The Gang's All Here

I hate to fly.
Have I ever told you that?
We had a family reunion...

... and I flew. Both ways. And not on my broomstick either!  But something was different this time.
I didn’t worry.
I’ve given my life to God. If it was my time to make my courtly appearance before our mighty Lord, than nothing — no amount of fretting or worry — could keep me from my appointment. I did however, console myself with the thought that at least it wouldn’t hurt for very long! And I did entertain thoughts of what the newscast would look like, the announcement of how many died, and they always break out how many of those were crew and children. Sometimes they have pictures, and you wonder at the lives cut short. Have I done everything I want to do? I wondered. Then I realized at this point — it didn’t matter. So I put all my worries and fears aside, turned on my Nook and got busy writing Country Life, my last blog.
But to start this story I need to back up a little.
My older and very handsome brother David has cancer.

About three years ago he had his kidney removed and now the cancer is back and in his lungs. On September 15th the call went out for an impromptu family reunion and it would take place in just three weeks time. In Galveston. That's in Texas. Hence, the airplane ride.
“Everyone’s going to be there except Charles,” Momma told me on the phone as plans were being made.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because he won’t come,” she said of my reclusive older brother.
“Did anyone ask him?” I wondered aloud.
“Well, no. But I’m sure he won’t come.”
“Momma! I never make up anyone’s mind for them. How do you know he won’t come if you don’t ask him?” The wheels in my mind started churning. “I’m going to ask Rick to stop up and talk to him. We can get him a ticket on the same flight with his brothers and he won’t have to travel alone.”
“Well, if he would come,” Momma said and I could hear that I had instilled some hope in her.
Later that day when I talked to my cute little redheaded brother, I asked, “Would you stop up and talk to Charles? Ask if he’d come if we arranged everything?”
“I’ll try,” Rick answered but he didn’t sound hopeful at all that Charles would come.

One of the next few times that I talked to Momma she was excited when she answered my phone call. “Charles is coming!” she said and I could tell she was smiling. You really can hear a smile on the telephone.
“That’s great!” I enthused. Despite my optimistic outlook, I didn’t really think he’d come either.
A few days later came the huge let down. “Charles gave up his driver’s license years ago because he can’t see very well. He doesn’t have any ID to get on an airplane with,” Momma told me.
“Can he get a photo ID?” I asked.
“In all of his moves he’s lost his birth certificate, so I don’t see how we can make it work.”
She was right. Getting a new birth certificate takes time and our time was running short. “We gave it a good try though, didn’t we Momma?”
“Yes. And the fact that he was even willing to come surprised me.”
And we resigned ourselves to everyone being there, except Chuck.
A few days later, in a phone conversation with Rick, he tells me, “John got Charles a photo ID.”
“How did he do that?” I asked.
“They pulled up his driver’s license from ten years ago and gave him one. It doesn’t even look like what Chuck looks like today,” he paused. “But don’t say anything just yet. Until he actually gets on that airplane I don’t know that he’s going to go. We don’t want to disappoint Mom again.”

Rick was in charge of picking Charles up and getting to the airport on time. “‘Be ready by 4:30,’ I told Chuck,” and Rick laughed at the memory as he told this to me. “I got there at 4:00 thinking he would say he wasn’t going. That would be just like Chuck. But he was packed and sitting outside waiting for me!”
My brothers are the true hero’s of the day. Between Rick and John they made it possible for Chuck to attend the reunion and Momma was going to be so surprised!

And my brothers are humble too. “Rick did more than I did,” said John.
“John did more than I did,” said Rick.
Hero’s. Both of them.

Here’s Momma. We lost our dad years ago.

   And Patti, the oldest.

   Charles is the next oldest because we lost our two brothers in between them.

Then it’s David.

And me.

Richard.

Phyllis.

Paul.

Diane.

And John, the baby of the family.

We are a handsome family, don’t you think?
The reunion was fabulous. We could have planned for a year and someone wouldn’t have been able to come. But put out the call that one of us was in need — and we were all there — on short notice no less.
I’ve spoken with my brothers and sisters since then and asked, “What was your favorite thing about the reunion?”
“It was just great to all be together again.”
“Talkin’ and tellin’ stories was so much fun.”
“I loved it all!”
“Charles being there and enjoying himself.”
And Charles said the best thing about the trip for him was, “Surprising Mom.”
Charles. My reclusive older brother. This was the farthest he’s ever been from home and his first plane ride. “It was alright,” he said.
Besides all of those things, the food and hospitality at David’s house was STUPENDOUS! (That means impressively great.)

Now, do you want to hear about my trip?
Earlier in the week of my trip Mike and I made a shopping trip to Athens and our local Wal*Mart store. I picked up some travel size toothpaste and deodorant for my trip as well as our weekly groceries. On the way home we stopped at a roadside market where I picked up my favorite buttercup squash, which is a deep green winter squash with orange flesh and has a nutty flavor. They were only a dollar each and if you store them right, will stay good for months, although mine won’t last that long!
“Momma, you are going to be so jealous!” I told her on the phone the next day.
“Oh, ho, ho!” she says. “You like to make me jealous, don’t you?”
I guess the glee was obvious in my voice so I couldn’t deny it. “Yes!”
“Well go ahead.”
“I picked up four buttercup squash from the roadside stand!” I got my love for this particular squash from her.

“Oooohhh!” she bemoaned.
And if that wasn’t torment enough, I added, “I baked one for dinner last night and it was sooooo good!”
“Put one in your suitcase and bring it with you,” she said.
Well, I said I would but I was hesitant. “What if they think it’s a bomb?” I asked my oldest and much loved sister.
She laughed. “They’ll open your suitcase and look. But you’d be surprised at how well they can identify things with their scanners.”
Friday morning comes and I got up and got busy packing. I didn’t want to forget anything. Rosaries for Momma, the stories I had sitting here printed and not yet mailed, her squash. I had things I wanted to take for Kandyce too as well as all the things I would need for my trip. A couple changes of clothes, toil trees —NO! you silly spell check. Toiletries! Nook charger, phone charger, extra memory card for my camera, camera charger, GPS for my drive to Galveston from Houston. Don’t forget the GPS. It was in the glove box of the car. I was worried I would get out of the Jeep and forget it.
“Mike, don’t let me forget the GPS,” I told him. Two heads are better than one.
“Where is it?”
“In the glove box of the Jeep.”
“The new GPS?” he asked.
“No. That one’s in the RV. I was going to take the old one. It’s smaller.”
“Why don’t you take the new one? It’s got updated maps on it.”
“Houston and Galveston have been there for a long time,” I told him. “It’ll be fine. Besides the small one won’t take up as much room in my purse.”
I showered shortly before our scheduled departure from the house, dried my hair and reached for my deodorant. I might just as well start on the travel size one, I thought to myself. I’ll never use it all up in three days. Besides, who wants a partial dinky travel size deodorant hanging around? With lists and reminders still running through my head, I absentmindedly pulled the top and gave each underarm a quick swipe, replaced the top, put it in a baggie with my facial moisturizer, and toothpaste, and dropped them into my carryon suitcase.
“Ready?” Mike asked.
“Yup,” I said zippering the case shut. Mike picked up my bag and I picked up my purse and glasses as we made our way through the house to the Jeep. Thoughts of the GPS still in the forefront of my mind, I opened the center console box as I climbed in and picked up the GPS.
No power cord.
Doggone it!
“Where’s the power cord?” was on my lips to ask Mike but after putting my bag in the wayback, he’d gone back in to lock up the house. Then I remember the new GPS uses the same cord as the old GPS so we never unpacked the new one, continuing instead, to just keep using the old one. It was in the RV. I climbed out of the Jeep and crossed the yard to the barn, where the RV was parked. I opened the door, turned on the power and went to the front. There, on the dash, sat the new GPS and Dash Cam Pro. I picked up the GPS but there was no power cord attached to it. I found the power cord and joined Mike in the Jeep.
“I might just as well take the new one since I have it,” I said to Mike and stuffed it and the power cord in my bag.
“It’s not that much bigger than the old one,” Mike said. Our Jeep has a built in GPS and Mike’s fingers poked the familiar buttons. “What’s the address of the airport?”
Gasp! “It’s on my computer.” I made to get out of the Jeep.
“You didn’t write it down?”
“Yes I wrote it down. It’s on a sticky note on my computer!” I swear! Sometimes I think I’d forget my head if it weren’t screwed on!
The trip to the Wilkes-Barre airport was uneventful. Mike made sure I got to my flight several hours early, which suited me just fine. I’d rather be three hours early for my flight than three minutes late. Besides, I had my Nook and a story to write so my wait time would be productive.
At the airport Mike and I had lunch. Mike loves a good hamburger and the hamburger he had at the airport was really good! I had a chicken sandwich and it was good. Oh, and did I mention I had a glass of wine too? No? Well, strictly to calm my nerves. I still don’t like to fly.
Mike hugged and kissed me outside the security area. It was all the further he could go.
“Don’t forget. If my plane crashes, I love you!” I told him. “And Kandyce gets my library.”
He laughed. “Your plane’s not going to crash. Flying is the safest mode of travel there is,” he said and not for the first time either.
I found my gate and settle in to work on my story. I’d worked on it for quite a while before I realized my battery was getting low. If I wanted to work on it on the airplane, I needed to find a power outlet to plug into. I pulled out my charger from my bag and made my way to an outlet on the wall.
“There’s one right here,” a nice lady said, guessing my intentions.
I turned to her and she showed me a power strip right beside her seat. I took the seat next to her and plugged my Nook in. “I had no idea there was one here,” I said. “Thank you!”
“I didn’t know either until the attendant told me.”

<<<<<>>>>>

The lights, as we came in over Chicago, were pretty and I wanted to share them with you. This is as good as it gets.

The Chicago airport is huge and lined with shops, bars and restaurants. I didn’t have any trouble finding my next gate and I hunkered down for my three hour wait. Between working on my story and people watching, the time went fast
It was midnight when we landed in Houston and they have lots of bars, restaurants and shops in that airport too, but at this time of night, few were open.
I’d reserved a car online —
Oh my gosh! That reminds me! When I was making arrangements for this trip I was originally going to have someone pick me up at the airport. Then Mike and I realized it would inconvenience everyone terribly to make a midnight run to Houston from Galveston to pick me up.
“Just rent a car,” Mike said to me so I searched for rental cars online.
“Alamo has an compact for ten dollars a day!” I was shocked I could rent a car so cheap.
“You should get something better than an compact car,” Mike said.
“They have a mid-size for twelve, and a full-size for fifteen.”
“You should get a full size in case you have to drive other people around.”
I started through the process of reserving a car and the directions for getting to the rental car center said I had to get on a shuttle. “I have to leave the airport?” I asked Mike but he didn’t know. So I called Alamo.
LOL. (Me, laughing at the memory.)
“How much is it to rent a car?” I asked and gave her all the details.
“We can get you a full size car for fifty-two dollars a day, unlimited miles,” the nice lady said to me. “So for your three days in Galveston, it comes to two hundred blah, blah, blah.” I stopped listening.
“Really?” I said. “Can I get a better deal if I reserve it online?” I asked.
“No, that’s pretty much it,” she said.
“Okay, well, is the rental center right at the airport?”
“Yes it is,” she replied.
“Thank you so much,” I gushed. “I appreciate your help, but I think I’ll look around a little.”
I went back to the internet and reserved a full size car for fifteen dollars a day, unlimited miles.
With my email confirmation of the rental car, they sent me directions. Go past the baggage claim area and board the shuttle.

I did this and when I get past the baggage claim area I see a sign for rental cars pointing to the left. I went left and ended up outside. There’s a sign that says Rental Cars but there weren’t any rental cars there. There was a bus. The driver was standing outside. I guess my confusion as to what I was supposed to do was evident on my face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for the rental car center?”
“I can help you with that,” she said and reached for my bag. I gave it to her and followed her onto the bus where she tossed it on the luggage racks. Two or three more people piled in, then we were off. The rental car center may technically be at the airport but it was like a seven minute bus ride away.
At the rental car center we all piled off and I followed the signs to the Alamo desk. They were closed. See attendant at National for Alamo car rentals, the sign read and pointed to the open counter next door. I took my place in line and thought, Fat lot of good it did me using the express check-in online. During my wait in line I watched as a couple off to the side waited; for what? I didn’t know. The line was moving pretty good when one of the three clerks came around the counter and approached the couple.
“I’m still waiting for a return phone call on that,” I overheard him tell them. I got the impression, as the line progressed, that they had lost something and thought it was left in the rental car.
My turn came and I signed all the papers and gave up my credit card.
“Go through the doors and up the stairs. See the attendant at the top,” he told me. But I already knew that. I’d heard the same instructions given to everyone who had gone before me.
When I got to the top of the stairs and up to the booth, the attendant was just telling someone one to, “…pick any car from this row, this row, or this row,” and indicated the rows. Then she turned to help the next in line which wasn’t me. I waited until she finished then she told them, a family of five, to pick from the same three rows. When it was my turn I handed her my papers and I too could choose any car from the first three rows. “The key is on dash,” she said. “You’ll have to show your driver’s license at the gate.” I walked out to the edge of the lot and looked the cars over. All of the trunks were open and ready for you to throw your luggage in. The family ahead of me had chosen the second car in the middle row, some SUV type thing. I should just take the first car, I thought, because I didn’t recognize any of the cars, but I walked on deciding to look the stock over. I get to the end and turn around to come back when I see a familiar brand.
A Jeep! It was a Cherokee but at least it was something I recognized. I went over, opened the driver’s side door and thought I should put my suitcase in the back before I get in. Instead I decided to sit in the driver’s seat and see how much it was like our Jeep. I barely had a chance to look around before the smell hit me. It stank. I got out and shut the door. I took the handle of my little rolly carryon suitcase and headed back down the row. I get the whole way back to where I had started and nothing struck my fancy.
I might just as well take the first one, I thought and walked over to the first car in the row, the one I thought I should’ve taken to begin with.
It’s an Impala, I read the name on the side of the car. That’s a good car, I thought and tossed my suitcase in the open trunk, slammed it shut and climbed into the driver’s seat. I tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, picked up the key from the dash, inserted it into the ignition and started the car. It had less than 500 miles on it. It was a new car! I didn’t have to adjust the seat; it was in the perfect position for me, and that surprised me. This car has a built in navigation system too, I saw, but I didn’t pay the extra twelve dollars a day for GPS. It probably won’t work, I thought. I dug in my bag and started pulling things out until I found the GPS and power cord I’d brought with me. It’s funny how whatever you’re looking for ends up in the bottom of your bag. Then I went looking for an outlet to plug it into. I searched high and I searched low. I searched and searched! In the dim light of the parking garage I could not find one anywhere! Don’t tell me the new Impalas don’t have a cigarette lighter!
I think I finally did locate an outlet in one of the glove boxes, but I don’t remember now. I had another problem. When I tried to plug the power cable into the GPS, it wouldn’t go. I looked at the plug and I could see it wasn’t the right one. I turned it over and tried to plug it in anyway. I’m not one to give up easily.
It has to fit!
But it didn’t.

I tried it at least three times! Who knows, maybe something will change and it will magically work. That was just wishful thinking though. Nothing changed. It simply wasn’t the right plug. I must have gotten the cord for the Dash Cam Pro, I thought and kicked myself for not making sure I had the right one before I left the house. It looks the same as my Nook, I thought and pulled my Nook cable from my purse. I was right, it fit. But now I had no USB to plug the other end into. There might have been one of those someplace in the Impala too but I didn’t really spend any time looking for it. I didn’t think my Nook cord would power the GPS.
Sigh.
I resigned myself to renting a GPS. I turned the car off, and knowing I’d need my purse, I started putting all the stuff I’d pulled out back into it. Then I felt the seat to make sure I didn’t miss anything and I found a phone on the seat. Not my phone but one of those new iPhones.
I wonder if that’s what that couple lost, I thought. I climbed out of the Impala and locked the door with the key. I had gone no more than two steps when a car pulls up behind me. A young girl climbs out.
“Excuse me, are you taking this car?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you happen to find a phone?”
I smiled and held up her phone. “This one?”
Her smile showed her relief. “Yes!”
I handed it to her and she took it with a big, “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. I was just on my way inside to turn it in.” Half true. I was on my way in to rent a GPS and I would’ve turned the phone in at the same time.
“I was going to take that car first and I called my mom. Then I changed my mind and I must have put my phone down. I didn’t miss it until I was on the road and I went to call my mom and tell her I was on my way and I couldn’t find my phone.”
I asked her where she was headed but I don’t remember where it was she said. All I know is it wasn’t Galveston.
I went up to the attendant at the booth. “Where can I rent a GPS?” I asked.
“You can go back in to the desk or you can get one at the gate,” she told me.
Then I admitted what I had done. “I brought one with me but I didn’t bring
the right power cord.”
“In some of the cars you can plug your phone in and some still have GPS in them.”
“Really?” I was interested.
“I think the Impalas do, but I don’t know if there are any of them left.”
“I’ve got an Impala,” I said.
She walked out with me and sat in the driver’s seat to see if she could pull up the navigation but she wasn’t having any luck. “I’ll fool with it a little,” I told her. “Thank you so much for your help.” And she went back to her job.
On the dash I poked the navigation button on the screen. It told me to hook up my device or call OnStar. I didn’t have a device to plug into it so I called OnStar. If they charged me, I’d just have to pay for it.
“OnStar. This is Edward. How may I help you?”
“Navigation please.”
“Certainly. Give me a moment to pull up your co-ordinates.” I waited. “I see you are at the airport. Where are you going?”
I gave him the address for the hotel in Galveston. “Thank you. I’m sending it to your car now. Anything else I can help you with?”
“No thank you Edward. You’re awesome!”
“Thank you for choosing OnStar.”
The first thing the GPS tells me to do is exit the lot and head north. Yeah. Which direction do you think north is? My GPS would also have a magenta colored line showing me which way to turn. This one only said to head north.
I get to the exit gate and passed my driver’s license to the booth attendant. “Did they give you a paper?” he asked.
I handed across my car rental agreement. “How do I get on the highway to Galveston?” I asked.
He handed my papers and license back to me. “Go left then take a left.”
I hoped those scanty instructions would become clear as I drove. The gate went up and I thanked him and drove through. At the first stop sign, I made a left. At the next stop sign I made another left, then the GPS started talking to me and I didn’t make any mistakes as I drove through the light traffic to Galveston.
Thank you Lord, I sang right out loud. You take care of me even when I don’t know I need taken care of! I was referring to my luck in choosing the right car, but later I was to learn that the light traffic was also a blessing.
I arrive at the hotel around two thirty; twenty minutes to three. There wasn’t anyone behind the desk when I walked in but I heard the TV playing in the breakfast room. The sound dropped and a young man walked through the doorway.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m tired,” were the first words out of my mouth. He went behind the desk. “I think my sister reserved a room for me.”
“What’s the name?”
I gave him my name but he didn’t find anything. “Try my sister’s name,” and I gave it to him.
“Yes. Here it is. Room 308.” He had my paper work for a late check-in set to the side, waiting for me. “Here you go,” he said and handed me the card key he had ready.
“Thank you,” I said. “Where do I park?”
“Go down the driveway and take a right. There’s a parking garage and you can enter through the glass doors.
“Thank you,” I said, took my room key and left.
I pulled away from the front entry, took a right and found the parking garage. There weren’t any empty spaces and I exited out the other end. The weather, even in the middle of the night in Galveston, was beautiful. I parked under the stars, got my suitcase from the trunk and walked back to the glass doors. It was locked. Then I noticed the sign. These doors are kept locked for security. Insert your room key to gain entry. I pulled my room key from my hip pocket, inserted it into the slot and pulled it out. The light went green and I pulled on the door. It opened. In the small foyer were a set of elevators. Only one button. Up. I poked it and the elevator door opened immediately. Inside I hit the button for the third floor and it was forever before the door shut — even though I was poking the door close button like crazy! On the third floor I read the sign that indicated which way which rooms were. Mine was to the left. I went left and it was the first door on the right. Believe it or not, I was so relieved! I wanted nothing more than to fall into bed in a heap of exhaustion. I inserted my room key and pulled it out and — nothing. I should be getting a green light, or in the very least a red one, but I wasn’t getting anything. I stuck the key in the other way and pulled it out; jiggled the handle. Nothing. I tried the card key every which way to Sunday but nothing was happening. I’d have to go back down to the front desk.
Me and my carryon suitcase trundled our way back to the elevator. The doors opened immediately. I guess there isn’t any demand for a hotel elevator at two forty-five in the a.m. Inside the elevator I looked for the floor number with the big star on it. If I’ve learned anything in my limited travels it’s that the main lobby button is always marked with a big star. I poked the number one button and it took forever for the doors to close despite my attempts to override the wait by poking the door close button. At the lobby the attendant heard the elevator doors and came from the room with the TV.
“It doesn’t work,” I told him, holding up my card key.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said and reached for it. I handed it over and he went behind the desk. Suitcase handle in one hand, I propped my other elbow onto his desk, very tired, and waited as he re-programmed my card key.
“There you are.”
I took the card key. “Thank you,” and back to the elevator I went. It was waiting for me and the door opened as soon as I pushed the up button. On the third floor I went back to my door and inserted the card key again. Nothing. I jiggled the handle. Nothing. Then I tried it fast and jiggled the handle. Nothing. And I tired it slow and jiggled the handle. Still nothing. I tired it upside down and backwards. Jiggle, jiggle. I was afraid I’d wake the other patrons. Nothing was working! I was so frustrated because I was just sure that it was my fault.
Sigh!
Me and my carryon went back to the elevator (which was still parked on my floor) and back to the front desk. This time the young man was still standing behind the counter. “I can’t make it work,” I said defeatedly. “Will you come and open the door for me?”
He took the time to make a master key then together we went to the third floor. At my door he tries my key. There was no light on the lock. No red and no green. “The battery must be dead. I don’t have a screwdriver to change it.”
I followed him back down to the front desk where he re-assigned me a different room then handed me a new card key. “Four-ten,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, although I don’t know why I was thanking him for three exhausted trips to the front desk. The elevator was right where I left it and I went to the fourth floor this time. I turned right and my room was right there; first door on the left. I inserted the key; the light went green and the door opened when I pressed the handle. I closed the door, flipped the security lock, dug out my toothpaste and gave my teeth a quick scrub. I stripped off my clothes and dropped them in a pile at the end of the bed and crawled in, flopping down and asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
A few hours later I woke up and checked the time. Eight o’clock. I pulled on my clothes from the day before and made my way down to the lobby for coffee and a little breakfast.
And there was my family! My sisters and brothers and their spouses and kids and I felt so loved and so blessed as I hugged everyone!
“What’s the plan?” I asked my oldest sister Patti.
“I’m going to get Mom up in a little while, get her meds and breakfast, then we’ll all head out to David’s. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.”
Besides my brothers and sisters the only other family members who said they would be there was my youngest son, Kevin, his wife  Kandyce, and my grandson Andrew. They stayed at a different hotel. I texted Kevin and told him the day’s plan.

“Let me know when y’all leave for Uncle David’s,” he said.
I told him I would and I was excited to get to see them again.
When Patti headed up to get Momma up, I went back to my room for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. I got all my stuff around, showered and wrapped my hair in a towel. Then I pulled my little travel size deodorant from the bag, pulled the lid off and discovered there was a plastic shield on top. I was confused. I’d used it the day before — or thought I had.
“Didn’t you stink?” Momma asked me when I told her the story.
“Not that I know of.” However, historically, from time to time throughout the day I would be able to smell the scent of my Degree deodorant as it’s the only perfume I wear, and I did notice that I hadn’t smelled it at all on this trip.
Now I know why.
And with that, we will call this one done.
Next time, The Day After. My stupendous, wonderfulest, best day ever that I spent with the kids, plus more about the reunion. Maybe. I don’t know. I never know until I start writing what I’m going to write about.
Lots and lots of love to everyone. Y’all are in my heart.

Country Life

I have a story to tell you.
  Once upon a time.....
Nope.
It's not that kind of a story,
It was a dark and stormy night....
Just kidding.
It wasn't dark, it wasn't stormy, and it wasn’t even night.
It was morning.
My story starts with…
That cat!
That darn cat!
Yeah. We're talkin' bout  Smudge!
Every since I stopped kenneling Smudge at night, he has found our bed. Last time I told you about Smudge thinking bedtime was playtime and we discouraged that. Smudge is smart and learns fast. Now if he starts to play, Mike tells him to stop and he does.
I woke the other morning with a Smudge on my face. Groan! I opened my eyes and looked at the naked window. In the country your windows don't need any dressing. I detected a faint glow and knew it was early — how early? I didn't know. I picked this warm and fuzzy little kitten body from my face and tossed him to the bottom of the bed.
"Grrrrrrrr rrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrup!" said Itsy as she sprang into attack mode. Smudge must have landed on top of her and she always reacts that way if you touch her when she’s sleeping.
  I picked up my Nook from my bedside and checked the time. Almost six in the a.m. Sigh. Too early. I turned my Nook off, rolled onto my side, set my Nook down, closed my eyes, and pulled the covers up under my chin. Another half hour, I think. Then I'll get up.
Then I feel it. I feel these tiny little footsteps. They start at my feet and creep up behind my back. As they get to the back of my neck I feel little kitten breaths snuffling in my ear. Then the sound started.
“Purr puurrr puurrr…”
I couldn't help myself, I smiled. There's just something about the purr of a cat that's very satisfying.
Smudge settled himself right there.
I was rather enjoying the slight weight of Smudge's body, the warmth he exuded, the sound of his love and contentment in my ear, however, each exhale tickled my ear.
I hated to do it, but I did. I reached up, picked him up and gently tossed him to the bottom of the bed again. “Go away,” I told him. "You're tickling me." I rolled unto my back and put my arm over my eyes.
Then I feel it. I feel these tiny little footsteps. They creep ever so softly up beside me. A feel a step on my arm, a step on my chest, a snuffle on my cheek, my nose, my mouth.
“Purrrr puuurrrr puuurrr,” says Smudge not at all put off that he can't get to my ear. He backs up and I feel two little feet on my chest, on my throat, and I think he's going to walk across me, but he doesn't. He lays down instead. Right there across my throat.
And I think, I am the luckiest woman in the world.
Yeah. No. What I actually think, and I know you're going to think this is weird, but what I really thought was, Too bad I don't have a sore throat.
"Peg, I can't wait to hear this story," you say.
I know, right! You guys know me so well you can smell a story coming a mile away! You're right. There is a story.
As I was laying there, feeling the weight and warmth and softness of Smudge; feeling his body expand and contract with each breath; hearing his contented purring; I thought of an old curmudgeon I used to work with.
Burdette Boggs.
I worked for a window manufacturer. We made windows for the RV industry as well as truck and bus windows. I worked in the RV department but wanted to transfer into bus machining.
I was warned about Burdette, the machine setup man, before I ever met him. One of the things the ladies I worked with took exception to was that he didn't believe in changing his work clothes every day. Monday he would come in with clean clothes on. By the end of the week “his clothes could practically stand on their own," Nancy bet me once.
“Why don’t you change your work clothes everyday?” blunt little me asked him once.
“It makes too much work for my wife. Besides, I’m just going to get them dirty again.”
One day I was working on a drill press beside a young lady and she was obviously upset. “What’s wrong” I asked.
“Burdett told me I was going to hell because I’m not married,” an obviously pregnant Deanna wiped back a tear. “He’s told that to other girls too.”
I got my righteous indignation on. I went up to Burdette, put my finger in his chest and I said, "Where do you get off at telling these girls they're going to hell just because they're pregnant and not married?"
"The Bible says it's a sin to have sex outside of marriage," he said and he's right of course.
I didn't know much about the Bible at the time, not that I’m any expert now, but this I knew. "You don't get to decide where anybody's going! Doesn't the Bible also say, 'Judge not least you be so judged'? You stop telling these girls that!"
Burdette walked away and we were friends from that day forward.
I was on a machine one morning and Burdette walked up to me, unwrapping a cough drop.
"Do you know what I do when I get a sore throat?" he asked.
I had this one! “Cough drops?” I said smugly.
"No." Now he was looking smug.
“You gargle with salt water," an old home remedy my mother uses.
“No.”
"I don't know then."
"Before you go to bed, take your sock and wrap it around your neck and pin it. When you wake up your throat will be better."
"Really!" I said, paused and thought about it for a minute. "Well it kind of makes sense. It would keep your throat warm."
Burdette was grinning like the Cheshire cat at this point. I should have know there was more to come.
"Here's the secret," and he leaned in a little closer. "You have to use the sock you wore all day."
"Ewww, Burdette! Why can't you use a clean one?"
"It won't work," he said. "Try it."
I can't say that I ever tried it, but a nice warm kitten seems like it might do the trick too.
So, there I lay with a purring Smudge laying across my throat and I stood it for as long as I could. "Smudge," I said and picked him up. "Go away." And I gave him a little toss. Then I rolled onto my side again making sure to cover my ear and my throat.
Then I feel it again. I feel these tiny little footsteps. They creep ever so softly up behind my back. Smudge gets to where my ear should be and he stops to sniff. He's still purring. Then I feel his little footsteps as he gets up on my pillow and unceremoniously plops down on my head.
I laid there for a little while and listened to his purrs but in the end I decided to get up. It was like six twenty.
Smudge is still trying to find his place in our family but being a kitten and full of energy, he blazes a path wherever he goes. One of his favorite past times of late is to torment Molly, our twelve year old calico. Molly doesn't want anything to do with Smudge so he ambushes her every chance he gets. Molly will sit and growl and hiss at him but is never in a hurry to leave. She'll put up with his antics longer than you might think she would judging by all the noise she makes.

Macchiato? You ask.
Macchiato is warming up to him. I make them share a supper dish and he doesn't hiss at Smudge anymore. Just this past week Mike caught them snuggling together on the bed in a patch of sunshine. That’s progress.
Itsy still won't play with Smudge but he’s wearing her down.

Ginger plays with Smudge quite a bit.
I found a new cat toy for Smudge. It was one I bought for Missy a long time ago and she never played with it. It ended up in a box where I found it and tossed it out onto the floor where Smudge found it. He was playing with it and carried it close to me.
I reached down, took hold of it, gave it a little shake and said, "Gimme that."
Surprise! He let me have it!
I shook it in his face until I had his attention, then I gave it a little toss.
Surprise! He chased it! He caught it. He ripped it’s throat out, rolled over on top of it and eviscerated it. Then he picked it up and carried it back to me.

Cool! I think. But once or twice could be an accident. A fluke. Would he do it again?
I reach down and took the toy from him again saying, "Gimme that!" I really did expect some resistance. I've played with cats enough to know that if they don't want to give something up - they won’t. They’ll grab it with their claws and maybe growl a little. Not Smudge. He gave it up willingly and watched what I would do with it.
I tossed it.
He ran after it, grabbed it, bit it, tumbled over it, kicked it a couple of times, got up with it in his mouth, and brought it back to me.
“Mike, Smudge is playing fetch with me!”
“Yeah?” he said with little interest. He was watching TV.
I tossed it again but Smudge didn't see where it went; he just sat there, looking up at me with those big eyes of his. Not knowing how this was going to play out, I did the only thing I knew to do. "It's over there Smudge, go get it!" I said in an excited voice. He just looked at me expectantly. I fake threw, but Smudge just looked confused. Well, it was worth a try. It works for dogs! I had to get up, go get it myself and bring it back to my chair. Smudge waited for me. This time when I threw it I made sure he saw where it went.
And he chased it — and he brought it back.
This was fun. I've never had a cat play fetch with me before! Heck, I've never had a dog that played fetch with me like Smudge was doing and Ginger and Itsy have never played fetch with me at all. I did try to teach Itsy when she was a pup but I never got that job done and I gave up on it.
Little did I realize that that the girls were watching. After I had tossed it a half a dozen times or so, Itsy came tearing from the sidelines with a snarl, snapped at Smudge and grabbed the toy. She didn't really want it and she dropped it. Smudge picked it up and brought it back to me. The next time I threw it, Ginger went for it as well as Itsy and Smudge. Ginger is the fasted and Itsy growled and snipped at her as she tore past. She picked up her prize, carried it a little ways away and dropped it. I did try to coax Ginger into bringing it back to me but she wouldn’t. Smudge picked it up and brought it back to me.

Now, just to be clear, I don’t normally leave a pile of papers on the floor but that Smudge! He had climbed up on the shelf under the TV and knocked down all of the mail that was sitting there waiting for the shredder.
We played fetch for a long time.
That night I was laying in bed, on my side, playing solitaire on my Nook. I like to play a few rounds before I go to sleep, but this night Smudge wanted Ginger’s spot in front of my belly and Ginger yielded her spot to him as she jumped over my legs and curled up behind my knees. I continued my game.
Then I feel it. I feel these tiny little footsteps. They creep up in front of my belly and a little Smudge face appears under my Nook. I smile at him. He sniffs my chin, my mouth, turns and plops down in the hollow of my arm pit, his paws on my arm. The only light in the room was a faint moon glow through the window and my Nook. The movement of my fingers and the cards on the screen caught Smudge’s attention. He watched for a minute and then for whatever reason his little head swivels around and he looks at me. Then back to the screen. He reached up his little paw and took a tentative swipe; at the cards or my finger, I don't know. Then he watched for a while, very intently too, I might add, because his little ears were perked straight up. Then he looked back to me. Back at the screen. Back to me. All of a sudden with no warning at all, Smudge reached up and jabbed my eye!
“SMUDGE!” I say in a quiet yell. I didn’t want to wake Mike but I did.
“What?” he asked.
“Smudge jabbed my eye!”
Mike grunted and rolled over.
I’m guessing Smudge saw a reflection of the screen in my eye, maybe even the motion of my fingers or the cards and that’s why he did it. Nonetheless it hurt and I squoze it shut trying to get some cleansing tears to form. But every time I opened my eye up, it stung. I closed it again and rubbed it a little and tried to open it again. But it wasn't working. Did he scratch my eye? I wondered. I decided I'd just keep my eye closed and play solitaire one-eyed.
DANG! He got my good eye! With my cataract I don't see very well out of the other one. Finally I just turned off my Nook and resigned myself to going to sleep. It'll be better in the morning.
Only it wasn't.
I woke up and my eye was still stinging and burning. It reminded me of the time I was in the shower, used a facial scrub that contained walnut shell fragments, washed one into my eye instead of off my face, rubbed it and ripped my eye. It didn’t hurt all the time, just once in a while. I finally got tired of it and went to the optome… optama… eye doctor and he said the reason was because I tore a flap in my eye and when it flipped open it stung but when it righted itself it didn't hurt me. He prescribed some meds and it got better...
Now what did I do with the rest of that tube? I wondered. With our recent move, I'm still looking for stuff! I checked in all the places I knew to check in the house and I couldn't find it. Maybe it's still in the RV, I thought.
After I dressed I went down to the RV and I started poking around. Our Bago has a huge under bed compartment! You could probably get six bodies in there if you stacked them just right! Not that I would ever think of doing such a thing! It's huge!

In our under bed compartment we have two chairs — each in their own protective bag — a leaf extension for our table — also in a protective bag, a dust mop, broom, dustpan, Cricut machine and four boxes containing materials and accessories for said Cricut machine, ironing board — travel size of course, iron — full size, two of Kat's paintings, a basket of desk findings, a small tote of bathroom oddities, grandfather's hexagon barrel shotgun - wrapped in a blanket, slippers, shoes, The Boss, by Eureka, vacuum sweeper, spare bags for said sweeper, a set of a multi-colored ceramic kitchen knives still in their plastic casing  (I'll open them when I need them!), two teal feathers from a Macaw (we know someone) twin size foam egg crate pad I used on the old Bago bed (cause it had a divot where my fat butt lay), various items of clothing, and a cushion for a patio lounge chair. All of that and whatever else I've forgotten. A lot of stuff I know. And none of it important enough that I unpacked it. It was safe. I knew where it was if I needed it. And right now all I needed was to find that optha… opto… optomolic…  eye ointment!
Dang! I miss my spell check! I’m on my Nook but that’s another story.
I walk down to the new garage, open the door, turn on the power switch, the lights came on, make my way to the bedroom, lift the power assist platform of the bed and what do I see?
A nest.
A mouse nest to be exact. And boy was it pretty. The pieces of paper were all neatly woven together and I could appreciate the workmanship even if I didn’t appreciate what it meant. I reached down and felt a piece. What is that? Paper towel? Toilet paper? I looked around. There is nothing under the bed made from paper. The bathroom was right next door; Did she carry it from there? I got up and opened the bathroom door. Nope, the toilet paper in there was whole and intact. In my mind’s eye flashed a picture of the front bay on the opposite side of the RV. That’s where I’d stuffed a bag of paper towels and toilet paper when we packed up for our move. Did she carry it from there? That’s thirty-five feet! How many trips did she have to make?

I picked up the nest and set it side. The tub with the bathroom odds and ends in it was right there. I pulled the lid off and rummaged through it, but no tube of eye medicine could be found. I put the lid back on and shut the bed.
Mike was waiting for me. We had a shopping trip on the agenda that day and let me tell you! Nothing is close in Pennsylvania. A shopping trip for us is an all day adventure. We went shopping and I suffered through the burning and stinging in my eye, never thinking to buy eye drops while we were at Wal Mart, Luckily by mid afternoon my eye was better and I haven’t heard a thing from it since.
The next day Mike wanted to move the truck and trailer around in the new garage. We had it parked on the left as you look at the garage and we couldn’t put it the whole way to the back wall because of a sewer pipe, but if we moved it over to the other side, we could put it against the back wall and give us a little more room in the front.

I helped Mike get Big Red backed up and hitched to the trailer. “Now Peg,” he says to me. “I want you to watch that side of the trailer,” he said indicating the passenger side. “I can see this side.”
Now, just to be clear, and to dispel any doubt, I did my job. What happens next is totally not my fault.
I watched Mike clear the passenger side of the doorway until I knew he wasn’t going to hit it, then I turned my attention elsewhere.
Screeeeeetch!
Mike stopped.
I glanced up and saw the passenger side was clear. I walked around and looked at the drivers side and saw it was against the garage door.
“There’s no door there Peg,” Mike says.
“Okay, then I’ll call it a doorway.”
Mike was against the doorway and had raked a marker light off the top of the trailer.
“Why weren’t you watching this side?” Mike asked me.
I got my defenses on. “You only told me to watch the passenger side. I did that!”
“But you know I can’t see this side when I turn.”
And that’s what happened. Mike turned and the tail swing put the back of the trailer into the side of the doorway. Mike got back in the truck, turned his truck wheels and tried to back up but that only made it worse. Ultimately, in the end, an hour later, we ended up jacking up the trailer which got it off the garage doorway, then built a bridge with two by sixes and drove it on out.
When we got everything tucked in the way Mike wanted it, I decide that since I was already in the garage, I might just as well carry some things from the under bed storage. I needed to clean it out sooner or later anyway. I went into the RV, turned on the lights, picked up the bed and started hauling things out.
Out came the bed pad, the lounge cushion, the bathroom and desk boxes, the vacuum cleaner, the Cricut stuff, the iron, Kat’s paintings, a couple of sweaters, shoes, and I get to the back of the compartment and pick up one of the chairs and I see it.
“See what Peg?” you ask.
I see another mouse nest and this one had a mama and babies in it. I quickly set the chair back down, got up and went out of the RV where I met up with Mike. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a nest of mice under the bed.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the cats. That what I’ve got’em for.”
I called the kitties and one by one picked them up, took them to the RV, opened the door, tossed them inside and closed the door. When I had Feisty, the fourth and final one, I carried her inside and set her down. She freaked out and ran, slipping and sliding across the floor until she got to the drivers seat where she dived under.
“Come on babies,” I called and went into the bedroom. No one was coming. I picked up Spitfire, carried him to the bedroom, picked up the chair hoping the mice were still there — they were— and said, “Get the mice,” and I put him down.
The mesous… mouses…  mice started running and caught his attention. The mama mouse was reddish brown and the babies were gray, which surprised me. Spitfire caught a baby right away. He growled protectively but when another baby caught his attention he dropped the one he held and went after it. I had hoped the other cats would hear the distress cries and come running but they didn’t. I went and got Rascal and he joined in the hunt. There were still a few things in there for the mice to hide under and one of those things was the other chair in it’s protective bag. When I picked it up to take it out, baby mice started running everywhere. It startled me and I dropped it.
There were mice running everywhere! The babies couldn’t quite manage the jump over the two foot high compartment walls but Mama could and she hid under the things I’d pulled out. I chased her from hiding place to hiding place (don’t ask me what I was going to do when I caught her) while Spitfire and Rascal chased the babies around the rodeo pit. Eventually mama got away and I gave up on her. I stood and watched the cats but they were just playing.
My cats were useless. They weren’t killing the mice. They weren’t even hanging onto the ones they caught. I had to catch the mice myself, but how?
I don’t know if my days of watching Tom & Jerry were paying off or if it was playing the Mouse Trap game with my brothers but inspiration strikes.
A bowl!
I went out to the kitchen cabinet and got some plastic storage containers and I caught three baby mice under three of the bowls which wasn’t hard. They were exhausted. I held my breath as I picked up the chair where the babies were hiding and I see I’d managed to kill two babies when I dropped it.
Well I won’t have to worry about those two, I thought.
Then I picked up my useless mousers and tossed them out of the RV. I went up to the house, the wheels in my head churning the whole way. How was I going to get the mice from under the bowls and what was I going to do with them? I could see me trying to slide a card under the bowls and losing the mice. I dismissed that idea. I know. I’ll get a trash can and my leather gloves. I went into the kitchen and took the bag out of my tall kitchen trash can, plopped it unceremoniously on the floor and went out. Luckily I didn’t have to go looking for my gloves; I knew where they were. I stopped at the little table outside the door and picked up my gloves. On my way back to the garage I had some company.
“Meeoowww! Meow, meow,” says Spitfire.
“You had your chance,” I told him.
“Meow, meow,” says Rascal.
“You too!”
I get back inside and set up the trash can within easy reach, took a breath and held it as I picked up one of the bowls and snatched the little gray mouse as soon as I saw him, but I needed have worried. He didn’t even try to escape. I dropped him in the bottom of my trash can with a plop. He just laid there, dead or playing dead. I picked up the second bowl and that mouse was barely moving too. He plopped in the bottom of the trash can too. The third one was in a similar state of exhaustion and I felt much better when I had them all in the can.
I took them out to the yard where Spitfire was waiting for me. The mice in the bottom of my can have magically come alive and I reached down and grabbed one. I gave him to Spitfire.

I gave another to Feisty. They weren’t killing them though, they were just torturing them.
I wanted them dead!
Ginger, I thought. Yorkies are mousers. I thought of the time Itsy found a little mouse and tried to kill it (I was afraid and didn’t let her), and another time Ginger tried to eat a dead one she found. At least this one was fresh.
I let the trash can sit there and went in and got Ginger. “Come on, Ginger. Boy have I got something for you!” I told her and she eagerly followed me. Out in the yard she got sidetracked a little when she saw the cats had something.
“Over here,” I called. “You can have one of your own.”
I reached down in the trash can and pulled out the last little mouse. I held it by it’s little tail and offered it to Ginger. As soon she got a whiff of that she snatched it before I could change my mind. She dropped it on the ground. The little guy got to his feet but didn’t go far before Ginger was on him.
Crrrrunch, crunch crunch.
I cringed.
Then Ginger dropped it and looked up at me.
It was dead. “Good girl,” I told her. And just about the time I started think she wasn’t going to eat it, she did.
Yeah.
I took Ginger back inside and told Mike what I did. “What if she gets worms again?”
“I guess we’ll treat her.”
I set traps in the RV and that night I caught the mama.
“How do you know it was the mama?” you wonder.
The color was my first clue. She was a reddish brown when all of the other mice I’ve ever caught were gray. When I picked up the trap and saw the underbelly I knew it was indeed the mama mouse. She had no hair around her nipples which indicates she was nursing babies. I gave her to the kittens.
The next day when Rosie and Lamar were here I asked them, “I know you let Trouble eat whatever he caught, didn’t you worry about him getting worms?”
Lamar shrugged. He really doesn’t worry about anything very much.
“If he got worms we’d just treated him,” Rosie said likes it’s no big deal.
I don’t know how often he got worms but he was an impressive hunter. He’d bring back snakes, birds, chipmunks (some people call them ground squirrels), and whistle pigs (some people call them woodchucks). “But his favorite thing was if he found a nest of baby rabbits, then he was in heaven.” Lamar laughed and went on. “He’d get them all. And he once caught an eighteen inch trout. I didn’t let him have it, I took it away from him and put it back in the creek. Another time he caught the same turtle twice. I put it back in the creek down by the bridge and two days later he came back with the same one.”
I had it in my head to ask how he knew it was the same one but before I could, he went on.
“I could tell because of the teeth marks and the markings on the shell. He couldn’t eat that either.”
And we all laughed. I know how much my girls enjoy it when they find a turtle and I let them work it for a little bit.
So I decided I wouldn’t worry if Ginger got worms cause she ate a mouse, but I’d watch her poopy though. I kinda feel like the natural protein would do her good and I can’t help but feel, maybe erroneously, that country mice are healthier than city mice because of the things they eat.
A couple of days later I see something strange looking by the patio. I walked past it a few times before I decided to investigate. I flipped it over and I realized I was looking at a partially digested mouse body.
“Ewwww, Peg!”
I know right! And I touched it with my finger!
So maybe Ginger sicked up her mouse.
I regaled Momma with the mouse portion of this story on the phone that day. “They’re not hungry,” she said. “If they were hungry they’d have killed them right off.”
Yeah. We take good care of our family.
That cat!
That darn cat!
Yeah, Sumdge.
He wanted to help me write my story but the letters he picks don’t make words. I had to put a road block up to keep him off my keyboard.

And with that, we shall call this one done!
“Wait, wait, wait, Peg,” you say. “You never told us why you were on your Nook and not your computer.”
You’re right. I didn’t.
We had an impromptu family reunion last weekend, in Texas. I didn’t take my computer because it was just a short weekend trip but I took my Nook. During my layovers and on my flights, I worked on this story. Even though I have a document writer program on my Nook, it doesn’t have spell check.
So next time, The Gangs All Here.

And with that, we will call this one done.

King Of The Hill

Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, 

leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. 

—Carol Bishop Hipps

October.
October is beautiful in Pennsylvania and one of my favorite months. The weather is cooler, the leaves are changing color and starting to fall from the trees. The world around me is snuggling down, pulling the covers up and getting ready for winter.
I have not been good to go walking with my camera. In Missouri I went out a couple of times every day with the girls, Itsy and Ginger and took lots of pictures. Here? It is more of an effort for me. Especially since we have been letting Itsy and Ginger run without leashes. That means I can stand on the patio and just watch them. The only time I leash them is if I want to take them away from the house, say to the pond, or if they’ve been bad and didn’t listen to me, then I leash them for a while until their hearing improves.
During our garage addition project Mike had an extra load of gravel delivered so he would have some on hand to fill in the low spots on the property. I was outside with the girls when Ginger decided to play King of the Hill.

Another morning I’d made a concerted effort to take Itsy and Ginger for an early morning walk with my camera and take pictures for you. One of the first things I saw was a garden spider with the remains of a grasshopper still in his web. He looks well fed, doesn’t he?

The asters were pretty all covered in morning dew.

Spitfire, one of my favorite kittens, decided to follow along on our walk. When we got to the clothesline, he climbed the pole.

An asparagus fern.

Spider webs are easier to see when they are covered in dew drops. This one is my current desktop photo.

I’m busy guys.
Really busy.
Too busy even! Or maybe my problem is there aren’t enough hours in the day.
Between doing all of the things I need to do and some of the things that I want to do, my days are full up.
Mike and I work on our renovation project most mornings.
Pictures? Pictures you ask? Yeah, I expect I should take pictures, I just don’t ever think of it.
Most evenings finds us at the Robinson’s for a few rounds of Mexican Train Domino’s and Rummikub. So it is in the afternoons that I work on some of my projects and if I didn’t already have enough things I like to do, I saw something new on the internet that I thought I’d like to try. Transferring photographs to wood. With my love of photography and a love for all things natural, like wood, I thought it was a perfect fit for me. I bought Mod Podge matte finish to use as a transfer medium and I printed two photographs of Andrew, our grandson, with Baby Blue as my test photos.
“Why two?” you ask.
The page I was reading on the internet said if you print your photo directly from your computer, the ink would smear and bleed and you won’t be happy. It said to make a copy first. I didn’t understand why it would make any difference so me being me, decided to try it for myself. I printed one and copied one, making sure to mark the copy so I could keep them straight.
I got into Mike’s scrap wood pile, recruited Mike to cut them down to size for me and set to work sanding the scraps of wood. I didn’t know how fine the finish on the wood had to be so I lightly sanded one so it had a more rustic look and sanded the other a lot smoother.
“Use lots of Mod Podge,” the article said so I got one of those little black sponge craft brushes out and put a thick layer on my board, put the photo on top and smoothed out the bubbles. The glue smushed out too and I thought that was a waste so I didn’t put it on the second one quite as thick. I let the photos dry overnight and the next day I wet the paper and rubber until I got all of it off. And this is what I ended up with.
I think I can do better.

Something else I saw on the internet was a crochet stitch called a moss or  granite stitch. I love my crocheted dishrags and this stitch looked like it would make a good one and it looked easy enough for a novice like me to master.
I bought some purple Peaches & Crème yarn in Kat’s favorite color (purple) and I sat here one evening and made a dishrag. Once it was done I couldn’t wait to try it out so I got up and washed the few dishes sitting in my sink.

The verdict?
Although the stitch has lots of fabulous texture, it is much too dense and heavy. I dug around in my yarn box and found a pretty blue Peaches & Crème yarn, then I set about to make another one using the same moss stitch only changing it from a single crochet to a double crochet.
Crocheting can be very relaxing and as I was crocheting I was letting my mind drift. I thought about my beautiful daughter-in-law Kandyce. She likes to use these as washcloths.
Washcloths?
And that made me think of Mike who likes a washcloth with lots of texture — rough even. Would he like one of these?
“Mike, feel this?” I commanded and got up from my seat and handed him the swatch I had made. “Do you think you’d like it for a washcloth?”
“Maybe,” he answered. “Only it’s not big enough.”
I made it washcloth size and gave it to Mike.
The verdict?
He likes it.

Something else I have been doing a lot of lately, too much even, is baking. I’ve always loved to bake and now with game nights at the Robinson’s it’s become a habit for one or the other of us to bake or buy something to snack on while we are playing.
There is one problem with this.
It’s not so good for the waistline.
Jon Robinson is almost as good of a baker as me.  I gave him the easy no knead bread recipe that Kat gave me and he turned it into sticky buns! We won’t talk about the batch he had to throw away because he forgot to take the plastic off before baking it.
LOL.
Happens to the best of us.
He made them again and they. Were. Yummy!
Jon also makes a banana quick bread and Stephanie made chocolate chip cookies.
Me?
I’ve made Dream Bars and if you add a scoop of vanilla ice cream while they’re still hot out of the oven it’s like heaven on earth. I made homemade caramel corn and sugar cookies and chocolate chip cookies and Monday (tomorrow) I’m making dinner for the Robinson’s. Taco salad and a new recipe called a Texas Tornado Cake for dessert.

Yeah.
It makes for a good social time but not so good for the waistline.
Rosaries.
Momma and I have been making these jumbo size rosaries from Kentucky Coffee Tree seeds for many years now. These past couple of weeks I’ve been drilling seeds and putting together a new batch for her. I’ve got six made so far.

Did I mention that I’ve been busy?
“Peg, do you have any critter stories for us this week?” you ask.
Critter stories? Boy do I!
Since I have been locking the babies in the cat room at night, Mike and I have opened the wayback of the mill for the wild cats to come in out of the weather and have a bite to eat. One evening, when I went to check the food dish in that part of the mill, in the dim light, I see what I think might be a raccoon. Inside. Waddling away and out of sight up under some shelving before I had a good look at him.
“I don’t want to feed coons and I don’t want them inside,” Mike flat out says.
“Okay,” I am in agreeance with him. “I’ll set the live trap.”
I got a cat the first night. A gray and white female named Anon and mother to Cleo and Smudge. I locked her in the cat room for a couple of days hoping to tame her.
The next night I caught this big guy. Now, I’m not going to say that we took him a few miles from here and set him free because I recently learned — from my cute little redheaded brother — that that would be illegal. But if I were going to do that, we are practically next door to over 700 acres of State Game Lands.

I reset my trap and the next night I caught Sugar, a speckled white female and mother of my other three babies, Rascal, Spitfire and Feisty. I put her in the cat room with Anon hoping to tame them both at the same time.
The next night I caught this guy, a smaller version of the first guy.

“Is that a fork in his cage?” you ask.
Why yes it is. I only want to make one trip out at bedtime so I take all the food I’ll need with me. A dish of hard cat food to refill the pan for the wild cats, a fork and can of soft food to feed the babies before I put them to bed. I carried the fork to the wayback with me and set it down before I reset the live trap and forgot it when I left. In my mind’s eye, I can see where I set the fork and it wasn’t anywhere close to the trap. That coon couldn’t have reached it once he was caught. Did he pick it up and carry it into the trap with him? I don’t know, but I’ll tell you what. The way my fork is bent up looks like he tried to use it to escape the trap. I know coons are smart, but this is ridiculous!

Coming home from an early morning errand we saw a whole herd of turkeys in the field.

Since I had two wild cats locked in the cat room, I had to lock the kittens in the garage. I’d go in several times a day and talk to Sugar and Anon and sing to them a little but they weren’t warming up to me at all. I even tried food. Some nice juicy ham. Boy, Anon is so ungrateful! Rather than take the food from me she nailed me.
Has to be a mistake, I thought. And I tried again.
Nope. No mistake. She meant to nail me the first time and she double nailed me the second time. I have the claw holes in my fingers to prove it too.
Well. That certainly gave me something to think about.
They weren’t happy. I wasn’t happy. And the cat room was tied up with two ungratefuls.
Enough.
I opened the outside door and left the cat room open.
“Peg, why is it illegal to catch wildlife in one place and turn it loose some place else?” you ask.
Well that is a great question and one that I wondered too.
I turned to the internet. On the state website it says that some animals such as skunks and coons can be carriers of rabies and you don’t want to take a chance on introducing it into another area. Best to destroy the nuisance pest and then contact the DNR.
I don’t like that.
I don’t want to kill things if I don’t have to.
So we came to a decision. Stop feeding the cats in the wayback so the coons don’t come in. The cats will have to come to the cat room during the day for food, and that shouldn’t be a problem. Most of the day there isn’t anyone around out there but the kittens so they have plenty of opportunity to come in. Pretty soon the kittens will be big enough that I won’t be locking them up at night, then the wild cats can come into the cat room at night if they want too.
More pictures?
A bald-faced hornet on a calico aster.

The milkweed pods have split open and the seeds are taking flight.

Mike is clearing a lot of brush and weeds from the property. He uses the golf cart to drag them to the back where we have a burn pile. Come fall we’ll get a big bag of marshmallows and invite the neighbors over.

“How’s Smudge?” you ask.
That cat!
That darn cat!
He is so precocious!
And not a bit spoiled.

Smudge has taken to the litter box quite well. No complaints there and no mistakes either. He uses it faithfully.
Opening the fridge is quite a challenge. No. That’s not quite right. Opening it is easy, it’s closing it that can get a little tricky. I told you that Smudge has learned that all the tasty food comes out of there. Just to be clear, I don’t invite Smudge into the fridge. He’s fast — boy, is he fast. As soon as the door is open, he’s in.

“Com’on Smudge,” I say and he jumps right down with a meow. Only because he thinks I’m going to feed him though. Then I have a kitten under foot and I’ve stepped on him more than once.
Smudge is helpful. He helps Mike play solitaire on the computer.

Those needle sharp claws of Smudge’s though, I’ll tell you what! My legs are covered with scratches and little scabs where he has climbed my legs. I don’t always have jeans on.

And Ginger won’t sit in my lap anymore. She’ll be laying here sleeping and Smudge will reach up and claw her from underneath. Ginger gets mad and goes and lays on the couch. It has happened so often that Ginger hardly ever even tries to lay in my lap anymore. I miss that.
We came home with groceries the other day and Smudge explored every bag.

The other night in bed, we were all settled down and Smudge was wound tighter than an eight day clock. He’d jump on me and I’d toss him off. He jumped on Mike and got tossed off. Ginger and Itsy both growled at him and then it was my turn again. He attacked my hair where it was spread out on the pillow.
“SMUDGE! Go away!” and I reached for him and he thought my hand was another toy. “OW!” I cried when he bit and scratched me, but I got him and tossed him back to Mike’s side of the bed.
And this went on for about twenty minutes as Smudge tried so hard to get someone to play with him!
Dinner time has turned out to be another challenge. Smudge doesn’t know any boundaries and he tries to get in Mike’s dinner plate. Mike picked up Smudge and tossed him — gently — to the other end of the couch. Smudge was back in Mike’s lap before he could pick up his fork again.
“He’ll only be a kitten once,” I told Mike.
And with that, we will call this one done.