing a new pole.

          Ground wires were added to the pole. 

Once the hole was to the prescribed depth (and I don’t know what that was), they left the auger in the ground, unhooked it, and added a tool that would sink the post for the guide cable.

Once that was in place they switched back to the auger and cleaned out the hole, shaking the dirt onto the tarp. 

          They lifted the new pole into place. 

          Two guys with plumb bobs made sure the pole was straight from both directions.

After making sure the pole was as straight as possible, the true use of the tarp became apparent. They attached the tarp loops onto a hook and lifted the dirt, funneling it back into the hole around the base of the newly set pole. 

I didn’t stay for the moving of the lines or the installation of the transformer but popped out from time to time. 

          There are several poles up on the hill to the upper barn. There was a line running to the barn that had never been powered since we’ve been here. Over time, one of the poles started leaning, and the cables were getting lower and lower. They cut the leaning pole loose from the one they were moving, and without that support, the pole now looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The cable was hanging so low Mike couldn’t drive under it with the golf cart. It had to come down.

          Mike got the bolt cutters and climbed up on the roof. He couldn’t get high enough to cut the wires at the pole, so he cut them where he could. 

          Once it was cut, he looped it around the back of the golf cart and pulled on the old, leaning, rotted pole and broke it from its concrete footing. 

          Mike wound up the cable and moved the pole to the back concrete pad. That’s one more job done and out of the way.

          Speaking of jobs out of the way...

          I had a commission due by late August. I made a concrete clay fairy house with stained glass windows and a book box.

         For some reason I neglected to take pictures of the fairy house but I did take pictures of the book box. Inside I tucked an extra light so there was a little surprise when you opened the box.       

I also finished the dog portrait that’s been hanging over my head for months.

          I didn’t consult with my first attempt to paint Scout. As a result, I used cool blue undertones in his coat instead of the warm red I used the first time. The people who’ve looked at it and commented, prefer the cool blue, the one on the right.

          My guarantee for this or any other job I do?

          If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay me.

          I’ve also been making greeting cards. Some thank you cards, some missing you cards, and a get well card for my best girl, Miss Rosie.

          “What happened!?” I know you wanna know.

          Miss Rosie, after gimping around for months and months, finally bit the bullet and had her knee replaced. The first time we visited after her operation, she showed me her knee. The incision was covered with a bandage but you could see how swollen and bruised it was. We took Bondi and Raini along for a little lovin’.

          I didn’t let Raini jump into Miss Rosie’s lap, but Lamar was fair game.

          The day before Miss Rosie was to have the staples removed, we went to see the incision.

          Okay! Okay! It was me that wanted to see it.

          “Lamar counted 32 staples,” Miss Rosie said. That’s what I count, too, Miss Rosie.

          Miss Rosie is doing her exercises and going to therapy. She has less pain when she walks now than she did before her operation. She should be good as new — or maybe even better! — in a couple of three months.

          Winter is coming. We all know that it will come. In the meantime, we can enjoy fall. The color popping out on the trees all around us, cooler days and nights, leaves falling on gusts of wind and crunching under our feet.

           Bucks are growing their antlers.   

The asters are blooming. I’ve got several varieties growing right here in my yard.

          The New England Aster is deep purple.

          The Bushy Aster is lavender. 

          The tiny little Calico Asters.

          We took the girls on a golf cart ride. I spotted a tree with small red fruit. “Stop!” I said. “Is that a cherry tree?”

          Mike drives down the little path and I could see they weren’t cherries. They’re crabapples.

          A whole tree full! 

           It was growing beside our pretty little creek. The dogs and I got off the cart and walked to the edge of the water. I looked one way...

...then the other.

A field of asters.       

                                 

Bondi looks like she’s smelling flowers.

    

I spotted a mid-September Monarch caterpillar. These caterpillars are the last generation of the year and are known as the “super generation.” These caterpillars will transform into butterflies and begin their migration to Mexico before winter sets in. Unlike earlier generations which live for only a few weeks, the super generation can live for several months, allowing them to make the long journey south and overwinter in the warmer climates of Mexico.

We’ve been watching these twins grow all summer. I look for them in the neighbor’s field every time we leave the driveway.

          Turkeys! I even managed to find a turkey feather on the road. It’s living in the pencil holder on my desk right now.   

      

Something else I saw was a horsefly trapped on the speckled patio window. These things are huge! I didn’t rescue him. I left him to his fate.

          And I saw these guys three weeks ago! 

          I haven’t seen any hummingbirds at my feeders in a week. But I’ll leave the feeders up for any stragglers. They’ll need the sugar.

          Speaking of critters...

          I was at the kitchen sink when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and there was a mouse tottering across the kitchen floor. My first thought was, Is he sick? Regardless, I wanted him dead. Mice are destructive and I do not want them in my house.

          “Raini!” I called and Raini, being a good dog, came. I pointed at the mouse and said, “Get ‘im! Kill ‘im!” Raini looked in the direction I pointed and watched the mouse make its way toward the butcher block. “Get ‘im!” I implored. Raini went over, sniffed him, and came back.

          Fat lotta good you are, I thought but didn’t say.

          The mouse disappeared under the butcher block.

          I called in reinforcements. “Bondi!”

          I tried to put Bondi on the trail but she wasn’t smelling him. I assumed the mouse would go the opposite way from me so I thought he’d go around the front of the kitchen island. On that side are the dog kennels and the toy box.

          “Bondi! Come here,” I called as I pulled the first kennel out. Bondi came and so did Raini. “Where is he?” I tried to put as much excitement in my voice as I could. No mouse was running — or wobbling— down the wall. I pulled the second one out, then the third, then the toy box. No mouse. I didn’t think he’d had enough time to go any farther, and I was looking around, trying to decide where he might’ve gone when, suddenly, he came out from the front of the counter. Raini and I saw him at the same time and this time Raini did kill him.

          I picked him up by his little tail and took him outside to toss over the fence. Who do you think was sitting right outside the door looking pleased as punch?

“Spitfire!”

And you’re right. I’m guessing he brought the mouse in to the patio, cornered him by the pet door, and the mouse came in that way. That was the direction he’d come from.

That wasn’t my only encounter with sneaky little mouse things this week. I went out to the cat room to feed Sugar (our outside cat) and there was a mole stuck down in the litter box. I don’t know if Sugar put him there or if he somehow got there on his own. It’s a deep litter box but a mouse wouldn’t’ve had any trouble jumping out. Moles are more adapted to digging and can’t jump like mice do.

          “Sugar, get him!” I said but Sugar ignored me, tucking in to her supper instead.

          I went in the house for old reliable. I held Bondi by the edge of the litter box. “Get him!” Bondi looked where I pointed and looked back at me. The mole was holding very still. She can’t see him, I thought. I picked up the pooper scooper and poked him. Bondi saw him but when I held her in to where she could grab him, she was more interested in the treats in the box than the mole. This isn’t working, I thought. I took the bucket I scoop the cat litter into and scooped the mole into it. Then I took him and Bondi out the door to the middle of the yard. I dumped the mole and said, “Now kill ‘im!”

          This life and death battle took way longer than it should have. The mole ran and Bondi watched him go. Then she went after him and grabbed him. I think he bit her because she dropped him, snorted, shook her head, and licked her snout. He ran and burrowed under a tuft of grass. I couldn’t see where he went but Bondi’s nose found him and her claws dug him out. She was hesitant to grab him. It took a lot of coaxing on my part but she did eventually dash in and give him a quick nip. He flipped onto his back and screamed. Then he flipped back over and tried to hide again. After several more minutes and digging him out and more darting in and nipping, she was confident enough to get a good hold on him and shook the stuffing out of him, but like I said, it took way too long.

           How about some road pictures?

          Still standing!

          We got caught in a work zone. They’ve resurfaced Route 6 and now they’re replacing the guide rails.

          “I heard the old ones aren’t strong enough for the new electric cars,” Mike said by way of conversation.

          These guys are cutting the old sections.

          I didn’t see them taking out the old sections.

          These guys are driving the new posts in.

          And these guys are putting the new sections up.

          Some older road pictures that have been hanging around waiting for their turn.  

    

         Two fairly decent hawk photos.

          The Wyoming County Fair is always the last week of August, culminating on Labor Day. The first and last days of the fair are free admission for seniors so that’s when we always go. We never do much. We’ll walk around some and eat our favorite fair foods. For Mike, that’s an Italian sausage sandwich. Holy cow! The prices go up every year! It was fourteen dollars this year for just a sausage on a bun!

          For me, I hit the church pierogi stand. I love the tender homemade pierogies swimming in butter and sauteed onions.

          After that I hit the maple syrup stand for a deluxe ice cream. It comes in a waffle bowl and is topped with their trademark walnut syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry.

          My beautiful cousin Stacey was working at her company’s stand and we caught up on her news.

          I spoke to this guy, admiring his walking stick. I always think of my brother Mike because he liked to make walking sticks. 

          I never saw a people trailer on the back of a scooter before. How clever.

          The reptile man was there again this year. I wrote about him last year so I didn’t spend much time visiting with him. 

          Mike and I happened upon the man offering tractor-pulled wagon rides around the fairgrounds just as he came to a stop. We were the first aboard, but as we waited, more people joined us. The ride took us up around the stock barns. I aimed my camera to take a picture of the cow-washing station and this cutie-patootie saw my camera and gave me the most beautiful smile! I adore people like that, much, much more than people who throw their hands up to hide their faces or turn away.

          This cutie-patootie didn’t like the smell. 

          “I don’t mind the smell of cow manure as long as it’s fresh,” Momma once told me. Having worked in the milking barn with her father, she knows what fresh cow pies smell like. But if you ever follow one of those old nasty bull-hauler trucks, you know the stink of old manure.

           Some kids were playing kick ball in a vacant arena. “Is that N.J.?” I asked Mike. N.J. and his dad, Nick Sr., go to our church.

          “Where?” he asked and I pointed him out.

          “N.J.!” Mike yelled. N.J.’s head came up but he didn’t know which direction his name came from. “HEY!” Mike yelled and N.J. spotted us on the wagon ride. We waved and N.J. waved back.

          “I’m not sure he recognized us,” I told Mike. And I’m that way, too, unless I know someone fairly well. For example, the gals who work at the grocery store or the bank — if I don’t see them very often, I might not recognize them outside of those places.

          On the last day of the fair, we walked around a little more than the first day.

          Going past the Kubota equipment display, I ask, “Why does that look so funny?”

          Mike walked over and inspected it. “It’s a new design. It looks like it attaches here,” and he pointed. “And you can pick up the front end to change the blades.” He was quiet for a few minutes, taking it all in. “Cool!”

          On ours, lifting the front requires a second tractor, chains, and a lot of work.

          We went past the chainsaw carver’s tent and looked at his creations.

          I could hear an announcer and applause and looked to the horse arena. There was an event going on down there.

          “Mom would’ve wanted to watch that,” I said. Taking Momma to the fair and watching the rodeo with her is one of my favorite memories. Actually, the whole day with her was a good day. If you want to re-live that day with us, you’ll find it on my blog site. The Wyoming County Fair — A Day with Momma. The date I published it was March 19, 2015. I don’t know why it took me so long to write the story, but there it is.

          We went back up to the cow barns and found this handsome young man.

          “Did you win anything?” I asked N.J.

          He nodded, “Um-huh.”

          “Where’s your calf at?”

          He pointed behind him. “On the other side.”

          Mike and I walked over but I couldn’t see a name on the calves so I don’t know which one N.J. raised.

          “Let’s go look at the old farm equipment,” I said to Mike. That’s something else Momma liked to look at. I took a bunch of photos but I’ll show you this one.

          This guy was “guarding” the exhibits, making sure no one walked out with anything. Why this particular barn had “security” and the others did not, I don’t know.

          Mike chatted with him while I walked on in.

          Look at the fancy scroll work on the old farm equipment,” I pointed out to Mike. “Why do you think they did that?”

          “What?” I guess he was absorbed in looking at the antiques.

          “Why would they take the time to make it all pretty like that? It’s not like there were many women out there working in the fields?”

          “Pride in their workmanship,” Mike guessed.

          We stopped to watch The Flores Family perform. We weren’t in the stands. Instead we’d found some seats under a tent pretty far away, but we could see and hear well enough. This gal climbed to the top and did a few acrobatics. Then she strapped her feet to the pole and hung on as she swung around in a circle. 

          The next act was two young sisters in the fourteen-foot steel Globe of Death. Both sisters began riding motorcycles in the cage at a young age. One was six, one was four when they started. They’re both in their teens now. One of the gals even appeared on America’s Got Talent in 2011.

          Heading home we spot what first appears to be a political sign.

          “Did you see that sign?” I asked Mike.

          “No. What did it say?”

          “It says, ‘I’m an asshole. I’m not running for anything, I just wanted a sign.’”

          “Why would you want a sign like that?”

          “Maybe they think it’s funny.”

          Road pictures from other days. 

          I think someone hit it.

         We stopped at the Chinese restaurant for lunch and I got two fortune cookies in one package! I never read the fortunes but sometimes I eat the cookie and sometimes I give the cookie to the girls. 

          Speaking of food...

          I lost a batch of homemade yogurt. It was nearing the end of the cooking time and I noticed it was yellowing. Yeah. It’s not supposed to be yellow. I gave it the old sniff test just to confirm what my eyes were already telling me. Yep. It was bad. And I don’t know why it happens sometimes. I always do it the same way. Somehow, the bad guys moved in, took over, and booted the good guys out. And this isn’t the kind of bacteria that makes yogurt — or maybe it’s still yogurt, just not good yogurt. It’d probably make you sick if you could get past the smell and eat it. But no one in this house is going to take a chance on bad food.

          Speaking of bad food...

          I made a recipe called Butter Swim Biscuits. I love Butter Swim Biscuits! I made them to take to church on movie night so I didn’t taste them. All the food is laid out on two or three tables, everyone gets their food, the lights are dimmed, and we watched another episode of The Truth Project. This series, created by Focus on the Family, delves into the foundational principles of a Christian worldview. It covers things like ethics, morality, the existence of God, and the nature of truth itself. It’s thought-provoking and we have some very interesting discussions afterward.

After I got the leftover biscuits home, I’m getting them ready for the freezer and see there’s like a white powder on top. It reminded me of powdered sugar. I searched my memory for anything on the table that had powder sugar on it and there wasn’t anything. I shrugged it off. Only a few of the biscuits were eaten, including the corner piece I ate — the best piece, in my opinion — and leftovers are normal. Most times there’s so much food that seldom is anything completely eaten.

I pulled it apart and found lumps of flour! Aye-yi-yi!

I know what happened. The recipe said not to over-mix. I didn’t. There were lumps in the batter. I knew there were lumps, but I thought it was like pancake batter and the lumps would cook out. They didn’t. And no one said anything to me about it. By the same token, I didn’t notice it in the dark, and didn’t taste it in the piece I ate either. I pitched the remaining biscuits. The critters aren’t fussy about that kind of stuff at all. Then just for kicks and grins, I re-made the recipe the next day. This time I used my whisk to remove all the lumps. I’m almost positive that using the whisk would constitute “over-mixing.” But you know what? It was good and the amount of mixing I did didn’t seem to hurt the end result at all.

          Speaking of not knowing stuff...

          I found this dish of ground up something or another in a lower cabinet where I’d obviously put it and I don’t — didn’t have a clue what it was. I smelled it. I tasted it. I still didn’t know what it was. And that presents a problem. If I don’t know what it is, how do I use it?

          “You tasted it!” you say incredulously. “What if it’s poison!”

          This I know for sure. I wouldn’t put poison in one of my food storage containers and if it had been poisonous, I would definitely and definitively have labeled it so I would never use it for food again.

          “Why didn’t you label it anyway?” you ask.

          I know, right! I asked myself that very same question! And here’s the answer. I didn’t label it because I thought I’d remember.

          I puzzled over it for some time, coming back to it, picking it up, shaking it around, examining it, smelling it, and even tasting it a couple of more times before reaching my conclusion.

          “What did you decide?” I know you wanna know.

          I decided it was probably some baby bird food that I’d ground up to dispense with a dropper to the baby bird I’d tried to save. I took it out and put it in the bird feeder.

          I’m pretty sure I’ve been blaming my cooking mishaps on my convection stove. You know how I know? A new stove turned up at my door.

          It’s smaller than the stove we took out so we’ll need to remodel the wall. I’m hoping for a shelf to be added to the end of the stove.

            I was anxious to try the new non-convection oven and what’s the first thing I do?

Make chocolate chip cookies — really crispy chocolate chip cookies!

          “They’re burned!” Mike exclaimed, but he didn’t eat any.

          “No, they’re not! They’re dark but they are NOT burned!”

           Hmmmm. 

          Old stove. Overdone. 

          New stove. Overdone. 

          What’s the common denominator here?

          Let’s call this one done!