Drawing a Blank

           My pictures are sorted.

          My pictures are resized so I can upload them to the blog.

          My letter blog writing program is open before me.

          Margins are formatted.

          I’ve added a header with page numbers and date.

          No title yet.

          I’m drawing a blank.

          Usually, I’m inspired to pick a title by the pictures I’ve taken through the week but this week is a mishmash of this’s and that's. Nothing is jumping out at me.

Sigh.

I guess it was bound to happen.

Let’s start at the beginning.

          I wanted to get a birthday box in the mail for my best old friend in West Virginia and I wanted it in the mail Monday. Any later in the week and it stands a chance of sitting in a post office somewhere over a weekend and that just would not bode well for the cookies, quick bread, and cake I’d planned to send.

          Monday morning started with a conundrum, a puzzle and mystery, one of epic proportions with the potential of life-threatening implications.

          “What can be all that serious‽” both an exclamation and question.

          I lost my coffee cup! Not just any coffee cup but my favorite coffee cup!

          Every night I take my bowl of popcorn, a last cup of coffee, and dog treats with me into the living room. Raini and Bondi run ahead of me. Bondi climbs the pet steps and stands on the top. Raini jumps right up into the Beast.

“What’s the Beast?” you wanna know.

The Beast is a big man recliner, one where my feet don’t touch the floor if I sit against the backrest and is big enough for me, two dogs, and a cat. Spitfire sometimes joins us and lays in my lap.

Once I set my coffee down, I climb in the Beast, reach down and release the footrest. That’s when Bondi completes her trip to the recliner. The girls get their nightly treat, I eat my popcorn while watching Judge Judy, Tales of Wells Fargo, or the news, whichever Mike has on the TV. I finish my popcorn, drink my last cup of coffee for the day and while away the rest of the night playing Mah-jongg, Just Jumble, or reading on my iPad.

Throughout the day I always have a cup of coffee at my elbow, a consequence of dry mouth. It’s a long time from the time I finish my last coffee until bedtime. Four or more hours. That’s too long for me to go without something! And that brings me to another addiction, mints. I have Starlight mints everywhere! In the pockets of every jacket and sweater I wear, in the car, in my purse, my church bag under my Bible, my class bag under my textbooks, my jeans pockets, you’ll find at least one on my desk and likely as not, they’ll be a couple on the dresser where I emptied out my pockets, and I keep a jar of mints beside the recliner.

An addiction.

A saving grace when I can’t otherwise have coffee.

In that period between last coffee and bed, I’ll unwrap a mint and drop the wrapper in my empty coffee cup. I can usually get by with one or two a night, sometimes I’ll have three or even four mints, but that’s on a rare night when the girls help eat my mints. I bite off a piece and give it to them. It surprises me that dogs like peppermint.

When it’s time for bed, Mike shuts off the TV, puts the remote away so nobody chews it up, gets up and turns off the security monitors while I put my recliner down, dumping puppies to the floor (if they don’t get down on their own), gather my phone, iPad, coffee cup, popcorn bowl, and head to the kitchen. I’ll usually dump the mint wrappers into the trash, set the cup and bowl on the counter, take the girls out, lock the doors, turn off the lights, and head for bed.

That’s the routine.

Does it always work that way?

No.

There’ve been more than one morning when I pull my hot water from the microwave and find a candy wrapper floating on top.

Reading is another addiction of mine. I love to spend an hour or four reading after we go to bed and it’s frustrating when the Kindle battery is low. More than once I’ve had to read with an umbilical cord tying me to the power supply. I have to be careful not to strangle myself when I change position. I’ve been trying to remember to plug it in during the day so I didn’t have this problem.

Monday morning, I got up, fed the cats, and went to put water in the microwave for coffee only to find my favorite coffee cup wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Did I forget and leave it by the chair, I wondered. It wouldn’t be the first time. I went to check.

It wasn’t there.

I went back out to the kitchen and checked the counter again. It still wasn’t there. I opened the microwave thinking I might’ve already put it in there and forgotten, but the microwave was empty. It wasn’t on the table, or my desk. Sometimes I take it in to the bathroom with me. It’s pretty sad when you can’t even shower without your coffee, don’cha think? It wasn’t on my bathroom sink. It wasn’t on the corner of the dresser where I sometimes leave it while I’m getting dressed — don’t say it!

            Mike! I think. He’s messing with me.

I went back out to the living room. "Have you seen my coffee cup?” 

Mike was in the recliner, a blanket pulled up to his chin.

“No.”

I checked the floor beside him, just in case he stashed it there, but it wasn’t there.

I stood in front of him, hands on hips, toe tapping. “What have you done with it?” I asked.

“Nothing. I don’t know where it is.” 

He seemed sincere.

I went back and checked every single place a second, and in some cases, a third time. It hasn’t magically appeared anywhere.

I broke down and got my old favorite coffee cup from the hook where he lives.

On my morning love call to Miss Rosie, I told her about losing my cup. “It’s a good thing I have more than one cup in my house!”

“Did you ever find it?” you ask.

I did!

A couple of hours later I remembered that I’d gone into the bedroom first, to plug in the Kindle, before I took my stuff to the kitchen. I’d set it down on the headboard. That’s what I get for breaking routine.

“How is Miss Rosie?” you wanna know.

She's doing great.

I made bread for her on Saturday. My poor, poor bread. I started it too early Saturday morning. I wanted to have it done in time to take for her to have warm with her spaghetti Saturday night. That’s what she told me she was having for supper. The dough rose really fast and I wasn’t ready to bake it so I knocked it down for a second rising before I put it in the pans. Then I Googled it. It said you can let bread dough rise three, four, even up to six times, but there’s no real benefit in doing that. It doesn’t improve flavor or texture. As I read, it talked about over-proofing and under-proofing and bread collapsing and you needed to be careful because if the yeast eats up all its food your bread will be sour.

Scared me!

I didn’t want sour bread. I got back up and put the dough in tins. Then I thought if I didn’t cover it with a towel that it might rise more slowly and be ready closer to the time I wanted to bake it.

Around one o’clock, I see the top of the bread is getting some pretty big bubbles under the skin. I don’t mind if it’s airy, but I didn’t want it full of big air holes. It wasn’t quite to the top of the tins yet but I thought I’d better bake it anyway. They could have it for an afternoon snack.

When I pulled it out of the oven and dumped it out, I’ve got bread that’s only two and a half inches tall! I think it fell some.

I cut a slice and it wasn’t sour.

I had another reason to go visit the Kipps. I’ve been making corner bookmarkers again and the second generation is new and improved. I left the back piece longer so it’s easier to open and put on your page.

I made matching bookmarkers for the ladies in my Tuesday night class out of some beautiful paper that my cousin Lorraine had given me.

Then I found myself with an empty afternoon and decided to make more. I’m thinking I’ll leave some at the church for anyone who wants one (or two) but I wanted Miss Rosie to have dibs before I started passing them around.

With the bread out of the oven, I grabbed the bookmarkers and we jumped on the golfcart and went down to see the Kipps.

I apologized for the short loaf of bread.

“It’s still really yummy, even if it didn’t get tall enough for you,” Miss Rosie said after she ate a warm slice with melted butter.

She peeled her bandage back and showed me her nose.

“It looks a lot better,” I told her.

She goes tomorrow to get the stiches out.

On our way home we stopped by our mailbox. We’d gotten a couple inches of snow overnight.

Stunted bread wasn’t my only faux pas this week.

“What did you do now?” you wanna know.

Monday morning I made sugar cookies for my West Virginia box. I asked my beautiful Trish if she liked crunchy or soft sugar cookies.

“Either one,” she said.

Momma liked the crisp ones with her coffee but Pop liked the soft drop cookies. I got out the cookbook my beloved Aunt Marie had given me and went looking for the recipe.

You’re going to think I’m an idiot.

Right there, in the cookbook, was a cookie-stained page with a starred sugar cookie recipe.

          “That must be the one,” you say.

          I know, right!

          But I’m wondering if this was the one Pop liked or if I’d made it at some other time. I flipped the page and there was another recipe that only had five ingredients and used butter instead of shortening.

          Simpler is better, right?

          Butter is better, right too?

          These are NOT the cookies I was looking for!

Both the Kipps and Trish said they were good. I guess I’m the only one disappointed.

Speaking of Trish, someone else fell in love with her stained-glass rubber duck!

“I’m not crazy about the Roman nose?” my handsome brother David said.

“I think he’s such a handsome duck,” Trish says. “I’m going to name him Marc Anthony.”

“Can you make me one?” beautiful Jody asked. “I love his Roman nose but since I’m giving him to my grandson, we’d better make it more conventional.”

So, I made another yellow duck this week.

I’ve got one more cooking story to tell you.

Have you ever made anything with canned tomatoes only to find a bad piece of tomato when you’re stirring the pot or as you’re eating it?

I have. Many times. In fact, I now filter diced tomatoes through my fingers as I pour them into the pot.

I was making unstuffed cabbage soup this week, filtering the tomatoes as I went and was rewarded with a bad piece. It wasn’t very big and if you’d’ve eaten it, you’d probably not even know it. But I picked it out, held it with a pinky and ring finger while I continued to dump the can. Finished, I was setting the can down, getting ready to drop the bad piece into the empty can, and accidently dropped it back in the pot.

Aye-yi-yi!

I stirred the tomatoes and chicken stock around looking for it but couldn’t find it. I knew it was in there so I couldn’t just leave it! I started dipping the tomatoes out, looking for it as I put them back in the can, making a mess across my stove — I don’t care! I can clean it up and I didn’t want the rotten tomato in there!

I’d gotten almost all of the tomatoes out of the pot before I found it again.

Hardly seems like it was worth all the trouble and mess, does it?

In the second can I found another, bigger one. And that’s why I do it.

Monday, after the cookies cooled, I packed it with all the things Raini and I’d made for her.

“What did Raini make?” you ask.

Mostly, a mess. I pick up the stuffing she pulls from the stuffed animals and save it until I get a full bag, then I use it to pad the goodies I send Trish. She in turn uses it to stuff some of the beautiful things she makes. Maybe I can get her to send us a picture sometime of what she uses the stuffing for.

The box was no sooner in the mail when Raini started working on another bag.

Good.

When I try that other sugar cookie recipe I’ll have packing material.

Silver lining here folks.

Speaking of the dogs...

Their treats are in a lower, open cabinet. They could probably tear the package open if they really wanted to and I’ve often wondered why they don’t. They see where I put it.

The other night, after they had their treats, both dogs left the recliner. They do that sometimes and I didn’t think anything of it. Suddenly, I hear Raini crunching on something in the dining room. I get up, turn on the light, and see both she and Bondi have helped themselves to another chewy. I wondered if they finally decided to chew open a package. I turned on the kitchen light and it looks like I’m at fault. I didn’t have the bag zippered tight. I’ve only ever seen Bondi snoop around in that cabinet so I’m guessing she knocked it over and the chews spilled out.

>>>*<<<

And now we’ll get to the this’s and that’s part where it’s little stories with pictures.

Do you use LED bulbs?

We do, and maybe that’s the only kind you can buy anymore. They’re supposed to last years but they don’t.

I stumbled on a You Tube video that shows you how to fix an LED bulb! That’s right! Fix it! The top part is plastic so just pry it off. Find the one that’s burned out. Scrape off all the stuff, cover it with a tiny little square of foil and a little piece of tape.

It works!

Snap or glue the globe back on and get more use out of a bulb you thought you had to throw away.

Now I’m going to try to fix those expensive lights in my kitchen fixture. 

>>>*<<<

          I saw a piece of heavy equipment pulled up into our back driveway. Mike went to check it out. Turns out it was Asplundh, the tree service contracted by our electric company to cut trees. They cut at least one tree on our property.

          Mike thought the machine was cool so he came back to get me. By the time I got out there to take pictures they were moving on down the road.

          Mike talked with the guy. They have 180,000 trees to cut and they’re all marked on his iPad.

          “How many have you cut so far?” Mike asked.

          “A hundred,” he answered.

          They didn’t go far. Just to the other end of our property where they parked. There wasn’t anyone in it.

          Maybe they were scoping out where they needed to go next and what trees they’re cutting. They did cut a few trees on that end of our property, then they moved on down past the Kipps and cut a few more.

>>>*<<<

          Our personal income taxes are done for the year 2022. We took a trip over to pick them up. On the way we stopped for lunch at McDonalds. When I use the app I can buy one Quarter Pounder and get one free. Cheap eating.

          I was surprised when I picked my burger up and found a perfect heart on the bottom.

          “Do you have one on yours?” I asked Mike, but he didn’t.

          I took two barn pictures.

A Sheetz truck picture. I find the myriad works of art interesting.

And I saw three hawks! Not great or even good pictures but I’m always excited to see these handsome raptors.

>>>*<<<

Mike came back from checking the mail.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he said.

“No.” I said. I know, right! I didn’t even ask where or why, just, “No.” I tend to be obsessive. When I’m doing something, I like to finish it. I don’t like interruptions. But I guess after 28 years together, he knows me.

“It’s nice out. Let’s go up and see the well,” he persisted.

That didn’t tempt me away from what I was doing. “Uh-uh. I don’t wanna go.”

“Flowers are blooming down by the road.”

He’s got me now. I dropped what I was doing, grabbed my coat and camera. “The coltsfoot?” Besides the crocus blooming in neighbor Sally's' flowerbeds, coltsfoot is one of the early bloomers. The leaves won’t come on until the flowers are gone.

Coltsfoot, like many plants, has been used in folk medicine. A tea made from the leaves has been used to treat whooping cough, bronchitis, asthma, and all kinds of upper respiratory tract infections including a cough, sore throat, and hoarseness.

A paste made from the leaves removes spots and blemishes and makes the skin supple and soft. You can also use it on the wounds and cuts to help them heal faster. Apply it on the joints – the elbows and the knees both in the morning and evening. It will help old age diseases like arthritis, rheumatism, and gout.

Having said all of that, I have to tell you that overuse of coltsfoot can cause liver damage and is listed in the Poisonous Plant Database of the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and is even prohibited in certain countries.

After I took a few pictures of the coltsfoot we headed for the gas well.

Our first indication that things were different came when we got to the waterline. It was unhooked.

Actually, it was before that when we didn’t see the crane sticking up in the air anymore, but I didn’t get a picture of that.

“I thought they were moving stuff out,” Mike said.

Raini and I got off the golf cart for a better look.

This picture, taken a month ago, is from almost the same spot.

We went on up the hill for the wider view.

We didn’t stay long because the wind was cool. On the way down we stopped for a moment to wonder what these guys were doing.

Then the pumper truck moved.

“It looks like they’re sucking up all the water,” I told Mike as we watched the guy pull the hose from the truck and go to one of the puddles.

Let’s call this one done.

Complete!

               My two commissioned book boxes are complete! I showed you the front covers last time but I’ll show you again as a refresher.

           My beautiful, feisty, redheaded neighbor, and best girl, Miss Rosie, had a basal cell cancer taken off her nose this week. Basal cell is the best kind of skin cancer you can have if you’re going to have skin cancer. It’s one hundred percent curable by taking the cancer off. Don’t take me to school on this, it’s what the news said last night because our President also had a basal cell cancer removed from his chest.

Thinking Miss Rosie may not be in the mood to bake anything for their dessert for a couple of days, I decided to make an orange cream cake, a recipe that came up on my Facebook feed.

The day before the surgery, the Kipps headed off to Johnson City, New York. There’s a specialist up there that could remove the cancer in layers and not butcher her tiny little nose in the process. The weather was expected to be bad so they went up and spent the night in a hotel — with a pool. And Lamar was happy about that. He’d be able to do something he doesn’t get to do very often. Go swimming.

Mike and I went shopping the morning of her surgery. I took pictures. The first stop was the carwash to get all the mud and dirt and salt off the car.

 

          We were heading for home when the call I’d been waiting for finally came in.

          “She’s all right,” handsome Lamar said. “We’re going to get something to eat before we head for home.”

          I needed a box of orange cake mix to make the orange cream cake and Walmart didn’t carry it.

          “Can we stop at Connie’s?” I asked.

          “What for?”

          We’d just been in three different stores, so I could understand why he asked. “Because I need a box of orange cake mix and Walmart didn’t have it.”

          Our little hometown grocery did carry it. I was surprised and pleased. I made a quick trip around the store picking up the other things I’d need for the cake.

          “Think the Kipps’ll be home?” Mike asked when we pulled onto our road.

          It had been around two when I got Lamar’s call and it was after four now. Yes. It really is a five-to-six-hour trip when we go shopping. “Maybe,” I said.

          Going past the Kipps’ house we could see that they weren’t home yet.

          “Robins!” I exclaimed as we passed Vernon's field. “Look at them all!” Mike was already past them before I could get my camera up for a picture. “Can you back up?” There’s at least eight of them in this photo and I know you can’t tell they’re robins but take my word for it, they are.

          Then we pull in our driveway and see a few more.

           “I didn’t have to back up for you,” Mike said. “They’re right here.”

          Making the cake took my mind off Miss Rosie, for a while anyway.

          “Make the orange cake according to the directions on the box but use milk instead of water,” the video tutorial said.       

          I don’t know what difference milk instead of water makes but even on the box it said you could do that. So, I did.

          “Bake and cool. Once it’s cool, poke holes with a wood skewer,” the lady said, but I don’t have any skewers. I went digging in my utensil drawers and came up with a straw.

          When I was done poking holes, I pinched the straw and squeezed out the cake for the little garbage-truck-trip-hazard that waits at my feet for me to drop something.

          Next, I poured orange Jell-O over the top and frosted it with a topping made from mandarin oranges, pudding mix, whipped topping, and coconut. Chill several hours or overnight.

          Around five I called to see if the Kipps were home yet. They weren’t.

          Five-fifteen I called again and they still weren’t home.

          “Mike, I’m worried about the Kipps. They should’ve been home by now.”

          “Do you think they got in an accident?” he asked.

          “I don’t know, but I think they would’ve called if that happened.” Unless they couldn’t, but I didn’t say that part.

          I tried their cell phones but they went right to voice mail. It was around five-thirty, and just before I was getting ready to have a full-blown panic attack and start calling their daughters, when Miss Rosie picked up the house phone.

          “You didn’t have to worry,” Miss Rosie said. “We couldn’t pick Tux up until five so we were just killing time until we could get him.”

          It wouldn’t’ve been prudent to come home and run out an hour later to get Tux considering the distance to the kennel and the cost of gas. Especially since they drive right past it on their way home.

          The next morning, on our daily love call, I told Miss Rosie, “I made you cake.”

          “Aww, you didn’t have to do that,” she said.

          “I didn’t think you’d feel much like baking. How about if we come down around two after Gunsmoke’s over? Will you be up for a visit?”

          “Sure,” she said.

          The snow was gone and the afternoon was mild. “It’s nice out,” Mike said. “You wanna go for a ride up to the well site?”

          I glanced at the time. It was one o’clock. “You’re not watching Gunsmoke?”

          “Nah. Let’s go check out the well.”

          I made a cup of travel coffee, grabbed my long lens, and off we went.

          “They must’ve taken a full sandbox off and he’s waiting for an empty one,” Mike said. “I’d like to see that.”

          We waited and nothing was happening.

          “Let’s go up on the hill. We can see the whole pad from up there.”

          It was interesting watching the men move about, watching the water and sand trucks coming and going.

          I saw the dumpster was almost full and wondered what kind of trash they were throwing away.

          I watched this guy climb up the back of a tank, lift the lid, and put the dipstick in to check the level of whatever was inside.

          After he checked this one, he checked the one right behind it, too.

          “Are you about ready?” I asked. “We have a two o’clock date.”

          We were heading out when we see a forklift with a sandbox loading the truck Mike wanted to watch them load. By the time we got to where we had a good view, it was done.

          “They have to be locking them in,” Mike said. “But I don’t see how.”

          “There’s something there because he’s walking around doing something.”

          We get home, I run in to pick up the cake, and we dash off to the Kipps.

          Miss Rosie had a big ol’ bandage on her nose.

          “I want to see what’s under it,” you say.

          I know, right! Me too! But Miss Rosie thought it would be better not to do that today.

“How are you?” I asked.

          “Not too bad,” she said. “I’m taking ibuprofen for the pain.”

          She was awake for the whole thing and she told us how they cut a flap to use as a graft. “And they said I might wake up with my eye swollen shut this morning, but it wasn’t.”

          I cut the cake I’d brought and we chatted as we ate.

          “It’s good,” both Kipps said.

          I’m not crazy about it but it was something new and different to try.

          “While you’re here, do you want to take a picture of the bird you made for me?” Miss Rosie asked.

          “Sure. Where is it?”

          “We hung it by the bathroom door.”

          So, this is the cute fat little guy I made for Valentine’s Day. With a little luck, I’ll get a few more made and passed around to friends before next Valentine’s Day.

          “Even though Valentine’s has come and gone, you’re still gonna make them?” you ask.

          I am. I don’t think anyone will complain when I give them one, no matter what time of the year it is, and we can laugh about my lateness.

          I left most of the cake with the Kipps and took enough home send a piece down to West Virginia.

          I have to laugh. The last time I sent a piece of cake was when I made the pecan cake. I put it in a plastic container thinking it would be protected from being smushed. And it was. But it didn’t protect it from being shaken and stirred. This is what it looked like when it got there.

          “It was still good,” Trish said.

          This time, I’m trying to figure out how to keep it better intact. Maybe wrapping it in foil before I put it in the container? Packing the container the rest of the way full with stuffing? I’ve got a full bag here that Raini and Bondi have been making for her.

          And I made a couple of other glass pieces this week. I made my chief editor a pretty bird.

          And for Trish I made a rubber duckie. I gave him a Roman nose on purpose. I think it makes him look more regal. However, I’m having second thoughts. What do you think? Do you like it or should I take it off and make it more traditional?

          Both these guys still need their eyes painted on.

          Another recipe came across my Facebook feed that looked interesting.

          “What now?” you ask.

          This time it was for Oat Fudge. It sounded simple enough to make and I had all the ingredients. I had it in my head I could use that as filler between the cake and the lid of the container in the package I’m getting ready to ship off to West Virginia.

          The recipe says, and I quote, “...pour into a greased eight-inch square baking pan that has been lined with parchment paper.”

          Why would I grease the pan then put in parchment paper, I wondered, tumbling it over in my mind. Then I read it again. Maybe it means to grease the parchment paper?

          I called Miss Rosie and read it to her. “Why would you grease it then add parchment paper?” she mused.

“I know, right! That’s the way I read it, too. But I think you could read it another way, too.”

“It seems to me that the parchment paper is to keep it from sticking, so why grease it? When I make my fudge, I just use butter to coat the pan and don’t worry about lifting it out. I cut it right in the pan.”

I didn’t care about lifting it out either so I just buttered the pan.

I was following the directions and it says, and again I quote, “...bring to a boil. Boil three minutes and remove from heat.”

          S’kay.

It starts to boil and I waited until it was a full boil (as my beautiful mama calls it) before I start timing it. Three minutes, I take it off the heat, stir in vanilla, oats, nuts, and pour it in the buttered pan. It was starting to set up and that’s when I knew it was overcooked.

Friday night, Miss Rosie calls me. “My brother just saw a white cardinal with red on the tip on his cone, wing, and tail.”

“It sounds like an albino cardinal.” I’ve heard of them before.

“But wouldn’t an albino be all white?” Miss Rosie asked.

“No. It still has some color.”

Once the Oat Fudge cooled, I cut a piece. It’s hard and crumbly. I tasted it and I’m not impressed. Nonetheless, I had to taste it three more times just to make sure I didn’t like it.

Saturday morning, on my morning love call, I read Miss Rosie the directions and asked for her interpretation.  

“I think when it comes to a full boil you start timing it,” she said.

“That’s what I thought, too! It’s overcooked and not that great, but I’ll bring you a piece anyway.”

“We have to change my bandage this morning. You wanna see it?” she asked.

Boy, did I! I tried to contain my excitement. “What time?”

“Probably after Lamar comes back from walking Tux. Around ten?” she said.

I printed pictures of albino cardinals, dished up some of the fudge, and just before ten we headed for the Kipps. I gave Miss Rosie the pictures I’d printed as we sat down at the table.

“That does look like what my brother described to me,” Miss Rosie said.

She had her bandage off and I took pictures of it. It doesn’t look too bad.

“How many stitches did you get?” I asked.

“He said twenty-five, I think.”

“What’s that in your nose?” I asked. I hadn’t seen it before.

“It’s to keep my nose open while it heals and to help me breathe,” Miss Rosie said.

“Does it feel like you’ve got boogers in your nose?” Trust me to get to the nitty-gritty.

“Not too bad. And besides not bending over, I’m not allowed to blow my nose either.”

“Do you leave the bandage off so it can get some air?” I asked.

“No and as a matter of fact, they want me to put Vaseline on it and keep it covered so it doesn’t dry out.”

Mike handed Lamar the fudge to taste.

“Tell her how you like it,” Mike prompted.

“Why?” Lamar asked. “She’s already made up her mind about it.”

“I don’t like it,” I said putting my hand on my chest for emphasis. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s not too bad,” Lamar said.

“Boy, have I got some fudge for you!” I was thinking I’d be tossing it out to see if the birds would eat it. It’s got the oats and nuts in it that the birds should like. But if Lamar likes it and wants to eat it, he can have it!

Miss Rosie goes back in ten days to get the stitches out. Not ten days from now, ten days from when they were put in, but I bet you knew that.

We’re winding down this week’s jibber-jabber and I’ve only got a few little items left to share with you.

Raini got another box to tear up. She does a good job, doesn’t she‽

I actually don’t mind. It keeps her busy doing something she likes to do.

And Raini is so smart! She sees everything and remembers.

When I go out to burn the burnables, if the weather is halfway decent, I take that time to clean up the dog poop from the yard. I wasn’t aware of it being a habit because I don’t think I do it every time I burn the papers but it must be often enough.

I burned the papers this week. Brought the cans back to the patio, and when I turned to get the rake and shovel from the wall, there was Raini waiting for me.

I laughed.

“You silly girl!” I told her.

She tries to help but grabbing the rake isn’t really all that helpful, and considering what I use it for, I don’t really want her putting that dirty thing in her mouth.

“Stop!” I tell her and lift the rake out of reach. That only tempts her to jump for it and I don’t want her doing that either because she still limps and hops on three legs. I have to scold her several times before she knows I mean it.

The very last thing I want to tell you this week is something you may already know about me.

“What’s that?” you ask.

I like happy endings. I don’t care what anyone says. Sad or ambiguous endings aren’t for me. I want a movie that leaves me happy, where I don’t have to guess what happens, where love wins out, and good triumphs over evil.

This week we watched a movie from 1974 with Lee Marvin and Ronnie Howard.

About halfway through, Mike says, “This isn’t going to end well.”

And it doesn’t.

Are there really people out there who like movies like this?

Oh wait! That wasn’t the very last thing. I decided to look through the file where I put the pictures for this week’s letter blog and I found this one.

“What is it?” you ask.

This, my loves, is the very first Red-winged Blackbird that I’ve seen this year.

“They’re a better sign of spring than the robins,” Miss Rosie told me once.

I guess spring is on the way!

Let’s call this one done!