Days Spent

          My days of this past week, and your days have all been spent. I don’t know about you, but I can look back and see that I haven’t accomplished near as much as I wanted to. I haven’t painted anything, despite my desire to hold a paint brush again. I haven’t started a cutesy dragon doorstop for my little sister, despite my eagerness to bring that whimsy to life. The vision is there, clear in my mind, and my fingers are itching to get at it.

But more important than any of that is this: I haven’t spent as much time in God’s Word as I’ve longed to. I’ve felt the tug, the gentle nudge to open my Bible, to sit still, read, and listen. And yet, the days slipped by. I know His grace covers even the weeks when I fall short, but I don’t want to live in the margins of my faith, I want to dwell in the center of it. That is my goal. I want my creativity to flow from communion with God and not just ambition. I want my hands to work not only with purpose, but with praise. I dream of the day when I can make things and give them to God in person, just like when I was a little girl and made things to give to Momma. They were clumsy, but heartfelt and full of love. I want to lay my creations at His feet, not to impress Him, but to thank Him.

So maybe this week wasn’t what I hoped for. But it’s not wasted. Because even in the quiet ache of unmet goals, I’m reminded that God’s mercies are new every morning. And tomorrow, I’ll pick up the brush, make the clay, open the Word, and begin again.

I know you don’t come here expecting me to share my faith, but sometimes I feel compelled to speak it aloud. My hope is simply this. That something I say might plant a seed, stir a question, or spark a longing in you to know more, to turn your life over to God, just as I have.

I’m not perfect. Far from it. But I am forgiven. And when I stand before God on judgment day, I won’t be standing alone. Jesus Christ will be beside me, my advocate, my redeemer, my reason for hope.

So my days were spent. Two of them I was sitting here in front of my computer, writing of the exploits of me and my best old friend, Trish.

Poor Bondi. She’d get my attention and stand at the door. She doesn’t have to say a word, I know what she wants. She wants me to sit on the patio so she can sit in the sun.

She could go out on her own, and she does sometimes, but she usually wants me to be out there with her. I try to do that as much as I can because guess what?

“Winter’s coming?” you hazard a guess.

And you’re right. Winter’s coming and our patio sitting days are coming to an end.

Speaking of Bondi...

A couple of weeks ago she squeaked when I picked her up. I didn’t know what hurt her exactly, so I was more careful from then on when I picked her up.

Then last week I felt a dampness under her front leg when I picked her up. I looked and found the skin wet, red, and swollen. I didn’t know what it was so I took a picture and sent it to my big sister.

“It’s a hot spot. They’re painful and itchy,” Patti said. “Take her to the vet.”

I called the vet. “Wash it with Dawn and put Neosporin on it,” they told me.

I only did part of that. At night, before bed, I washed it gently with just warm water, dried it, and put Neosporin on it. I knew she’d soon crawl under the covers for the night and she wouldn’t lick the area.

Three days of this and it’s almost gone. 

          After two days in front of the computer, the next day, Wednesday, Mike had a checkup in Sayre. I took a few pictures.

          The corn is tall and it’ll soon be time to harvest it.

          The light poles in Towanda are wrapped in aqua and purple. Don’t ask me why.

          “Why, Peg?” you ask.

          I don’t know, that’s why.

          They go all out for Halloween.

         The cairns on the island in the Susquehanna have been rebuilt. Where there once was one, there are now several. 

          The nice thing about doctor’s appointments is it gives me time to read. I’d barrowed Life Flight by Lynette Eason from my online library, I was a little more than halfway through it, and it was going back in two days! I didn’t think I’d finish it so I put a hold on it. I couldn’t renew my loan because someone else was waiting for it. If I didn’t finish it in two days, it would be two weeks until I’d get it back. And it was just getting good!

          Because Mike likes to be early, I got quite a few pages read while we waited for him to be called. Yay, me!         

So now three of my days are gone. I’m acutely aware of the encroaching weekend and our upcoming visit. What would I have to talk about?! 

The next day, Mike had an appointment to get the oil changed in the car.

“Let’s have lunch at Sam’s Club,” I suggested. “I like their hot dogs and we can share a slice of pizza.”

We had let our Sam’s Club membership expire because we just didn’t buy that many things from there. But they let you buy lunch at the food court without a card.

I didn’t take any pictures on the way down.

At the dealership, I found a comfortable chair, had my travel cup of coffee, and settled in to read while we waited. 

I read quite a few more pages while we waited. I was nearing the end. The last hundred pages are the most exciting, don’cha think?

After the oil change, we head back to Sam’s Club for the hot dog and pizza I’d been looking forward to.

The first thing off was the missing cash register, it was gone from the spot where I used to place my order. I wandered over to the pick-up counter.

“Where do I order?” I asked.

“You have to order over there,” the guy said, pointing toward the self-checkout lanes. “There’s a register just for food.”

I thanked him and queued up behind two gals who were deep in deliberation. It took them forever to decide. While I waited, I studied the machine and noticed something important: no slot for cash. Card only. That was okay. I was only using a card.

When it was finally my turn, the screen lit up with a cheerful directive: TO GET STARTED, INSERT YOUR SAM’S CLUB CARD.

          So much for that. No more lunch at Sam’s if you’re not a member.

          “Do you want to join again?” Mike asked.

          “No. We just don’t use it enough.”

          We went on down the road and I had a lunch that I’ve never had before.

          “What’s that?” you wanna know.

          I ordered two of the snack wraps at McDonald’s. One with ranch sauce and one with their new Special Edition Gold Sauce. I really like the Gold Sauce, better than the ranch,  and that’s what I’ll get if I have a chance to have another one.

          I ate half of it before I thought I might want to tell you about it.

On the way out of town, stopped at a red light, I took a picture of these.

New England Asters. They’re also called Fall Aster and Purple Daisy.

          In folk medicine the flowers were brewed into a tea for respiratory issues like coughs, colds, and asthma, or made into a poultice as an antiseptic to soothe rashes. The roots were chewed or steeped as a digestive stimulant.  

          In folklore, it’s said that the aster sprang from the tears of the Greek goddess Asterea, who wept when she couldn’t see stars in the sky. Where her tears fell, asters bloomed. So they’re not just flowers, they’re star-born symbols of longing and hope.

          At another red light, I got a picture of roses.

          And we got stopped yet again at another red light before we were out of town. This time I took this picture.

          “Why did she use a glamour shot?” I asked Mike. “Do you think people will go to her because she’s pretty?” 

          “I don’t know.”

          “Well, personally, it would instill more confidence in me if she had her hair back and her doctor’s coat on.”

          But, hey. That’s just me. 

          It really is starting to look a lot like fall. Besides the asters blooming, the trees on the way up the mountain to our place are starting to change color.      

          Speaking of asters...

The New England Aster is easy to identify because of its size and vibrant purple color. I can also ID the Calico Aster easily — which I don’t have a picture of this week. I think this one is the Smooth Aster. It’s not as large as the New England and has a lavender color.

          Once we were home from having the oil changed, I made a fresh cup of coffee, got my e-reader, and spent the rest of the afternoon on the patio. Not only did Bondi get some time in the sunshine, I finished my book!

          Yay, me! 

          I’ve had to stop putting my jelly feeder out. The bees have taken it over and the birds won’t come with the bees there.  

    

          The hydrangea are putting on their fall colors.

          The milkweed is sending out its seeds. 

          Saturday was recycle day.

          “Can you go by yourself?” Mike asked. “I’m going to help Lou.”

          You may remember that Lou and his friend Mick, bought Charlie Cheshire’s old house and are in the process of remodeling it. Mick is doing most of the inside work, while Lou is doing the landscaping. He’s taking down dead trees and taking out the over-grown bushes.

          “I can,” I assured Mike. But it’s hard to take pictures while I’m driving, I almost added, but didn’t. I thought about leaving my camera home while I took the recyclables down since I am NOT allowed to take pictures while I’m driving.

          I can stop the car if I want to take a picture, I told myself and picked the camera up on my way out the door.

          Boy! Am I glad I did!

          I took the dirt back roads for a good part of the way. A doe crossed the road in front of me. I slowed. On my left was this handsome guy with two more does. No other cars were in sight so I stopped right there in the middle of the road. They didn’t run so I was able to get several shots.

          Let’s end this week with more pictures that I took on my solitary trip to the recycle station.

          Oh wait!

          I forgot!

          I have one more story to tell you!         

          I was working on my computer early in the week, I told you that. Bondi was in the bed by my desk. I was so intent on my writing that I never saw her slip out of bed.

          Suddenly, I heard the little cries of distress.

          I was startled and confused, not only by the sound, but I don’t know what was making it. I glanced at the birds, but they were fine. Then I saw Bondi. She was under the bird cages sniffing around the sweeper that sat nearby in the broom closet.

          That’s when it clicked. That’s when I knew the cries were that of a mouse. He must’ve come out to feed on the seeds the birds drop and Bondi saw him. My mighty mouse-hunter must’ve gotten a hold of the mouse but didn’t kill it. When she dropped him, he bolted.

          I got out of my seat, turned on the light in the closet, and started moving stuff around. We never did find the mouse.

          I baited a spring trap with peanut butter and tucked it under the bird cages. Then I flattened a cardboard box and rigged it into a makeshift barrier, just enough to keep the dogs from getting their noses snapped.

That night, I was in bed when I heard the trap go off. A sharp snap, then a strange rhythmic sound of wood striking wood. I lay there, listening. I figured the mouse, caught but not yet dead, was thrashing around, knocking the trap against the baseboard in its final moments.

          The next morning, I went to empty the trap — but it was gone! I searched everywhere. I’ve got two theories. One: the cat got to it first and carried off his prize to dine in private. The other, and more likely theory, is the mouse only had a foot or tail caught, and the rattling I heard was him dragging the trap into an unfinished section of wall in the broom closet.

Either way, I’ll find the trap again or I won’t.

 

Now let’s call it done!

And remember — more than anything, you’re all in my heart.