Summer Rerun

We all know it's summer, but summer has hit us with a blast from hell and so I am posting, for lack of a better name, a rerun. It was entitled "Crazy Cat Lady" and seemed fitting to repost it after the Hound article. It will bind me forever with quite a few other "crazy cat ladies" that I often read. So hope you'll like tonight's rendition of

Crazy Cat Lady

Here goes.
I am not sure when I became a Crazy Cat Lady. It was apparently a slow process that took over my life (and my porch, ) . I allowed myself to be talked into bringing one abandoned little stray from hell inside by my son. "I'll take care of him, feed him change his litter box..." Famous last words that any mother in America or elsewhere has heard. He was named Bela Lugosi, Bela for short. Bela spent the next year terrifying my parakeets. It got so bad that I did something really stupid. Instead of finding a home for the cat that I never really wanted, I found a home for the birds which I did (want). I think that is when the malady first took root.So it started with Bela. One day I went out on the porch and there sat a pretty little fuzzy grey cat. I am not sure where she came from, but she stayed. I warn you, feed them and they never leave. This fuzzy little grey bundle became known as Crazy Kitty. You could be petting her and she would be enjoying the comfort of affection when suddenly she would nip at your fingers or slap you while you were in mid-pet. Hence the Crazy Kitty label. She had other names, but none fit for public publication. Crazy Kitty bestowed a couple of litters of kittens on us. The porch was becoming a second home to every stray in the county. Some I found homes for, but most I just fed.Crazy Kitty disappeared one day, we never knew where. Then Jane Wayne took her place as resident queen. She walked like John Wayne and bossed the other two that hung around like John Wayne. Jane was there for a couple of years, never producing any progeny and we were down to two cats. One day I watched as Jane walked across the roof of the house bringing with her a kitten. We were never quite sure where she had kidnapped the, what turned out to be two, youngsters from, but they definitely were not hers. She raised them, tho. One we named Tommy, the other Pyewackit. Tommy was sooty black and Pye was a beautiful Siamese. Inside, we had Bela and Ariel. Ariel had been rescued from the County Camp after my husband had watched helplessly one day and two of her siblings were run over. Bela ruled the roost inside and appeared to have gone slightly mad after the death of our beloved Old English Sheepdog, Digby. While no relation to Crazy Kitty that I know of, he was definitely unhinged. I was quite happy to pack his little bag and send him off to live with his true owner, my son, at college. When Bela left for College, Pyewackit ,the Siamese, became an inside cat. Tommy ruled the outside, Pye was ruled by Ariel. We were all ruled by Ariel.Now here we are in Jefferson and the porch is once again a haven to cats. We have Wonky and CeeCee who apparently lived here before we did. We have the three kittens whose mother Midge was killed by dogs. There is Baby the big grey and white cat. Bat Girl and Peanut Butter are mostly outdoor cats who sleep inside at night. After bestowing us with two litters of kittens, they have had their little operations and just run roughshod over all of them , now. One day we noticed a big black cat with a white bib standing back waiting to eat. He is since known as Big Purty. The grey tiger cat that showed up we call Stranger. Suffice it to say there are no shortage of cats here. Of course they help to keep the population of snakes and rats down, too. I guess you would say they earn their keep. The other night we noticed two opossums on the porch eating cat food while the cats stood by and let them. I hope this doesn't become a trend. I don't want to be known as the crazy opossum lady.

Release the Hound

I'm hoping everyone remembers the kitten in the well house that we found the third week in April...if I was smart and knew how to say "see here" and have the link pop up, that's what would be going on right now. Smart people have tried to teach me. Smart people have failed. Other than keeping my sons here full time to "ghost" for me, I'm afraid you're just going to have to take my word for it...we found a two week old kitten in the well. Mac and I took loving care of her and bottle fed her (every two hours the first two weeks....talk about tired, my own babies weren't that much work). Like all kittens or cats, she was easily litter trained, so at least there were no nappies to change. She grew so attached to me, she would run across the floor when I entered the room and climb up my leg to get to my shoulder. Now that was all well and good when her highness was 4 weeks old, weighed a feather, and no one had put the steel in her claws. Now I need to don chain mail to enter a room. She plays rough, too. She has no siblings to learn how far she can go, therefore she goes as far as she wants. She bites the hand that feeds her. All in play, of course. Like a lot of people I know, she doesn't know her own strength. I was on the phone with Evil Sister the other day and the wee one was fighting with my hand....run jump on the couch, attack my hand, run back down to the floor...repeat...and I said "ow" quite loudly. Evil Sister said, "what happened?" "I think she may have drawn blood," I said. Evil Sister told me to take two fingers and tap her sharply on the forehead. "That's what the mother cat does to correct the kittens," she said knowingly. They had adopted a four week old motherless kitten named GrayC...and believe me, I'll be writing more about that tyr...er, sweet kitty at a future date. So anyway, I take two fingers and tap her sharply on the forehead. As I peeled a pound of fury off my arm, I asked ES "any more smart ideas?" "It didn't work?" she asked, and I swear she didn't believe me. "Not only did it not work, I think I may need stitches!" Even now, as I sit in the office and write this, I can hear the thundering herd that is my sweet baby as she runs from room to room looking for fresh meat. We named her Lady Wellington, isn't that precious? Now, in the mornings when I arise, Mac lays in bed and says in his best Basil Rathbone voice "release the hound!" which means to let the baby come in and jump on the bed and gnaw him till he's bloodied or says "calf roe". So guess what? Her name is now and forever more will be, Hound.

Tomato Gravy Sunday

Many family traditions and family recipes begin with a single person. I'm not sure exactly who began the fabulous tomato gravy one, but as far as I can tell it was on the Sealy side of the family. Mac's mother was as fantastic a cook as my mother, but coming from different areas of the South their recipes were decidedly different, too. Mac's Mama made a plum cake that was so simple yet so delicious that people requested it by that name...Plum Cake. Basically it was a yellow cake put together with home made plum jelly and topped with the same. Sort of a jelly cake extraordinaire. I've made plum jelly but the only Plum Cake I've ever tasted was Mama McBride's. It seemed a sacrilege to make it while she was still living. She used to talk about her mother making "Shadow Gravy" during the depression. To make it they put some lard (not Crisco, but pure rendered down hog lard) in the frying pan (about 2 tablespoons) threw in about 2 tablespoons of flour and hung up a piece of side meat (fat back with a streak of lean through it) to throw a shadow on the pan...there wouldn't be enough meat during the week to go round, you see. Okay, that was probably a tale that got told, but tales always have a basis in fact. After Mac and I were married we would get to Alabama as often as we could, but with work and deployments (the Navy sure liked to float those boats) it was usually only about twice a year. Unfortunately visits were rare, life got in the way. The first time I had Tomato Gravy was shortly after becoming a McBride. We arrived in Shreveport, La late on a Friday night, I was introduced to the clan (Mac just sort of threw me in to sink or swim...do all husbands do that?) Saturday was a normal cereal breakfast and his sister Kathy taught me how to eat Grape Nuts with hot milk instead of cold...it's how I eat them to this day. But Sunday...now that was a breakfast to write home about. There were hot thick buttered grits, large portions of sausage patties, the most beautiful home made biscuits I have ever seen (apologies to my mother but the truth is the truth) perfectly fried eggs, each turned lovingly yolk unbroken and a steaming bowl of Tomato Gravy. The bowl was white and had a yellow rose with just a hint of the leaf showing...the gravy was smooth except for the bright red chunks of tomato that poked out of the surface like waves of ambrosia. Mac's Mama looked over at him, love shining out of her eyes and said "I made Tomato Gravy for you," and his Daddy said "why do we always have Tomato Gravy when the kids come home?" "Because they like it, " she answered simply. Oh...man...did we like it! Soon after, his dad retired from Cival Service where he had worked closely with the Air Force as a Crash Scene Investigator, they moved to Papa's home town of Selma, Alabama. That meant we got home a little more frequently and when my older son was two, we were stationed there (Mac was a Navy Recruiter). I watched carefully every time the Tomato Gravy was made and since we now lived close by, was often there to help in it's preparation. My boys learned to love it and soon it was an extension of the family tradition. Though we didn't have it every Sunday, more like once a month, it was something to look forward to. I didn't want to make it so frequently that it lost its specialness. I wanted it to be something they would look forward to when they came home. The way it was special to Mac when he came home. Even now I can picture our niece Kari's mouth watering...and I intend to make it this morning...I wish she were close enough to come join us. I'm going to call my older son and daughter(in_law) and tell them it's Tomato Gravy Sunday...maybe they'll come join us.



TOMATO GRAVY:

fry enough bacon or sausage to feed your family

empty a large can (14 ounces) of stewed tomatoes into a sauce pan and add 8 ounces of water and 1/2 tsp of salt...bring it to the boil and then cover and simmer till you're ready to use it. Put on a pot of grits and let it cook longer than the required cooking time...if it says it's done in five minutes, I hate to tell you but they're liars...let them cook at least fifteen minutes...and for those of you who have no idea what grits are or how to prepare them, I am so sorry for you...but just take this advice...never mind, you can't miss what you've never had...make hashbrowns instead.



Make a pan of biscuits and bake them till they're golden...you can use frozen biscuits or canned biscuits if you're so inclined, it won't hurt the flavor of the gravy...



If you have an iron skillet, please use it...this is what God intended the Iron Skillet to be used for. If you have fried the sausage in it (please tell me you fried the sausage or bacon in it) pour off excess fat drippings, leave at least two tablespoons in the bottom with any "crusties" that might be left...two heaping tablespoons of flour to be added to this when the pan is nice and hot...stir the flour in and make a roux, let it get chocolate brown...pour the simmered tomatoes into it all at once, stirring constantly...turn on low and cover while you're getting the rest of the breakfast (eggs) prepared the way you like them, scrambled or fried...if you don't like eggs, don't bother...pour up the gravy in a bowl grate fresh pepper over the top, give it a stir and call everyone to the table...split a biscuit open and ladle on the gravy. You're about to taste heaven. Oh, and a little side note here...seems they stick all kinds of extra spices in tomatoes these days like oregano or basil, NO NO NO...just plain tomatoes! Don't mess with success!

Conspiracy Theories

Someone once said time is relative, and although I can't remember who said it ("I can't remember " seems to be my mantra these days) I never believed it like I am believing it now. It is the last day of May and looking back I can't seem to find the beginning of it. One third of the year is long gone and Summer looms. Okay, I meant to say blooms, but it gets so hot here that looms fits better. Gas is so high that everyone is making one trip do for six and why we don't "car pool" more is beyond me. Wasn't gas just 79 cents a gallon the other day and weren't we all talking about when we could remember gas wars and twenty cent gas? And what happened to all our brainiacs who could have come up with an alternate fuel when gas was rationed in some states...where are they now? I'm not normally paranoid nor do I subscribe to a lot of these conspiracy theories...till now. And oh yes my friends, I do believe that when you see the oil companies making billions on the backs of its customers there is thievery and deception afoot. The only part of our Government's hand I see in it is its failure to do something about it. It makes me wonder who's pocket is getting filled while ours is getting picked. I don't understand how perfectly honest men and women (or at least that's their claim when they are running for election) can become such lying crooks seemingly overnight. They all have "a perfect plan" but if it's so perfect and they love our country so much then why don't they share it with us? Why do they have to be elected to share an answer to our problems? It seems to me that Political should stand for greed and deception and our children are not safe from it's long reach. It would be nice if we had another Mr. Smith to go to Washington, or Miss Smith for that matter. But in the mean time, it flies...time that is...November will be here before we know it and if we're lucky we'll have a President who stands strong for values and his people, who doesn't let party politics become HIS politics and who will encourage our very brilliant youth to find a way to fuel a car that doesn't take anything from the earth or put anything dangerous into our atmosphere. Perhaps someone has already done so, and are being paid to keep it quiet. But wait, I did say I didn't subscribe to conspiracy theories...I just didn't say I don't believe in them.

Tag Time

You know, why anyone would want to know more about me is beyond me, but apparently Retired and Crazy (www.retiredandcrazy.com/ and Lee at http://chrysalisdreams.blogspot.com/ both are compulsive...they both have a need to pass on tags . It's either a Misery Loves Company compulsion or an OCD compulsion...while I am always perfectly happy to talk about myself (be honest now, who of us isn't?) I was beginning to think I was an open book. I am going to have to really dig down deep to find something you can't use to blackmail me with later on , or else just start making junk up. So, first of all I have to post the rules and they are as follows:

The Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you (Lee and R&C
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about you in your blog post.
4. Tag six people in your post.
5. Let each person know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know your entry is up.

Sounds simple, right? Well according to Lee, she was tagged simply AGES ago and is just now getting to it, so I suspect that there will be other foot draggers along the way. I actually had to go back about 30 posts to see if I had forgotten to do any...I think I may be caught up. Okay, so here goes nothing...

1. Before I went into Law Enforcement I was a Navy Wife...I capitalize it because it was important...Mac was a career Navy Man and I was the person who kept the light lit in the window and encouraged him in all he did...being someone's Rock can be the most important thing we do in life...I do Rock well...

2. My favorite flower is which ever one I'm looking at at the time. I can never say one is prettier than the other...each one has something about it that makes it special. Like people.

3. I love poetry and how the words fit together to make confections. Poetry is word candy.

4. I make authentic Yorkshire Pudding thanks to our neighbor Violet Loxley (in Beaconsfield, Bucks,UK) who taught me all I know about British cookery...and please, there will be no insulting talk about British Cooking here!

5. My baby sister Toni is the only one in my family that I can talk to, I mean really talk to.

6. I have two friends that are as dear to me as sisters...in fact they are my sister's in heart...Evil Sister and Good Sister...and for the first time the three of us all live in the same County...if I could get Toni to move here, it would be awesome what we could get up to. And lucky that I have so many friends who have badges!

Okay, now I dug down deep and so I must tag six...I want to tag people I haven't tagged before, and since I've made so many new blogging pals, it won't be hard to come up with.
1. Crazy Caths Reflections at http://crazycath.blogspot.com/
2. Britgal In the USA at http://britgalusa.com/
3. Merry Daze at http://merrydaze.blogspot.com/
4. Jamie at http://jamiesmindlessblather.blogspot.com/
5. Judy at http://judys-front-porch.blogspot.com/
and lastly tho not least
6. Vee at http://ahavenforvee.blogspot.com/

So there we have it, my tag is complete when I've notified all the other taggees what they're in for.

My Brag Book of Friends

I've had a great time visiting all my blogging friends this week. For some reason there have been more pictures (photos) this week. You people take some of the most astounding pictures I have ever seen. While I'm not a huge fan of bugs, I've seen some shots of them that are mind boggling. The wispy wings on dragonflies that seem to shimmer with a cloak of jewels, the droplet of water that appears to be an explosion of gigantic proportions and the rose that still had the dew shimmering on the petals. Some of you are professional, such as David McMahon at Authorblog (http://david-mcmahon.blogspot.com/) who can take a photo of a nut and bolt and make you think it's a skyscraper with a fancy restaurant sitting atop it's shining silver peak. Some of you are learning and growing with each shot, such as Mari-Nanci (http://smilnsigh.blogspot.com/) and Penny (http://lavenderhillstudio.blogspot.com/) who have been exploring their own landscapes to share with us. I take pictures everyday but they mostly look like amateur hour. My son takes pictures much as David does, professionally. He has won awards for his photos. He didn't get it from me. My visions lie in the garden where I can picture in my mind exactly how something will look and hit it dead on. But like I said, I've been visiting everyone and admiring the photos and wishing I could take such glorious photos as Merisi in Vienna (http://merisi.blogspot.com/) that are so concise in their composition that you can make out the color of the shoelaces on a cyclists shoes. I have just been so amazed at the multitude of wonderful photos that I just had to tell you how talented I think you are. Please, keep on snapping those great shots that allow us to travel all over the world and feel as though we've spent the day with a tour guide viewing fantastic gardens and lovely cities, feeling a part of your home renovations and decorations. Rhoda at http://southernhospitality-rhoda.blogspot.com/ retired...not! She's as busy as ever she was and has the photos to prove it. Jeanne at http://jeanne-lifeorsomethinglikeit.blogspot.com/ continues to improve so that it doesn't matter what she points her camera at, it's a great shot. Okay, nuff bragging on my friends...just you go check them out and see for yourselves...and I haven't even scratched the surface.

Memorial Day Rerun

It was May 5th in the year 1868 and by the ruling General Order 11 (General John Logan pictured above) Decoration Day was instituted to honor the fallen dead of a recent war. In the South it goes by many names, but Mama always called the Civil War "the Late Great Unpleasantness". It didn't change anything in her mind about the validity of the war (and BTW the war she missed by about 50 years) but the concept of brother fighting brother was unpleasant, you see. Southern women had begun to lay flowers and ribbons, nosegays and scraps of paper with words of love on the graves of their fallen loves. Husbands, brothers, sons...there was no official holiday, it was just something they did until there was an official holiday. General Logan apparently took notice of this allegiance to the fallen and so a holiday we still celebrate was born. Through the years Decoration Day was changed to Memorial Day and every small town began to hold celebrations with parades and flags and marching men from every branch of the Military proudly walked in it...some old soldiers (with uniforms smelling of mothballs, taken from attics everywhere) current Military men and women, heroes from World War II up thru the current war in Iraq will be honored this year. Something I have noticed, being of the VietNam era, is that we honor our heroes more vigorously during war than peace. It's more than the typical barbecue holiday it usually is. War is at the forefront of everyone's minds and so we pray for our Troops...we pray for the war to be over and everyone to be home and safe with their loved ones. I don't say Happy Memorial Day, because when you think about it, there's nothing remotely happy about it. My grandmother, Nancy Douglas, read "In Flanders Fields" to us when we were little. She read it with much emotion and often had tears in her eyes. I am sure she was always thinking about her beloved Martus (Douglas) who had died on the soil of France after barely disembarking from the troop ship that had carried him there. The words are as moving and meaningful now as they were when first written by a young Canadian Officer named Lt John McCrae, MD. Of course it would be a Doctor who would take note of the carnage that war leaves behind. Take a moment to read it and feel its power. And remember all those who shed their blood to make us the great Nation we are and always will be, because of three simple words. We the People.

In Flanders Fields By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army


IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch;

be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep,

though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

And the Baby Grows Up

Safe in the arms of love...yes she is a spoiled little miss who thinks that all the world stops and waits for her. In fact, it does.










Just look at that face...wouldn't your world stop for that?


And to think, abandoned in the well house for I don't know how long.











Here she is with "Uncle Pye" and we still can't believe he didn't
slice and dice her...no, he loves her truely.


And here in her little hidey hole with her toys...We believe she was born April 1st, which makes her about six weeks old now. Will we find her a home? Well, it's quite apparent she has already found one.

Our Lady Wellington...she's a menace with those newly developed teeth and claws...More on the young Miss in a few weeks...

Zucchini Days (Daze)

The garden is going great guns. Last year in May we had very little rain, and of course the rest of the summer was pretty dry. This May we've had rain every week and the tomato plants are already putting on fruit. The watermelon and cantaloupe plants are up and zinging...the cucumbers and beans are grabbing the fence and the okra is popping up in neat little rows. Everyone has a method for preparing okra seed, which is very hard shelled. Some soak them in bleach overnight (yes, really) some soak them in water overnight. The method I have had the most success with is so simple...I simply fill several ice trays with water and drop at least two seeds in each little cubby hole in the tray and freeze them for a day or so. When we get the row prepared, I take out the ice trays (one tray at a time) and plant the ice cube. The cube melts and waters the planting spot thoroughly and in about ten days up pops the plant(s). If I thin the plants to one plant per drill after they have four leaves and transplant the "thinned" ones to their own separate drill (hole). So anyway, this looks like it's going to be a humdinger of a season since most of the plants are up and bounding away. The other day I bought four little zucchini plants (that's courgettes to my British friends) and that's probably three plants too many. The first year we actually planted a garden Mac opted for three different kinds of squash...Patty Pan which is white and has a scalloped shape...it's very good battered and fried...as good as fried green tomatoes in my opinion. Then we grew yellow straight neck squash...some prefer crookneck but I can't tell any difference in taste. The straight neck is easier to prepare for canning...more uniform. Then I chose the zucchini. I love zucchini bread and always had to buy the zucchini in the grocery store, but I was determined that this particular year we would have our own plants. I seem to remember that we planted six plants and they grew quickly and flowered before the other squash. Every day when I came in from work I'd walk out to the garden to check the progress. My first zucchini was a marvel to behold. That lovely deep green color, the rather delicate veggie lay nestled in its bed of straw. I wondered if more would come on to accompany the first one because what in the world could you do with one zucchini? Place it on a pedestal and admire it till it was reduced to mush and compost? I had no recipes for one zucchini. In fact I only had one recipe for zucchini period...zucchini bread, which is rather a lot like banana bread but with a distinctly not banana flavor, and a green tinge to it if you leave on the skin...which I do. So I started going through my cookbooks (and let me tell you I have shelves upon shelves of cookbooks) looking up zucchini recipes so that in the off chance we had a successful crop of them I'd know what to do. Did you know you can make zucchini pizza? Yes, and zucchini casserole, fried zucchini, stewed zucchini (yuck) and zucchini stuffing. I kid you not. So everyday, here I come to the garden and wow, there are three zucchini .Then there are nine zucchini and suddenly I can't pick them fast enough and everyone is sick to death of my zucchini bread and zucchini pizza...no one wants a bite of zucchini cassarole and I have been threatened by Mac that he will set fire to the garden if I bring in one more mess (I'm not quite sure how this term came about, but a mess is enough to feed everyone at your table) of zucchini. So now my six little plants are producing enough to feed the county and I'm giving it away to anyone who stops by, I'm taking it to work to share with the entire Sheriff's Department and still they come. People are warned not to drive by my house with their car windows open (and I deny ever chasing anyone down and throwing zucchini through their open car windows, it's a lie and I'll swear to it with my last breath). The last of the season came and hiding under one of the plants was the biggest zucchini I had ever seen. It weighed every bit of three pounds and measured about fourteen inches long. Enough time had passed that I had forgotten how overrun with the green squash we had been. I stood up holding that giant progeny of the zucchini vine and watched as Mac approached me. Grinning from ear to ear, I held it out to him proudly. "Look honey, we can use this for seed next year!" He took it from me and walked over to the blazing burn barrel where he unceremoniously dropped it into the flames. "Over my dead body," he calmly replied.

Due to popular demand...here is the recipe for Zucchini Bread...it's the best one I tried...hope you enjoy it Mary!
INGREDIENTS
3 eggs
1 cup vegetable oil
2 cups white sugar
2 cups grated zucchini
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 325 degrees F ( 165 degrees C). Grease and flour two 8x4 inch loaf pans.
In a large bowl, beat eggs until light and frothy. Mix in oil and sugar. Stir in zucchini and vanilla. Combine flour, cinnamon, soda, baking powder, salt and nuts; stir into the egg mixture. Divide batter into prepared pans.
Bake for 60 to 70 minutes, or until done.

She was an Awesome Dog

I've written about our Old English Sheepdog before and now I find her on my mind more than ever. This past weekend while my younger son Michael and his family were down for Mother's Day weekend, Evil Sister's son (and an old friend of Michael's) Jason and his family were here, too. Jason's wife Meridith noticed the pictures of Digby that were hanging in the hallway. She asked if that had been our dog. I smiled (as I always do when her name is mentioned...and teared up a bit, again as I always do) and told her yes, she had been a birthday gift from Mac. Jason heard the conversation and said "oh Meridith, she was an awesome dog...just awesome." I don't think a better description has ever been given her. I loved her as a central part of the family, she was the boys fur sister, my four legged daughter, Mac's little Princess...I don't think a dog was ever so loved. Except maybe Terri's Dakota. I saw on her blogsite (http://bobandterri.blogspot.com/) that she had recently lost her beloved Dakota and then she didn't post for a while. I knew why. I didn't blame her. My heart went out to her and Bob because I knew what misery it was to lose someone you love that dearly and you just don't want to hear "but it's only a dog (or a cat or a bird or horse) because the love that pet owners feel for their pets far exceeds the description of pet. Jason began to tell Meridith the story of when Digby had saved a small child from drowning in a creek at Earle Naval Weapons Station in Colts Neck, New Jersey. We had a gathering in my dining room on Earle a lot of mornings. The group was made up of me, Evil Sister, and the two Cindy's. Both Cindy's had children named Ryan. Nextdoor neighbor Cindy's Ryan was four years old. He would knock on my door in the morning and ask if Digby could come out and play. Digby adored that little boy, as she did most of the neighborhood children. She loved rounding them up in tight little knots most of all. It was in her nature. So one morning the Mob of Four had gathered to teach Round the Corner Cindy how to play Scrabble. Scrabble was an obsession with Evil Sister and me and we were trying our best to spread the addiction. Most of the kids were outside across the street on the green playing kickball and chase and mother may I and Cindy Round the Corner had let her two year old Ryan go out with them. There were promises from all the little kids that they would keep up with him, but we all took turns jumping up to look out the window to check on the smallest of the Playgroup. It was a sudden thing, but Digby began to run from me to the door and barking anxiously and wouldn't stop. Deciding that she wanted to go out and play with the kids, I got up and opened the door. She ran straight out and across the green and didn't stop. By this time all of us were standing at the door and Round the Corner Cindy said "I don't see Ryan." And then we all saw Ryan. His dark blue parka held firmly between her jaws, Digby dragged him from the creek. He was screaming bloody murder so we knew he was alive, but we nearly knocked each other to the floor trying to get out the door all at the same time. After she had him pulled up on the bank, Digby began to run towards us, barking the alarm, and then she ran back to little Ryan and began licking him furiously. His mother ran to him, gathered him up in her arms and crying and shaking, hugged him. She knelt down, Ryan still in her arms and hugged Digby. "You're a wonderful girl, you are!" she was sobbing. She took her rescued boy home for dry clothes and then to the base clinic to make sure he didn't have any injuries. Digby became the hero of the base, but it didn't change her any. She didn't get a case of the "big head". She still liked to play with the neighborhood kids, her own two boys were still her favorites, and Next Door Ryan still came calling for her every morning. If I close my eyes I can still hear his tiny knock and his little voice calling out "can Digby come out to play?"

Would John Wayne leave the garden and go sit down?

We've had such beautiful weather the past two days and of course I can't keep Mac from going out in that garden and about killing himself. I have begged, pleaded and just about threatened malice most foul to make him take a break. The problem is he just flat loves it in that garden. I think it makes him feel almost Godlike to plant those seeds and watch them struggle through the rich earth he's prepared for them. We started this back in January, when he weeded and ran the tiller to keep the earth soft. It was just a couple of days a week then, being too cold to plant. Then in February it was three or four days, just a couple of hours a day, working in the compost and planting his seeds in little pots...by the way we've sworn off peat pots forever...they dry out to fast and the roots die of thirst. By March we have little seedlings in the nursery and he's just like an over protective mother, won't let me help (though I'm quite free with the "we" as in "look what we grew." By April he's going full tilt out there, rows laid out and young plants now in their new home. Where before, we were in "urgent care" now we are in constant care. Last night he was so tired, I told him he was overdoing it again, to take a few hours in the afternoon and rest up, then go back out at six and work a bit. "Would John Wayne take a few hours off to go laze around in the house?" is his reply. Of course his constant refrain has always been "would John Wayne" whatever it was I wanted him to do that might not be in his schedule of things planned. So, today I had a lovely visit from Evil Sister who said she had the same problem with her husband. He just overworks himself. We keep trying to tell them the old grey mule ain't what he used to be, but no one pays us any mind. It's now 1:53 and he has seven minutes to be in this house. I told him when he went back out after lunch that I'd call him when it was 2. So he says "I'll bet the Duke's wife didn't make him come in for a nap at 2 o'clock." I looked at him sadly, shaking my head..."you do know that John Wayne won't be coming in from the garden anymore, right?" I asked him. He gave me one of those "what are you talking about now" looks...You know I almost hated to break the news to him.
ps
here's the latest picture of the baby. We have been calling her Brat...you want to talk spoiled? Her official name is Lady Wellington lol

The Truth in Advertising

It rained today. Yeahhhhhh. It started about dawn and went on till after twelve. It misted like the skies were filled with tiny little holes and that gravity was forcing it through the sprinkler head the first part of the morning and then suddenly it came down like it was being poured from a boot. I never once complained. I simply kept my jammies on all morning long, turned on the television and prepared to watch people lie about the products they sell. But first of course, it was Mother's Day so I cooked. Grits, sausage perfectly scrambled eggs (you know, very moist but done) biscuits and a side of strawberries. That's why I spent the rest of the morning in jammies...I couldn't move. So, coffee in hand I picked up the remote and began to channel surf, hoping I'd see Billy pushing his amazing stain removing boil extracting weed killing germ eliminating handy dandy soap balls. Or maybe the clothes deflating, atom squashing sweater flattening space bags so you can jam one ton of clothes in about a 32 inch space. I love to watch them hawking those little tillers that you can manage with one hand. Problem is, the soil those newfangled dadburn ground ripping motor driven teeth from hell are tilling was done several hours before by a John Deere. Not John Dear, John Deere as in tractor. It doesn't need any clarifying. It's a John Deere. Nothing runs like a ...well you get the point. So here's this marvelous little tiller just plowing away in the super looking ground (which looked suspiciously like mulch and cow manure to Mac. You can't fool Mac, for while he's not a bona fidie farmer he can grow a lot more than one thing from seed. Sort of like cooking from scratch, and almost as tasty.) The first time I saw this add I burst out laughing. Who did they think they were kidding? Then there are the "beauty ads" featuring seventeen year old girls trying to act like they're forty but they just put on some of Dr. Feelgood's Wrinkle Cream and man they look why they look...I don't know, seventeen? I mean really people, I have better things to do with my money than plaster some magic elixir (the magic was in turning my money into their money) that smells like pulvarized lizard gizards and looks like pond scum. But it's gonna make me beautiful! Hey, poor stupid me, and here I thought I looked pretty durned good for a gal my age...aha, and what's my age you ask? Well contrary to popular opinion I never once found a penny in dinosaur track. But really what I want to say is simply pay attention. As a woman once told me, if it looks to good to be true it probably is!

Frankly I'd Rather Be in the Yard Part 2

Some of you asked for pictures and so here they are. This is a view from the back porch of the left hand side of the back yard and Mac's garden. The property goes into the woods and down to the creek and the creek is our property line. It's such a lovely view for us. The picture on the left is a partial picture of the front yard and the entrance to the patio area. The middle picture is of the blue berry beds and one of the apple trees. The picture on the right is the preparation of the patio, getting the potted plants ready to put inside on the bricks.

The drive way that leads down to our cozy cabin.

The view of the back of our place peach orchard Blueberry beds

The last is a picture of one of Mac's tomato beds...so far he has three beds, with a total of 64 tomato plants which he grew himself. We have not bought a single vegetable plant...Mac's green thumb does it all. He grew the fruit trees from seed...we have a nice fruit orchard going, apple trees, Victoria Plum, Peach trees and blueberries...We will have watermelons, cantaloupe, tomato, okra, beans, peas , squash and pumpkin in the garden this year. You know for retired people though, I don't think we have ever been quite this tired! Hope you enjoyed the tour as much as I enjoyed taking you around.

Frankly, I'd Rather Be in the Yard

I can't believe it is Monday. Mac and I have been in the yard for three days, it seems more like seven. We have been mowing, sowing, and towing...four acres of grass is a lot of grass...we do it in sections and take turns riding the mower. I spent a couple of days sowing Canterbury Bell seeds and now I'll be praying for them to come up. The little riding mower decided that it won't go anywhere anymore till we buy it a new battery, so the big mower had to give it a tow. Then Sunday we put in the little water feature. Mac gave me this little pond set up for Mother's Day last year. We had it installed yesterday. One year. It broke our previous dilly dallying record of six months. I shall explain.


Mama had a lovely Koi pond at the back door. Her Koi were fifteen years old and very tame. They didn't even mind the cats...they would take food from your hand. The sound of water is so very relaxing and I longed for it at home. I had my aquariums and I loved my small fish but I wanted that soothing sound outside, as well. So, Mama bought us a complete pond outfit for our 25th Wedding Anniversary. It was delivered by Sam, the UPS Man and Mac put this huge box in the garage. It was only supposed to be for a week or so. It arrived in September, a month early. Mama was hoping the sounds of rushing water would be a done deal by October 15th. Month after month I would walk into the garage, see the box sitting there and think to myself, we're going to get that pond up and running soon. I nagged Mac as only I can nag but it did no good. Lets see, some of the responses I got from him were as follows: "it's too cold"; "the ground is frozen"; "I don't own a jackhammer"; and finally the classic "I'll do it tomorrow."


Of course tomorrow failed to arrive and so I took matters into my own hands one fine April morning. It was a Saturday as I recall. I had arisen and poured my cup of coffee and was taking it on the porch. I looked over to the side yard and envisioned how my pond would look when I had it finished. Taking my cup of Joe with me, I wandered in the garage, saw the big white box and lugged it out into the drive. I opened it and removed the directions and walked back to the porch to read them. (Contrary to what My Darling Mac tells you, I do not throw out directions to everything as a matter of principle.) So I began to read and I noticed that Mac had his coffee and was joining me. "Whatcha got there?" he mumbled, trying to feign an interest he certainly did not feel at this hour of the morning. "It's about the koi pond...I'm going to put it in today, " I said proudly. He snorted, by all that's holy the man snorted and then he started laughing. Out loud. "No no," was my response. "This is a very simple procedure. It says so right here in these directions, " I declared, waving them under his nose. He smiled knowingly, patted me on my shoulder and said " I'll get to it next weekend, I promise." I assured him that I was quite certain I could do this, and leaving him with his coffee, walked back into the garage and picked up a can of white spray paint. I took the measuring tape and marked out 10 feet and sprayed an x. Then I measured out 12 feet in the other direction and sprayed another x. Then I roughly sprayed the outline of a ginormous lima bean and set to with a will. I took the half moon diggy thingy and cut into the soil at the outline I had made. Mac wandered over to see what I was doing. I was standing on the half moon jumping up and down on it to force it into the dirt. Mac clucked with disgust and taking the diggy thingy from me, finished what I had begun in record time, telling me this was as far as he was going, I was on my own. I smiled prettily at him and told him "fine". I went into the garage and retrieved the little tiller Mac used in the garden. He narrowed his eyes and asked what I thought I was doing. "I'm going to dig my pond with this tiller, " I replied. "You should use the big tiller, that tiller is for maintaining, not digging." I frowned, nodded and put the little tiller aside. I went back into the garage and wrestled the big tiller out of its confines rolling it out to the construction site. "Do you think you could crank it for me?" I asked him. How could he say no? So he cranked it, then he said "let me get this hole started for you." So I let him get the hole started and then of course he had to shovel out the dirt and then he had to lay out the liner and by the time he knew what had happened I had wandered back over to where he stood four feet deep in a hole with the water hose in my hand. And that's how I constructed our first Koi Pond. Any resemblance between me and Tom Sawyer and a certain fence are spot on.

Languages

You all know my Mac by now, the man who spent so much time at sea only to discover he was a farmer all along? Mac spent over 30 years serving his country in the U.S. Navy. His rating was Signalman which is in Communications. When we first met he was SM1 (Signalman First Class) and was very proficient at his job. He knew the Morse Code like I know Pig Latin (I know Pig Latin or Igpay Atinlay very very well). He taught me the basics of Semaphore, talking with flags. He is quite brilliant, is Mac. But one day he took it into his head that would like to signal to me from the bridge when the ship was pulling out for a deployment. He wanted me to understand what he was saying and so he taught me just enough to figure out how to swear in arm signals. Oh now that was not his intention at all. I was to learn how to intrepret "I'll miss you, and I love you"...but I was a very warped young woman, you see. And so the teaching me of a skill that I could "tweak" was a move I'm sure he regretted at times. I was feuding with a neighbor (Mrs. Perfect Edmondson, she was such a jerk) and we happened to be at the same New Years Eve party. We very purposefully avoided each other, but I overheard a comment the attycay ittchybay was making about the dress I was wearing (It was a beautiful red velvet, spagetti strapped confection with a flared skirt, a slip of crinoline showing at the left leg) saying ugly things about how it made my behind look and steam began to build. My eyes narrowed to slits and fire was pointed in her direction. Mrs. Edmondson caught my eye (detected the fury) and was hurriedly making her departure. I was practically jumping up and down my arms wheeling like deranged windmill paddles spelling out "SLMF". Mac, who had been deep in conversation with some of his pals, turned and caught the tail end of my silent tirade. He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides and putting his face close to my cheek as though kissing my ear,whispered "please don't make me regret teaching you to signal!" You know, it was the knowing she didn't understand one word of what I was saying that made the remark that much sweeter. And like Pig Latin, the translation of my remark is easy enough once it's out there in black and white...so, please don't blush. I'm much nicer now.