Whereupon I Avoided Dozens of Flat Tires and Got Felled By Roadkill

Remember in July when I reported saving my neighbors countless flat tires?  On my daily walks I pick up nails off the street...lots of nails.  I save them in a jar and I showed them to you in July.  One of these days I'm going to take that jar down to the city office and tell them the street sweeper needs to sweep more often!

In the meantime...I keep walking...and I keep finding nails.

But this week, driving on brand new tires one of the tires began losing air.  We took it to the dealer who presented us this little bit of animal bone as souvenir. Even though we had not directly hit a "roadkill" our car has straddled many this fall. Lots of raccoon and skunks didn't make it safely across the highway.  And one of those little beasties, with his sensibilities (and bits of bone) scattered across the road, managed to snag one of our new tires!

Along with the souvenir the dealer presented us with a repair bill.  At least the poor little beastie didn't kill the tire completely and we were fortunate to pay only for repair and not a brand-new tire. Yet. We pray it holds.

Who would think!

Early Morning Emergency -- A ROAR in the Garage!

Our neighbor rang our doorbell this morning at 6:30 am.  I knew something must be amiss but I never expected his next words.  "Your car is running in your garage!"  He and his wife had stepped out on their back deck for their morning coffee and heard the roar of the engine!

Ours is a detached garage. And hubby drove the car yesterday afternoon!  Could he have possibly exited without turning off the car?  If so, the poor car had been running ALL NIGHT LONG!  That is not the sort of news a proud car owner wishes to hear.

I grabbed the garage keys and ran out the backdoor. As I skipped down the steps of the deck I could hear the ROAR!  The closer I got, the louder it became! When I opened the garage door it sounded as if the engine was running at a horrendously fast idle and I thought to myself, "This can't be good for the engine!"  I saw $$$ signs floating in front of my eyes...floating and flying across town to the mechanic!

No key in the ignition!!!

But Lo! And Behold! There were no keys in the ignition. Now I know some cars run without the keys but ours does not.

The ROAR continued!

Then my eyes fell on the leaf blower hanging on the side wall.  It was running full blast!

I KNOW hubby would never have exited the garage with that ROAR in his ears.

The only thing we can figure is that the switch was not turned off securely!  We have a wall switch like that...if one is not careful, it stops in the center position instead of "off".


In the past we've had our paper shredder begin running spontaneously.  In the middle of the night!  It's quite startling to all of a sudden, in the quiet of the night, to hear a high-pitched whine start resounding through the house.  I've read that paper shredders can do this. And they have been known to start fires.  So now we always keep it unplugged except when in use.

The leaf blower is now unplugged, too.

And our nice little black car is just fine!

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The Quilting Biddies Have an Evening of Laughter

I was reading some old journal entries today and came upon these notes I jotted down nearly twenty years ago.  Several of us had decided to form a small quilting group and met on a regular basis at each other's homes.  Here's the conversation from one such meeting as near as I could record it.  There's actually more, but due to space, decided to omit about half the evening.
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She had been talking and telling stories. She was a natural story-teller.  The others could not keep from laughing as she spun the words, rolled her eyes, waved her hands.

"They sent his ashes home to me."  She was talking about her deceased brother-in-law.

"Did they send them UPS?"

"No, Federal Express."

"Did they insure them?"

"No, but I had to sign for them. And they wanted me to sprinkle them around the tree in the yard where they used to live."  She made a circle with her hand around an imaginary tree.

They were laughing and couldn't stop.

"But I didn't want to go down and ask the people who live there now. They'd think I was crazy."

More laughter.

"And I didn't want to go down in the middle of the night and sprinkle them like that."

Remarks and laughter.

"I told my sister I didn't think it was even legal. And I could just hear Jess if he was alive gettin' after me. He'd do that, you know, and just go on and on about it. And I wouldn't be able to sleep for days when he did that."

"So I told my sister, I said, why don't I just take them out to Blue Lake. It's nice out there. He'd like it out there. But she said, no,  she didn't want him out at Blue Lake. So I said, well, what about the Loess Hills. It's really nice out there with all those trees and things. But my sister didn't want that, either."

The others were rolling with laughter. Everytime she said something new, they laughed. She couldn't even finish a sentence before they were laughing afresh.

"So, finally, my brother came and we took the ashes out to the Missouri River. And that's what we ended up doing. He's probably spread over several states by now."

They laughed and someone asked, "Tell us about the Aztec casket."

"Well, I was down there (in Mexico for the winter) with my sister when her husband died. He was six foot six. He was a retired federal judge. And she and I were putting him into this casket."

"He died in Mexico?"

"Yes, and they wouldn't let her bring him back. We were putting him in this casket and it was too small for him. Everytime we would get his head in place so the lid would go on, his feet would stick up. And everytime we would get his feet down in place, well, then his head would go up. And we were having a terrible time. And he was beginning to get stiff."

She stretched out the story.

"And finally I crossed his legs like this." She stuck her legs out in front of the chair and crossed them at the ankles and flexed her knees slightly.

"And my sister was already upset at me. We'd been going round and round already. And I had made her put on his socks. But I said, 'Well, what else can we do?' And so we finally got him in there in just such a way that we could close the lid.

"And we were standing there with the lid shut and my sister said, 'Well I just don't like it. Not with his legs like that. It's just not right.' And I said, 'Well, he's not going to a dance you know.' And we both just busted out laughing."

Someone else spoke. "I didn't know we were going to spend the evening talking about death."

They were all laughing. Except the one at the end of the table. She was trying. But you could tell she didn't think this was as funny as the rest of them thought.

"She doesn't like to deal with death."

"Well, we all have to, you know. And its healthier to laugh about it."

"Yeah, you know, sometimes that's where you hear the funniest stories about people is at the meal after a funeral."

"Well, that's how people deal with it."

The talk shifted to the reason for the meeting ... quilts.

"How did you make that star quilt. The one with the black? Do you have a pattern? I'd sure love to have it."

"Well, you just use a diamond shape. For all the pieces, even the black."

"No, that wasn't the same pattern. It wasn't separate stars like this photo. You couldn't tell where one star left and another started. They weren't side by side. They kinda overlapped."

"Well, you could do that with this pattern. You just make one star like this out of the fabrics you want and then the other star lies right here and you use a fabric that would go with the first one so that depending on how you looked at it, you see stars."

"Do you all want tea or would some of you like water?"

She brought in tea and then she brought in plates with angelfood cake and strawberries.  There was a fork on each plate and one of them wondered how she'd be able to slurp up the strawberry juice with her fork. She looked again at her plate and decided that perhaps the cake would help soak up the red juice.  She liked the juice and didn't want to leave it on the plate.

"These plates are so pretty! They're just lovely." They all admired the painted china.

One of them risked spilling the juice and held her plate up high enough to see the bottom. If she knew that was improper etiquette she ignored the idea. "Don't break 'em, ladies, they're numbered and dated. These are really nice plates."

They all oohed and aahed and the discussion turned to plates and children and grandchildren.

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How I Saved Many Neighbors (and their kids) From Catastrophe!

See this jar?  Do you see what is IN this jar?  Sharp, pointy objects that can pierce a tire in no time flat. Pun intended.  And where did I find them?

Earlier this year I set a goal to walk 291 miles.  Why 291 miles? That's the distance from our house to our daughter's home in Minnesoda.  It just seemed like a good goal. 

See! I can sound like a Swede from Minnesoda! That's because even though I have never resided in that green state I do have Swedish blood in me. Along with German, Irish, English, and according to my grandmother's tale, some small amount of Native American.

But back to my story.  So far I've walked 93 miles taking short walks around the neighborhood and tallying the miles. This week my feet are killing me so I am making no progress this week.  See previous post about the Red Devil!

Which brings us to the Jar!  See all those nails and bolts and screws!  I mentioned in this post that half the homes in town got new roofs last year thanks to a couple super-duper hailstorms and insurance checks.  New roofs mean tearing off the old shingles. And that means nails all over the place!  Most of them get picked up but in hauling away the debris nails occasionally get dropped. In the street. Where people drive.  Nobody likes getting a flat tire. Nobody!  Even though the town street sweeper truck has been up and down the streets several times this year, there are still nails to be found.

I figure I've saved a goodly number of persons a goodly number of flat tires!  I deserve a medal, doncha think? I just hope I haven't cost the tire shop a profitable year!

The little cigar?  Found that, too, still in its wrapper.  Couldn't leave it there for some kid to find, now could I? 
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Kitty Acupuncture! But It Seems So Cruel !

My daughter brought me this kitty pincushion while on a business trip to Taiwan. (I have a daughter flying around the world!!?? Whew! I'm so proud of her.)

While there she visited a little sewing shop. The owner, putting forth her best sales effort, advised her potential customer that her grandmother hand-made this little kitty. Maybe she did and maybe she didn't, but the sales pitch was good and Miss Kitty is cute whether made by Grandmother or not. So Miss Kitty boarded the plane with DD to Minneapolis and eventually ended up on my desk in Iowa.

Kitty sat on my desk for weeks before I could bear to stick in a pin. My friend, Laurie, suggested I think of it as "kitty acupuncture".

So there you are, Miss Kitty. You should have no aches or pains whatsoever. That is...if kitty acupuncture works.

(Update: My daughter advised me last night that the shop owner mentioned her grandmother's stitching AFTER she had purchased Miss Kitty and not as a sales pitch. So thank you, Taiwan Gramma!)

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In Which I Relate A Recurring Dream

The other night I had one of my recurring dreams. This one had me swaying back and forth.

In the dream I am standing with me feet firmly planted on the ground. My feet never move. But my body is able to bend forward, sideways, backwards at about a 45 degree angle. It's almost as if my body has a spring-like action to it...I sway slowly forwards, backwards, sideways, enjoying the movement, stretching the bend as far as I can and then swaying in another direction. All the while my feet remain flat, firmly planted.

There is no stress to the movement. My body is in fine control and the movement is easy. I haven't a clue where this dream comes from nor why it recurs.

Please forgive the amateur drawings. I don't have a photo. *smile*

As for some of my other recurring dreams? You can read about them here.

(It is quite truthful to say you really did not learn a lot by reading today's post.)

*Heading off to read Chapter 2 of First Chronicles.*
(that may be more useful than regaling this dream)

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My Brother is Always Good for a Snirkle!

I make up new words. Today's word? "Snirkle!" It's sort of a cross between a giggle, a smirk, and snarky laughter. Today I snirkled!

Earlier today....a phone conversation with my brother. In regards to our family gathering for Christmas. And food thereof.

• Me: "The fruitcake is almost gone.
  

• Me again: "But I'm going to make another."

• Brother: "Oh, No!"

• Brother again: Oh! I mean "Wonderful!"

My brother is always good for a snirkle.

P.S. I am not always good a making up new words. I googled "snirkle" and guess what! It's already taken. It's a candy bar, of all things, that originated in 1920. Man! Am I behind the times! Snirkle, snirkle!
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People Really Wanna Know! Now You, Too, Can Know!

Occasionally I check to see how people land on my blog. And one of the things I check are the google search phrases that sometimes cause them to find me. One of the strangest and most common searches that lands them here is "how to write a snore?"

You may wonder, "WHO wants to know how to write a snore!!??"

The answer, I suppose, is "writers". Writers write. And if their hero/heroine is sleeping I suppose they want him/her to snore as well. If he/she is snoring, he/she is definitely sound asleep. Whatever....

In October 2008 I learned how to write "snore" in snore language. Read on if you, too, need to know how to "write a snore!" Here's my post from that year.

I confess. I snore. Up until now only Hubby knows that. (Now you ALL know!!!) Snoring does not seem like something a lady should confess to, but there it is.

Recently, in the middle of the night, Hubby tapped me on the shoulder which is his signal to me to "Roll over, you're snoring." In that small moment between the "tap" and "awake", my mind had a mental picture of how "snore" would look if it were written in snore language (not to be confused with plain English).

Here's a pic of that written sound. Just in case you ever need to write it out yourself. (You never know when this bit of info will come in handy!)

I'm an inventor of a new written language. But so far it only has one word.
And now you, too, can write a "snore".
*giggle*

A Motley Assortment Of Decks, Squirrels, and Hair

The new cedar deck is done. And stained (sealed). Once John finished the construction we thought it would be an easy thing to select deck stain. But after several hours of googling, I recognized that there is not a consensus of opinion by AnyOne. All sealers have one disadvantage or another. We ended up using Cabot Semi-Solid Deck and Siding Stain in the color "New Cedar" This is an oil based sealer and we believe it will perform better than the "wash brushes in water" products. All is done except for the lattice. (Disclaimer: we do not sell and are not related to businesses that do sell this product...ours is observation only...and we hope to observe this sealer doing its job well over time.)

Hubby and I sat out on the deck this afternoon. The autumn sun was bright and warm. While sitting there I played with my camera.

We spotted a squirrel hovering near. Last winter Hubby fed the birds AND the squirrels from across the street. And guess what! We now have SIX squirrel nests in the two ash trees on OUR side of the street. The tree rodents abound. (But how in the world do they call that pile of leaves a home? Do they actually live amongst those leaves in the midst of winter storms?)

Today was a visit to my Oncologist. The usual twenty questions...any rashes? nausea? dizziness? pain? neuropathy in hands or feet? energy level? I scored well on all of those tests in terms of well-being. And appetite! Oh, Yah, I have a great appetite! Can't he tell from my weight chart???

However, there is one area that I am not pleased. My new "do" is slow-growing. And its a bit thin. And there is no curl. Yet. I am not pleased with my "Anderson Cooper" hair. Actually, Cooper's hair is a LOT thicker than mine. Plus he gets to travel to a lot of exotic places in search of news. My 'do travels about as far as the grocery store and now and then to the City.

(Please remember that Cooper's photo has been photo-shopped...I assure you that's the only reason he looks much younger than I.)

At least I no longer look like Henry. (You can read about that here!)

But, hey! I feel good. Autumn has been lovely. And we are enjoying every day.

Today's Verse reminds us to not get too far ahead of ourselves in terms of worrying about tomorrow. It is sufficient to take care of what needs to be taken care of. Then we rest in God's good will and recognize that He will watch over us tomorrow just as He does today.

Matt. 6:34 "So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Teach! It's a Tough Name to Live Up To!

Last evening I watched the first episode of the new series, "Teach: Tony Danza". You see, Danza taught tenth grade English at Northeast in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania for the 2009-2010 school year. Actor turned teacher. His classroom time had a dual purpose...teaching!...and acting! A "responsible reality" show, as he called it.

That show premiered October 1. And I'm looking forward to watching each week's episode.

Along with watching Danza to see if he managed to have the fortitude, wisdom, smarts, and resilience for his new role, it was also interesting to make first acquaintance with the students in his class.

But you know what? I seemed to focus in on Danza's hair. More than once. You see...Danza has more hair than I do. It's been eleven weeks since my last carbo/taxol treatment and my hair is still only 1/4 inch long (more like 3/16ths, but you get the visual).

However...I've been down this road once before...almost exactly a year ago...and I know what to expect. I'm figuring my hair will soon begin a slow spiral, a spiral that will turn curlicue as time goes by.

And then, Tony Danza, you will have hair envy. I know you will. Remember what the Bible says? "Thou shalt not covet."

And kind man that you are, I'm certain you will be just fine.

Definitely lookin' forward to seeing you in the classroom. I hope you do your job well.
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Whiner Comes to Visit After a Long While

Whiner has been sadly neglectful of his neighborly duties. I haven't seen him all winter and all spring. He's pretty much of a recluse in the winter months, staying indoors next door where he resides. A boy and a girl reside there with him so I suppose he is not lacking for attention and thereby does not need to come visit often.

But yesterday Whiner came to visit and when he visits he wants to make full use of his time and insists on plenty of pats on the heads and scratches behind the ear.

Whiner is very polite about asking for attention. Who can resist such good kitty manners?
So a scratch behind one ear. With plenty of dutiful application...none of this "one little pat" stuff. Whiner insists on full attention by leaning into the touch.
Now a pat behind the other side of the head. Whiner leans into the other side. He does not remain still for a moment and so it is very difficult to photograph him.
Whiner finally sits quietly. But only for a moment. Then he insists on more scratches. He's like that. Whining around for "More!" "More!" Why do you think they call him Whiner?
Finally he is satisfied and plops himself down on the grass which is cool from the evening shade. He surveys the neighbor's yard and wonders if he should go ask Joyce for a pet, too. He doesn't. Instead he follows me to the deck and looks through the patio door at me, wondering if I will come out and play some more. But I have other things to do, so I stick my hand out for a couple more pats and tell Whiner that I really must get back to things inside the house. Besides, the mosquitoes are out even though the city is spraying for them. I do not like mosquito bites.

Go Home, Whiner! Go Home! (said quite gently to this gentle kitty)

Last year this time I posted about how Whiner is called the $800 cat. And how he is not very good at guarding the cherry tree from robins. You can read that post here.

Whiner visited last year in June. This year's visit was in June. I hope he doesn't wait another year for the next visit. He's getting old. And so am I. 'Nuff said about that!

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Does This Qualify as an Ignominious End?

That palomino horse of black and white TV fame is on the block. The auction block, that is. At Christie's auction house.

Perhaps you are too young to remember black and white TV. And definitely too young to remember Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and their horses, Trigger and Buttermilk. And, hence, you have no clue about the smartest and most beautiful horse in show biz. So here's the info....

Roy Rogers' famous horse Trigger died in 1965 one day short of 31 years old. It seemed a bit quirky to me that they had Trigger stuffed and put on display at the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum in Victorville, California. But I'm guessing visitors to the museum didn't question the oddness of that...their point in visiting was to see memorabilia and I guess Trigger had become "memorabilia". After starring in countless TV episodes and numerous movies, he was now just a stuffed animal. On display. Weird. Quirky. But museum worthy to fans of yesteryear's Hollywood westerns.

If you have a few extra dollars in your jeans pocket and a hankering for something unusual in your (very large) living room, trot on over to Christie's and place a bid. Trigger is estimated to fetch up to $200,000. And if you can't afford Trigger, his doggy companion Bullet is estimated to fetch $10-$15,000. A comparative bargain considering Bullet won't take up the space occupied by your sofa/coffee-table/end tables.

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Upon Which I Tell You About Paddy Paws our Polydactyl Cat

My friend Grahamn Kracker left a comment on my last post stating that he never stops blogging, not for busyness, not for the things of summer....unless he is somewhere where he cannot access the net. Mr. Kracker startled me for a moment for it had been such a long time since his previous comment that I had forgotten who he is.

So I wandered around a bit, looked him up, and remembered, "Oh, of coursed! Mr. Kracker is his pseudonym...or is Mr. Kracker his REAL name and Bill Hess his pseudonym." Aw, Shucks. Mystery!

At any rate, Mr. Kracker, aka Mr. Hess, aka Bill of Wasilla, loves cats. And so today's short post is for Mr. Kracker. (Or is it Mr. Hess?)

Years ago, almost 25 years ago, my daughter and I lived in a small apartment on the second floor of a large home. Our windows looked out into the trees, making for a tree-house feeling. At that time it was a good place for us to live. We had a third resident, a gray tiger kitty called "Mouse". No other name seemed to fit her grayness. Mouse was a good companion to my daughter and amongst other games, would play fetch with marbles rolled down the long hallway.

Daughter and I made the mistake (happenstance) of visiting the pet shop in the mall where we just had to stop and pet the kitties. One gray-and-white had a six-toed genetic variation on its front paws. We were smitten. Smitten with the kitten! The owner assured us this was a male kitten. This was important because neutering a male would be cheaper than spaying a female and we were on a tight budget at the time. Even buying the kitten was outside of our weekly budget. But we fell for this kitty. We fell hard. And so we brought it home.

We named the kitty Paddy Paws. (The name should have been Paddy Polydactyl Paws.) We took the kitten to our local vet to follow up with any remaining shots and to inquire when we should bring "him" in for neutering. The vet, too, named this kitty a "he".

Paddy Paws was darling. Paddy Paws loved playing. Paddy Paws even seemed to get along well with Mouse. But Paddy Paws never learned (refused) to use the litter box. Our apartment was small and we did not want to deal with a second litter box. And we did not know how to keep Paddy Paws from sneaking through a small hole behind the bathtub and using the attic space for a toilet. (I never told our landlord!)

So Paddy Paws had to go (pun intended) and where better to go than to the farm where we had acquired Mouse. Farmer and his wife already had plenty of kitties, some of which were house cats and the others well-fed barn cats. All were well attended and we knew Paddy Paws would be safe there.

Paddy Paws showed that vet a thing or two. SHE had several litters of kitties in her short life. Most of them exhibited the six-toe gene. Sadly, along with the mutation she passed on a "short life" gene of some sort. Paddy Paws lived only a few short years. One day her owners found her out on the lawn where she had gone to sleep and never woke up.

Her kittens, too, seemed to die young, even though all were well fed and received appropriate vet attention at various times in their lives. (Not all polydactyl cats are short-lived but for some reason she and her kittens seemed to have this problem.)

I talked to Mr. Farmer a few years back and he said all the neighbors were experiencing six-toed kitties amongst their litters. One or more of Paddy Paws' descendants were toms, and in farm country, toms venture from farm to farm doing what toms do.

And that's my story for the day.

As for Mr. Bill Hess (I think that's his pseudonym and I'm certain Grahamn Kracker is his REAL name)...well, he has a photo on the front page of yesterday's Anchorage Daily News). Click here to read more.

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What Do They Do With All Those Hooks, Anyway?

A friend emailed me some time back about her daughter's stay at a New York hotel. She had been surprised that such a high-priced hotel would have such a teensy tiny bathroom. I'm certain the room's teensyness (is that a word?) was due to the price of New York real estate.

However, her comment reminded me of the stalls in women's public restrooms all across America...where when you wish to exit, the door swings inward, barely clearing the front of the toilet seat by a scant three inches.

Nobody has knees that skinny. Nobody, I say! And so, one must stand to one side of the toilet in order to open the door wide enough to safely exit the stall. This makes for an awkward and clumsy exit.

One can avoid those inward swinging doors by using the handicapped stall. But that can be done only when it is obvious that no handicapped person will need the stall. Even if the room is empty of other occupants, totally empty, I feel vaguely guilty, as if I am breaking a rule and need a "handicapped" sticker around my neck in order to participate in the use of the handicapped facilities. I don't have such a sign that I can just hang around my neck. And I don't look handicapped in the least unless you count my chemo baldness and my slightly steroid puffy face. But I don't think they count in this instance.

Men design those rooms. I know they do. Any fool woman would be cognizant of a woman's needs. Imagine wearing a skirt and perhaps a coat, carrying a huge handbag and perhaps a shopping bag or two. Most restrooms have no hooks. They used to have hooks...you can see the holes where they used to be. But someone, for whatever foolish reason, removed them. In 98 percent of public restrooms across America. It's as if those hooks were needed elsewhere and were salvaged for elsewhere at our expense! What other explanation can there by?

This shortage of hooks means that you are fortunate if your purse will hang on the door hasp. Said hasp is always quite small and so even if you're successful in hanging your purse there, it may fall before you finish your visit. Fortunately my favorite purse has very thin straps and the hasp will do where the hook is non-existent.

On the other hand, where can you hang your coat? This is not a frivolous question! It really, really is a whole lot easier to use the facility if you can take off your coat.

And shopping bags? Where can you put them? The floor? After someone, ahem, er, um, peed on it yesterday and the janitor came in with a dirty cotton mop and sopped it up, not bothering to rinse with soapy water? You know he did. Because the soles of your shoes are sticking to the floor.

When I first noticed the ridiculous design of women's public restrooms we were on vacation in Canada. And I thought that perhaps it was because they were on the metric system and we were not. (To my Canadian readers...I jest!) But when we returned to the states I noticed that we women of America have the same problem that Canadian women have. Men design our bathrooms, too, just as they do in Canada.

The remedy? Institutions of higher learning should provide classes in public restroom design. All instructors should be women. Graduates could be licensed and only licensed architects could design women's bathrooms.

Just sayin'. Nobody else seems to be sayin' it. I'm filling in for all the women of America.

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Scandal? Oh, Nightmare!

Some mornings you are just glad to wake up. I'm not talking about health; I'm talking about dreams.

You know the kind of dream I'm talking about...those nightmares, those long, all-night dreams where one catastrophe follows another.

Well, last night I dreamt that I had slandered two close friends on this blog. In the dream I didn't know they even READ my blog. But someone brought it to their attention. In the dream I had written this awful, scandalous thing about my friends.

I have no idea where that dream came from for these friends have never been involved in such a scandal. And in the dream one of the two called me to accountability. The pain was terrible! I can't tell you how awful that made me feel. And I couldn't repair the damage...once the words were out there on the net, they were there, and could not be taken back.

I was very, very glad to wake up this morning and find that it was only a dream.

I can eat my oatmeal and drink my coffee with a great sigh of relief!

And I hope that you, too, have a good beginning to a new day.

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A Week In Which I Learn Several Things

Life is full of little moments of learning. Sometimes those learnings are not of great import. But sometimes they are.

I learned this past week that three people can clean a garage in a little over an hour. (This was a one-car garage so perhaps yours may take longer!) We bagged up stuff for the Goodwill. We bagged up stuff for the curb. We hope we bagged up all the spiders. No, not to the Goodwill; to the Curb!!!

I learned that family is family. Even if they've been lost for 25 years. During April and May we had visits from long lost family members. During both visits we shared old family stories, old photos, old places that were important to their father when he was growing up. It was a good time for us and I believe for them as well. What a blessing from God to all of us!

While cleaning out our fridge I found a cellophane bag of lettuce. Very old lettuce. Hidden well behind something else. Hidden for a long time. I learned that bagged lettuce of certain age simply turns to liquid. It was pretty ugly! That bag traveled very speedily from the fridge to the trash. Ughhh!

We learned that some hospitals, even highly rated "teaching" hospitals, can fail to live up to their reputation. Thursday, Hubby went in for two days of testing. The staff flubbed royally and failed to instruct him to fast (and failed to instruct kitchen staff as well) for a biopsy to be taken on the second day. The biopsy had to be postponed until Monday. We'll be making a second trip to the Big City hospital.

This morning I was reminded in another incident that God's providence (provision for us) is good indeed. I met with my oncologist before having chemo. My comment about his tie (a lovely pink and dark navy stripe) led to something else which then led to our talking about our shared faith in God. It is gratifying to know that he understands me when I say, in speaking of my cancer, that I believe God holds all my days in His hands. (Psalm 139:16). And he understands that while I believe this verse, I also believe that we are to seek good medical care and that I want him to do the best job possible for me in dealing with ovarian cancer.

I had told him that when I see shirts and ties I think in terms of "fabric" and have a covetous desire to cut them up for quilts. He grabbed his tie rather protectively. First, he's a good Onc. Secondly, he's a nice man. Third, he did not give me his tie. I guess two out of three isn't bad. Especially in that order.

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Yah, You Betcha!

Minnesoda is a good place to visit.

There are lots of Scandihoovians in Minnesoda.

The corn crops are already poking up from the ground.

The fishing is good in Minnesoda. Mostly because there are lotsa lakes in this state. Anyone remember the "Land of Sky Blue Waters" of the Pabst Blue Ribbon TV commercials? I betcha they filmed those commercials in Minnesoda.

My daughter and grandson live in Minnesoda. They are the best reason to visit Minnesoda.

Yah, I have a little Scandihoovian blood myself. That's why I know how to spell and pronounce Minnesoda.

Yah! I bet you thought I couldn't spell, didn't you!
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It Pays to Be Cautious Out There. Real Cautious!

There are six of us in the room. The waiting room. We're each there to see the eye doctor. Except me. I'm the designated driver.

I'm not conducive to conversation this day...last Friday I had the heavy dosage of chemo (three drug combo) and my body feels tired and heavy. I'm motating okay. I'm just a bit quiet. And a tad grumpy.

The room is tiny...only 10 or 12 chairs and a tiny shelf holding magazines. A small room makes for conversation.

The older couple across the room (older than I by perhaps two decades) are conversationalists. They have already mentioned that the hubby has been getting shots in his eyes for macular degeneration. He's been doing that for some time. His driver's license is up for renewal soon. He hopes he will be able to pass the vision test.

Wifey reassures us with, "Bob is really an excellent driver." And then she adds this bit of information about herself..."I'm the sign reader. I see them good."

Bob feels he needs to fill in the blanks. He adds, "I don't want to take my eyes off the road." While she reads the signs, that is.

They like to drive to San Antonio each year. I checked it on mapquest. That's 982 miles due south of here.

If you're on the road between Iowa and Texas it's probably a good idea to be cautious on the highway. Real cautious. Just sayin'.

P.S. Today's word is "motate"! Can you believe "motate" is not in the dictionary? I've been using this word from way back. I can't believe it's not in Webster's! I found the definition in an online "unword" dictionary. Go figure. Then motate on down the highway.

• (mō'tāt)

1. (v.) To leave.

Origins: From Latin movEre, to move, and -atus, to act upon; possibly related to the use of a motorized vehicle.

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The Titanic ... in 1001 Pieces!

Normally when we pick up a recycled jigsaw puzzle at the hospital consignment shop we are not surprised to find a piece of two missing.

However...this morning...with lotsa family visiting, we put this 1000 piece Titanic puzzle together in only a couple hours. AND we found one EXTRA piece...a duplicate. Now I wonder who bought a NEW puzzle and found our piece missing from their box.

With multiple toddlers in the house organization has disintegrated into various piles of toys, blankies, toys, blankies. But the Moms/Dads are super good with their kids and we're enjoying them all. The older kids (boys) are doing a great job, too, of admiring babies as long as no adult notices them doing so. If that happens, they pretend complete indifference.

McDonald's McMuffins and donuts for breakfast, Pizza for lunch. Chinese for supper. Makes cooking a lot easier.

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Someone Invent This For Me. Please!

Someone needs to invent a keyboard that one can take to bed. I'm thinking something "remote" such as special mitts that allow the fingers to "strike" the keys in mid-air.

Having spent my working years typing zillions and gazillions of documents my fingers sometimes "type" along as I am thinking. I think I could type my dreams if I had an invention that would translate my "typing" into a word document.

My sleep cycle has changed. Six months ago while I was off chemo, my nights were restful and quiet. Now my mind just chatters on and on and I awaken, look at the clock, roll over, do some more tossing with more chattering inside my head. My dreams have become verbose and I cannot stop them.

These chatterings are usually topical. Last night I can't tell you all the kinds and types of cake plates I thought of ... milk glass ... with handles ... removeable plates of different sizes that could be simply placed over the handle. Surprisingly, there was no cake. My dreams have not progressed to "high calorie" but maybe that will happen.

I hope one of you will invent this "typing" invention so that you can make a zillion bucks and I can at least come up with a useful blogpost after a night of tossing and turning.

At least I seem to awaken refreshed and ready for the day, so perhaps all is not lost.

Today's word: Verbose - containing more words than necessary...such as in most of my posts!
*wry smile*

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