He came from the animal shelter and will be our outdoor "mouser" cat.  He shares the screened porch with Killian, though not too willingly just yet.  He has demonstrated who is in charge...He has taken over Killian's doggy tent with the pet warmer! Killian has to choose from the doggy kennel (large) with pet warmer, or doggy kennel small, without pet warmer....

Benson is 13 1/2 lbs, grey with white tuxedo markings...he is lean and mean?  Nope, he loves to cuddle!

When my daughter called last night, I could hear the excitement in her voice.  The trip she had been panning, the one to go see her boyfriend was on the horizon.  She was to be picked up at her house this morning at 10:30 am to begin the journey. 

As I write this, she is en-route to Paris, France, where Benoit will meet her. They will visit with his sister and her family, and his parents and visit with friends.  They will drive to Madrid, where they have friends and from there, two weeks from now, she will fly to NYC.

Another friend will meet her at the airport in NY and she will spend the weekend visiting with her friend, before catching a ride with yet ANOTHER friend to VA.  She will visit with us and her friends here for a few more days before returning to San Francisco!

She is her mother’s daughter -- that is for sure.  Her entire transportation for all of this cost under $800!  She will probably be exhausted when she returns home, but hopefully, it will be a happy exhausted!  I sure am glad she’s the one making this whirlwind trip!  At 23 I guess I could have handled it, but today, well, if I’m not traveling for work, I’d just as soon go fishing on my pond!  (Of course, I am not in love with a handsome young Frenchman, either!)

When I was 29, took a job in VA, which meant I had to move from my home of eight years in Tallahassee, FL to a strange new land.  I was both excited and reluctant to make the move.  I recall the week before I left FL; I sat in the office of a coworker.  He and I talked and laughed and I wondered why I was leaving.  I was quite content where I was, and I honestly had the feeling I had met everyone who would be important in my life.  I was in a cocoon of sorts and was struggling to justify breaking out and testing my wings.

But I did.  And that was more than 18 years ago.  Since then I have met so many more people, without whom my life would have been far less interesting and love-filled. I have spread my wings and let the world see me, not as that comfortable, but a bit scared cocoon dweller, but as the product of that wonderful nurturing cocoon.  And I have found that in the process, I have been able to help others make their emergences.  What a wonderful feeling it is to see someone take that first step, that important leap of faith to reach their dream.

So, to my friend, the one I met ten years ago, the one I met ten months ago, the one I met ten days ago, the one I met ten minutes ago….I know that each time I have the cocoon comfort I will soon be finding I need to open my wings for another flight.  Those flights have helped me meet you, and meet myself…the new and hopefully, slightly improved me.  Thank you for being my reward when I dared to spread my wings.

Until my 20th reunion, I had never considered attending one of these affairs.  I don’t like parties and I generally feel I can make better use of my time (productively). But that year, my best friend from high school was making the trip, and I decided it was worth my while just to see her.  We arrived within minutes of each other, and, though we had not seen each other in at least 18 years, we fell into easy conversation, as if we’d never missed a step!

Our lives were so different from those we had “planned” as youngsters, and yet we found we were satisfied with the way they had turned out.  She was a proud and loving wife, and mother of seven.  She was a stay at home mom, and full of energy and enthusiasm…she carried the 10 month old with her to the reunion.  I was the mother of two, in a not so happy union with their father, but doing very well in my career.  Both of us had a great deal for which to be thankful.

My friend allowed my children to babysit her baby in the hotel room, while we went to the first night of the reunion.  With our nametags slapped on our chests, we bravely entered the room.  Immediately, we were accosted by old “friends.”  Now, I will tell you that, without the nametags I would not have known who most of them were, and even with name tags, I could not recall being friends with a lot of them!  But, there I was, being hugged by the big athletic jock who would never have even spoken to me in high school, and by the ex cheerleader who scorned me for my “funny clothes” in those early days.

Of course they had all the regular contests, about the most changed, the one who traveled farther to come to the reunion, etc. etc.  My friend won the award for the most kids.  We had a lot of fun talking with some old friends we actually remembered as friends and made friends with those who would not speak to us in high school, lest we tarnish their popular image.  But I could tell my friend was getting a little ticked, as the night went on.

Later, when we returned to our rooms, she told me she was getting ready to scream if one more person asked her if she was “done yet,” regarding the number of children she had.  I was appalled that people had been so rude. This was a very intelligent, Bryn Mawr graduate, successful in her career woman who, after marrying her perfect mate, had elected to have and raise a large family.  She was committed to her life decision and was tired of apologizing for it!

I told her it made no sense to me.  Had she arrived announcing she had seven million dollars, rather than seven beautiful children, NOBODY would have asked her if she was “done yet.”  For some reason, they implied that either she simply was not smart enough to know how to prevent pregnancy, or that she was too “unenlightened” to understand the 2.5 children with two working parents climbing the career ladder that was their version of the American Dream.

I wonder how many people think those with large families are two stupid to understand how to prevent having more children or are unenlightened?  I, for one, am impressed with my friend who chose to measure her success in the raising of a fine family, rather than in the raising of a fine retirement fund….well, I really don’t know what her retirement fund looks like, but they do have a lovely huge log home on nine acres in western PA.

I haven’t returned for another reunion.  My 30th went by last summer with hardly a consideration.  Perhaps I try again at the 40th!  By then, everyone will be concerned with their grandkids and maybe my friend will be “accepted” for what she is…a great person with a whole lot of love to share!

Almost two years ago I underwent surgery to repair my sinuses so that breathing through the right side would become an option. According to the CT scan, I had badly deviated septums on both sides, a bone spur that had completely cut off the right nostril and cartilage which was supposed to be anchored to bone at the base of the nose, be which was anchored to nothing.   (how lovely)  Now, understand, I knew nothing of all this “interesting stuff,” until they finally sent me for the CT scan after I was unable to stay free of sinus infections for any reasonable time.  When the doctor told me of my three “fixes” he was curious about the cartilage one. He wondered how it had become unattached from its bony anchor.  He asked if I’d ever been punched in the nose.

Well, I could think of nothing, no time ever in my nearly 47 years at that time that I had been punched in the nose.  But, it really didn’t matter.  I had the surgery and the world has been spinning on a perfect axle for me (sinus speaking) ever since.

Now, nearly two years later, I was discussing this with a friend and all of a sudden it hit me. I know exactly when the division of cartilage from bone must have occurred.  About ten years ago, my daughter, then 12 or 13 was playing soccer on a Parks and Recs team.  Good mother that I was, I attended the games and cheered my daughter’s team to success.

One very important aspect of soccer is keeping your eye on the ball.  As a spectator, I did just that. One Saturday, the day before Easter that year, I sat on the chair, watching the game.  I was having a grand time until Mariah, a tall, strong player, took a shot, kicking the ball down the field along the sideline…..well, I’m sure that was her intent.  But, as luck would have it, my natural magnetism apparently exerted a force so great that the ball made a bee line for me.  Now remember, I had my eye on the ball!  But, I do not remember seeing it coming.

What I do recall was coming to on the ground, my glasses severely bent in two and my face hurting like the dickens!  Everyone was trying hard to stifle their laughter while they came to my aid, but, I was laughing too, once I regained myself!  That Mariah had ONE STRONG FOOT!!!

A couple of years later, as I kept the stats for my daughter’s field hockey team, I noted a new name on the team roster.  As I wrote Mariah’s name and number in the statistician book…..I made a note to myself….KEEP AN EYE ON THE BALL AND LEARN HOW TO DUCK!!!!

Today I had the opportunity to drive along I-10 from Biloxi, MS, where I am staying this week, to Pascagoula, MS, where I am working this week.  The drive was an easy one and gave me a bit of time to think about “stuff.”

When I was a little girl, I had a doll house.  Actually, my sister and I “shared” the doll house, and honestly, I never recall playing with it.  But there it sat on the dresser, the front facing the door of our bedroom.

One afternoon, during “nap time” (a time when we were all supposed to rest our minds and bodies, but which we kids often used to play quietly so as not to disturb our parents) my sister and I were coloring in our coloring books as we sat in the double bed we shared.

I don’t recall what started the argument, and, I am certain I was just as likely the instigator as she, but I do recall the end result was that she “SCRIBBLED” in my coloring book!  Now, I was really mad, because I took pride in my coloring and she had just violated my artwork!

About this time, I heard my parents talking, so I knew they were awake.  I traipsed into their room, which was directly across the short hallway from ours.  I announced that, “Jeannie ruined my picture!”

Well, being the diplomatic father that he was, Dad told me to go back and get the coloring book so that he could “judge” the situation.  Happily, I raced back to my bedroom and snatched up my book of creativity.  I flipped to the page which carried the scars of my sister’s evil crayon, and headed back to the RULER.

You cannot imagine how surprised and hurt I was when Dad very calmly told me that he knew I was lying about the whole incident.  He told me he had watched me make that “awful mark” in my own coloring book….he watched me in the doll house mirror!  Now, I knew that was not true.  I remember nothing more about the incident and as I thought about it this morning, I wondered what actually happened to make him think I was lying.  Did he really think I was lying? Did he think my sister would stand up for me and admit her crime, if he ruled in her favor? Did he think it would teach me that I was just as much at fault for the crime because I engaged in the “non-nap activity?”

I really do not know.  I would bet my bottom dollar that nobody else even recalls this memory.  But it stuck in my brain and I doubt it will ever leave.  I did learn from that incident that innocent doesn’t really matter when someone has erroneously decided you are guilty, that participating in activities that are already breaking the rules puts you at a disadvantage when trying to claim harm, and that even good sisters can be sufficiently afraid of the consequences of telling the truth, that they silently "plead the 5^th" when presented with the opportunity to save their sister’s reputation, but condemn themselves.

Whenever I hear the expression, “look in the mirror,” I am reminded of that incident. I suggest that looking in the mirror only works, if you are able to do so without a preconceived vision of what you will see.

A day with the animals!

Yes, I would never have thought when I left for the airport this morning that I would be dealing with a full blown allergy attack by the time I got to my destination in the great state of Mississippi!  But, as luck would have it, the young lady in the seat next to me on the second leg of the journey was carrying a Chesapeake Bay retriever puppy on his maiden voyage through the air.  Not only did this poor puppy howl incessantly, but he also, well, used the “restroom” in the travel “kennel.”  (How nice)

No problem, the young lady was prepared with towels and zip-lock bags, to “clean up” any accidents.  It did nothing for the “aroma”, but I give her credit for trying.  I have to say, though, it was a little nauseating to watch this young lady hold that soft kennel in her lap, clean up the puppy puddle, play with the puppy, and then chew her nails…..

I was happy to land in Mobile, AL and quickly had my luggage and the keys to the rental car.  I found the car with ease and put my luggage in the trunk.  I then climbed into the Toyota Corolla which was to be my transportation for the next week.  The smell of cat urine hit me like a ton of brick!  WOW!!! Thank goodness this had been a fairly cool day, or I am certain it would have been worse.

Well, I tried to make the best of the stinky Corolla, and turned on the A/C, which did help with the smell.  Of course, it was then that I noticed the “Maint Reqd” light burning on the dash of the Corolla.  Ok, I was going to grin and bear the stench, but I was not in the mood to take a chance on a car that needed servicing.  So, back into the airport I went, and am now “upgraded” to a mid size car that smells good and drives fine!

But, by then, I was having serious problems breathing.  The cat urine put my allergies over the top and I had to take the Benedryl I rarely have to resort to these days.  Nevertheless, I am in the hotel safe and sound and figure the trip could have been a whole lot worse!  I had great travel weather and my flights were on time.  My luggage did not get lost and my planes did not crash.  It’s all good!

I read a wonderful post by healthyjerky4u.  The topic dealt with common places those driven to rob houses look, simply by habit.  If money happens to be there, well, you lost your money as well.  As a “victim” of a home invasion (robbery) about twenty–two years ago, I was able to relate to several of the points made in that post.

My hubby and I had arrived home, a little later than usual that evening, as we had waited a few extra minutes at the babysitter’s as she was sending us home with freshly baked lasagna.  So, it was dusk as I juggled the lasagna, a baby and the key, trying to unlock the front door.  It took a while, but finally, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open.

Hubby, who entered first, immediately noticed things were awry.
“What the heck were you doing?” he demanded of me, when he saw the TV, stereo, etc. pulled out into the middle of the living room.

Before I had a chance to defend myself, he strode through the wrecked kitchen, where cereal was strewn about, to the back door which was wide open.
“Why did you leave the door open?” he demanded of me.

Meanwhile, protesting that of course I had not left the door open or pulled the electronics into the middle of the living room, I was looking at my wrecked bedroom.  Every drawer had been tossed, the mattress and box spring tossed and the contents of the closet strewn from one end to the other.  The medicine cabinet was wide open and the over the counter offerings of such interest as tooth paste, hemorrhoid crème, Tylenol and baby aspirin, occupied new space on the counter and floor of the bathroom.

“We’ve been burgled.” I told hubby.

Well, as is the norm when a crime is committed, we reported it, by calling the authorities. The house was dusted (what a mess) and we sat through hours of questions regarding what had been stolen.  The funny thing was, we could not find a single thing that had actually been stolen.  The police determined that the burglars were looking for two things…drugs and money. 

I suppose being dirt poor and not partaking in illegal substances proved beneficial that particular day.  But to me, it was always funny that the only money we had of any real value was displayed in plain view.  In fact, it was framed and hanging on the wall in the dining room. It was a treasury sheet of uncut bills.  It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was the ONLY cash in the house!

The police also suspect we interrupted the burglars when we came home, and they bolted out the back door.

Two things I for which have remained forever grateful are that

• we were not home when they broke in, for they came through my son’s bedroom window, after breaking the locked mechanism, and that
• they never made it to the baby’s room closet….where every single Christmas present was wrapped and waiting for placement under the tree.  

Had they burgled the house just two days later, we would likely have lost all the Christmas we could afford that year.

I learned about where burglars look from that experience.  After reading healthyjerky4u’s post regarding where the burglars look, I now understand why the police recognized the burglars were looking for drugs as well as money.

So, you see, 22 years after I was burgled, I learned something about that burglary!

I was 17. I had landed a job in a summer camp for rich kids in upstate New York.  I would be teaching arts and crafts.  My boyfriend also had a job at the same camp.  He would be teaching hmmmm…I don’t actually recall, but something sports related.  Both of us were hired to come up there a month early and “build the camp.”  OK, so I did not get hired to come up and build the camp, but I was hired to come up and cook for the 40 guys who were hired to build the camp.

So, up we went.  Those weeks spent on Lake George will always be some of my fondest memories. It was beautiful. I was having a blast cooking for the guys and they were really appreciative (especially of my cherry pie!)  The days were long and everyone worked hard.  When the evenings came, we relaxed.

Sometimes we went out on the lake in canoes, and sometimes we played cards in one of the cabins. Occasionally we went into town and had some fun shooting pool.  But it was always pretty wholesome stuff.  My boyfriend and I liked to play chess and Backgammon (truth) and often spent the late nights engaged in such sport.

About three times a week, the camp owner would come through to make certain everything was getting accomplished according to schedule, to review menus with me, and to drive me into town to grocery shop.  All was well in the camp.  That is until the day the other “camp counselors” started to arrive.

I was friendly, but I had also been given strict instructions of meal preparation and so far, the guys had been golden.  Janet was a large woman, also hired to teach arts and crafts.  She was in her late 30’s, I’m sure, and she was immediately convinced she was my boss.  In the arts and crafts world, I have no doubt this was to be the reality, but in the kitchen she was not.

Trouble began almost immediately when Janet informed me that she wanted a “special” breakfast order served to her.  Well, I had no way of fulfilling her request, as the owner had been clear about what I could offer and when.  I did try to work with Janet, but it was obvious that I was just a person who rubbed her the wrong way.

For the next week or so, I knew trouble was lurking, but I could never quite put my finger on it.  So, it was little surprise to me when I was summoned to the owner’s house for a chat.  There I was informed that Janet had reported that I and my boyfriend had been sleeping together in one of the cabins.  It mattered not that the accusation was false. It mattered not that the person “reporting” me was new on the scene and I had already spent more than a month proving myself trustworthy.

What did matter was the allegation had been made, and the owner could not take the chance that I would set a bad example for the rich kids.  So, even before I had an opportunity to teach my first arts and crafts lesson, but not before the permanent cook arrived to take over the kitchen, I was fired and told to take the bus back to Maryland.  Of course, the owner called my father and explained “why” I was being fired. 

Well I was young and I was proud, and I was angry that an adult had lied about me.  But what made me angrier still was that Janet was the adult assigned to drive me to the bus station.  What made me angriest of all was when this woman, this person who had never liked me from the moment she laid eyes on me, this woman who had taken it upon herself to see that I was relieved of my income that very crucial summer before I began college, asked me, when we arrived at the bus station, “Would you like to pray with me?”

I looked at her, and I said, “Janet, I used to respect adults. You have taken that from me. You have, however, taught me a valuable lesson.  I will never trust an adult who presents herself falsely and then asks to share a prayer. I will pray when I am ready. I thank you for asking, but I don’t care to pray with you.”

I got out of the van and never looked back.  I was scared that my father would believe the lies. I had a long bus ride back to Maryland and I can assure you, I did pray.  But I thought an awful lot about how nutty the world is.  I just kept thinking, “if she just didn’t like me and didn’t want me working there, why couldn’t she have just said so.  Why did she have to make up the lie?”

In the end my father met me at the bus station. He accepted my version of what happened.  He even drove me all the way back up there, a week or so later, when I turned 18, to help me job hunt in the town, so I could be near my boyfriend.  I did not find another job that summer.  But I did get to share a nice long car trip with Dad and I did learn a little bit about the importance of perceptions, and the damage of false accusations.

And I am proud to say, it is the only job from which I have ever been fired.

I was up bright and early this morning. I was excited about going on my shark teeth hunt. But, as is typical when coordinating anything, it was after noon before we finally set out to the local beach.  Still, I was thrilled.

Of course, we were not able to stay long, as I would like…but there is always tomorrow.  But today was fun. I did find about a dozen teeth and the whole expedition took less than an hour.

My hubby was manning the camera, which is always a little suspect.  Still, I thought I’d share!

SUCCESS

So, I ask you, is this really a family shot of my husband's cousin, her mother and my Mother-in-law...or is my husband taking a shot of my BUTT???

And, there you have it!

I watched a video last night, as I worked with my husband to learn the new fangled DVD/VCR RUB-A-DUB-DUB machine he bought.  The video was one of my children when they were quite young, probably 8 and 10, and my first hubby.

The scene was the back yard of our house in the woods in James Store, VA.  I was clearly the cameraman, as the other three, well four, were the featured “actors.”  My son was using the leaf blower and my ex was using the rake as they coaxed the leaves from the yard to a gigantic pile.  In the midst of their work was my daughter.  She was in the pile of leaves and they were literally burying her in the leaves.  The other actor in this home video was our dog Licker, a German Shepherd/Collie mix.  Licker ran at full speed into the pile of leaves where Jen shrieked with pleasure! The two guys continued their leaf coaxing until the pile was so high that all three could hide in it.

The high voice giggles and the sheer energy they had that day are things I am so happy I captured.  At the end of the video, my ex looks up at me/the camera, and said two words, “Cute Kids.”

Watching that video made me a little sad.  Not because the kids are grown up and doing their own thing.  But because that was a time when their father was truly enjoying them and could appreciate them for who and what they were.  I’m so very happy to have it now on DVD, so I can share copies of it with them.  And I hope they will give a copy to their father.  I imagine he will be able to remember what he felt that day.  Sometimes, it is important to look back.  It helps ground us.

We lived in a typical suburb in Bowie, MD for much of my young life. We had strict rules, because, at least in those days, it was easier to raise six kids by the RULES than to try to convince them the rules were fair, equitable, yada, yada, yada.  One of the rules was "never cross the main highway, Rt. 197."  Another rule was "always be within earshot of 'the bell'" Mom rang to call us in. Had we been better at complying with that rule the other would have been unnecessary.

Nevertheless, brothers Dan and Ted wanted to “get something” from the local jiffy store.  Getting there, even taking the short cut, required crossing Rt. 197.  Off they went, for, I am certain, not the first time.  The short cut they took included traversing a rather steep grassy incline at the bottom of which ran the railroad tracks.

Boys of ages 12 and 13 are prone to showing off, and Ted was just such a 12 year old.  He decided to demonstrate his skiing prowess.  Now, please understand, there was no snow and my brother had never skied.  We didn’t have a television, so I have no idea where he got the idea he knew how to ski, but that is a moot point.

Basically, it is my understanding that he essentially ran full tilt down the slope, sliding on muddy patches or something like that.  Dan, the elder and wiser, was amused with Ted’s antics right up until Ted reached the bottom, for when he did, he stumbled on the railroad track and fell hard.

Dan was at his brother’s side in a moment. Ted was on his feet, but his eyes rolled up in his head and he keeled over.  Dan was left with a dilemma.  His brother was clearly hurt, they were both where they were not permitted to play, and there was no easy way to get help.

Dan ran to the J-Mart (their original intended destination) and called the rescue squad.  He handled everything, and it was after Ted had been rushed off to the hospital that Dan got to face the music with Mom and Dad.  I am unclear how or who informed them.

Ted was seriously injured and spent a couple of weeks in the hospital, with bruised and damaged liver, kidney and spleen.  But he recovered and went on to live the rest of his life with much that same spirit that got him into the hospital that day.

You see, our parents knew that those people on the other side of the highway, or the other side of the tracks were not bad people. They knew that they were people just like the rest of us with good and not-so-good qualities.  They knew that the danger presented by going to the other side of the tracks was in the journey itself.

As an adult, I am free to go where I please, interact with whom I please, enjoy the goodness of others, no matter whether others can see the goodness in them. I don’t applaud the negative. I don’t presume to know the basis for others' views of each other. I just know there are very few on this earth I will be unable to find something good in.  Still the journey back and forth across those, often virtual, tracks can be treacherous.

I appreciate that my parents gave us rules to live by, without burdening us with explanations of why their rules were right. If someone presents me with a challenge of why they are right and I am, therefore, wrong, should I disagree with them, I am, by nature, going to push back and at very least debate their assertions.

I choose to accept that you can be right and so can I and we do not need to agree to both be right. We simply have to understand that right for me does not necessarily equate to right for you.  Now, if you catch me on the wrong side of the tracks, virtual or otherwise, know that I am visiting someone whom I find to have something to offer. It does not mean that I think others don’t, it means I think they do. And it does not mean that I think everything they have, is “something to offer.” 

My parents taught me to be cautious on the journey, but not to stay at home, just to be safe.  There is a lot to learn from a lot of unlikely sources. Exploration, challenging what I “know”, and sharing what I “know” so that others might challenge me, are all very important to me.  I am most happy, when I learn something new and positive, and I cannot learn these things without crossing a few railroad tracks.

Thank goodness we kill those black snakes that meander through the “yard” every now and then! 

I, for one, am not a fan of killing snakes or anything really.  But, much as I try to intervene every time one of these “horrible creatures” is discovered in “our territory,” my husband often manages to “take care of the problem” before I get there.

Every time I explain that mother nature gives us these creatures to help us keep other vermin in check. But, I get the regular response about, “snakes are bad,” “they could be poisonous,” yada, yada, yada.

Well, a couple of years ago having been out of town on travel for nearly two weeks, we arrived home and unpacked.  The next morning, hubby drove his truck somewhere and when he returned he said the heater/fan was making an awful racket.  “Uh-huh,” I replied, only half listening to his tale of woe.  That was Saturday.

Sunday I drove my car, the one that had been beside his truck in the garage those two weeks, to church…..it was chilly, so I turned on the heat/fan….hmmmm…mine was making a terrible racket. (Where had I heard this before?)

Well, coincidental as it might have seemed, we decided we would each take our vehicle to the dealership to have them “examined.”  I took my Hyundai into the Hyundai dealership and he took his Toyota into the Toyota dealership.  We each told the doctor of mechanics (MD) our patient’s symptoms.

I was given a ride to work (they would call when the doctor had made his diagnosis) and hubby sat and waited on his.

I was the first to receive the call. 

“do you have squirrels where you live?” asked the MD.

Well, I live in the woods, so, YES!  

“well, you have a bunch of nuts in the fan.  We took them out and repaired it.  It was covered under warranty.”

What?  Squirrels putting nuts in my fan is covered under warranty?

Meanwhile, over at all things Toyota, John was getting a similar diagnosis…well, just a little different.  Apparently there was no squirrel that was the culprit. No, in fact one or two of the culprits were found in the fan…field mice…(ohhh aren’t they cute???)

Now Toyota did not consider this nasty job to be covered under warranty and the bill was in excess of $200.

So, you see, as I explained for the umptiumpth time to hubby, we NEED those black snakes around.  They could have saved us over $200!
Well, still not a ‘believer” he continued his pattern of black snake annihilation and all went well, for another few months.  Then, on the first day of the new “cutting” season, I pulled out the riding mower, hopped aboard, fired her up and off I went…for about 10 feet before the belt broke…..the man at the mower repair place, the doctor of mowers (MD) called to let us know that it appeared “field mice” had chewed through the belt….

Two months later, still not willing to coexist with black snakes, we had a recurrence of the first episode.  The difference this time was that I was not about to spend over $200 to have both vehicles cleansed of traces of field mice.  I might not be a doctor of mechanics, but I HAVE stayed in a Holiday Inn Express, and I decided I could tackle the job.  I was right.  I saved us lots of money!

So, I laid down the law….no more killing the black snakes.  If you see one, or if the dog is going ballistic over one, let me go and carry it off to a place far enough away that you and she will not be disturbed by it!  But please, let nature take care of us!

It has been more than a year…no field mice have bothered our cars or mower….I have taken a dozen or so black snakes to “the other side of the yard” when their presence was disturbing to hubby or dog. 

And I have been a MUCH happier camper!

My dog just let me know I needed to let her run free on the “acreage.”  Nighttime is generally spent on the enclosed porch where she snoozes happily in her heated dog kennel….but….the nights are coming more and more alive….

So, she scratches at the door and I got out and do her bidding. I open the screen door and down the steps she flies, off into the woods, making the most ungodly “pig” noise! (I call this her “pigdog” routine.”  As she goes off, chasing whatever she has determined worthy of the hunt, I strain my ears to hear any commotion…I keep thinking I should see other animals running out of the woods in terror of the mighty pigdog!

But I hear nothing.  She runs and grunts and wears herself out, and then returns to the porch, where she can push the screen door open, drink from her water bowl and return to her warm kennel.  I have no idea what sets her off.

But, one day last fall, as I worked upstairs in my office, I heard her making a commotion. At the time, she was on her lead in the back yard.  I went to investigate and found this terrified little guy, trying to get down from the tree and out into the woods without coming in contact with Killian….I guess they must KNOW her by her nightly pigdog routines!

And finally...

When my hubby and his dad went fishing in our pond last April, they caught a nice load of fish...They posed for the camera with the fish strung between them.  My son decided the photo was "nice" but needed some "enhancing". 

I see some very interesting enhancements being used in eBay selling and can tell you that I am not a fan of the "picture is WAY better than the item" scene."  I'm all for great photos, but I think I am getting pretty good at spotting an overly "enhanced" photo.  What do you think?

ORIGINAL

ENHANCED

We might never have water in our pond again.  It’s true. Why? Well, in September 2006, the dam, the one built after hurricane Floyd caused the old earthen dam to fail, taking with it the main “highway”, failed.  This failure was due to a condition known as “piping” rather than the “over top” failure during Floyd in 1999.  Nevertheless, the water flowed out and we were left with a marshy area.

Since that fatal day when Ernesto took our dam and our water, we, the Pond Association Board, have been working to get the funds to rebuild the dam and the spillway. We have our general membership meeting this Sunday, at which they will vote to approve our recommendation to spend the $300,000, and finance the expenditure with the low interest loan we have had approved.

The problem is, that I have already received proxy votes from 12 of the 51 parcels' owners and of these, 6 approved and 6 did not. Now, to be honest, 5 of those that did not approve are a single woman.  On her proxy she wrote, “I am on a fixed income now and cannot afford to pay any more than I already am.”

I passed this information onto the association president and he responded, “That really chaps my butt.  Those people have not attended one meeting, researched one thing and want to throw away all the work we have done.”

I thought about his response and I did not reply.

I would never have reacted to this as did he.  I don’t know the answer, but, if enough of the residents whose property is on the pond are of a similar opinion, the cost is too great to rebuild, I will no longer have waterfront property, but I will have a lovely marsh.

I worry that the 75% needed to approve the expenditure will be realized and then, those who already voted NO will be obligated to pay.  If they truly cannot pay, they will have liens put on their property.

I would feel horrible knowing some that could not pay, were being forced to sell or take the lien.  I would also feel horrible knowing that those whose properties were once waterfront and worth a nice amount, though still very inexpensive when compared to other parts of the country, would suddenly have property worth a great deal less than what they paid for it.

I suppose we could end up in a position where those who want the water badly enough could pay the additional amount required to accommodate those who could not or would not pay.  But then there would be all that hubbub about USING the pond.  You know, since you didn’t pay to get the dam fixed, you shouldn’t be permitted to use what WE paid for, yada, yada, yada….

I guess I was naïve when I thought everyone who bought waterfront property would want to see it restored…..I see no good thing coming out of this meeting on Sunday….

Last Summer, and since we built our house

Then Ernesto and all the water ran out (well most of it.)

Now, the marshy "field" has grown up.

Ever wonder why some people are just plain odd? Well, I can speak only for myself and so I will. I think the root of my one odd self can be traced back to my childhood, where, as I have mentioned before, we had a monkey.

Having a monkey for a pet was fairly unique, even WAY back then.  We had a dog and a cat and the guinea pigs and hamsters et al, but the monkey was the culprit in my oddity.  He ate “monkey chow.” I mean, we gave him his cup of coffee (with cream and sugar) every morning and we gave him his fruits and table scraps, but all monkeys should eat Monkey Chow.  And so, in the garage, was a GIGANTIC bag of this stuff.

Now the dog ate dog food, which smelled kind of beefy and the cat ate cat food, which smelled kind of fishy, and those rodents ate something that looked rather similar to their own byproduct, but that Monkey Chow, looked liked and smelled like Life Cereal.

So…..yes…I admit it, my favorite “snack food” growing up was a handful of Monkey Chow, snitched from the HUGE sack in the garage.

Understand now?

Friday afternoon was always my favorite when we lived in Cheltenham, England.  A short bicycle ride from home in an area we called St. Marks was the small, but very busy fish and chips place.  Armed with the money Mom had given me, I peddled my way to pick up that weekly bounty.

I took my turn in the queue and when I reached the counter, I announced clearly the amount of fish and chips required to feed our family of eight.  Quickly, the owner wrapped the order in newspaper, held it closed with a short piece of tape, collected my offered payment and handed me my package.  Peddling faster than on my trip over, I made my way home with the fish and chips, piping hot in their newspaper protector.

With hands and faces cleaned and grace offered, we all dug into the feast that is singularly the embodiment of my love affair with the English style of cooking.  I can, to this day, smell the vinegar which liberally accented not only the fish, but also those fat delicious “chips.”

I love many, many meals I have had in the US, both at home and in restaurants, but the fish and chips, served fresh and steaming hot from the newspaper will ALWAYS remain a favorite of mine.  I was saddened to hear recently that they no longer allow the wrapping of the fish and chips in newspaper. Something to do with toxicity or cleanliness, I’m certain, but, for me, fish and chips should ALWAYS be served from newspaper!

In the backyard of my house in James Store, VA, in the middle of the woods, on a little over six acres, I cleared a space for my gardens.  One was to grow vegetables and the other was to be a strawberry patch. 

In due time, with soil properly worked and seeds and seedlings acquired, my vision of bounty was beginning to take on a reality. I was excited.  I worked hard and tended my vegetable plants and my strawberry plants. And everything thrived.

Then the guests arrived. 

Well, to be honest, I think they had been living there long before I moved in and set about taming my land, but to me, they were visitors.  They were so cute.  Their frisky nature and bushy tails made me LOVE living in the woods.  They came by on a regular basis to help themselves to my strawberries.

I am a nature lover, and squirrels are as cute as they come.  But eventually, I began to see these “visitors” as major league freeloaders! I began my campaign to keep them away from my strawberries, so that I might enjoy the fruits of my labor.  But, it was not meant to be.

Day by day they got bolder and bolder until one day, as I went out to try to harvest a few berries, they literally held their ground and screeched at me.  I don’t know if you have ever experienced a squirrel screechfest but is not a pleasant sound.  They were not frightened of me when I strode forth into the strawberry patch to start picking.  They defied my every move.  I came away with only a small bowl of berries and these jokers made me feel guilty for claiming even a portion of what was mine!

That season taught me a lesson.  I still had my strawberry patch the next few years, but I did nothing to tend it and allowed the squirrels to have their time with it.  Eventually, it became overrun and the plants ceased to flourish.  The bricks that had outlined the patch were picked up and the plants mowed down, rejoining the patch with the rest of the “lawn.”

I learned that all the work in the world will not prevent the intruders from spoiling my harvest. Though they are cute and sassy, their confidence that they had the right to commandeer my strawberry patch, using it as they saw fit and disallowing me any pleasure save that of watching their games, made me not even want to grow my strawberries. 

In the end it is a resounding, “So what” that I hear from the corners of my mind.  But that little voice, the one that speaks for the one that sees things as they could be, keeps trying to get me to plant that strawberry patch.  It just wants me to give it one more try to see whether the squirrels and the humans can both enjoy the playground and the bounty it produces.

I have been in and out of the blogs all day today and just now went to read a post from last night. I know many others have read it. I feel like an idiot not having known it was posted.

A backstabber

This is what I have been called.  I was thought to be a friend, but was found out to be a backstabber.

If that is truly what I am, I apologize. I did not intend it to appear that way because it does not feel that way.

I commented on two posts.  My message was intended to carry the same general meaning. I think I cannot tell from a posted email anything besides the specific interaction in that email.  I never have, nor do I still, believe the issue was about the money.

I do not choose to like people based on others’ “guidance”.  I accept you have every right to dislike me.  I suppose my decision to comment on the posts of two parties engaged in a disagreement makes me a two faced backstabber.

I am sorry.

And I will never call you a derogatory name, no matter whether your actions disappoint me.