The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 12: Rain Barrel Wealth

When I woke up this morning the sweet sound of rain was filling the room with comfort. No thunder, no lightening, very little wind...just the raindrops beating down on the roof and rolling off through the gutters to the rain barrels. It is absolutely amazing how much water can be collected from just a short rainfall. I remember hearing my mother talking about using rain water to rinse her hair. This was of course before conditioners in every fruit and flower known to man was on the shelves of even grocery stores. You know, lavender and chamomile, mango and blueberry...some of the descriptions of these conditioners could be mistaken for an entree at dinner, or a dessert.

We have our rain barrels set up to catch the water to tend to plants. Any water we save now will be used all winter long as needed so that we don't have to hook up hoses. I have been known to awaken in the middle of the night wondering if I disconnected a hose. Why worry? Well, in the event of a freeze, you run the risk of broken pipes if the hose isn't curled happily on the ground. And yes, I've actually gotten up in the middle of the night to make sure. I stood on the porch this morning and peered down towards where the barrels are and saw that water is up to the tops of both of them. We're set for a while. I'm so thankful that my mother showed us how to set up a rain barrel system. It has saved us countless dollars over the years. And since it's rainwater, the plants are not shocked by chlorine or other chemicals and what we call organic, is truly organic. I'm sure the rain will be gone by nightfall, but in the meantime, I intend to enjoy the blessings that it is bringing. I think I may curl up with a good book later...or a game of Scrabble. In the mean time, I'm just thankful that the rain barrels are doing their job.

In honor of Veterans Day, I hope you will read this beautiful poem which so eloquently points out just what our Veterans have done for us to protect our freedoms.

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.

The Thanksgiving Challenge Post 11: Rain Rain Stay and Play, even to another day!

I'm a bit late today. This morning we had to get up early and go to Hartsville. After we got home, I headed for BiLo's where I spent a lovely hour grocery shopping . Before I began my shop, the rain held me in the truck for a bit. I didn't mind at all as curtains of rain fell around me. You see, we are back in a severe drought here and so this remnant of a fall Hurricane has been good for us. I heard someone on the news today say that they were used to the summer hurricanes which brought heat and mugginess. I wonder if there is less damage when the storm comes in November. We are due two more full days of rain and about 4-6 inches of liquid gold. The trees need this soaking more than anything. We've had so little rain that their roots tend to turn loose of the soil and fall over. We carry buckets of water to our young fruit trees weekly, but the big oak trees, maples and cedars are needing what God provides, not what little we can do.

After Hurricane Hugo ( September, 1989) which was a disaster for all of South Carolina and most of North Carolina, we tend not to say such things as "we need a good hurricane to bring us rain." At least not where anyone can hear us. For the most part, there is no such thing as a "good" hurricane. For the other part we don't want people glaring at us and wishing us ill. Earlier this afternoon as I sat in my pretty red truck and waited for the rain to slack off, I said a prayer of thanks for all of Chesterfield County and hopeful that any flooding is light and non damaging. But God, how we needed that rain. How thankful we are to receive it!
http://bunnyawards.blogspot.com/2009/11/pearl-of-giveaway.html
will take you to a pearl of a giveway from my pal, Debra...please go by and check in!

Thanksgiving Challenge ...Post 10..August in November

First of all I'd like to thank everyone for the kind words yesterday. I don't know for sure what ailed me, but today I look a bit better than death warmed over and am able to sit up and take a little broth...long as that broth is coffee flavored. Really, I feel a good bit better and just to make me feel like a summer time girl, this is what Mac presented me with. Okay, I know...I know...all your hubbies would have given you long stemmed roses or a bunch of daisies they'd picked growing wild in your neighbors yards. But you see, I don't eat "store bought" tomatoes. They taste odd. The texture is off and the flavor is that of cardboard. They look pretty on the inside, but they were picked green and gassed for shipment...yes, gassed. Now, oddly enough these were late tomatoes which we picked in late September-early October. Mac grew these tomatoes like all our others, from seed. The deep red with green shoulders is called Cherokee Purple and the red ones are Arkansas Traveler. They were new varieties to us, but they are Heritage tomatoes. That means they have been being grown for quite some time, they are not new varieties other than to us. The flavor of the Cherokee Purple is sweet with tangy farewell taste left in your mouth. The Arkansas Traveler makes you want to listen to fiddle music and do a hoe down in the middle of the kitchen floor. It has a kick to it. We had stripped the plants just before we heard there was to be a freeze and wrapped all the fruits in newspaper and placed them in garden baskets. They've been sitting waiting on Mac to have a peek ever since. This is about a bakers dozen and we still have a couple baskets left.

Tomorrow night for supper, Mac will be thankful for braised pork chops, green butterbeans, hot buttered rice and sliced tomatoes tasting fresh from the garden. No gases ever touched their tender flesh. A quick scalding and slipping the peel...maybe I feel up to having a sink sandwich...well, maybe not quite yet. So, for today I'm thankful for Mac and his green thumb. Cause, I sure would love me a tomato for supper tomorrow when I've for sure recovered!

The Thanksgiving Challenge...Day 9...

It's Sunday morning and normally by this time (9:20 am) I've already posted my "I'm thankful for". This morning I'm a bit behind. Not because of Church or sleeping in or anything like that. There will be no Church this morning, and when I finish up in here, I'm crawling back to my bed and pulling the covers over my head and snuggling down. This morning I am sick. While I am pretty sure it is not H1N1 or seasonal flu, as badly as I feel, it may as well be. So, this morning I am thankful that I have a warm bed to crawl to, a roof over my head and hot tea to sip. Those things alone are so much more than many people have. There are times that I feel guilty about all the riches in my life, but at this time of year just the mere act of sharing with others assuages any guilt that might come my way. Since I don't want to share what ever creeping crud is attacking me this morning, I will keep myself at home and try not to breathe on anyone. That will make a church full of people thankful!

Giving Thanks, Day 6

To start with, today is hard for me. Being a Military Family member (albeit retired) what hurts one hurts all. I sat in shock yesterday as the (erroneous) news reports came over the air. Now with 13 dead and scores wounded, we learn that the man who was to care for their emotional needs inflicted great bodily harm on them, instead. While the news at first reported his death, he lives. I told Mac, after we had spent an hour hearing the same information regurgitated from different newscasters, that we needed to wait till today, when the facts began to come out. How different are the facts than the supposition? Very. I learned long ago in my work that the only thing you learn from eye witness accounts is that each one has a different version. It will be days before we know all the investigators know, and even then we won't know it all. So, our prayers go out to the surviving injured and their families, and most especially for the families of those killed. God be with them. And some may find what I am about to say very difficult to take. I want God to heal the soul of the shooter. I in fact beseech God on his behalf, to heal that wounded spirit so that in his current state, he may ask the forgiveness of his Maker for the harm he has inflicted. My upbringing tells me that God forgives all. After all, man proposes, God disposes.

Now, for what I am thankful for this morning. I am thankful that my sons and daughters(in-law) are well and uninjured today. I am thankful that my Granddaughter is safe within her school walls and learning the lessons she will need to become a success in her future. I am thankful for the man I married 41 years ago, who spent much of his life (30 years) in the Navy spending many years at sea away from those who loved him most to defend the country he loved the most.Father , I am thankful.
your child

Amen

Giving Thanks...Day Five...The Floss from the Gold

My parents always tried to instill in us the ability to tell the difference between the real things in life and the temporary fixes. It's a lesson I hope that I've learned well. Here on day five of our Thanksgiving Challenge, I find it is not hard at all to come up with the things I'm most thankful for. This morning we're already up and about and have been since 6 am. These days I don't exactly bound from bed, but with a little push from Mac, I'm up and about. This morning there isn't much time to be lollygagging about, because Mac has an appointment with our Doc. We have our very own personal Doctor OZ.

A few years back we changed doctors due to the fact that our other doctor nearly killed me. Yes, you read right. Okay, so maybe nearly killed me is a bit strong, but no thanks to her I did not end up a quadriplegic. It was so close a call, I get the shivers. After the surgery that put me (more or less) back on my feet, I went Doctor hunting. We both knew, Mac and I, that we would never darken her door again. So I went through the TriCare manual looking for Doctors in the system and tried to learn something about them. I came across our current Doc and his credentials looked good. I made the appointments for follow up from the surgery and one for Mac to get us both established as new patients.

From day one, I was impressed. Unlike the usual "cattle call" rush thru labs, quick visit with the Doc pay your co-pay byby visit, he sat with me and took time to ask questions about my personal health, what I was being treated for, what surgeries I had recently had, and why. Why was the big question he wanted answers to. He listened to the newly repaired heart and told me it was beating strong and steady, he examined the newly restored neck complete with titanium and cadaver bone vertebrae and pronounced it a miracle, looked at my blood sugar log and told me that I had to do better. You can't have it all.

So this was in September of 2003. We don't dread going to see him, for we know that if he finds anything new to worry about, he'll turn heaven and earth to find the answers that will relieve our minds. He's just that sort of a doctor. Very much like my father, he doesn't much care for unanswered medical questions. And no question is to embarrassing for him. I've seen him go get one of his medical books and sit with me looking for the answer if he feels I doubt him in any way. I've learned to put my trust in him, and he's earned every ounce of it. I'm a hard sell. So, today I'm so thankful for Dr. Kenneth Pickens Moyd...now if that's not a Southern name, I'll buy you lunch.

A Month of Giving Thanks...Lee and The Guinea chickens

I think that in all our lives, everything we are thankful for harks back to childhood. Yesterday I was thankful for collards, but after working all afternoon cleaning cooking and freezing turnip greens with root, I'd be hard pressed to be thankful for them! There is nothing quite so hard to clean as the turnip. Of course that is just my opinion. But still, when we thaw out that bag of turnips later on in the winter, I assure you that we will be most thankful for them, the misery of elbow deep water (and I use warmish water) a thing of (not so long) distant memory.

Our neighbors, Tara and Sam (I won't even attempt to spell their last name, suffice it to say Sam is from Greece) have a nice size little farm that sits adjacent to us. We get to share the beauty of their horses, the sweetness of the cattle, the raucousness of their geese and the neighborliness of their guinea chickens. You see, guineas are wild free spirits who spend their lives hiding their nests and foraging for food in all its forms. We buy dried corn to put out at the woodline for the deer. There's nothing more relaxing than sitting out on the back porch with a cat in your lap, watching the deer come up to eat. Our land is posted against hunters, so is Sam and Tara's. When the chickens first appeared in our yard, Mac went to the barn to get some corn. That started a trend. We've now graduated to chicken feed.

It was one day a couple of weeks ago when the Guineas first arrived. I felt such an overwhelming sense of peace at these lovely birds, and remembered Little Granny (Merriman) her apron filled with chicken feed, softly calling "chick chick chick" and throwing the feed out in a wide arc so that all would get something to eat. You learn quickly about a pecking order if you don't spread it out enough. Unlike human mothers, the young chicks will be pecked back to eggdom if they get in the way of the senior chickens beaks. Hence, pecking order. I don't know why it sends such a shiver of calm over me to see those chickens running toward us expectantly. Perhaps it fulfills the "mother earth" part of my nature. I did tell you I was a card carrying, tree protecting bunny hugger. You suspected though, right?

So, this morning when I was out feeding the cats, I expected to see the Guineas racing toward the porch in anticipation of a morning meal. They didn't come. I went back inside and Mac says, "why the face?" I explained that the chickens hadn't come for breakfast. I mean really, after three weeks of being our bestest friends forever and a no show now? I kept going back out and found myself clucking "chick chick chick" out behind the barns. So here I was, typing away about what I was feeling thankful for, about how those darned chickens had made each morning glad, and this morning , NO CHICKENS. Listen, I picked up the phone and actually called and left Tara a message...where are the chickens? I know, pitiable.

Lee popped up on I/M and asked about me and how our evening went , I told her about the hard work of cleaning and cooking the turnips Bill had blessed me with and suddenly I hear Mac yelling out "your chickens are here!" I can't believe how happy I felt. I hurriedly told Lee I had to run for a sec, the chickens were here. Now, here is how close our friendship has become. She understood completely. So, here on day 4 of giving thanks it's a dead heat. I'm thankful for my neighbors chickens who give me a sense of peace every morning. But mostly, I'm thankful for Lee. I have Evil Sister, Good Sister, and now I have Blogging Sister. Wow. I am really and truly blessed.

Giving Thanks: Day 3...A head of collards and a hunk of cornbread

Before we know it, November will be far into its first week and we'll have to start thinking about Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving maybe more than Christmas. I said maybe. But something happened yesterday that could clarify it for me some more. And since this is day three of Giving Thanks Challenge, I know exactly what I'm thankful for. Here goes.

One day last week we stopped by my cousin Bill's house to take him a little gift. I have always loved Bill, since I was a little girl. But more on Bill in a later post. Anyway, we started talking about his turnip patch and I told him that I still cooked my turnips the way Aunt Delah (his mother) had instructed me that they were to be cooked. He asked about our collards and Mac told him how great they were doing. "I love collards," Bill allowed, "but with just me here it's too much trouble to prepare them and cook them. " I made him a deal then and there. I'd trade him some cooked to a turn collard greens, if he would let me get about 3 dozen turnips, complete with greens. He agreed so fast it made my head swim.

Yesterday, after we got home from Mac's appointment with his Doc for his quarterly blood work (that darned cholesterol medication!) I found a message from Bill. I was just about to return his call when the phone rang. I told him he must be psychic, I was just about to call and he told me to be at his house at about 10:30 (this) morning. He said J.W. (his nephew, another cousin of mine) was coming to help him harvest the turnips and he was ready for collards! Promising to see him at the appointed time and place, I told Mac we had to go pull a collard head.

We walked out to the garden a bit later and Mac asked which one I wanted. I pointed to a beautiful huge head loaded with lush green leaves and said I'd take that one. It was such a perfect specimen that I caught my breath. "You know, " I mused, " if this were at the State Fair, it'd be a prize winner. A blue ribbon prize winner." Mac had just cut the heavy root off, and held it up for a better look. "I do believe you're right, " he grinned.

I cut the leaves off, which left just the stalk to go into the compost. There was not one leaf that was damaged, no poison had ever touched them, no bugs had munched, not one single blemish was on that perfect head of collards. I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at Mac's success. Taking the bundle of leaves inside, I lay them on the counter and filled the sink with the the first of several rinsing water baths. After I had washed them, I rolled them, one by one, into the tight bundle I had often seen Mammy (my Grandmother) do, took my kitchen shears and cut them into small pieces. And was instantly transported back in time to her kitchen. I could hear her voice talking about the Thanksgiving meal she was preparing and how good she felt that we had made the trip up from Tampa to be with them all. She was busy cutting the collards into the stock pot and bringing them to the boil. She put in piece of fatback and covered the pot tightly. She was describing to me the dinner that would soon be shared with her family. The dining room would be filled with Aunts and Uncles, grown cousins and of course Grandparents. The big kitchen table would be set for the children where from 9 to 15 of us would sit for our meal. The main topic of conversation would be how to get rid of the collards on our plate. No one, of course, was thinking about actually eating them. The smell of cooking collards is something that most children would find offensive. All those vitamins and roughage fouling the air, covering the smell of roasting turkey and the best dressing anyone ever put in their mouths...

Mammy had a rule when it came to food put on your plate. You cleaned that plate, on account of all the starving children in China. (My friend Vonnie said her Granny once knocked her half way into the following week when she replied "I wish they had this plate, I don't like collards"). Now, I don't know how our cleaning our plates had a thing to do with the children in China, starving or otherwise, but we respected (read feared) Mammy enough to do what she said. I'm not sure when my childhood self turned against me, but that Thanksgiving something profound happened. Preparing myself to heave, taking the first bite (after a liberal dosing of Pepper sauce) I found the taste, well...I found the taste pleasing. I took a second bite and actually smiled. The rest of the table looked at me like I was an alien in their midst. I was reaching for a hunk of cornbread...

When I came back to myself, found me standing at the kitchen sink still cutting collards, putting them into the big stock pot and grinning like a mule eating briers. I had heard Mammy's voice so clearly, even though she has been gone for 30 years, that I didn't doubt she had been standing right next to me. I felt her love wrap around me like a warm sweater...or a big old collard leaf. All that was missing was the smell of cornbread wafting from the oven. I guess that's why it's called "comfort food".

A Month of Giving Thanks...Day 2

So here we are on November 2nd, and it's Day 2 of A Month of Giving Thanks Challenge. Today I want to give thanks for you, my blogging friends. You see, back in April I was laid low. I wasn't aware of being on the Critical List until I had been moved up to Fair condition. My son Wallace updated my blog and told everyone that I was in Hospital and just how serious a situation it was turning out to be. One day just after Easter, he and Charity came into my hospital room with a sheaf of papers. They were smiling to beat the band and fanned the papers out on my lap. I looked down and saw all these names that I recognized and comments and well wishes from over 100 people in my Cyberspace Neighborhood. Mac had brought me the print outs of numerous E-mails and E-Cards...and there were Get Well cards thru Snail Mail...I had a daily phone call from Lee in Texas. I was overwhelmed. Now, here were about a hundred+ messages and I have to say that after I got through laughing, I cried. So, here for day two, I want to tell you just how much it meant to me.

I always knew that friends were a tonic for when you hit low points in your life. But before I came into this wonderful world of blogging, my friends were always those to whom I could put a face and a voice to. Now I may not always be able to put a voice to your faces, but I've seen your faces in your blogs so much that I would know you if I saw you. How does one say "Thank You" for all the wonderful prayers that went out? Well, I just want to say it again...thank you my friends. You're a rock.

A New Month of Thanksgivings

Leah, our friend at South Breeze Farm, started us down a road of offering up Thanks for the things that enriched our lives, no matter how insignificant it may seem to others. It's the little things in life that we often overlook that we should be the most grateful for. Today is day one. If you would like to join in, please click on the Giving Thanks Banner to your right, it will take you to the spot where you can hook up with Leah and the rest of us through Mr. Linksey...very easy to do. I hope we'll break a record this year.

For Day 1, I want to give thanks for my daughters-in-law, Charity and Anna. We very often neglect to tell the people around us whom we love and admire, that we DO. So I would like to take this opportunity to tell them how dear they are to me, in their own right. They make my sons lives full and enrich our lives, as well. I give thanks they both have now found jobs that they not only like, but love. That's such an important distinction, when you are working full time, trying to keep your family on an even keel. No misery attached to the jobsite means a lighter spirit. So, I'm thankful for my girls. Not just because they are married to my boys, but because they love us in return, and never fail to show it.

Now, I'm headed over to Leah's South Breeze Farm so I can check out your blessings. Blogging our Blessings...I love this. See you tomorrow for Day 2.

When the Cats Away...

It's mischief night, the night when all the real goblins and witches go out and get up to....well, mischief. This is the night for highflying Glenda's and land locked Igor's to teepee houses (witches on broomsticks give that roll of toilet paper a nice high and tight look) soap windows with soap made of ghoul's bones and ready to snatch up any bit of sugar they might find. Then, on Hallow'een the JackO'Lanterns can light the way for the little human goblins, ghosties and ghoulies to go about their job of Highway Robbery.

This morning I found the cats all gathered in a circle talking amongst themselves. BatGirl, the Calico, shushed them all when I came into the room, sleepy eyes looking for a coffee pot, and I spoke to them. "What's up kids?" Tousle my hair now...yawn...they ignore me, walking their separate ways. There are six of them. Lillibet, the newest among them, giggles. She is still so tiny and the girls (Hound and Cher anyway, grooming another being beneath BatGirl's dignity) are constantly washing her (or tenderizing her for a cannibal feast). This is her first Hallow'een. I pay them no attention, I go through this ritual every year. The cats are sneaky and pondering ways to trip me up. Normally so loving and gentle, they get taken over by the spirit(s) of the season long about now.

Except for Pye. The big fat Siamese, blue eyes shining, refuses to get out of his favorite chair, rolls and shows his belly for a good scratch on the tummy, and promises to tell all. Later. As I head back to the bedroom, coffee cup in hand, it dawns on me that for ten years now, Pye has promised to tell all. He never has. When Ariel (that sleek black witches cat with green glowing eyes) was the Queen of the house, I never expected him to break his vow of silence, but now that BatGirl is Resident Queen, I expect it even less. You see, BatGirl is a Psychopath. She takes delight in ripping the heads off tiny mice and the stray grackle that wanders into her sight. She charms snakes and sends them off to the happy hunting grounds with aplomb. There are times that when I catch her gaze on me, I wonder what she's planning. I know she's planning something...cats are always planning something.

So here we are, Mischief night, and when I awaken tomorrow, my taken over Pride...BatGirl, Pyewacit, Hound, Sonny and Cher plus Lillibet will all return to normal. But the key word here is return. Because you see, for some odd reason that I've never been able to put my finger on, they'll disappear long bout midnight. No one will want breakfast. No one will want noise. They'll all want an icepack for their aching heads. Now that's a party I'm glad I'll be missing.

Signs for the Times

Have you ever seen a sign that you knew you had to have even if it meant creating it yourself? Remember my flea market buy for 50 cents (that I would gladly have paid up to 3 bucks for) "Raising Children is like being pecked to death by chickens"? On a piece of old lumber, painted white (sort of) with green edging (it could have been mold) and writing in black that you knew was done in a hospital for the mentally over the edge, I offered fifty cents to the irritated man standing on the other side of the table. He turned the little wall hanging over in his hands, handed it back to me (it was at that point that I got the splinter from hell jabbed in my finger) and called out to the harried looking lady still unloading the car, "hey hon...lady here says she'll give you 50 cents for the board." "TAKEIT" she screeched back. "May be the only sell we make today!" I think it was the blood on the board that made her agree so fast. Possibly afraid I had a lawyer in my pocket.

Well, its signs like that which catch my attention and put a glitter in my eyes (Mac calls it mania) that can make me smile all day. My mother once saw a cross stitch wall hanging in a friend's house that she talked about for ages. It was a screw standing on it's head, done in gold thread. Under it said "The Golden Years". So, Screw the Golden Years became her motto for life! I guess I got the bug of sign love from her. Some folks love tee shirt mottoes (my favorite is Maxine: if a man complains that you are smothering him you're not holding the pillow down hard enough) , and I do, too. But a hanging sign is there to remind you of what tickles your fancy all the time. My niece Sissy sent me a sign that hangs on my wall in the dining area. It reads Fresh Coffee (cup of steaming coffee pictured in the center) Only the Finest Served Here. What I love about this sign is that the words could refer to the fine coffee which I brew (you will never find instant coffee in your cup here) or the fine people to which it is served.

Okay, okay I do have a point which I am getting around to. I have seen a sign which I know that I must have and I may have to make it myself but I laughed so hard when it was first put before my eyes that I knew it was made for me. Or it will be. The wood panel is oval and about 10 inches in length by 7 inches in height. It has a separate round of plank about three inches in diameter. On one side is the word IN and on the other side the word OUT. Okay, so picture this in your mind. The oval plank is weathered (or stained to look that way) and the background is a witch on her broom...on the lower right hand corner is where you would hang the in or out medallion. So, visually you would see the witch on her broom then the medallion hanging to indicate that the witch is in (or the witch is out). I want this sign. No, I must have this sign. It will go perfectly with the one on the porch that reads "Siamese Cats mesmerize but Black Cats Rule".

An Anniversary Celebration

I met him in February, it was just before his 28th birthday. I had just turned 19. He was tall and handsome, he had an easy laugh and his eyes were alive with compassion. It was a blind date that could have turned out either way for both of us. My pal Pat had kept insisting that I met her beau's shipmate. When I finally gave in it turned out to be an adventure neither one of us would ever regret.

He was in MineLant at the time. Their motto was "Iron Men on Wooden Ships". That was not only a catchy motto, it was what the kids today would term "hot". He already had ten years in the Navy. I was still trying to find out who I was and what I wanted to be. If that sounds a bit "hippyish", remember, it was 1968. You do the math.

The ship went to sea soon after we met and there was much exchanging of letters and dreams between us. On his return Stateside, we discovered that the attraction was still as strong. He proposed, I accepted. I can hardly believe that it was 41 years ago tomorrow. It seems like yesterday, but then I can hardly keep up with time the way it flies by. No marriage is perfect, I've heard it said. But ours has come pretty darned close. So, to Mac...my beloved...I love you every bit as much as I did the night we married...no, that's wrong. I love you so much more for so many reasons it would take 41 more years to tell you exactly what they are.

Mindy Lou

I've talked about our Mindy Lou, the blind dog many times in here. We were always so astounded at her love of cats but more so of their love for her. You may recall that she had a stroke during her spaying procedure and the result was blindness. The Vet recommended that I put her down. It was the last time I would ever see him again. The cats seemed to know that she was disabled and would gather around her and lead her around to where they wanted to go. She knew our property like the back of her paw, and it was all due to the cats guidance.

Mindy was just a tiny puppy when someone abandoned her at our front door. She was pitifully skinny and had the mange. We took her to the Vet to get her treated for that and worms, got her vitamins and brought her home. She adored our Shelties, Duffy and Ripley. But it was the kittens that took her breath away. She would whimper when they gathered on the back porch and beg to go out to be with them. This was even before her blindness.

Mindy's muzzle began to turn white several years ago. She still got around with no problems, but we knew that at age twelve, she was getting to be a senior citizen. She adored Arianna and Arianna adored her. We could say "Arianna's coming to see you, " and she would station herself by the door until they arrived.

Last Wednesday night I noticed that she was having trouble getting up and down the steps. She just wasn't herself. Thursday she went and lay on her bed and never got up again. I had made an appointment with Doc Lawhon, but that proved to be a futile attempt to hold back the inevitable. At 1:30 pm, I went to sit by her again and talk to her. Pyewackit and Sonny lay next to her. She was no longer breathing.

We said goodbye to that good dog and I promised myself there will be no more dogs here. I told Mac I didn't know if my heart could take the grief. Of course I know there will be. I can't survive without a dog. We buried her in the Pet Cemetery amongst her cats. She's at the head of the plot, next to Ariel. Queen of the Pride. I've noticed footprints on her grave site and found Wonky and CeeCee lying on her gravestone the other morning. Their mourning is evident. You know, I've never doubted that animals have souls. Why wouldn't they? After all, The Good Lord made them all.

Gonna Be a Bear

Okay, we're into Fall now. I know it for sure because my body and mind want to hibernate. I can't make myself get out of bed before 7:30 a, and I'm ready to crawl into my den (I mean bed) by 9 p.
This has how it has always been with me. It won't last long, though. By the end of October I'll be back to my old self, the yawning will be a thing of the past, the early to bed later to rise syndrome will be something to laugh about. What I want to know is, am I the only one? Is there anyone else out there who has this problem? I would appreciate knowing. For now please enjoy this brief little funny I received in an e-mail several years ago from someone who obviously suffers right along with me! Oh, and double click on the
bear to enlarge it and read what it says!