Merry Christmas

 

          First, before anything else, I want to say, 

MERRY CHRISTMAS! 

I trust you will be celebrating our Lord’s birth with loved ones.

>>>*<<<

Mike got me an old farm sink. Remember?

          “When do you want to put it in?” he asked.

          “After Christmas,” I answered. “I’ve got so much to do before Christmas that I’m not gonna get it all done. I’ve got to make three stained glass gifts and get my cards made.” Truth be known, I wanted to make a little somethin’ somethin’ for my church peeps but Christmas got here too soon and that didn’t get done either.

          I finished my last commission and started my Christmas cards at the end of last week. I thought it would only take a couple of days but three days later I was still working on them!

          Monday, the third day of card-making, I had twenty-seven cards done and decided to put a few in the mail.

          I’m sitting here, at my kitchen table, a pile of cards on one side of me, envelopes in a nearby stack, and my list of addresses.

          It took me a while to start, but start I did. I decided on a card, I decided on a recipient, I addressed the envelope, stuffed the card, sealed the envelope, and went on to the next one.

          I was partway through my stack when it hit me. I hadn’t signed the cards!

          Aye-yi-yi!

          “I didn’t sign my cards,” I confessed to Miss Rosie on a morning love call. “All I would write would be Lots of love, Peg and Mike. They can see my love in the card I made and my return address is on the envelope.”

          “All right,” she said, but I could hear disapproval in her voice. “They’re your cards. If that’s the way you want to do it.”

          It wasn’t necessarily the way I wanted to do it, but it’s the way I did do it.

          “How’s anyone gonna know who sent it when they clean out our stuff after we die?” Miss Rosie asked.

          I don’t expect anyone to keep it past Christmas! “They’ll know because they know I make things. How many homemade cards do you get? One?” Then I remembered that their daughter Jenn usually makes cards, too. “Two?”

          “I’ve gotten three so far,” Miss Rosie said.

          I had to think fast. “But I bet they signed theirs.”

          “Yes, they did.”

          Some of the cards I sent are signed, some are not. I made sure I signed Miss Rosie’s.

          Last year, if you remember, a bunch of my cards got eaten in the mail sorting machine and some of you never got one and some of you got just an empty envelope. This year I bought all non-machinable stamps. I didn’t realize they cost extra until I mailed a dozen cards.

          Tuesday morning, during our morning chat, Miss Rosie asked, “When do you want to come down for your Christmas gift?”

          We compared our schedules and decided on Friday afternoon.

          I’d already told Miss Rosie that her gift was going to be late. Instead of making the gift I was going to make, I decided to make hers. I already knew what I wanted to make her this year. That would save me an hour or more of searching the internet for something to make. I set to work, printed the pattern, picked the glass, and started cutting.

          “Peg! What are you making for her?” you wanna know.

          It’s a grouping of three snowmen. This is the pattern I worked from and I used Miss Rosie's favorite colors.

          It took me Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday morning to make it.

          Tiger helped.

          I was having problems with the orange glass. I’d score where I wanted the glass to break, put my breaking pliers on the edge of the glass, and apply gentle pressure. The brim of the hat has a deep curve in it but it’s cathedral glass, a translucent glass, and it’s usually easy to break where you want it to break — even on deep curves. After losing two to mis-breaks, I used the method I first learned to break curves. And that’s to take a little off at a time. It took me two more tries to cut the brim of the hat before I got a good one. And it’s a good thing too. I was on the verge of breaking out the glass saw to cut it! Then, two more times while cutting the scarf pieces, before my score even started to crack, I heard ping! The glass had cracked in a totally different and random place which messed up the piece I was trying to cut. I’m nothing if not tenacious, and stuck with it until I got good pieces.

          I don’t mind the time I put into this or anything else I make. So what if it took me three days to make? It was a labor of love.

          I soldered the last solder line and was actually pretty pleased with it. I did better than I thought I would. My lines were neat and even. No big clumps, no obvious stops and starts.

          Oh, you know what they say!

          “What’s that?” you ask.

          Pride goeth before the fall!

          I took it to the sink and stood there until hot water ran from the tap. The last thing you want to do is put cold water over hot glass. While washing away the flux used to join solder to copper tape, I saw it. Not one, but TWO cracks in the orange glass!

          “I don’t want to give her a broken piece,” Me says to Myself.

          “There’s no time to make new pieces,” Myself replies.

          Repairing broken pieces is a process. One that I’m not so good at. It would require the un-soldering of four connections. I can do it, but it takes time and I was out of time!

          “Don’t tell her,” Me says.

          “But she’ll see it! Maybe not right away, but sooner or later. Then she might think she did it and that wouldn’t be honest.”

          “Give it to her now and tell her you’ll fix it after Christmas.”

          “I’d rather make a whole new piece,” Myself says. “And I’ll keep the broken one.”

          Debate ended.

Decision made.

I talked with my brother-in-law, Cork. “I don’t know if I broke it while soldering it or when I washed it,” I told him.

“It could be a flaw in the glass,” he said.

I have zero experience with that. If I’ve had flawed glass before, I never attributed my mis-breaks to it.

          When it was time to head down to the Kipps’ I hid the snowmen inside my jacket. Miss Rosie wasn’t expecting her gift now so she would be super-duper surprised!

          We sat at the table and Miss Rosie came out with a huge gift bag!

          “Holy cow!” I exclaimed.

          Miss Rosie gives the best gifts! My favorite thing by far is the painting she made of all the birds at a bird feeder. It’s fabulous!

          And now, my conscience is pricked.

          When my best old friend came to visit last October, she brought me such fabulous gifts too! And much to my chagrin, I didn’t show them to you. I should have. But I didn’t know if Trish wanted me to show them. I’m proud to have them. I love them. They’ve all found homes in my home. And I think of her when I see them. Rather than ask how she felt about me showing them, I erred on the side of caution and didn’t.

          “Close your eyes,” I told Miss Rosie after I’d opened all her gifts. She knew something was coming. I pulled the snowmen from inside my coat, got my camera ready, and said, “Okay!”

          “OH!” she exclaimed. “How cute!” and she laughed in delight.

          I pointed out the cracks in the orange snowman’s hat and scarf. “I’ll make you a new one after Christmas,” I promised.

          “No need,” Miss Rosie said. “I can’t hardly even see it and as long as it doesn’t fall apart, I’m okay with it.

          If she’s okay with it, I’m okay with it. 

>>>*<<<

          Mike and I were out on mail duty when the distinctive whomp-whomp sound of a helicopter came to our ears. We watched and waited for it to come into view. There’s something about the sound of these mighty machines that conveys power and maybe instills a little fear, too.

          Can you imagine what it must be like being in a war-torn country like the Gaza Strip or Ukraine and hearing the sound of helicopters overhead? It would take on a whole new meaning. What if what’s happening there comes here? What if war comes to the shores of America?

          After the sound of the first helicopter started to fade, we heard the approach of a second one. We don’t have a lot of helicopters pass over us and having two at the same time is extra unusual.

>>>*<<<

          We had rain. It wasn’t that we had a lot of rain, the issue was how fast it came down. It caused flooding because the ground couldn’t soak it up fast enough.

          Once the rain stopped, the township guy came around and cleaned the ditches. Mike and I can’t believe how deep they made the ditch in front of our place. It’s at least three feet deep. If you get off the road and into this ditch, you ain’t gettin’ out!

          Crossing our little bridge by the Kipps’ house, the water was up in the yard. See the brush in the middle of the picture? That’s where the bank is.

          “It was higher than that this morning,” Miss Rosie told me.

          Crossing the Rainbow Bridge, you can see where the Susquehanna has left its bed.

          We were heading to the dental office in Tunkhannock for a test fitting of my new partials.

I got in the chair and Robbie, the assistant, put the test partials in. “They feel funny! Like I’ve got a mouthful!” I complained, my speech muffled.

          “These are just to check the bite,” Doc told me. “Your partials should be thinner.”

          After we left and were heading back to the car, I noticed something I didn’t notice on the way in; tags hanging from the streetlights.

          I’m gonna guess they’re commemorative.

          Overnight it turned cold and our pond acquired a skim of ice on it. I thought the patterns it made were interesting.       

  

          Mid-week our girls had an appointment at the vet. How about a couple of road pictures?

          The face of the rock grows bittersweet and icicles.

          “Wow! Look how high up they are!” I exclaimed. 

“I bet they sway up there,” Mike said.

We had a scissor lift for our business in Missouri. It went thirty-five feet in the air and swayed with every move you made. I hated it! And these guys are way higher than that.

          Bondi got her shot and I had Dr. Robin look at the spot on her back.

          “It was red and raised at first,” I told her. “Now it’s a dark spot and doesn’t grow any hair.”

          “It was likely an infected follicle.” She bent down to examine it a little closer. “It does have hair, it’s just dark. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

          I had her check Raini’s backside. I know that fleas carry diseases and we had a problem with fleas even though she’s had a Seresto collar on.

          “We’ve had a lot of complaints this year that Seresto wasn’t doing its job,” she told us.

          Raini’s backside sometimes feels hot to the touch and if I scratch her too much, welts pop up and sometimes it feels damp.

          “It’s not mange. It’s just an allergy to the fleas. Give her Benadryl to reduce the itching and stop her from chewing on it and pulling her hair out,” Dr. Robin said.

          “What if I give her too much?”

          “It won’t hurt her. If you give her too much, she’ll go to sleep.”

          I felt better that both the dogs had their issues checked by a vet.

          “Peg, what happened to Dr. Lori?” you ask.

          Dr. Lori is our normal vet but when I called two weeks ago for an appointment, they couldn’t see us until March, so I went someplace else.

          Let’s end with a sunrise picture. It’s not all reds and oranges but it was beautiful nonetheless.

          Done!

You Never Know

           It’s a sad, sad day here on Robinson Road.

          A young woman died. Unexpectedly.

          Now, just to be clear, I didn’t know this young woman. She’s related to one of our neighbors. Nonetheless, my heart is very, very sad. It reminds me of the loss of our daughter, Kathryn, and I know the pain their hearts must feel.

          Nothing will make you more aware of your own mortality, than when a life is gone much, much too soon.

          “Peg, it happens every day,” you say.

          And I know what you’re saying is true. But the point is really driven home when it’s someone you know.  

          Do you know where you will go when you die?

          “Peg, I don’t believe in heaven or hell. I believe there’s nothing after this life, just total and complete oblivion.”

          I wish I believed that. The thought of my loved ones spending eternity in hell is a horror beyond comprehension.

          “I’m a good person, so yeah, I’m going to heaven.”

          To whom are you comparing yourself? The rapist? The murderer? The serial killer? Well then, my love, you are comparing yourself to the wrong person. The one you should compare yourself to is the sinless Son of God, Jesus Christ. By His standards, we are all sinners and our just punishment is eternity without God, aka hell.

          I want to tell you a story.

          Years ago, when I was going through my divorce, a gal I worked with came up to me on the factory floor and said, “My husband and I were going through a hard time a few years ago and we were going to get a divorce. Do you know what saved us?”

          I shook my head no.

          “Jesus Christ. Turn to Jesus,” she said, “He can save your marriage.”

I blew her off.

          She tried. But the truth is, I didn’t want Jesus or religion in my life. I wanted to keep on going right down the path I was going down. I didn’t want to give up my sin.

          I can look back now and see how different my life would’ve been had I accepted Jesus into my life.

          “How so?” you wanna know.

          Like the gal who tried to help me, I wouldn’t’ve divorced. I would have worked a lot harder to save my marriage.

          I can’t change the past, and you can’t either. The death of our daughter, like a cold, hard slap in the face, made me realize I had to get right with God. I’m sure Kat didn’t know she was going to die the day she died. I know she lived for a little while after her accident. I hope, to the very depths of my soul, I hope that she repented and accepted Jesus and is now resting in the arms of our Lord. Because once you take your last breath on this earth, your eternal destiny is set, and unchangeable.

I was out walking the dogs one day shortly after we laid Kat to rest. I was thinking of her and wondering where she was. If she was in heaven, that was great. But what if she wasn’t? What if she was in hell? I thought about all the things I knew about hell and the thought that my baby girl might be there was enough to rend my heart in two. White-hot tears of anguish slid from my eyes and burned their way down my cheeks. I knew it was my fault. If she was in hell, it was all my fault. I failed as a parent. I failed to teach my children to love, honor, and obey our Creator.

I can’t change that either.

I knew, right then and there, that if I didn’t get right with God, I’d go to hell, too. I asked Jesus to forgive me, to empty me of my own selfish, earthly desires and to come into my heart. I wanted to walk with Jesus.

And the first thing I had to do was to stop living in sin and marry the man I’d been living with for twenty-one years, or leave him.

          If I’m wrong and there is only oblivion when we die, then I’ve lost nothing. If you’re wrong, and there really is a heaven and a hell, what will you lose?

          “I’ll accept Jesus on my deathbed,” you say.

          Fine and dandy — if you’re given time enough to do that. The problem is you never know when you’re going to die. That is why we must be ready every single second of every single day to meet God.

I beg you, I implore you, I beseech you to open your Bible and read the Word of God — and find a good Bible-teaching church. Gather together with other believers. Iron sharpens iron.

Now I shall climb off my soapbox and get on with the weekly jibber-jabber.

Lamar’s ankle is healing well. He’s out of the boot but still has physical therapy three times a week. Mike and I are still getting their mail for them. It was while on a mail run that I saw the sun shining on the trees on the other side of the creek.

“Go across the bridge and let me snap a picture,” I said to Mike. 

Mike, being a good husband, complied. It's not as pretty as I’d hoped, but here it is.

Since I talked about the card holders I was making, I gave Miss Rosie hers.

          “I love it,” she said. “It’s such a practical and useful gift. And you’re right, I do have a hard time holding a bunch of cards. Now I can’t wait to play cards and try it out.”

          We were talking about last week’s letter blog. “I missed a picture,” I told her. “If I’d’ve tried to go back and put it in, it would’ve messed up the whole thing and run onto another page.” I try to use my resources as efficiently as possible. If I end up with a couple of sentences on the top of the last page, I’ll go back and adjust stuff or delete a picture, something, anything, rather than send a whole page of mostly blank nothingness.

          Somehow, we got to talking about eagles. “I saw on the internet where some guy was arrested for killing sixty eagles,” Mike said.

          “Where was he that he got to see sixty eagles?” Miss Rosie wondered.

          “I don’t remember where it was,” Mike confessed.

          “I saw an eagle when we were coming back from Vestal,” I said. “But he was so far away that I didn’t get a good picture of him, so I didn’t show it.”

          “You should’ve shown us anyway,” Miss Rosie said. “You’ve done that before.”

          Indeed, I have.

          So, here’s the eagle that was so far away that if it weren’t for its white head, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was an eagle.

          Speaking of birds, I was out with Raini when I heard the cry of a hawk. I searched the skies until I found him. He was making lazy circles, all the while calling and coming closer and closer. I took twenty-four pictures of him and this is the best I got. You can see his red tail.

          And speaking of Raini...

          She’s the star of this week’s letter blog, having seven pictures — more than any other subject this week. I almost named this week’s letter blog for her but I figured your immortal soul was far more important.

          I take Raini out with me when I burn the burnables. She runs on ahead, up the hill to the whistle pig hole. I get up there and all I see is Heeler butt.

          “Dontcha go down there!” I yelled at her. She pulled back and looked at me. I walked up the hill for a closer look. Raini dived back into the hole. Maybe she wasn’t as far in as I first thought she was.

          I have no doubt that Raini could kill a woodchuck — out in the open. In the hole, the whistle pig might have the upper hand. 

          Saturday was fairly nice out for mid-December, and it’d been a while since I cleaned dog poo from the dog run. Raini thinks whenever I go out, it’s to play with her. She got her ball and dropped it at my feet. “No,” I told her. “Let’s clean up poop.”

          “Arr-rr-rrr,” she sang in frustration as I sidestepped her.

          “If you help me find the poop it’ll go faster, then we can play.”

          She picked up the ball and dropped it at my feet again. I relented and threw it a few times, then I started ignoring her when she brought the ball back — until she dropped it in the pile of poo I was raking up!

          “Raini! You dropped it right in the poop!” I admonished. I picked her ball up and wiped it across the grass. I wasn’t having any more of that. I put her ball up on a stump, out of her reach.

          I finished the front half of the dog run and went to check the side yard. They seldom poop there. “I think we’re done!” I told my two little shadows as we head back to the front. Raini took off at a dead run. I wondered where she was going in such a hurry. I tossed the shovelful of poo over the fence and down over the bank. Raini comes back — with her ball in her mouth! “How did you get that‽” I asked like she could tell me. Maybe the wind knocked it down, I thought, and dismissed it as soon as I thunk it. There wasn’t any wind and it would have to be a pretty stiff wind to knock it down at that. It’s a solid rubber ball.

          To find out how she got the ball, I put it back on the stump.

          “Where’s your ball?” I asked.

          Both girls stood at the base of the stump and whined.

          Raini came over and looked up at me expectantly.

          “Get your ball,” I encouraged.

          It took her two or three tries but she was able to jump up and snag her ball.

          I never, not in a million years, would’ve guessed she could’ve gotten her ball down.

          “You’re such a clever girl,” I told her and took the proffered ball. So many of the nubbies are missing from it now that I won’t toss it on the roof for her anymore. It might roll off just fine or it might land on a flat spot and not roll off at all. I’m not taking any chances. This ball is strictly for bouncing off the side of the building these days.

          Another time of day I take Raini out is after I scoop out the cat litter boxes and go out to toss it into the weeds. She runs a hundred miles an hour up the hill. She has surprised deer up there before and had a great time chasing them, so I’m guessing that’s what she checks for.

          On this morning, finding no deer, she comes back and looks over the hill at me.

          She looks like she’s king of the world, up there, surveying her kingdom. I had to take a picture to show you.

          I toss the litter and when Raini sees me heading back to the house, she beats me in the door.

          Raini is twenty months old now. We’re still working on two habits of hers that we find annoying. She body-blocks you when you’re walking. Trying to bulldoze your way past her hasn’t worked. Trying to step on her feet hasn’t worked. I think she thinks they’re fun games. She’s almost tripped me a bunch of times as she dashes in front of me to play body-block. Last week I decided to try something new. I decided to stop dead in my tracks and ignore her. She’ll press against my legs, wiggle around behind, come back up between my feet, lean against me, thump her tail against my legs, then, having gotten no response, she loses interest and walks away. After consistently stopping and ignoring her, she less and less tries to body-block me. At first, I had to wait as long as a minute or two, but now, ten or fifteen seconds and she quits. Sometimes she doesn’t do it at all anymore and I’m so happy!

          The other thing she does is more common to many dogs. She jumps up on us when we first come in. Stepping on her toes hasn’t worked, even when you make her yelp. Kneeing her in the chest hasn’t worked. Whacking her on the head with a newspaper hasn’t worked. I’m thinking ignoring her might be the only thing that will work but her nails are so stinkin’ sharp! It’s hard not to yell at her to get down. I guess I’ll keep working on that one.

>>>*<<<

          I finished my last commission — until I get another one, that is. The lady liked the cardinal on the last brag board so much that she requested the same one.

         I'm proud of this second cardinal, not that there was anything wrong with the first one.

          Tiger, once again, wanted to help. He crept closer and closer, first putting one foot on my paint towel, then slowly putting the other foot on the paint towel, all the while looking at me to gauge my reaction.

          “Okay, okay,” I told him and moved the board.

          Tiger rolled himself into a ball, tucked his nose between his feet, and went to sleep.

          Life is so hard for my critters!

          >>>*<<<

It’s late, I know.

          “Late for what?” you wanna know.

          It’s late to be making Christmas cards. I had hoped to have them done by this time but I got sidetracked playing with artificial intelligence. There are just a couple of four people in my life that I wanted to make a card with a special theme. Then I got hung up making papers. I have so many patterns to choose from. I printed a bunch that I liked. Now I’m hoping they’ll work with the sentiment I created using another artificial intelligence program.

         

          They may be late.

          Let’s call this one done.

          Done!

 

My-oh-my!

            My-oh-me-oh-my-oh! What a week! What a week!

I have so many things I want to tell you about this week. I just finished editing photos and it’s time to post already! What do I do? what do I do?

“You could start by not repeating yourself,” you say.

I know, right! It’s just a stall tactic. I’m trying to figure out where to start! Then I’m thinking, do I want to do a short little somethin’-somethin’ so they’re not disappointed when they go looking for my weekly blog? I’ve got lots of road pictures. Or do I just post late? Should I ask my peeps what they’d prefer? I know! I’ll ask my dearly loved and much-adored big sister! No, no. That won’t work. She’s probably driving.

“People can talk on the phone while they’re driving,” you say.

And I know that. I don’t really like it, though. If something happened while you were driving and talking to me, I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

After sitting here contemplating my conundrum, and getting a brain strain, I’ve decided to take the pressure off and erase my deadline. It’ll get done when it gets done.

It’s feast or famine around here. I either have nothing to talk about or I’ve got too much to talk about. Last week I finished early because I didn’t have much. But as it turned out, it was a good thing. Our church was having a cookie exchange/white elephant gift exchange on Sunday. I’d forgotten about it until I went to church that morning. And because I didn’t have a letter blog to finish, like I normally do on a Sunday afternoon, I was free to bake cookies.

Everyone is supposed to make their favorite cookie and we set the table with all the cookies. Then we sample them. Hopefully, at the end of the night, there’s some of your favorite left so you can take some home with you. We encourage people to come even if they can’t, don’t want to, or don’t have time to bake cookies. We always, always, always, have plenty.

I made three different things — to start.

“Peg!”

I might be an over-achiever when it comes to baking, but I wasn’t the only one who made extra. The ladies in my church like to bake.

I made chocolate chip cookies, coffee cake, and Dream Bars.

“Coffee cake isn’t cookies,” you say.

I know, right! It doesn’t have to be all cookies and I know a couple of people who like my coffee cake.

I had the Dream Bars baked and cooling, waiting to be cut into squares. I was baking cookies and had wait time. I decided I’d prep the coffee cake so when the cookies were done all I had to do was mix the batter, pour it in the pan, put the crumb topping on top, and pop it in the oven. It’s a simple recipe. I put all the dry ingredients in a bowl. In my measuring cup, I put the wet ingredients. Milk, oil, egg, and vanilla.

I was scooping cookies from the baking sheet onto a wire cooling rack and glanced at the cup of wet ingredients. Sitting right on top was a gold-ringed bubble.

“Peg, you’re weird!” you say.

I know, right. But I love bubbles. At least I love to paint bubbles — not that I’ve done it a lot. I’d like to do it more. So when I see a pretty bubble, I have to study it. And the rule is, what I see, you get to see, too.

I had the coffee cake in the oven and a few minutes before my timer was set to go off, I checked the coffee cake. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and I’m confronted with a cake that erupted into mountains and all the topping rolled off creating butter, sugar, and cinnamon-filled canyons.

Ay-yi-yi! This had never happened to me before!

I had a container of leftover topping in my freezer. I grabbed it out and sprinkled it over the naked mountians and let it bake for a few more minutes.

          “How was it?” I know you wanna know.

          Honestly, only a few pieces were eaten at the cookie exchange and no one said anything about it. I warmed a piece up. It was good, but those canyons sure were sweet!

          So! I made chocolate chip cookies, Dream Bars, and a coffee cake.

          “There’s no chocolate!” came unbidden into my mind’s eye.

          Granted, it was during our pie contest, but a chocolate lover loves chocolate.

          I remember once, a long time ago, I made a pretty good brownie cookie. I had time. I got up and dug my plastic tub of recipes out. I seem to remember that the recipe was in a little booklet given away by one of the chocolate makers. I was looking for that when I came across a page I’d torn from a 1994 magazine.

          I read through the Touchdown Chocolate Bars. I had everything and they sounded easy. I had doubts when it said to mix an egg into the crumb mixture and pat into the pan but I did it the way it said to. I skipped the nuts because at least two of the gals at church have nut allergies and I wanted to make sure there were things there they could have.

          I didn’t have any before the party, but one of the gals said they were the best brownies she ever had.

          I just smiled.

          They are good and I’m going to make them again — next time with walnuts.

          Five minutes before I have to leave the house, I remembered about the white elephant gift exchange. You’re supposed to bring something you already own. I know I’ve got some floating candle holders here that I got from Hallmark decades ago and never took from the box. I went looking for those but couldn’t find them. I went without a gift.

          After everyone had a chance at the cookie table, Mary, Pastor Jay’s wife, walked around with a basket of numbers. She held the basket out to me.

“I’m not playing,” I told her.

She was surprised.

Everyone drew a number. Whoever drew number one got to choose the first gift and open it in front of everyone. Number two could open a new gift or “steal” the gift from number one. Then number one gets to open a new gift. It keeps going on like that. The more people who open a gift ahead of you, the better your chances are of “stealing” something you really liked.

          When Luke opened his gift, we all laughed. He’d opened a fabulous set of women’s cosmetics. Lucky for Luke, one of the gals “stole” this gift and he got to open something else.

          One of the young girls came up to me before she left with her family.

          “You didn’t get anything?” she asked.

          Frankly, I was surprised she noticed. “No. I didn’t play.”

          “Here,” she said, and held out her gift. “You can have these.”

          I think my heart melted into a puddle at my feet right then and there.

          In the box were a set of four crystal candle holders from Sears. “Oh, honey. They’re beautiful! Doesn’t your mom want them?”

          “No, she won’t use them.”

          I accepted the gift with many thanks.

          I’m not likely to use them either. At least not for the intended purpose.

          “What are you going to do with them?” you ask.

          You’ll just have to stay tuned to find out.

          It was such a fun, fun night!

          “Peg! You’re repeating yourself again!” you say.

          I know, right! I can’t help it. We have such a good church family and it was fun!

          Next, in my file of photos, is the brag board I finished this week.

          Look what I did. I got my sleeve in the black paint when I was trying to get a better angle on one of the letters.

          I was horrified! I tried to wipe it off with my rag, but it was already dry. Would I have to sand it off and start again? Would white paint cover it? First and easiest thing to try was a baby wet wipe. I buy them just for painting. There’s stuff in them that helps clean the paint off my palette and erases wet paint bloopers off my board. And boy oh boy! Was this ever a big blooper! I’d used a semi-gloss on the board and the wet wipe, along with a lot of elbow grease, took all the black bloopers off without hurting the white. I was so relieved. When all was said and done, you couldn’t even tell I’d done what I done.

          I have another brag board to do, but I slipped in a fast and easy project. I saw something on the internet about turning old CDs into a holder for playing cards. Who doesn’t have a stack of old CDs and DVDs lying around? I dug out some old computer programs that won’t work on new computers. Miss Rosie has little hands. When playing Quiddler, and the count gets to ten, it’s difficult for her to hold that many cards. Christmas is coming and I know I’m not going to have enough time to make her what I want to make her. I told her it’s going to be late and she’s okay with that. I’m guessing the girls will be home for Christmas and they like to play Quiddler so I thought I could make this for her as a little pre-Christmas gift.

          The gal on the video used a rotary cutter to cut the material. Guess who just bought a rotary cutter and hasn’t had a chance to use it yet?

          “You?” you guess.

          That’s a good guess — and the correct answer, too.

          I’m going along, trying to follow my circle pattern, cutting through what was probably too many layers of material at once, sawing back and forth, got a little too exuberant, and got my finger. That thing is sharp!

          These cardholders are super cute and they work really well. You can rearrange your cards and they all stay in place.

I had a helper. 

Speaking of injuries to my hand, Raini and I went for the same ball at the same time. I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. Her tooth skidded down my thumbnail and pierced the skin next to it. Boo-boos next to nails seem to hurt worse than boo-boos anyplace else, at least in my experience.

“Put turpentine on it,” Momma said. “It’ll keep it from getting sore.”

These days, since Momma is walking with our Lord, I only hear her in my head. She was such a wise and loving mother. I miss her.

I put turpentine on it — and it has to be pure gum spirits, not the fake stuff. It felt warm on my boo-boo. And guess what? My thumb isn’t sore. I’m not telling you to use it, and you shouldn’t use it on deep wounds, but it does work.

Carol, the gal at the stained-glass shop in Vestal, New York, had a stack of tole art books she wanted to give me. Unfortunately, she had just taken them from her car and put them in her garage.

“Let me know when you’re coming back up and I’ll bring them back to the shop,” she said.

 We had forgotten a few things on our last trip to Sam’s Club, so we decided we’d do that on Thursday. I called Carol and told her we’d be up.

“I had a feeling you were going to be up, so I put them in my car already,” she said.

Thursday dawned with a light snow shower. This is Raini’s second winter and she seems indifferent to the cold white stuff.

I took Raini out looking for snow pictures, just in case my desert-loving friends miss the stuff. I took pictures of the winter flowers with their white caps on. Okay! Okay! Weeds. They’re weeds! And some are trees and branches. But this time of year, that’s pretty much all that’s out there.

Raini, ever mindful of where I’m at, stops and turns to see if I’m coming.

Heelers are such smart and amazing dogs. You don’t have to train them to stay with you. They just do it by instinct. Now, that’s not to say she wouldn’t chase a deer or rabbit if one ran from her, she would. But she wouldn’t go too far before she’d come back to me. I just have to be careful she doesn’t dash across the road.

We got ready and left for Vestal. Can you say road pictures?

The glass shop doesn’t open until noon so we did our Sam’s Club shopping first, and first on the agenda, since someone was hungry — me! I was hungry! — we had our hot dogs and shared a slice of pizza.

I was down to the last couple of bites of my hot dog when this handsome young man came up to our table.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” I said and waited. I had no idea what to expect. Was he going to ask for money? That’s an easy no since we seldom carry cash. He had a paper in his hands. Was he going to ask us to buy something? Another easy no since we don’t live in the area.

After a couple of minutes, which is a very long time when you’re waiting for someone to say something, he said, “Would you like to read my story?”

He held out a sheaf of papers to me. The first page was three-quarters full of hand-printed words written in pencil. The edges curled like he’d been carrying it with him for a long time.

“Sure!” I said and took the papers.

The young man went back to his seat across from us where another young man sat waiting.

I wiped mustard and relish from my hands and read the story.

It didn’t take me long to read and the young man was back to collect his pages.

“Very good!” I gushed. I don’t know why my opinion should matter to him but I could tell it did. “You did a good job describing your scenes and I want to read more!”

“Thank you,” he said and went back to his table.

About this time a gal comes up to the table and starts talking to the boys. I heard, but wasn’t really listening.

I sprinkled red pepper flakes and parmesan cheese on my half of pizza and went to town. I couldn’t stop thinking about this young man who was brave enough to face rejection and criticism by asking a complete stranger to read his story.

“I’m going to ask if I can put them in my letter blog,” I told Mike.

I was so anxious to finish eating and talk with them before they left that I almost choked on all that drippy, cheesy yumminess.

I wonder if Mike knows how to do the Heimlich Maneuver?

I made myself slow down and finish eating, wiped my hands, and took my camera from my bag. I went over and sat beside the kid who asked me to read his story. “Hi,” I said to the pretty lady. “I blog and was wondering if I could write about you guys this week?”

“What do you blog about?” Mikki asked.

A question I’m always asked when I tell someone I blog. “Whatever happens to me during the week. Where we go, what we do, who we see?”

Mikki smiled and her face just lit the room. “Sure!”

“I bet you didn’t know you were talking to a blogger, did you?” I said to Edward.

His face lit up and he was so excited! “I want to be a writer! Can you help me get published?”

“I like to write too!” Everett said.

I had to laugh a little, “Honey, I can’t even get myself published!” Not that I try. I don’t write these weekly letter blogs for any other reason than to bring sunshine, laughter, and love into the lives of my family and friends.

“What do you do?” I asked Mikki.

“I’m a direct service professional for a nonprofit organization,” she said. “I’ve been working with the boys part-time since this summer. I see them twice a week. They’re autistic twins who are the sweetest boys you’ll ever meet!”

“I can tell they’re sweet,” I said.

“Yeah, and she was an English teacher. She’s helping us to write stories,” Edward said.

“She’s doing a great job!” I said.

“One likes murder mysteries and the other likes horror stories,” Mikki said.

The boys told me who their favorite authors were but the only name I recognized was that of the King of Horror, Stephen King.

 “You were a teacher?” I asked.

“I worked in education for 16 years but got tired of the bureaucracy. This is the most fulfilling job I’ve ever had because I get to work with great kids every day!”

I wish I spent more time talking with people and getting their stories. 

>>>>>>>>*<<<<<<<<<

“Peg, why’s your letter blog late this week?”

I’m so glad you asked!

Part of the reason is that my friend Julia has more than a hundred panes of 24” x 32” heavy glass she wants to get rid of and I love glass.

“What are you going to do with it?” Mike asked.

“We could frame them in and use them to frame in part of the kitchen patio,” I said but didn’t really mean. I like my open patio. “I could use them like a canvas and paint on them.” I thought of my friend Jody who made a cute little greenhouse out of reclaimed windows. “We could make a little greenhouse. I don’t know. Half the time we never know what we’re going to do with stuff when we get it.”

Mike is a good husband and seldom denies me anything.

Julia gave me her address for the GPS and can you say road pictures!

“Look! Yard art!” I said to Mike.

It wasn’t though. It was someone’s trash heap. I scoped it out as we went past to see if anything interesting was there. Not that Mike would let me take anything home if I did spy something.

Our GPS would’ve taken us past Julia’s farm except Eagle Eye Mike saw her address on the mailbox. 

Julia came out of the house followed by her father.

“This is Hugh,” she introduced.

The glass was up on the hillside where it’s sat for a couple of decades. 

“My brother brought it home from his work,” Julia said. “And it’s time to get rid of it.”

We started loading it and some of the glass was stuck so tightly together we couldn’t get it apart. Plus, it had black marks in or on it and some kind of coating that was flaking off. I got the impression the glass was part of a machine of some kind.

“I thought it was clear class,” I told Mike. “I’m not sure I want it.”

We went back down to the house. Julia apologized. “I didn’t know it wasn’t all clear.”

“If it cleans up, I may come back for more,” I told her.

We were standing in the driveway talking and I looked up.

“What is that on the chimney?” I asked.

“What’s it look like?” Julia coyly asked.

“Chains,” I answered.

“That’s what it is. It’s Dad’s answer to cleaning the chimney.”

She showed us the pulley system that Hugh designed to operate it. “We don’t burn wood anymore so we don’t use it.”

I thought that was a pretty clever idea.

Mike and Hugh were talking between themselves when Julia said to me, “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

 I followed her down to the barn.

“Look what the wind did! It wasn’t even that windy out and the door was closed and locked,” she told me.

“Huh,” was all I could say as I snapped a photo.

“The only thing we can think is because the other door was open a little, the wind funneled through.”

I walked up to where I could see the other open door.

“Look! The lock is still hanging there.”

Mike joined us and started asking a lot of questions.

“The barn was built in 1861,” Julia said. “We don’t know when the house was built.”

I walked into the opening and was surprised to see a wall of windows.

“It used to be a chicken house. Then Dad added this part on using wood from the property that he milled himself.”

I walked a little farther in and saw this. I snapped a picture and went back out to where Julia and Mike stood talking.

“You’ve got a cross in the window,” I told her.

“I do?”

“Yup. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

As we stood talking, I noticed an old blue door propped up against the side of the barn.

“Cool door,” I remarked.

“You like it?” she asked.

“I do.”

“You can have it.”

It didn’t take me long to haul it out. That’s when I saw the other side was yellow. “It’s sunshine yellow on the other side.”

“My mom painted it. She liked bright colors. It was the door to the basement.”

“Maybe you want to keep it then.”

“No. My mom didn’t even like me.”

This declaration astounded Mike, but not me. I’ve read enough stories over my lifetime to know that not every woman is maternal.

I took more pictures on the way home.

Of all the hay, in all the fields, this was the only stack steaming. Is it fermenting?

          I’d like to say there were miles of this old broken-down fencing but that might be hyperbole.

         “What’s hyper-boil mean?” you ask.

          It’s pronounced “hy" + "PUR" + "buh" + "lee".

          My beautiful Miss Rosie has the best definition. She says, “It’s an exaggeration for the sake of emphasis.”

          There was a lot of it. I glimpsed old, rusted vehicles behind some but wasn’t able to get a shot. Maybe the next time we go that way I can get it.  

>>>>>>*<<<<<

          My clothes dryer decided to die on me. It still tumbled, it just wouldn’t heat up. It really picked a bad time to go out — like there’s ever a good time.

          Mike got one bit of good luck. He ordered the last three kitchen cabinets that we needed to complete the kitchen. It was free delivery, until he tried to get it free. The offer was only good on some things. When I told him the dryer had gone out, he got online and added a dryer to his order. That was free so they brought the cabinets along free, too.

          That was the good luck.

          Installing it was another matter.

          Dryers don’t come with power cords. Mike took the cord off the old dryer. This one had the cord on the bottom whereas our old one had it toward the top. It’s hard for Mike to get down, especially when it was in such close quarters.

“Do we have something we can put it on?” he asked.

I looked around and found a small bucket. I used a piece of heavy-duty bubble wrap that came with the dryer to cushion the front and keep the bucket from marking up the door. Then we leaned the dryer over on it.

Mike and I wrestled the heavy electric cord into submission, bending the wires around so they would reach where they needed to go.

He was just tightening the last connection when I noticed he hadn’t put it through the hole.

Ay-yi-yi!

We couldn’t put the cover over it. We had to take the wires off and do it again.

Wait! What’s our nickname?

“The Do-it-again Lubys?” you say.

Yep. And that’s not the worst of it. When we finished and set the dryer up, there was a dent in the door.

“I thought you put something under it?” Mike said.

“I did!”

“They use thin metal,” Mike surmised. “I can order a new door.”

“No! It doesn’t bother me and you can’t see it from your recliner!”

Do I wish we wouldn’t’ve dented the door? Sure. We both wish that. But ultimately, it’s just cosmetic. The dryer works just fine with a dent in the door and I can’t see spending the money for that. Especially since this has already been a financially draining month with new cabinets, expensive dental work, and then the new dryer. Why, oh why can’t this stuff spread itself out through the year!

 One more thing happened this week that I want to tell you about.

“What’s that?” you ask.

I discovered AI, artificial intelligence. There’s a program you type in what you want and it’ll make a picture for you.

“Miss Rosie likes chickens,” I told my morning peeps. “AI doesn’t always get it right. My Christmas chicken has three legs!”

“They breed that one for people who like drumsticks,” Miss Rosie said when I told her about it.

My beautiful Joanie is a beachy kinda gal. I asked AI to make a beach Santa for me. “Wearing sunglasses and swim trunks,” I told it.

Do you think it got it right? 

Hopefully, the last two pictures made you chuckle.

Let’s call this one done! 

Done!