Visions in the Garden

Believe it or not, but after five inches of rain during last week, I've had to go out and water plants this morning, fill bird baths and now am considering mowing the grass. I'm considering, mind you, not completely "hold my feet to the fire" sure, but the time is coming. So, I'm wandering around out in the front garden with watering cans in hand (where's my yoke when I need it?) going to the petunias and the landscape roses, the hens and chicks...the Cathedral Belles and the day lilies just watering and admiring and I suddenly see what I am going to do as soon as the humidity breaks enough for me to spend some quality time in the new seating area under the cedars. Mac calls this "having visions" and it's something I do all to frequently. We have a gated arch at the end of the front porch. We put it there a few years ago so we could keep a former neighbors wandering dogs off the front porch and the cats would have a safe haven to run to. I have decided that we will simply build a small gate to attach to the porch entry and move the arch to the new seating area. I am going to build a secret garden there...a fairy garden, complete with little painted doors and windows on trees, hidden treasures in the brush and foliage. I can see it all in my mind and it will be something that Arianna will love to visit. I want to do it while the flowers are still abundant and hummingbirds are still flitting and fighting over nectar. Then when winter comes, there will be a Christmas Garden, since I light the cedars each year. I am so looking forward to starting this project that I may not wait for the humidity to break...I may start it today. I'll let you know how it goes!

Oh, and Pyewackit and Mindy appreciate your support in the upcoming election. He is still looking for cabinet ministers...Dogs may apply, he is not prejudiced against them. He says his best friend is a dog and running for Vice President. All offers will be considered.

Okay, this is an edit...an edit I couldn't wait to put in...Vee over at A Haven For Vee (http://ahavenforvee.blogspot.com/ ) gifted me this morning. See that lovely little girl sitting on the park bench? She says "just plain fun to read"? This is an award I have longed for since the first time I saw someone else receive it. I can't tell you how much it means to me that my dear Vee has given it to me. I intend to pass it along to six others, but later in the week, after I've had time to enjoy it myself a bit. Thank you Vee, and congratulations on receiving it yourself...it is a well deserved award for you!

Photo Friday/ Pyewackit for Prezzydent

Pye and a young Campaign worker discuss stratcategy

MindyLou for VEEP...a vote getter by golly! AGE IS NOT AN ISSUE

He's a tawny seal point Siamese with a passion for politics. He is running on the Democatic ticket and can't abide democratic wannabees or Republicat flibberty jibbits. His theory is every cat for himself and to hell with the mice. If it's his mouse he sees no reason to share the bounty with any other species or even with his own kind. Birds need not apply to sit on his cabinet, though they can be canned and in his cabinet, no problem. While he is not into dogs, per se, he is running with a dog as his Vice President. She's a real bitch, so don't mess with MindyLou. You think Hillary was a tough nut? You ain't seen nothing yet! We're not sure how many votes Pye can anticipate, most of constituency can't drive, nor do they have thumbs...but he feels that he has a good chance against the weiny competition that's set up against him so far. Why? Because he never claims to have passed any law right by himself, changed any condition all on his own or to have scratched his way up from kittenhood without the help of the people who actually raised him. Yes, he figures he stands a good chance. He just needs the vote of the people in blogland to get him to the pinnacle of popularity. A vote for Pye is a vote for honesty!

Pye for Prezzydent

The art of Canning

It seems like just a few weeks ago that we planted our tomato seeds and waited patiently for the plants to emerge from those tiny little cells to which they had been assigned. I can't believe the number of plants that Mac actually had survive. I think at last count there was something like 84 tomato plants in the garden. Part of them are determinate, which only set fruit once then the plants are kaput, part indeterminate, which set fruit up until fall. You might ask why we'd want any tomatoes that only set fruit once, and I'd tell you because those are the ones I have found best for canning, both in quality and quantity. I have been canning tomatoes for three weeks now and I am here to tell you, I am heartily sick of tomatoes. My hands burn from the acid that seem to leech through the plastic gloves I don to scald and skin them, my arms ache from lifting heavy batches from the canner, and my nose is numb to all other smells but tomato. I smell tomatoes in my sleep. Granted, those lovely glass jars of ruby ripe tomatoes will come in handy and be appreciated this winter when some are wanting tomato gravy or hot vegetable soup, but right now, it's just dog gone hard work. I try not to take shortcuts when preserving food that might affect the quality of the end result or poison any of us by accident. You have to be very careful. I have a pressure cooker that I use for foods that are not as acidic as the tomatoes are, but people, the thing frankly gives me the heebie jeebies. I take it out of the shed and put it in the kitchen at least two full days before I plan to can using it rather than the coldpack canner. I read all about the pressure dial, how many pounds of pressure to use for what foods for how long. I take a deep breath and start filling jars with homemade vegetable soup, or cabbage, green beans or butter beans....have my chair sitting in front of the stove, fill the pressure cooker with seven quart jars filled with heavenly veggies, put on the lid, set the gauge, turn the burner on high, wait for the pressure to begin to rise, take my seat in the chair so I can watch the gauge carefully, never letting it go above the pressure weight and start timing it. I wring my hands, and pray that the whole shootin' match doesn't end up as something I have to a. wipe from the ceiling or b. remove from the roof of the house. Pressure cookers are notorious for blowing a gasket, so to speak. My Aunt Della, who loved to can her own spaghetti sauce, often had us children sitting in the chair in front of the stove to watch the little gauge which sits somewhat haphazardly on top of the canner lid. She told us to yell loudly if the gauge went higher or lower than, lets say 10 pounds of pressure...often we yelled to late and spaghetti sauce would be dripping from the kitchen's ceiling and the children assigned to do the pot watching would be cowering in any corner they could find as far away from the stove as they could get. I never volunteered to watch the pressure cooker. I was often drafted, and I admit I was a draft dodger on several occasions. I just felt that any chore that gave me nightmares and not one cent of profit was made by it, was a bum deal. Yet, here I am, ready to go to the shed and bring out the dreaded pressure cooker. I'll let you know how it went on Saturday morning...I should be sober by then.

The Contrariness of Being

Yesterday was such a wonderful day that I only need one word to describe it. Rain. Blessed wet wildly flying droplets of rain fell upon the gardens and lasted longer than the usual five minute tease. At seven pm I put on a pot of coffee and Mac and I sat on the porch sipping and laughing, amazed that such a small thing like rain could make us so happy. The cats dashed about in the sprinkles as though they'd never seen such before...oh wait, for a couple of them, they hadn't! It rained till eight or a bit after and at nine we went inside. I watched Bobby solve another case on Law and Order, CI and Mac went in to the computer. At eleven, as we prepared for bed, I heard the rain falling again. Mac allowed as how that was the best sound he'd heard in ages. He started laughing and I asked him what was so funny. "If it rains much more the watermelons are going to start exploding like firecrackers out there." Assuring him that I really didn't think that much rain was falling, we fell asleep to the sound of rain on the roof, and life was good.



I woke up this morning to silence. The fan I keep near the bed for the single purpose of making noise, was quiet. The whole house was quiet. Nothing moved, whirred, chimed or rustled. Silence. Silence makes me nervous. I crept from the bed and went into the kitchen and flipped on the light. Nothing. I went to the sink and turned on the tap. Nothing. I looked at the cable box, it was dark and daunting. No power. NO POWER! All I could think was "how am I going to get my morning news fix, my morning coffee fix and most importantly, my morning blog fix?" I find that I am an addict of electrical power. Without it I am helpless. There is no camp stove outside to prepare a pot of that wonderful wake up brew to which I can absolutely not function without. And then I heard myself say it. I tried to call it back, but my throat refused to suck in air and call back the words...I saw them hanging in front of my face, mocking me with their intent...and then my ears heard what my mouth had dared to utter...

"Damned rain!"

And Speaking of Cats

I have a very dear friend that I made while in the employ of the Sheriff. We came in contact with each other mainly at the jail. We always joked that I was busy locking them up and she was busy getting them out! We frequently did not see eye to eye but that didn't hurt our friendship one iota. In fact, I think it made it stronger in the long run. I always admired her for her strength and tenacity in the face of horrible odds. You see she wasn't always an attorney. She was a wife and mother who worked in the harsh conditions of a tool manufacturing plant, and whose marriage was not the happiest; but this indominatable lady made the best of the cards that fate had dealt her and plowed through life like a bulldozer. When her son decided that he was going to become an attorney, my pal decided that she too wanted to continue her education. Now a widow and her children grown, she went back to school. She worked hard to complete that goal, her son urging her on. She graduated, passed the bar and went to work. She was known for defending the underdog and the underpaid. She was a perfect choice for Public Defender if there ever was one. She works long hours (so long that I'm lucky to get a returned phone call from her these days...) But along with all the people she helps, she also has a soft heart for animals. She keeps cats, dogs peacocks every assortment of God's creatures live on her place outside town. Her herd of cats outnumber mine. And then some. She found a Vet in North Carolina who will "fix" at a reasonable cost if you bring in more than one cat to be spayed or neutered. I always laugh when I think of it, leave it to her to find a 2 for 1 sale Vet. She had so many cats at one time that she actually took a couple of them to be "fixed" that had already had surgery! They all looked alike, apparently. She puts me in mind of the lady who wrote to Dear Abby and said she wanted to be a Doctor but if she went to school she would be 50 years old when she graduated. Abby's answer was classic...and how old will you be if you don't go to school? I wonder if my good friend read that piece of advice?

Happy 4th of July all, hope your day is filled with peace and contentment, and fire works!

Ariel the Ancient

Everyone who knows me knows that it's a Cat's World here at the Cottage. It all began over 2o years ago with Bela (Lugosi) my older son's cat that adopted us when we lived on Main Street in Chesterfield. Just after we moved out to the country, Bela being the sole cat in the family, Ariel came to live with us. Mac, having retired from the Navy and now bored with having time he never expected to weigh so heavy on his hands, took a job with the County Chain Gang overseeing the Prison Camp inmates that did not go out on the road. There was a mother cat there who had had her litter of kittens in an old abandoned car on the edge of the property. At about six weeks of age they started coming onto the back porch at the Camp Kitchen to get leftovers the inmate cooks would leave them. One day Mac found that four of the five kittens had been run over on the little dirt road and killed. There was one left, and he managed to capture her and kept her inside his coat for last hour of work. I had already gotten home from my own job with the Sheriff's Department when he came in. He walked into the dining room where I sat having coffee and opened his coat to reveal two huge green eyes attached to a ball of fur. I sort of groaned my disapproval, all the while reaching for the tiny furball. This was in the end weeks of 1999. I took her to our Vet and had her spayed, got all her shots and Bela took over the training of Ariel. I was afraid he was going to kill her, but he was very protective of her. We had just lost our Digby, the Old English Sheepdog, the month before and Bela had gone slightly crazy with grief. I say slightly, but that's being kind. Bela went totally round the bend, once hitting Mac with a balled up paw so hard it knocked his glasses off and left a red spot on the side of his face. Credit to Mac for not punching him back...but Bela took to the tiny Ariel like he was her father. The little black kitten grew, but not very much. She was and is tiny and slender, the only cat I've ever seen with such a pronounced profile, and rules this place with an iron paw. She will be 19 years old in September if our math is right. She sits with me at the computer when I blog, so picture me typing and looking over her Majesty as I try to make sure there are no typos. My girl is slowing down these days. She doesn't do much but eat and sleep . I know that she may be nearing the end and when it happens there will be no consoling Mac. She is such a central part of the family that it will take us a while to recover. I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I know that when she goes she will be joining Digby ,Duffy and Ripley...Bela, I'm not so sure...God may have him in Purgatory for a bit, doing penance for smacking his master.

The Gazebo

I love my yard, or as it was called in England, my garden. We have so much planted, areas laid out with broad swathes of color and texture that I think we can call the whole affair a garden and easily get by with it. I call our place Orchard Cottage, which is what our home in England was named, because of all the fruit trees and bushes that surround us here as it did there. Our place is not large, but cozy and very comfortable for the two of us and room for guests when they arrive. The front porch is large and shaded with hanging pots of broad leaf moss roses (Portulaca) petunias of every hue, mostly double and rose bushes all around. There's a Mandavillia vine curling it's way over the porch rail and a volunteer cantaloupe twining it's way alongside. There are cats sleeping on the porch rail, escaping the heat of the day, their sweet faces turned toward the front door in hopes someone will come out and sit with them. Looking over to the front drive the other day, Mac allowed as how a Gazebo would look fine up there, inviting us within it's cool depths on the way back from the mailbox. I had to laugh, he who is always accusing me of "having visions", was apparently having a few visions of his own. I told him I didn't think I wanted a Gazebo, though the idea was nice. He looked at me for a second, reached out and touched my face and smiled and said "Chesterfield's Gazebo get you spooked?" and suddenly laughed one of those laughs that only a man can manage, head thrown back, bellows of sound erupting like silly thunder. I nodded, oh yes...Chesterfield's Gazebo....

Chesterfield is such an amazing little town, the County Seat, only one street long with shops on either side, a bank at the corner by the Courthouse, the Western Auto Appliance Store directly across from the brick edifice we call the Courthouse...the old Courthouse, which is at the other end of the street actually looks like what it is. It has charm and character and stories to tell...but a couple of decades ago someone got it into their heads that building a new Courthouse and making it look like some large brick box with a flat roof might make Chesterfield seem an up and coming thriving town. So we have this nondescript brick building we call the courthouse, across the street is the Western Auto and next to the Western Auto a small grassy area that held...nothing. So the Town Council agreed to erect a lovely little Gazebo there, a place where perhaps lunches could be taken, or just a place to sit and rest and talk with friends. It was a wonderful concept.

Now, Chesterfield is a small town, as I have said. But we have more than our share of, for lack of a more politically correct word, town drunks. This is no Mayberry where Otis comes in and takes the key off the wall and opens the door, locks himself in and goes off to sleep. While we have our share of those who go peacefully down the hall to the cell block, and even those who had family members drive their beloved drunk family member to the jail and unceremoniously boot them out the door into our loving arms, for the most part our drunks don't want to be locked up. They want to drink. They want to drink in peace and quiet. And one night they stumbled upon this lovely gingerbread construction, sort of an open air drinking spot...and they thought, (I can hear strains of "there's a plaaace for us...right here a place for us...") why how thoughtful. The town has erected us a gathering place. No more will we have to hide out in the back lots looking for concrete block upon which to rest our weary drunken bones. And a trash receptacle...don't know what that's for, bottles and cans belong littered upon the ground to prove that we were here...I was on my way home from work one night and saw my cousin (who was a town cop) sitting in her patrol car, parked where she had a clear view of the Gazebo. I pulled in next to her, my drivers side window next to her drivers side window (when you see cops parked like this along the highway, they're not trying to set the radar to work both ways...it already does that in one car alone...they're chatting...comparing calls, catching up on what's been going on) and asked her what was up. She had her reading glasses on and pushed them up on top of her head and laid the crossword puzzle book down on her lap. "We've been getting complaints that the Gazebo has turned into a gathering spot for every drunk in the county...so far I count four...I looked over at where she indicated and named two "frequent flyers" from my own experience. I asked her what she was going to do. "Just waiting for them to get drunk enough to forget I'm here and start passing that bottle around...and they'll pass it around, believe me. Then that's when I'll go get them and take them off to the jail." We sat and talked for a couple of minutes and then it happened...happy hour in the Gazebo...she picked up her radio and called the jail. She told them she was about to be 10-67 four times and to meet her under the Sally port. This was a scene that was repeated every day. Sometimes several times a day...there were male and female drunks and the worst of them were the females. I'd rather have dealt with a drunk man than a drunk woman any time of the day. I don't remember how long the Gazebo stood on the little corner lot that was intended to be a park of sorts, but it wasn't long. Perhaps two years, maybe three. But the Council in all its wisdom deemed the Gazebo no longer a part of the beautification of Chesterfield, but an eyesore. And so they tore the little Gazebo down...nothing there now but sand and small tufts of Dallas grass. A few rocks to get stuck in the soles of your shoe if you walk that way towards the Western Auto. The drunks are now relegated out of sight mostly to the back lots, going to the red dot store (ABC Store, Liquor Store whatever you call it in your neck of the woods) and scurrying quickly away so that the Cops can't interfere with what they do best. And so as I stand gazing up towards the front drive where Mac was envisioning a Gazebo, I hear the words in my head just as they came in "Field of Dreams"...build it and they will come...". A chill went straight through me. I shook it off and muttered under my breath "oh no, not only no but HELL NO!"

I'd like to thank the Academy....Part Deux

This is the second award I received yesterday and it came from Sandy at IBeati (http://spiritifelici.blogspot.com/ . Her awards are her own creation and she has a friend, Mary, who helps with design. The Special Scribe Award is for writing and to say I was pleased to receive it would be an understatement. I once made the statement that I was a wordsmith. I love words, putting them together, dressing them up and throwing them down. I learned long ago that poetry doesn't have to rhyme to be lyrical and prose doesn't have to be succinct to be meaningful. I began to read further back than memory allows and was encouraged to do so by my family. I in turn encouraged my own children to read and to put their thoughts to paper when they could. I feel that blogging is perhaps the most spectacular tool for people to reach out to others with their talents, their concern , their very humanity. Through this medium I believe we can teach, learn and grow and become better people for having done so. So I thank you Sandy for this dear award and the privilege you give me of passing it on. I have three in mind who delight me with their words and comedy...I know that if I ever need a good laugh, the "bringing tears to my eyes" kind of laugh these three ladies will guarantee it.

The first of my Awardees is Sarah at http://britgalusa.com/ or Brit Gal in the USA who never fails to cheer me up and remind me how difficult it can be sometimes to be in a foreign country, even though you love it...she'll teach you how to keep your pecker up...no, really...

The second of my Awardees is Deb at http://lehnersinfrance.blogspot.com/ or The Lehners in France. I once read something that Deb had written that was so funny I was wishing I had on some depends...this lovely English family living in France is nothing short of hysterical.

The third Awardee is Kari at Just Living Large or http://grannyskywalker.blogspot.com/ and her take on life will spin you out of control and completely out of orbit. She can throw a rant like no one else I know. And I know this little missy quite well. She doesn't call me Aunt Sandi for nothing.

So, these are the three that I would like to honor. I will say as Sandy said, please display it if you like, and pass it on if you will...an honor shared is an honor expanded...

I'd like to thank the Academy....Part 1

Yesterday when I came in I found that two of my blogging friends had honored me with awards. Now when I say an award makes my heart sing, I am not kidding you. To have your peers think enough of you to pass on these awards means that you are doing something right. It's the pat on the back the "attaboy" that most of us relish in our lives. How wonderfully happy it made me to read about the origins of these awards and to find how hard some had worked on the award to make it special. I think that the joy we feel when someone gives you a blogging award is the acknowledgement that what you do or say is special, makes you stand out in the crowd...boosts the ego and hugs the soul. It's difficult to not say "I love you all, so anyone who reads this, this is your award..." It diminishes it somewhat, makes it not so special. So I am not saying that I don't admire each and every blogger in my faves site, it's just that sometimes, some need to be held up to public view...and I am lucky enough to be able to do that while mentioning the fact that someone thought that much of me, at the same time...So the two awards that I was so honored with are as follows:



This lovely statute is called the "Arte y Pico" award which was created to be given to bloggers who inspire others with their creative energy and talents no matter whether it be in the form of writing, artwork, design, interesting material, or contributions to the blogger community. When a blogger receives this award it is considered a "special honor" and, once presented to you, it is to be passed on to at least 5 other bloggers who meet the criteria.

My dear friend Jeni at Down River Drivel (http://oldavonladysorders.blogspot.com/ ) presented me with this beautiful award. I've been a fan of hers for some time...I told her once that I came in for the intrigue of her name and stayed for the tales of Kurtis and Maya, her two delightful grandchildren who just happen to be autistic. She helps countless other parents and grandparents with all the knowledge she has collected on this disorder, and for that I have only the deepest admiration and pride in the joy of knowing her. Please go see her, you won't regret it, I promise. And the five that I wish to honor with the award are David McMahon (http://david-mcmahon.blogspot.com/ at Authorblog...this published Australian Author does so much for those of us who work on our blogs diligently, striving for perfection (or at least readability) by his encouragement that I am not sure how he finds time to spend with his family and take all those wonderful photo's he posts on his site. He is an intelligent thoughtful artist that should be honored everyday, in my opinion. If you don't go visit him, it's definitely your loss...

My second recipient of the above award is Jamie Dawn at http://jamiesmindlessblather.blogspot.com/. Jamie is so insightful into the world of blogging and holds her faith up as a candle to light the way. Her Pulpit is the internet, her messages (delivered with liberal shots of humor and levity) so point on without hammering you in the head, that reading her is akin to reading "the Gospel according to Peanuts"....I'm telling you, the girl has got it!

The third recipient of this award is going to Kathy Davenport at http://justabeachkat.blogspot.com/ for her ability to meet up with bleak possibilities and spit right in their eye! This cancer survivor has beauty, wit and a healthy spirit who shares her life and encourages all of us to face things head on...go over and click on her pink ribbon to pay for breast exams for women otherwise unable to afford the procedure, stay and visit with her...you'll be glad you did.

The fourth of the blogsters I read and admire for their ability to brighten an otherwise dreary world is my wonderful friend (who goes by the name Merisi in blogland) who is so sharing with her lovely photography that you feel as if you had been there in Vienna, seen these wonderful spots, walked in these gardens and petted that dog, stroked that cat laughed at that bicyclist...My Merisi is a joy to visit, so go to http://merisi.blogspot.com/ and her site (which is entitled) "Merisi's Vienna for Beginners.

And the fifth recipient is actually two...sisters that is, at Ask Kari and Kijsa (http://kariandkijsa.blogspot.com/ These multi talented young ladies are professional designers who share of their work and ideas so generously that all of us can look at a room and say "I can do that!" I am constantly amazed at the ease with which the girls come up with these splendidly simple ideas that look so beautifully complicated that it makes your jaw drop.

So, that is the award list, and I am so honored to be able to present it that I again must thank our Jeni for bestowing it upon me, in the first place. Later this evening I will be back to tell you all about the second award I received from Sandy at http://spiritifelici.blogspot.com/ which goes by I Beati: A Meeting Place where we can share our blessings and laugh a little bit

I Woke up this Morning

I woke up this morning...now that seems like a pretty good lead in line...and this may sound, well inappropriate , but it is oh so true...my grandmother (Nancy Douglas, we called her Mammy) had a favorite saying, and it was "everyday above ground is a good one." Being a Southern Girl (born and bred) I have thousands of those little tidbits, but that one has always been my favorite. It showed the grit in Mammy's craw that made her the person she was. A Teacher by profession, a Farmer by necessity, and a survivor by choice. I say by choice because she never gave up or gave in. She had a hard life that wasn't made any easier by the times she lived in or the health she fell victim to. But she struggled, along side my Grandfather, Dwight Douglas (we called him Daddy Dwight) rearing three children, teaching school, helping run a farm, keeping the books for their farm and writing out the checks for the farm workers at the end of each week. She had to have a goiter removed when she was relatively young, I believe in her forties .(but you can't take that to the bank, I was a kid at the time and all the grandmothers and great aunts were of an age that never seemed to change. They all looked the same to me from one day to the next, never aging in my childish eyes.) She suffered and beat lung cancer and uterine cancer. People in the South of the 30's, 40's and 50's were plagued with oddly different ailments like Goiter from lack of iodine in the diet, and other noxious little disorders that no one hears or knows about or even cares about these days. One that I remember from my childhood was called "Ground Itch". It was actually hook worms that got into your bare feet from running around in the yard after a rain when the hot sun brought them to the surface, so tiny you couldn't see them, so tiny they had no trouble invading the soles of young feet. The only thing that cleared up ground itch was a heavy spraying of what I recall being ether on the soles of the feet to freeze and kill the little varmints. It only took one dose of Ground Itch and it's ghastly cure for me to heed the "keep your shoes on" warning in the spring rains. For some reason, late summers you were safe. So Mammy had many jobs, wore many hats and had much to contend with. She was not a quitter nor a bellyacher and couldn't stand to hear anyone complain about how they felt and often recited the "man with no feet" tale from a Bible tract that she kept in the folds of her big Church Bible. You know the one, I longed for new shoes till I met the man who had no feet...So when the danged flare hit me last week (and lasted longer than usual) I started thinking about Mammy and how she fought off self pity by finding someone in worse shape than she herself was and realized how that great spirit is still teaching me today. I like to think that the steel in my backbone was genetically placed there by all my forebears who struggled and made it safely to shore. I hope my children will be so blessed, and so far I think they are. They are not whiners...they are not quitters...they just keep on keeping on...and they keep their good humor. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

Days upon days

It's been a rough few days here in Jefferson. Oh yeah you know we had heat but that broke earlier in the week, and it's been in the mid 80's which is down right chilly to us now. I haven't been in the best of shape for typing (or keyboarding, whatever you call it these days) because the RA has flared and every joint is on fire. But you know what, I'm getting through it. I'm not having to worry about my home washing away from flood waters. I worry about my friends all along the Mississippi and wonder how they're getting along and praying that they are safe from the swelling river. Hoping against hope that help has arrived with sand bags or boats...that they had time to put things that are precious to them where they won't be lost. My knees decided they didn't want to bend well long about Monday but thank God I don't have to outrun a tornado or a forest fire encroaching on my home...I worry about my friends who now find themselves living in Tornado Alley or in the middle of a fire plain. So, while my fingers may ache my knees may creak and my head may bend with the pain in my neck, I can still laugh at Hound's antics and know that I am safe. I don't worry about any returning illness that is much harder to fight then Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). I worry about my friend who is waiting for word and praying that the word is benign. So, I'll be back in fighting form soon...and praying you are all safe from storms, flood fire and illness...I love you all...

Tributes

Last Sunday the town of Ruby did something special to honor their Doctor (who just happens to be my father). Daddy first came to them in October, 1963. He left a good job in the city, as the song goes...a very large city. He had been working at DC General Hospital in Washington and we lived in Falls Church, Virginia. My sister Holly had just graduated High School (Bishop DJ O'Connell a Catholic High School we both attended) and my parents had just sold the house we lived in to the State of Virginia. Where our house once stood, Route 66 was going through. Now, my Dad swears this is what happened. Knowing Mama, I have no doubt of it whatsoever. He says that after the house sell Mama called him at work and told him "Daddy is here with the truck, we're packing up and moving to Chesterfield. " Most men would not be quite so obliging as to pack in a career and move South on a whim...but to say he loved Mama is an understatement. He talked to the other Doctor's with whom he worked and they told him that if he had to go, then he had to but if he changed his mind his place would be available for him. We'd only been back in Chesterfield a week when the job offers started coming in. He had his first patient after having been a guest of my Grandparents for a day. He asked my Grandmother how this person had known he was there and that he was a Doctor. My grandmother replied, "this is Chesterfield, everyone knows everything about everyone." He was asked to work in Charleston, SC, he had an offer from Jefferson and my Uncle Gary (Douglas) persuaded him to take the town of Ruby up on their offer. The new Doctor they'd hired had backed out at the last minute and the new Clinic stood empty. This is how we arrived here all those years ago. When Daddy was taken suddenly ill a few weeks ago and had to have emergency surgery, so many people from the Town and outlying areas who had been his patients for so many years, became alarmed that this stalwart servant of the people was lying ill in hospital and only his family had known. Some of the patients became so upset that they called the Sheriff's Department to report him missing. Just as the door was about to be broken in someone called my brother on his cell phone and reported that there was a "mob" of cop cars parked in Daddy's yard and wanted to know if everything was okay. I in turn called the Sheriff's office to ask THEM what was going on. Okay, we got that cleared up and the Law left happily. Since he has treated most of them (or any who stopped in) for free for years, I'm sure they were glad to know that he was alright, too. After Daddy arrived home from the hospital my sister Toni told me that the town was planning a big "surprise" presentation for him at the Ruby Baptist Church. I thought about this for about a week and then I called Daddy and let the cat out of the bag. (Okay come on, you knew there'd be a cat in this somewhere). I didn't tell anyone I was spilling the beans, I didn't want anyone talking me out of it. I just decided that you didn't pull a surprise like that on a 95 year old man who never considered himself anything other than a Doctor doing his job...he didn't want thanks and couldn't figure out why they (the Town) wanted to do anything special like this for him. I called Toni and told her that he knew what was going on and she was so glad. So all his family (see photo and click to enlarge) and friends were there, there to tell him that they appreciated all he had done for them over the years and that they loved him. It was a beautiful event for an unassuming man. It made us all proud.

authorblog: Weekend Wandering

authorblog: Weekend Wandering

Damn the Weatherman, Full Speed ahead!

I want to thank Deb over at http://lehnersinfrance.blogspot.com/ for this lovely award for my story about Digby. It's called the A Beautiful Heart Award and I feel honored for our Digby that she has thought of me for this. I would love to pass it on to Teresa at Living the Life (http://tpmom4ever.blogspot.com/ for her loving care of people and animals that enter her life either by accident or design. She has a beautiful heart for sure.

I'd like to award it to Lee at Chrysalis Dreams (http://chrysalisdreams.blogspot.com/ ) who has thrown herself into Christian Life and is uplifting others through her example.

I would also like to award it to Seamus at http://dampdog.blogspot.com/ who shows us his warm caring side with every photo of the domestic and wildlife he feeds and takes such pleasure in. These are my top three, although each and everyone of you deserve it, I'm sure. Again Deb, thank you. And now on to my Weekend Wandering answer for this week. My first, or I'm mistaken.

You know David McMahon over at Authorblog does this Weekend Wandering (for wont of a better word) Suggestion, meaning he'll throw something out there and ask us to answer the question in our own words. This week the Weekend Wandering question is "When was the last time you complained about the weather?" When was the last time? Well, that lying weatherman is in there right now on the Eyewitness News (Channel 9, Charlotte...the Queen City)...telling us that while yesterday the rain chances for today were 40 % and sorry, but now they are down to 30% and how Doppler Radar (pinpoint accuracy my arse) always gets it right...well if the Doppler got it right yesterday why was it that Monday the rain chances for today (Wednesday) was 50%? Seems the closer we get to today in the late afternoon, the less our chances for a simple shower. Apparently a cold front moved in overnight though because it's only going to get up to 92 degrees today. How lucky are we? Well, the past week it's been over 100 degrees with 103 being the highpoint of Monday's weathercast. We went to Hartsville Monday so we could go to Lowe's to get the quik set for the fence posts before the rain we were supposed to get on Tuesday (which changed to Wednesday in the blink of an eye). While there (and mind you we were only thirty miles from home) it rained so hard that they CLOSED DOWN THE GARDEN DEPARTMENT AND LOCKED THE BIG GATES! Yes, they did! It poured for like fifteen minutes and Mac looked at me and said "I hope we're getting this at home." "From your mouth to God's Ear," I answered, all the while knowing that we would be lucky to get one of those "the devil's beating his wife" showers. You know those, not a cloud in the sky but suddenly rain falls out of nothing and the sun is shining. So we finally get loaded and head back home and it's raining all the way to the county line when what do my wondering eyes perceive? Why, dry pavement. No rain puddles. No wet patches in the highway...just bone dry pavement with heat oasis's shimmering upon the surface. Doppler Radar...I've got your Doppler right here!

The Pantry comes to Fruition

I don't know if I've mentioned it in passing, but for Mother's Day, Mac had a pantry built for me. I have complained for years that I never have room for anything in any house we've lived in. Mainly it's the myriad pots, pans, cooking gadgets and canning apparatus that have been the troublemakers. It got to the point that when I saw a new cooking gadget (like my wonderful rotisserie ) I get questions like "and where do you plan to keep that, under the bed?" or statements like "just what you need, another piece of equipment that doesn't have a home". But you must understand, these are not just things I need, but things I must have. Like my wonderful KitchenAid food processor with the multitude of attachments and my kitchen aide mixer with just as many plus the juicer...well you get what I'm saying. Anytime I wanted to bake a cake, prepare a fancy salad, or roast a nice fat hen it became a production as big as Oklahoma...I hated it when Mac would say things like "where are we keeping the chips this week?" I think that was the statement that sent me off on a tangent. I remembered the pantry in the house in England and longed for the days when everything had a place and everything was in it. I pointed out the cabinets that were few and far between and the cupboard that really didn't qualify as a pantry...no matter how much it had been touted as the "pantry of tomorrow". If that's what I have to look forward to tomorrow, then as Gilda (Radner) would have said..."never mind." So on Mother's Day the plans were laid for the pantry. The back porch is 12 feet wide and 30 feet long. We closed in the last 12/12 area where a back door leads directly into it. It has lots of shelves and plenty of floor space underneath the shelves for the large items that up til now had to be left in the shed til I needed them (and so much trouble to dig through the crap that had accumulated in front of it that I seldom felt the need for their use). The work began on Friday after Mother's day and was finished last weekend. I stayed up til past midnight loading it in. And as I took stock of what all it contained, wondered at my filing system for these things , bp (before pantry). I had to have been pretty darned creative to have found space for all this stuff in my small kitchen area. The next project on our list was the Ridge Vent roofing project which was completed yesterday...more on that later...right now I'm going to go play in the pantry.