Just Thinking

 

I’m sitting here sorting photos and tweaking them a little for sharpness and size. I’m looking at the file of pictures and wondering — what am I going to talk about this week?

Sure, I have a bunch of pretty pictures and a story or two, but it doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.

“They’re gonna get tired of you,” Me mutters meanly to Myself. “Your quiet stay-at-home, mind-your-own-rut kind of life isn’t exciting at all!”

Sigh.

There are people in my life who absolutely adore their ruts. They’ve got them cozied up with favorite memories, like old photos on the walls of a well-worn hallway. And honestly? I get it. I relish the peaceful, lazy days too, when the biggest decision is whether to refill my coffee or just reheat it. It just doesn’t make for interesting writings of a letter blog.

And that’s what I was just thinking about.

I painted a cat portrait this past week. I’ve asked for my peeps to critique it and they’ve been wonderfully kind and helpful.

On first blush, everyone likes it. On deeper study, they say I need to finish it.

I’m not confident in my ability.

   

Now, speaking of kitties...

Tiger, our yellow tabby, and all of our cats, are due for their once-a-month topical flea meds.

I got the box, opened the tube, and applied it. I sat back at my desk, and thought, did I put the right one on?

I got right back up and looked. No. No I didn’t. I put the topical for small dog on him. The dog flea medicine is for 5-15 pounds and Tiger’s around ten. I thought it would be okay because he was in the weight range. To be safe, I Googled it.

“Using dog topical flea preventative on a cat, even if the same weight class, can cause vomiting, seizures —”

Crap!

I jumped up, grabbed Tiger, and headed for the — kitchen sink? No. That wouldn’t work. I’d never be able to keep him in the sink when I turned the water on. I had a vision of my arms in bloody shreds. Nope. No. No. No. That would never do. Shower. I reversed course and took him to the shower. I shoved him in and he was out before I could close the door. It took three tries to get him, me, and a towel over the door before I could turn the water on. Even then, I didn’t wait for it to get warm. I started flushing the back of his neck with cold water and let me tell you! He was not happy! He started howling like a banshee! Every animal in the house came to see what was going on. Once the water started to warm, he still wasn’t happy, but he quieted his yowlings.

It’s now two days later and so far, so good.

“If he’s not had reaction by now, chances are he’s okay,” Mike said.

I sure hope so! I’d feel horrible if I killed our cat.

Speaking of critters...

This rascal right here! Let me tell you!

When we take Raini Dae out of the fenced yard, like, say, if we’re going for a walk or a ride on the golf cart, she has to wear a leash. I don’t worry about her running off, I just don’t want her jumping into the pond. She gets wet, as you can well imagine, and a wet dog is a stinky dog! After a dip in the pond, I’d have to bring her home and rinse her with the garden hose. It’s just a whole lot easier if I keep her on a leash.

Well! Raini has gotten in the bad habit of picking up the trailing leash, growling, and shaking it for all she’s worth. It was cute, and I didn’t mind, IF I wasn’t trying to hold the other end of the leash!

This past week was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We were heading out for a walk, Raini sat obediently while I clipped on the leash. Then boom! She launched toward the front door, stopping every few feet to snatch the leash in her teeth, giving it a growl and a shake like it owed her money!

We made it out the door and were in front of the house when it happened.

We were both going for the same stretch of leash at the same time. I made a fast grab, thinking to get it before she could grab it again, and Raini, spring-loaded and wild-eyed, had the same idea. And that’s when it happened. Teeth and fingers did collide.

“RAINI!” I scolded as I shook the pain from my fingers. Then I held it up and inspected the damage. One of her teeth had carved a jagged shark’s-tooth V into my index finger. The neighboring finger took an equally hard hit and smarted like crazy, but drew no blood. I didn’t go back into the house even as the blood started to flow. I just let it drip. I have good blood and it wasn’t long until it clotted. But I had to keep it bandaged for a few days because I kept knocking it open.

I watched a Red-bellied Woodpecker feed its young at my jelly feeder. I didn’t get a picture at that time, but I was watching for them to come back.

And that’s what I thought I was seeing on this day, until I realized one of the woodpeckers was chasing the other one off.

A female Baltimore Oriole took advantage of the squabble to sneak in and grab a bite. 

          Can you guess who got his mower stuck and had to be rescued? 

Speaking of Mike...

He got tired of his yard art.

“Where can I put them?” he asked.

“How about up behind the barn where it’s too wet for you to mow?” I suggested. 

Mike left the stack and old truck frame, but the area looks neater. 

When Mike and I go out to breakfast, and more specifically, when we go to McDonald’s for breakfast, my favorite thing is the breakfast burrito.

“I bet I can make these,” I told Mike months ago.

          This week, I made them! You can’t get in a hurry about this stuff, don’cha know.

I made eight homemade tortillas. I love homemade tortillas hot from the griddle.

For the eggs, I beat two and fried ‘em in a sheet. I thought it would be better than having scrambles falling out of the shell. It was the perfect size for a tortilla. A light sprinkle of cheddar came next followed by a couple of thin strips of precooked sausage. I rolled ‘em up, wrapped ‘em in foil, and stuck ‘em in the freezer. Repeat five more times.

“Peg!” you exclaim. “You said you made eight tortillas. That was only six. What happened to the other two?”

I might’ve eaten them while I was cooking. Did I mention I love them hot off the griddle?

Now I’ve got a quick, easy breakfast I don’t even have to think about. If I’m planning ahead, I’ll move one to the fridge the night before and it’s thawed by morning. Or, if I forget, a few minutes in the microwave takes care of a frozen one. Then I unroll it and drop a generous spoonful of salsa right down the middle.

          Speaking of McDonald’s...

          I love the lavender blooming around the old farm machine in McDonald’s landscaping. It gives the whole scene a kind of quiet charm, like nature’s found a way to decorate history. 

          And that’s it, my loves. All that’s left in the file are a bunch of pictures. Some I’ll tell you about, others you can just enjoy. 

          My Chinese lanterns.

          Goats Beard, also known as Salsify, or Wild Oysterplant (all one word).

           Forget-me-nots.

The nodding heads of Loosestrife.

St. John’s Wort.

Heal All.

A Green Heron leaving the pond.

I have one white lily on my pond.

Pickerelweed. (Again, all one word.)

Monkey Flower

Vervain also known as Verbena. 

This Kingfisher has a mouthful!

The school is remodeling.

A broken mirror cradles the sky in fractured whispers of light and tree branches. 

Let’s call this one done!

July

July.

We’re on the downside of the year.

The days are growing shorter, and somehow, we’re speeding toward Christmas!

“Peg!” you exclaim.

I know, right! Don’t rush it. We’ve got lots to do, lots to see, lots to love between now and then. We need to set our focus on today. I know these things. However, I’m acutely aware of how quickly time is speeding by.

In a few days, it will be ten years since the heartbreaking accident that claimed my daughter Kat’s life. I thought I’d repost the story I wrote surrounding that event and I did start to edit it, but never finished. Let me know if that’s something you’re interested in reading again.

This past week I had two back-to-back dental appointments. Monday was for a regularly scheduled cleaning. While I was there, I talked to my hygienist about the problem with the root canal tooth.

“Dr. Joe, who did the root canal, took an x-ray and didn’t see anything wrong with the tooth or any sign of an abscess,” I told Laurel. “But he thought the gum may be infected because it bled so easily. I just finished the meds he gave me, and it’s not any better.”

Laurel cleaned my teeth and when she finished she said, “Your gum didn’t bled when I cleaned it. But I’ll talk to Dr. Steve about it.”

When she came back she said, “He’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The next day I got a permanent crown on a different tooth. “The color is a good match,” he said to Robbie, his assistant. “Considering all the different colors in there.”

He had his fingers in my mouth, holding the freshly cemented crown in place while it dried, and I couldn’t laugh out loud, but I laughed in my head. I have calico teeth, I thought and a picture of Mama, the Kipps’ calico cat, flashed in my mind’s eye.

Now. Calico teeth aren’t really anything to be tickled about. No sparkle, no shine. Just the quiet truth of wear and time. But it is just cosmetic.

You watch old movies and it jumps out — those classic stars didn’t have the blinding white smiles we see today. Their teeth were real. Lived-in. Human. Somewhere along the way, we’ve decided everyone’s smile should look like a toothpaste commercial.

With all the dental work I’ve had done, whitening’s off the table. So I’ve made peace with it. These teeth tell a story. And if they’re a little patchy, well, so is life.

Dr. Steve took an x-ray so he could see the tooth after the root canal. Just like Dr. Joe, he doesn’t see anything wrong. “Let’s do a round of steroids,” he suggested. “It’ll reduce any inflammation that may be there.”

And the very next day, after starting the meds, I felt like it was better.

I didn’t take a lot of pictures on either of those trips, but I did take some.

The Day Lilies are beautifying our roadsides.

“How do you say that?” Mike asked of the license plate on the car in front of us.

“I don’t know,” I said. The light changed and the car took off with roar.

“Like that,” Mike said.

And I laughed.

Mike took a back way home and he did it for us — you and me. He doesn’t really like to go that way but he did it so I had some new photos for my weekly letter blog.

We talked about artificial intelligence last time, do you remember? I gave you an example of how AI helped me by converting a recipe from quick bread to cookie for me.

This week, taking a photo through my side window of old upside down cast iron bathtubs, it had a glare on it. I didn’t have time to put the window down like I would’ve if I’d known in time that I wanted this photo.

“Can you remove the glare from this photo?” I asked Copilot.

And he — it did.

The tubs were watering troughs for the livestock in the fields at one time and were now being stored.

Then I had this photo and asked Copilot to take out the yellow truck.

Not bad. And all I had to do was ask and wait. If I’d’ve done it myself, I’d’ve had to fiddle with it a long time to get it this good.

We saw a fawn beside the road. Deer pictures don’t really excite me anymore, but I took it anyway. We get closer and he turns back and bounds into the field.

Mike creeps along slowly in case there’s another deer and there was. “There’s his mom,” I said. Just then, the larger one turned and took off. That’s when I saw antlers. “Nope. Not the mom.”

I was surprised, though. I didn’t know that a buck and spotted fawn would be together.

“What you saw is actually not that unusual!” Copilot said. “Male deer (bucks) typically do not stay with does and fawns. After mating season, bucks go off on their own or form bachelor groups with other males. However, young male deer (yearlings) may still be seen near their birth area before dispersing. It could also be a chance encounter at a food source or open area.”

AI learns. I’ve recently used Copilot to help me fix the photo of Scout, the dog I was trying to paint.

“Make this photo better and give me a clear light source so I can paint it,” I instructed. 

And this is what it sent back to me.

I’m going to shelve that project. If the perspective on the original photo looks funky when I paint it and I’m not sure the improved photo looks like Scout anymore, I have nowhere to go with it.

After I questioned Copilot about the deer, it asked, “Would you like to sketch or paint that scene? It sounds like a beautiful moment.”

I smiled. “Go for it!”

Copilot made and sent me this.

I could make changes to it, if I wanted to. I could tell Copilot that the buck I saw had a smaller rack and the doe wasn’t there and it would change it, but I don’t care enough to spend any time on it. I just wanted to see what it would create based on our conversation.

I joined an online watercolor art community that offers painting marathons. The tutorials are generally two hours long and I don’t always paint along. This week they offered a series they named City Glow. All six of the paintings use a lot of yellow. I guess that’s why they called it City Glow. The artist lives in Prague and two of her paintings featured the iconic Charles Bridge from two different perspectives.

I only painted along one day and when I’m just painting in my sketchbook, I don’t get hung up on colors. She said what shade of yellow she was using, I just picked a yellow from my palette.

Painting is like losing weight, at least for me. I want to be better, faster — or thinner, in the case of losing weight — but I don’t want to put the work in. I know if I want to get better with watercolor, I need to practice and find my own groove.

I was feeling discouraged.

Looking for something to practice-paint, I came across an old piece I’d done.

      I painted that for my Miss Rosie, and thought, I can too paint!

I didn’t use a tutorial. I just painted what I saw. It was a different medium, acrylic paint, and it’s a different technique.

Maybe watercolor isn’t my jam? Maybe I should go back to acrylic paints?

Around our mountain home, wildflowers are blooming.

Birdsfoot Trefoil.

  Clover.

          The double-head on this one says Wild Basil to me.

          Bittersweet.

          Yarrow.

A Siamese berry on the Asian Honeysuckle. It didn’t quite split in two, did it?

I walked down to the pond to try for dragonfly pictures (I didn’t get any) but I saw these things swarming all over the mud.

          “What are they?” you ask.

          Green Bottle Flies, one of nature’s cleaners.

          The pond’s edge was littered with tons of dead Whirligig Beetles. Why they died, I don’t know. It could be several things. Low oxygen, temperature change, or end of life.

This dainty little white flower is Daisy Fleabane.

          With nothing more pressing to do, we went on a golf cart ride out to our neighbor Vernon’s pond. and I found more wildflowers.

          The beautiful and fragrant Milkweed.

          Black-eyed Susan.

          Deptford Pink with Oxeye Daisies.

          And a surprising white lily!

          “I think I planted those two years ago,” Vernon said.

          An old trailer being quietly consumed.

      

On a different day, a golf cart ride out Paradise Road, I took more pictures.

          I missed the picture of wild turkeys in Vernon’s field. They didn’t hang around when they spotted us.

          Speaking of critters, I saw a daddy Oriole feeding his youngin.

          And check out this beauty I found in my bathroom. A harmless Orb Weaver. I took him outside where he’d be happier.

          Mike came in from mowing one day and says, “My mower blade’s sticking out! It’s a wonder it didn’t cut my tire.”

          I couldn’t image what had to break for the blade to be sticking out.

          Upon further investigation, it’s not the blade. It’s a metal piece on the front of the mower deck. Mike caught it on an old utility pole stabilizer rod.

          What do you do after the horse escapes the barn? You shut the door!

          We went up on the hill and Mike dug around the bar and set to work with the reciprocal saw. It was taking a long time and Mike stopped to rest. I reached down and was immediately pricked by a piece of wire still attached to the eye. I wiped the blood away, repositioned my hand and pulled on the rod. It was loose.

          “Maybe you can pull it out now?” I suggested.

          Mike worked at it but couldn’t pull it out. He bent it backwards and it broke at the saw cut. He covered in the hole. Now to get the mower fixed.

          Let’s end this week with a sad picture. This is my sister Patti’s Saguaro cactus.

          It fell over.

          I knew that this kind of cactus doesn’t even start to grow arms until it’s old.

          “How old?” you wanna know.

          I asked Patti.

          “Usually not until 80 unless they've been hurt, like lightning struck or excessive bird burrowing. Also if they start leaning, they'll grow an arm for balance,” she said. “They have a shallow root system.”

          Patti’s Saguaro had three arms when she bought the property thirty years ago and when it went over, it had six arms with a seventh one starting. It was 20-25 feet tall, weighed 4-6 tons, and was likely 125-175 years old! Her whole house shook when this big boy fell over!

          I could write several pages on this cactus but I won’t.

          Let’s call this one done.