It's funny....now.

My husband had just left for work when the toilet suddenly erupted a mile high gusher of water. OK, I exaggerate... but only a little. It sounded like.....hmmm. I can't think of anything that sounded like that. It was loud, and definitely water. It sure brought me running from the far room. It seemed to go on and on. It paused once, (sigh of relief) then started again. (OH NO) I didn't know what to do. The lid was already down, but that didn't seem to matter. The water was pushing it up and water was flying everywhere. Without thinking it through, I lifted the plunger thingy in the tank hoping it would empty and end the gusher. WRONG! Just more water. (I know, I know....stupid. Chalk it up to panic.) The sink was gurgling too, but not shooting water like the toilet. Even the kitchen sink was talking to me. Which led me to wonder if the city was doing something, or if it was horribly, our plumbing. There wasn't time to find out. I had to keep up with the mess and get as much, like waste basket, spare tissue tower, scales, plunger, rug in front of the sink and one in front of the shower, etc. out of the way as fast as I could. Meanwhile tracking water to the kitchen floor and soaking my jeans and socks. It finally stopped and I got the water mopped up.Then I had to dry the walls and take down some curtains and wipe up other surfaces. Thank goodness it just seemed to be water. All the wet rugs and towels went outside to dry and I had to dry those areas in the kitchen where I'd left puddles.

I phoned the water department first and she did tell me someone in my neighborhood had complained and they were blowing out the line. So I told her how unhappy I was that we hadn't been notified first and given some way to mitigate the mess. It seems I wasn't the first to call. Among the first was the neighbor behind us who happens to be President of City Council. Bet we'll be notified if they ever have to do this again. (I've learned since that they will be ordered to use less pressure too!)

A man came to the door later from the water department, and asked if there was any damage because he was sent to make reports. He was eyeballing all the wet things dripping on the deck. He told me that this is such a flat, low area and the lines are a problem. I just know I've been here since the early 80's and this is the first time I've seen anything like this. There has been a lot of rain and flooding in our area. Could that have contributed.....doesn't make sense to me. I told him the only real damage was to my stress level. Mopping up all that water, and not knowing if it was our plumbing, or if it would damage our pipes or blow out the stool didn't help my stress level or headache or aching fibromyalgia muscles. And getting angry that it happened at all was, in my opinion, damage.

But, it's over and now I can laugh about it. Can you imagine if I'd been sitting on the stool when it erupted? Maybe my big butt would have plugged the hole and kept the water to a minimum. IF I could have stayed on. When I said this to my sister-in-law, she decided (after the initial giggles) it would have been even funnier if her brother had been, umm, standing there when it started. She thought I'd never see his winky again.

I'll leave you with the mental images of me, and him, and a gusher of water.

Have a nice day.

Men Are Crazy

I've heard it said that women understand men better then men understand women. I believe that's true. But, I don't understand several things about Bear. Except that he's crazy.

Our home and garage sits on two lots. He's been mowing that with a self propelled mower and his back and knees really needed a riding mower. But he'd always say he couldn't afford it and refuse to budge. Then this summer he was coming home and discovered a neighbor was selling his mower. Like new and real cheap. He came home and asked if could have it. Yipee. I asked if the seller wanted a check or should I make the check out for Bear to cash. He drove his truck down five doors and rode the mower home. Then had to walk back to get his truck. OK, we'll forgive this one and mark it up to excitement. Then another bit of excited mania. He went right out in the rain and re-mowed the lawn he'd just mowed the day before. I was crazy enough to go out in the rain and take a picture to immortalize his insanity.

Now, that earlier mentioned self propelled mower is ancient. The wheels keep falling off and he keeps replacing them. I bet over the years he's spent enough on those wheels to replace that mower twice over. Then this week he came home all excited because a co-worker had an almost new self propelled mower that Bear could have if he went to get it. Great. Now this morning he's out there trimming and using that old wheels falling off mower. Why? Because he tells me, he doesn't want to wear out the 'new one'.

Which led to a discussion that got my mind going and led to this blog. He's the same way about other things he needs. Such as new shirts, pants, jeans or socks and underwear. Like the dutiful wife, I buy them. Then I discover that they are being 'saved' because he doesn't want to wear them out yet. I just asked him what he's saving them for.....to be buried in? I swear, he better hope I expire first. Because if he goes first I'm going to have him buried in all those new things he's saving. Layered if I have to. Can't you just see the morticians face when I ask him to use a whole three pack of new tidy whities, one on top of the other? Let's see Bear explain that to St. Peter. No,....... I can hear him tell St. Peter, "My wife did it. She's crazy." And St. Peter will understand, after all he's a man.

Diva's Distress

We haven't had these two kitties a year yet, but I've learned a lot about them.

#1. They can act like spoiled brats.

#2. They bury themselves into your hearts despite the problems.

#3. They can get expensive.

There is a lot more, but #2 and #3 lead to this story about Diva's problem. She's fine now, but she gave us quite a scare.

She started to act different late on a recent Friday afternoon. By 4 p.m. I called the vet to ask if he could see her. I was told he could stay over if I wanted to pay an additional $85 over whatever treatment she would need. Since there wasn't anything specific, over the fact that she wouldn't eat, I said I'd watch her through the weekend and then see. For Diva, not to eat is a red flag. She's turning into a chunky cat who steals food from her own Baby. Baby is still a lean bundle of energy at about a year old. Diva prefers to loaf around the house and watch from any of her window perches. I can't keep Baby inside for longer then it takes to eat and sleep. But Diva does venture outside on occasion. It was one of those occasions that brought her down.

By Saturday of that weekend, she had also quit drinking water. She was hiding from us and wouldn't let us touch her. I was getting real worried. By Sunday I knew I'd be up early on Monday and calling the vet. But Monday, she ate and drank and seemed better. So I watched and waited.

Then late Monday afternoon, I found a small lump on Diva's hip. Bear had been saying her hip was hurting her. But she was walking without any limp, so I wasn't sure what her problem was. I phoned the vet again and asked for an appointment. The vet told me to bring her in and leave her Tuesday morning. It's called a drop off appointment. He was booked full, but this way he would get to her as soon as he could. Tuesday morning the lump had gotten much larger and Diva was in obvious pain. I was waiting on the steps when they unlocked the vet office.

Around 10 a.m., he called me. He'd found where she'd been bitten on her hip and he had drained over a half cup of infection from two golf ball sized cysts. Her temperature was 104.4 and he was trying to get it down. I was able to pick her up later that day. Her hip was shaved over the bites and where he had to cut her and I had instructions to cover the area with a wet warm compress several times a day. He said she'd like it. HA! I managed to put it on her, but never for the five minutes he wanted. I even let her walk with it hanging there till she pulled it off. But she seemed to be improving. Then on Friday I found another lump. They said to bring her right back in.

Bear had just left for work, but he goes in early. I called him and he met me at the vets. Diva is heavy in that cage and it's all I can do to carry her because she moves from one end to the other and won't settle down. I didn't go with them when they took her in because I didn't want to see them cut her again. But Bear went in. They didn't have to cut her again. They drained this infection with a needle and then Bear said they shot peroxide into the area and let it foam out. The vet told Bear that Diva wasn't near as mad at him as she'd been the first time. He said she was one pissed off kitty the first time. Draining all that infection the first time had relieved most of her pain. Maybe this time she saw him more as a friend. Because......

#4. I've learned how smart cats can be that way.

Diva's recovery has been a rocky road, and expensive. But in less then a year, she has become worth it to both Bear and I.

P.S. We don't know what bit Diva. But, we have a pretty good idea. There is a black and white feral cat that attacks everything. It has an awful habit of slashing eyes and there are two neighborhood cats out there now with an eye missing. It attacked a neighbors cat and slashed her side. I've never been one to want any animal killed, even though I grew up on the farm and accepted the slaughter of food animals, but I want that black and white cat killed before it hurts another pet. It's so wild you can't get close and it runs as soon as I open the door to go after it when it comes on our property. I highly entertained my son and grandson one Saturday in early spring when I chased that darn cat all the way down the alley in back. I was so mad because it came right up on our deck after Baby and I heard the ruckus. I got there quick. Todd and Bryce told me they didn't know I could run that fast. I didn't know either, and I paid for it the next day when I could hardly move. I'm not the only one after that black and white cat, and I hope someone gets it soon. Even if it's not the one that bit Diva.

Encounter

I just had an amusing encounter at the grocery. I was looking for an item on the shelf that I couldn't find. I was only vaguely aware of the two men coming toward as they argued about something. But when they got to me I heard one say, "Lets ask this lady which one of us is right." I thought this could be fun. I turned to them with a smile and asked, "What do you need?" The vocal man said, "Does sirloin steak come from a cow?" That is the last thing this old farm girl expected and I know my eyes got big with surprise. I answered, "Certainly, though it usually comes from a steer, not the cow, and it's one of the most expensive cuts. You asked the right person. I grew up on an Angus farm with 10 years in 4-H." The vocal man whooped and the other scowled. Then the looser said, "I still don't believe it." Someday my impulse will get me in trouble, but I can't help it. I was grinning ear to ear as I teased him, "I'll tell you what I tell my husband. It doesn't really matter if you believe it.....you're still wrong." He tried to scowl again but ended up grinning. And he told me, "Then I'm glad I'm not your husband!" I'm still grinning. I love little encounters like this.

Short Walk

Well, that was a mighty short walk.
I took my sweats off and got all dressed. I'm not one who can leave the house in sweats. Not gonna happen. I even put on a bra......I can hear my son.....TMI, Mom, TMI. (It's so much fun to embarrass the kids.) It's a bit chilly, at least compared to some of our recent days. And the wind is blowing a nice breeze. And I am getting over a bad cough and sore throat. So I got out a jacket, my house keys and the camera. With every intention of taking a nice long walk over on the river dyke.

But I'd only gotten to the end of the driveway when Baby kitten caught up with me. I gave her a belly rub and some sweet words and headed across the road to the park. I didn't get too far when I heard her little meow. Now I've walked with dogs in the past, but never a kitten. I knew if she followed me, I would have to cut my walk short. But she was determined. I figured I could pick her up and carry her home after a bit. She stayed with me all the way across the park and up the dyke. But then she stopped and the hair on her back, all the way from her nose to the tip of her tail, went up. I never saw hair on on the top of a cats tail go up before. She was making a lot of noise and looking up. I looked up too and there above us was a buzzard, making lazy little circles. Baby sat down and she wouldn't budge when I coaxed. She kept meowing to me and when I started with another step she started down the dyke. So I gave up and followed her home. Her hair stayed up till we crossed the road to our side. She seemed mighty proud of herself when we got back on home territory.

End of my Sunday walk. Next time I'll make sure she is inside the house when I start out.

Beyond Endurance

Beyond Endurance

It was obvious from the first that Diva and Baby have totally different personalities. The kitten is either asleep or playing or looking for a cuddle. A lot of her playing means looking for trouble. Diva had to learn to play. She would sit in total dignity and watch Baby roll a little plastic ball around making the bells inside jingle. All the natural cat play that comes so easy for Baby seems beyond the dignity of Diva. She must have been very young when she got pregnant. Diva was quiet and watchful and always alert and nervous at anything or anyone new. They learned a lot from each other. Diva learned to play and Baby learned to be nervous. Or possibly that nervousness of Baby's is all my fault.

These two came into my life while I was trying to accept a diagnosis of yet another painful affliction. After having the headaches all my life, I'd recently learned the new pains and fatigue are caused by Fibromyalgia. No wonder I can't sleep. Diva's devotion and trust are a calming balm to me. When I sit down, Diva confiscates my lap. Baby on the other hand, seems to get in a lot of trouble, which upsets me. Like getting into my beading desk and knocking over the storage, spreading and mixing beads in a big mess everywhere. Yup, I was pretty stressed that day.

But this is a story about her pushing me beyond endurance. She won't let me sleep. I have too much trouble getting rest to put up with this too. I can be awake all night and finally feel sleepy around 3 or 4 am. Going to bed before that sleepiness only makes me ache while I lie there wide awake. On this occasion I'd had several exceptionally bad nights in a row and I was exhausted. So around 4am that morning I crawled into bed hoping for at least two hours of sleep before the pain woke me up again. I was just dozing off when Baby climbed across my sore body and put her face into my face. I pushed her away and told her not now. About 10 minutes later she was back in my face. I pushed her away again. 10 more minutes and there she was again. I have an orange spray bottle on the floor by the bed for this very reason. She just won't quit. After (I think) the fourth time, I got the bottle and sprayed her with water. She left, but came back in 10 minutes, just as I was dozing off. Does she have a clock in her head? Is she psychic? How does she know when I'm just falling asleep? This went on a few more times. Then it finally soaked into my sleep deprived fuzzy brain that Baby had found a new game. It's called 'keep the woman awake without getting wet.' I kept the water sprayer in my hand covered by my blanket and I waited. Awake and ready and mad as a wet hen. (Where did that expression come from? I never saw a wet hen. But, I was that mad anyway.) I needed sleep! And I was hurting. And Baby kept me waiting. She has to be psychic! She knew. I waited. And waited. The usual 10 minutes had come and gone. More minutes went by and I began to think she'd tired of her game. It was around 6am by then. TWO HOURS of this!!! I got drowsy again and was just slipping into blessed sleep when I felt her jump onto the bed. I snapped! I sat up with my sprayer and yelled, "Gotcha" and I let her have it before she got to me. She must have been surprised because she stopped and got a face full of water. Then she reacted and took off. But my anger wasn't yet appeased. I sprang out of bed with my orange sprayer and shouted and sprayed and ran after Baby through three rooms. I ran into Bear in the kitchen and the poor surprised man held me while I broke into gulping sobs. Baby was a quivering wet mess hiding under the table. It took Bear a long time to coax her out. Meanwhile I was in the bathroom trying to calm down and understand why I'd done what I'd just done. I only know I desperately needed sleep and a kitten had made a game of keeping me awake. I was pushed beyond any semblance of endurance.

I'm sure the picture of an old woman with an orange spray bottle and chasing a wet frightened kitten completely through the house will eventually be funny to me. It certainly was to son Todd when I told him. I'm getting there, but I'm still upset about it.

The somewhat lasting effects of my breakdown were two wary cats. It took quite awhile for both of them to act the same again. I don't know where Diva was during that crazed dash, but I scared her too. Once I calmed down, I was embarrassed at what I'd done. So there was tension all around. It has been several weeks now. The cats have forgiven me. Baby is just now starting to climb on my sleeping body again. And Diva seeks out my lap when I sit in my recliner. The spray bottle is beside the bed, but I don't think I'll be using it anytime soon. I hope!

Tommy Tomcat

Tommy Tomcat
There is no way to really tell Tommy's story, because I don't know it. He's a neighborhood stray. I can only guess how he lost his eye. Some fight with another tomcat? Some infection? The wound sure doesn't look like he was born that way. It seems to have healed without any help from a vet. So I don't know his age. There was a black and white feisty tomcat with one eye that I wrote about almost a year ago. Tommy Tomcat is certainly not feisty. But with two one eyed cats around, I'm leaning toward male fighting. Tommy is the only cat that our two aren't really afraid of. He's such a wimp. He started hanging around the deck a lot. He's always trying to gain our approval. Rubbing against our legs and sitting against the door so we can't get in or out without pushing him out of the way. He rolls around on his back showing us how cute he is. I had an awful time getting that picture because of his antics. I don't know just how or when it happened but Bear and I gradually stopped chasing him off the deck. And that was my downfall. When Diva and Baby refused something I fed them, I would just set it outside for 'that yellow and white tomcat.' Then somewhere along the way tomcat became Tommy and I was giving him more kitty leftovers and dry cat food too. Which created a big problem because that attracted those other darn neighborhood strays. Not to mention a possum. A big one that scared the bewhiskers out of me one evening. And a couple of raccoons along the way. So dog gone it, I found myself only feeding Tommy when he was there and not leaving it our for him. Then I found myself having to stay while he ate so the strays couldn't chase him away and eat it. But I've stuck to my guns about letting him inside the house. Two cats is enough and Tommy is not our cat. He just thinks he is when it comes to his meal. He also thinks he is when he sleeps in the little shelter we set up when I swore Diva and Baby were not coming inside. He thinks he's ours when he doesn't run when I shoot out of the house yelling at cats who sneak in and chase him away from his dish now that it's too cold for me to stand out there. Me.... the one who doesn't like cats. Worst of all is that I'm now naming those strays who come the most often to chase Tommy from his meal. There is that all yellow 'Sneaky' with the beady little eyes who I've run off when it chased Baby up a tree. Sneaky doesn't stay away when I chase it. It always sneaks back. I do not know if it's a male or female. It carries it's tail low and tucked tight when all the other cats tails are more straight out or up. Then there is a cat who looks like Tommy but with more white then yellow. (The picture shows Tommys white side, his back and other side are pretty much all yellow.) I started calling it Bro because he and Tommy could be litter mates. But now he has become Bully because he won't back down from me. When he shows up, I have to stay and actually push him away from Tommys dish. He's not aggressive to me, but he sure pushes back. Tommy won't stand up to him. Poor thing, is that how he lost his eye?

Somehow, to my total bewilderment, I find myself with two kitties who go in and out and another who stays out. Always. Forever. He's not my cat. He just stays a lot and I feed him. But only because he has one eye and I'm a great big pushover. (Here's a secret. Bear is too.)

Lions and Tigers and Bear and Kitties, Oh My!

I already have a Bear. The tiger gray kitties, Diva and Baby, have owned us for several months now. They both have grown since they adopted Bear and I. My Bear is still quite happy to have them around. He calls them our fuzzy alarm clocks when they get us up every morning before our alarm goes off. I have to admit I have my ups and downs with them. I'm happy to say they still are not up on my kitchen counters. (I still check for loose hairs and any other paw print evidence in the morning!) I'm unhappy when they climb up on other places and bring something down causing a mess. The worst 'down' for me was the total melt down just the other evening when Baby got up on my jewelry making station and separated a gazillion beads from their containers, scattering them all over the table and the floor. (I crawled in bed and hid under the covers and cried.) Bear picked it all up, but I still can't face sorting out that mess and finding any kind of organization again.

Personalities have developed and Bear will admit that Baby is his favorite. She's such a lover and wants to be held and cuddled and be the center of attention. You can hear her 'motor' across a room. She's just too adorable not to love. Diva on the other hand is still aloof. She still acts like she's afraid of Bear. She will sit or lie pressed up against my legs or feet, in my recliner or in bed, but on her terms. She will tolerate a bit of petting, but she leaves if she thinks you've touched her too long. And she hates to be picked up and held. That, she will barely and briefly tolerate. Yet she shows jealously when you pay attention to Baby. Then all we see is her back side or if that doesn't seem to make her point, she'll leave the room with her tail straight up and only the tip flicking. This seems to be effecting the kitty relationship. Or maybe the relationship is also effected by Baby's growing independence. Or maybe it's the fact that Baby was young enough to learn to play and poor Diva had to grow up too fast and hard to learn to play. Not to mention the abuse Diva suffered before she discovered our safe deck. Diva plays rough. She is all claws and teeth and she hurts. Baby won't stand for it an avoids her mother. I've made progress with Diva. My hands are not as scratched as they were at first. But her play can still suddenly turn rough. I pull away and scold her when the claws come out. Oh how I wish I could read her mind then. She watches me with such intensity that I can see her thinking. I just don't know what she is thinking. I do know when I put my hand back, she grabs without claws and her bites are playful. She's smart and she's learning. But the anger is there and she still tends to get rough until I 'remind' her. Or Baby has to remind her. Then she turns from hurting to licking. It's just so obvious she had to defend and protect herself and her baby and now she still has to learn to play nice. Watching these two interact is like watching two personalities grow. From Mother and Daughter, to wary friends. It is fascinating. I think I'm learning as much as they are. Cats can be so much like little people.

Diva is spending more time outside now. But she's still pretty content to stay inside and watch from any window showing the most activity. I can only keep Baby in when the weather is at it's worst. It's hard to get her back inside even after dark. There are too many squirrels and birds and flying insects, etc. etc. out there for Baby to chase. And how she loves to climb. She scared me to death yesterday when I saw her up on top of the neighbors roof. OK, a one story, but still. And she had no trouble coming down. House to garage to shed and something I couldn't see and there she was. And there is Tommy. Oh My! Tommy is a big yellow (enter the lion, Oh My...) and a bit of white tomcat with one eye missing and damage to his voice box so that the sounds he makes are not at all cat like. Thank goodness I had Diva and Baby spayed right away. They avoid the other bully cats in the neighborhood, but for some reason they both let Tommy stay. Baby is a shameless flirt. Diva is her usual aloof self. Tommy is not mine. But he does not seem to belong to anyone else either. I only call him Tommy (I know, not very original....but he's not mine, it's just for convenience and evolved from tomcat) because he has taken to staying near by most of the time. My Grandson laughingly said I was turning into the little ole lady with a house full of cats. NO WAY! Tommy is not coming in. If he chooses to hang out on our deck, that is his choice. He's a full grown battle wise adult. And if I just happen to feed him what my kitties won't eat, that is being thrifty. He's not my cat. He'll never be my cat. I have enough cats. Period. End of blog.

We've Been Adopted

(You may need to see the last post to understand this.)

I still don't know much about cats, but I'm learning fast. I think the first thing I learned is that starving cats will eat anything. But as soon as they learn the meals keep coming, they get persnickety real fast. I also learned quickly that they learn to manipulate you quickly. They remained outside only till the S.O.S. lady brought them back from spaying. I was told to keep them safe, quiet and dry till midnight. Once again the neighborhood bully cats made that simple order a real challenge. Once it got dark I had to bring them inside. Just till midnight, I told myself. Then never again, I told myself. I watched them real close and we stayed in the kitchen. There was only one incident. They jumped up on my counter. My instinct took over and before I remembered I was suppose to keep them safe, I yelled and knocked them off the counter. Hard. I felt horrid. But it may have been a good thing. It must have hurt that soon after surgery because they still stay off the kitchen counter. (Yea!) Otherwise, they own the house....and us.

Before they taught us they were inside cats, we did buy outside winter proof protection and set it up under the roof of the deck and against the house where they would be safe and dry. It's still there. For awhile they used it at night when we pushed them out every night. At first. That didn't last too long. I'm still amazed at how Bear championed them. I blame him for bringing them in for longer and longer periods. Till it lasted all night. We realized they were going to the door when they 'needed' out to do their business. Maybe because they had survived outdoors, we were not finding any surprises inside. Still, the overnight stays were making me nervous and I bought a litter box. I must say, that was easier then training two small sons.

When the weather is nice, they still like to go outside. But they stay in a lot too. I now feed them inside so the wild cats don't bother the cat food I'm buying. And as personalities came out I changed Mama's name to Diva. She certainly earned the name. Bear's Baby will always be Baby, though sometimes she is called brat, (Bear's favorite is Dumb Cat) and a few other names. Baby loves to go out, but Diva is getting harder and harder to get out. They are filling out, but Diva will always be a small thin cat. It looks like Baby is going around her in size. Diva must feel safer inside. Maybe because of past experiences. Our mailman, when he realized they had adopted us, told us he saw a small boy on a tricycle run over Diva as she was sleeping in the sun. When I run my fingers over her little ribcage, I can feel the healed damage. She doesn't flinch, but it's there. And when she plays too hard, she starts to limp for awhile. I don't know what causes that, but it doesn't last long. Diva is very skittish of strangers, and still goes through spells of acting that way with me. While Baby trusts everyone.

Right now Baby is sleeping on the carpeted window shelf I fixed up for them. And Diva is asleep on the $69 kitty tree in the living room. And my nose is all plugged up and my skin itches. No doubt about it, we've been adopted. And life is no longer the same.

As for the picture....Baby found my water fountain.

God's Sense of Humor.

There is a saying (I'm not good at memorizing exact words) that says something like, if you want to know if God has a sense of humor, just make plans. Let me stretch that to include the statements we make. Only three blogs ago, I wrote a blog called 'About Cats' and stated that I don't really like cats and why. Was I tempting fate or giving God some kind of nudge toward humor?

Earlier this summer, two young kitties showed up on our deck and stayed. I ignored them as long as I could. Bear and I both agreed (I thought) we did not want kitties. This deck must have given them some sense of safety, because they wouldn't leave. And I realized they were starving right in front of my eyes. Then I saw one kitty nursing and the other very small cat was her mother, though they were nearly the same size. The neighborhood cats and strays that I've mentioned before are double the size of these two.

I couldn't let them starve. Even though I knew they would never leave if I fed them, it didn't look like they would leave anyway. I don't know anything about cats. Really. But food is food. I broke up a slice of our oatmeal bread, added a small amount of my favorite tuna and stirred it up with some milk and set it on the deck. It didn't take them long to devour that. This went on a few days. I soon learned that when I fed them, I had to sit on the deck too or neighborhood cats would chase them and eat their food. We somehow gradually started calling them just Mama and Baby. I still didn't want cats, especially in the house. I don't have the typical allergy of sneezing and red watery eyes, but I do have a skin reaction of itching and actual little stings all over my body that keeps me away from cats for any extended period. (A shower will fix it.)

My next step was taking pictures of them and sending those photos out in e-mails to everyone near enough to take them or know someone who might. Meanwhile I also made calls and found an organization who would spay and vet treat them inexpensively. At least I wouldn't have more litters around here. I really believe this little mama cat wouldn't survive another litter and her size probably explains why there is only one baby now. The papers that came back from the vet with the kitties after spaying tell me Mama only weighs 5.2 lbs. and Baby is 4.3 lbs. (And that was after I'd been feeding them about two weeks.) Once I started feeding them the nursing stopped. It looks like Mama would have given of herself till she died to save her baby. But they were dropped off near the deck of the lady who doesn't like cats......but couldn't watch them starve. Yup, God must be laughing at me.

Next blog title will be....'We've Been Adopted.'

Story from long ago.

Youngest son and I were talking and he said he'd never heard this one before and he wanted me to put it here. So....

My first snake.

I know I was 5 or 6 because my family and Dad's youngest brother and his wife were living in the double farm house south of town. Dad and Uncle D. left me with Grand Mom D. while they were fixing a fence on Grand Dad D's. farm. The fence was across a busy highway and down a long lane, across a small pasture and across the creek. When Grand Mom decided to send them some lemonade that hot afternoon, I begged to take it. She filled a quart jar, took me by the hand across the highway, and then let me go on my own from there. Dad and Uncle D. had driven the tractor over but I had to walk. It was a long way for a little girl and I still remember how proud I was to be trusted with this chore.

I made it all the way to the creek where I could see Dad and Uncle D. on the other side. They saw me coming.....or maybe they heard me singing. I'm told I sang all the time from the time I could hum till I drove them all crazy. Anyway, Dad yelled at me to take my shoes off before I came across the creek. Mom would kill us both if I got my shoes wet.

So I sat down on the grassy creek bank, laid the quart jar down and started to untie the shoes. That's when something wiggled. I looked down and there was a huge black snake coiled up underneath me. He was probably just minding his own business getting some sun when I plopped down on him. I may have startled him, but he scared me witless. I jumped straight up and crossed that creek and climbed up the first pant leg I came to. All the way up into my Uncle D's. arms. They were laughing, but Dad finally remembered the shoes and said a bad word. Uncle D grabbed my foot and started laughing harder. My shoes were dry. I'd crossed the creek without getting either foot wet. Or anything else. But the lemonade was still on the other side and Dad had to take his shoes off to go get it. No way was I going back over there.

The Cardboard Man

First, I haven't been posting here in a long time. I have not been feeling well for a lot longer. Recently a diagnosis of Fibromyalgia was confirmed by two Doctors and now I have the reason I've been so fatigued and in pain. I will tell you more about that later. First a funny story...........


The Cardboard Man

I had an appointment to see a specialist in our capitol city. Bear had to work and I told him it was no problem and I could go alone. After all, he gave me a Garmin Nuvi GPS system for my birthday just so we could find these addresses. (I also have an appointment at the Cleveland Clinic Headache Center for pain control later on.) I happened to mention to a friend, Sherrin, in an e-mail the night before the appointment that I was going alone, and she called me early the next morning to ride along. We don't live in the same town, but we met, and she went with me.

I came out of the Dr.s office feeling 'high' because now I knew for sure what was wrong and I had a prescription to make me better. (It didn't hit me till later that I have a life long, uncurable, mostly uncontrollable pain and fatigue illness to deal with on top of the headaches I've suffered all my life. YUK.) So that day Sherrin and I decided to find a restaurant before we headed back to her car and our homes. We had a wonderful lunch and talked, and talked, as only old friends can do. (Sherrin and I graduated together) When we walked out of the restaurant we realized we were on a busy four lane downtown highway at rush hour and we had to cross lanes to go the other way. Sherrin suggested that we try driving around back and see if we could find access to a side street.

That's when it got interesting. When I reached the side street, there was a pile of clothes and other objects laying in my lane. I was going to have to pull over where I would be in the way of anyone trying to pull in. Some choice, run over these personal items of which I couldn't even be sure what was there, or hope no one tried to pull in off the street. I pulled over to miss the pile. And I looked left for traffic so I could pull out. I heard Sherrin make a startled noise and I looked right. OK, now I understand the pile of clothes. About 15-20 feet (sorta, I'm terrible at judging distance) stood a naked man with a cardboard sign held right where it should be covering what we didn't want to see. And Sherrin, who can exaggerate a hillbilly twang like no one else I know when she wants to, said to me, "Ya spose he's wearing anything 'cept that cardboard?" (She breaks me up!!) I said something about not wanting to know and I intended to watch traffic for a break to get out of town. No luck, too much traffic. Then I heard Sherrin gasp again. I had to look. He was coming closer and watching Sherrin eye to eye. I asked Sherrin if her door was locked. Sherrin said, "Nope." I hit the master button on the drivers door and all four locks made a loud THUNK. I caught a little break in traffic and I merged with squealing tires. Once I was in traffic and moving away, I asked Sherrin, "Did he hear the door locks?" Sherrin just said, "YUP". Then I wondered and asked, "What did he do?" Sherrin demonstrated by throwing her arms out and rolled them in the upturned way and said "He threw his arms out like, 'what did I do'".........and the cardboard dropped! We both started laughing. I said something about remembering our trip because of the old man and Sherrin told me he wasn't that old. I said something about not looking at his face to judge age and two old ladies burst out laughing again. Sherrin did say he had on shorts. I didn't ask what kind.

So forever now, my memory of going to the city to learn I have Fibromyalgia, is going to be overshadowed by the cardboard man. By the way neither one of us knows what was written on that cardboard sign. Don't ask us what we were looking at, but I bet she remembers it longer than I do!!

Explain this to me.

Lately I've been getting e-mails warning us not to follow food with cold drinks. We are being told that cold liquid after a meal has been discovered to coagulate any fat in our food and cause it to adhere to our innards. Hhmmm, almost makes sense. Almost.

But, I'm reminded of the warning that came with the garbage disposal. It warns never to run hot water when using the disposal. They claim that warm water melts the fats and causes them to cling to the pipes. I see the difference, warm body, cold pipes. But, this still strikes me as a contradiction. My mind won't quite wrap itself around some difference between adhering and clinging of fats because of temperature. Fat is fat. OK, mostly we are not as horizontal as pipes. At least when we eat. Is that why one needs warm water and the other needs cold? And I believe that in nature, our ancestors drank cold water long before they discovered fire.

Is science leading us in circles again? I remember all the other "warnings" that have come my way in this 60 plus lifetime. Like, don't eat eggs....then, eggs are the perfect food. Real butter is bad for us....then, artificial margarine is worse for us. How about sugar and then the warnings about the artificial stuff. I could go on and on. The warning of moderation always come after the screaming of "Don't" Each study seems to have it's own agenda, and their facts can be made to lean in the direction wanted. At least that seems to be my experience.

I made up my mind a long time ago to ignore the new studies and follow my own likes and dislikes. Still, this hot liquid or cold liquid warning has got me curious. Just curious. I don't think it really matters. Our ancestors had to drink cold water. Then again, those same ancestors didn't live very long. Then again, they faced dangers we can't imagine. Then again, who cares? Then again, what do you think? Do you try to follow all the new scientific warnings? I read them, think about them, ignore them, and wait for the next one I can ignore. Life is too short to follow all the warnings.

About Cats

I'm not crazy about cats. I don't mean I hate them. I love animals. Cats just aren't my favorite animal. They seem to like me though. When I visit homes that have cats, they usually end up sitting in my lap. I love that. As long as they belong to someone else, I guess I like cats. I just don't like them in my house climbing on kitchen counters and tables. Years ago my ex-husband wanted a cat and his cat had a nasty habit of barfing on my carpet and furniture. I'm not crazy about cats. There were barn cats on our farm when I was growing up. But they were mostly feral and unapproachable. Except for one ugly cat that jumped out of the haymow one day and used my head for a platform to the ground. Imagine claws in your scalp from a surprise attack from above. That could be the basis of why I'm not crazy about cats.

The problem is that our neighborhood is over run with tame and wild cats. And this property seems to draw more then our share of them. Maybe it's the high deck, or hubby's trailer that sits out by the garage. Each gives a different high point in which to view the neighborhood. One of the wild cats is a black and white male who seems to be much too popular with the opposite sex. Hence more cats all the time. I've taken a dislike to this fellow and I try to interrupt his business, when it's in our yard, every chance I get. I know it's a total wasted effort, but...... (guilty little secret) it's fun. (I'll blame my grandson, he started it.)

A couple days ago I was headed out to lunch with friends and right there on the sidewalk, between the house and the garage, was Mr and one of his Mrs. She was making a false effort to crawl away and they were facing away from me. I got closer and then stomped and screeched. Well Fudge! They just moved forward a bit and continued their shameful public display. So I got more aggressive with the stomping right behind them. She took off and that male cat turned to me. Hackles straight up and crouched in attack mode. Which surprised me. He'd always run before, and I'd never been this close.

I was even more surprised when I realized this feisty cat only had one eye. The missing eye was not matted shut. There was a scar across his nose and up into his cheek that crossed the missing eye. It was not his only scar. It had healed a long time ago and I was faced with an old survivor of many battles. We stared each other down and then he turned with his back to me, and with tail up, just ambled away while I stood in awe.

I went on to lunch with my friends and temporarily forgot about him. But now he's sitting on the rail of our deck watching his domain and I have to admit, my attitude toward the dude has
changed. I'm thinking of calling him Feisty. The name fits. OH GOOD GRIEF! I'd better watch out or I'll find myself feeding him. And, I'm not crazy about cats.

Ramblings

Snow on the Kokosing River.
A little back water view.



It's been awhile and I feel like a ramble. No, that's not a typo. I don't want to rumble, just ramble about some of the things I've been thinking lately.

Weather first. Mid Ohio is covered in a beautiful, long lasting, deep, crap load of snow with layers of sneaky drop you on your can ice hiding therein. This is the first winter in awhile where the snow keeps coming before we see a melt. But, finally, there is promise that this coming weekend will bring temperatures in the 40's and all our beautiful white snow will turn to ugly mud. The only part I'll enjoy is the loss of ice. I took my camera over to the Kokosing River and captured the deep white blanket of snow and those pictures will be enjoyed when I have to scrape mud off my shoes. Oh, the joys of Ohio winter weather.

Actually the weather led to the second reason I was inspired to write again. I enjoyed my walk in the cold, but not enough to attempt it every day. So this morning, after Bear left for work, I decided it was a good time to clean out the fridge. I take pride in my organizational skills. I always know what is in that cold food saver and how long it's been there. Not this time. Imagine my surprise when I discovered a small covered Pyrex dish that still contained candied sweet potatoes left over from Christmas!! But that didn't compare to my surprise in finding that they still looked good enough to eat!!! Imagine, no mold or separation or yuk. No way was I going to taste test anything that had been lost to me for that long, no matter how good it looked. Shall I give credit to Pyrex? Or are the preservatives in this day and age responsible? That actually scares me. We've heard the jokes about all that stuff being in our bodies. Was it George Burns who said that was why he was alive so long? Yeah, alive, but pickled. That's how I see it. I threw the sweet potatoes down the garbage disposal, but I could not get them out of my mind. That's why the fridge job isn't finished and I'm sitting here telling you about it.

I wonder why my days go by and afterwords I can never figure out what I accomplished. I know I was busy.......all day.....but what did I do? I had time to think about what to put in my blog, but today is the first time in too long that I'm doing it. Surprise............time really does fly when you're .......................................old. And the memory really is the first to go.............Now what was I doing?


P.S. Went to the kitchen and now I remember what I was doing. Bear asked for his favorite cherry, cheesecake, graham cracker crust dessert. I told him I didn't have what I needed to make it. I forgot I'm so organized, and I found everything I needed. So the cooked thickened cherries are cooling, the crust is cooling and the philly cheese is coming to room temp. so I can mix it up. That's what I was doing. I started on the fridge, but got detoured when I found I had all my ingredients to make Bear happy....then I got on the computer.....one thing leads to another and most of my day is gone and lots of things are started, but the blog is the only thing finished. Or will be when I hit "Publish Post." (The day is not a total loss. Bear will be happy, if I get myself back to the kitchen.)

Sudoku

That clock is at it again. The one with the big red numbers projected on the ceiling over the bed. No, it wasn't S O S this time.

Half awake, I needed to roll off my sore shoulder. Half way into my roll, my attention was caught by 6:16. Guess what my fuzzy brain came up with this time? Sorry, I know you can't do that. No one else on earth has a brain that works like this one. And I can't totally blame age, it's always been like this. My brain told me, "That's not right! You can't have two 6's in the same row!"

If you need that explained to you, you haven't caught the Sudoku bug. I must have it worse then I realized. Looks like I need to get a life. We should listen to our own minds. We can learn a lot in an unguarded moment when the mind has wondered off and come up with a thought all on it's own.

I think.....?

Attention All Men

OK Fellows, here's a tip for all you guys living with a woman. The scene starts with your significant other watching T.V. and the show has reached that important point where the who-done-it is revealed. And you have just thought of something you have to tell the lady in your life. Now she is likely to say something like, "Please, just a moment, I want to hear........" Afterward, if you haven't forgotten what was so important in the first place, she gives you all her attention.

Fast forward to that moment when the man asks her some question, just as something on T.V. catches his attention. What does Mr. Man do? Hand gestures and a shushing sound with an ear stretched all the way to the T.V. He cant' listen to the answer to his question yet, and it doesn't occur to him to be polite. After all she's just his and he doesn't even realize he's treating her like some pet. That's what you do to a dog. Even a cat will ignore you and don't be surprised when the little lady gets angry.

Attention! That is called rude. We are not animals that respond to hand signals. Don't shush us with a gesture or point at something you expect us to deliver into your royal hand!

Now I have just one question. Do you want us to bark or hiss? Because we won't be purring at this kind of treatment.

Bear's Very Own Alien

Bear has always said I'm not normal. He'll tell you I'm not human and that I came in a saucer from some distant galaxy. It's lots of little things that come up that make him shake his head. The same things that most men use to convince themselves that they are normal and the wife can't be. But he likes to add things like my living through the aneurysm when most don't. Or my 6 inch appendix that my Dr. put in a jar on his office shelf because 2 inches is normal. Or the fact that my eyes are hollow and have no vitreous and I have to be careful not to flatten them. (Thus a special pillow for my head in bed.) Not to worry, yes they are serious, but teasing keeps it light and makes it easier to live with. It's just something to add to those little things like shaking his husband head and teasing the wife when he can't get the better of me.

Such as his problem with shows like Cash Cab. The one where the cabbie asks his passengers questions and kicks them out if they miss three questions. Bear can't answer as many of the questions as I can. Thus, I'm not normal. The other day he asked me who I'd phone if there was a question I could not answer. I just had to say it. "I don't know anybody smarter then me, so I have no idea who I could call." Another head shake and once again I'm not normal. (It's so much fun to always have a come back.)

As if he didn't have enough proof of my alienship, I'm afraid I've given him more. It started with some junk mail. The local hearing aid place sent me a letter offering a free test, and if I took their hearing test, they would give me a free BP Gas coupon worth $10. I haven't had a hearing test since the early 60's when I worked as long distance operator for the phone company. But, I know there is nothing wrong with my hearing. Still, $10 in gas is nothing to ignore. Why not? When I phoned to make the appointment they asked me to bring my husband along because part of the test involved voice recongition. Bear grumbled that it was just a way to sell him a new hearing aid too. He may be right, but he agreed to go.

It was the same test. And it went the same way as the ones all those years ago. I was put in a sound proof booth and I responded every time I heard a tone. Through the usual range of sound. But, then they seemed to get stuck on the high pitches. It just kept getting higher and higher and higher and I kept responding. Then there were longer pauses and another tone. Short pauses and a tone. A bunched up pile of tones all together where I'm sure my eyes got big and I just kept the response as long as the tone. All real high pitches. Finally they let me out of the booth and this man had the same strange look as all those testers all those years ago. My hearing is perfectly normal in the mid and lower range of sounds. But, I'm off their chart on the high pitches. I'm not suppose to hear what I hear. Years ago I was told if someone blew one of those whistles that only dogs hear, I'd hear it. I never knew anyone who had one of those whistles, so I don't know about that. But, no matter how high the pitch, I do hear things. There have often been sounds that make my head hurt even worse, and no one around me believes I'm hearing anything. Now Bear has proof. He says it's proof that I'm not human.

Now, here is my spin on the situation. I've said it before. The good Lord have me special hearing to make up for the bad vision I have. Though I don't know why that compensation should inclued headache causing pitches that make me cringe. It's one of the questions I have for God when he gets around to asking me to join him.

Meanwhile, another hearing aid test bites the dust and they didn't even try to sell me a hearing aid. He usually does other tests too, including the voice recognition test, but they didn't even offer them to me. (Bear didn't even need to go with me.) The man followed us back out to the front desk where he told the receptionist he'd never given a test like that. I had the best hearing he'd ever come across in his life. They gave me $10 in cash because the BP Coupons hadn't arrived yet and watched us all the way out of the office. And I just know Bear is never going to let this one come to an end. I'm now his very own Alien.

I Hate Politics

This election has heightened emotions more than any in my memory. I try to avoid the whole subject because my own beliefs are private to me. I don't want anyone telling me what I should believe or do or who I should vote for. But even when I won't be drawn into the discussion, this year it seems everyone is trying to convince me they know more then I do. I beg to differ. I'm still an undecided voter, but I will not make my decision on what you tell me.

A long time friend phoned me last evening and started with the rumors she hears. STOP! I don't listen to rumors. I delete e-mails, most are lies anyway. I listened to the debates. Then I checked out as many facts as I could. I found one site to be very nonpartisan and easy to sort through. http://www.factcheck.org I sent this information around to some friends who keep sending me the rumors. But it didn't stop the junk I was getting.

Then the friend phoned and some angry words were exchanged. Well, not exchanged, it was on my part. I unloaded on her. Which is not like me.....usually.......I hope. (Though contrary to some, I have not mellowed in my old age. I am more likely to stick up for myself then I ever did as a youth. I no longer avoid confrontation at any cost.) I hate politics. This years election is making something very clear to me.

Some people are so convinced their own beliefs are accurate, that they are perfectly willing to discredit anything that does not conform to their own beliefs. I ask myself, how can a real truth be known with that mindset? Facts are not easy to find, but don't you have to be willing to examine both sides before you can even begin to make a decision as important as this one? How can anyone make decisions without being willing to sort out facts from political lies or exaggerations or half truths? Why are so many people so willing to only listen to what they want to believe? What does this say about the future of our country?

P.S. What makes "political lies" more acceptable then any other lie????? I HATE POLITICS!! (And Politicians) (And, I hate that it made me yell at my friend last night.)

From Bad to Worse

Sometimes we make decisions we are very unhappy with. I got my hair cut on Tuesday. For several years now I've worn it about half way between my shoulders and chin line. I can slightly roll it under, not too much , I don't want the pageboy look. Or I can flip the ends out. I liked it either way and it gave me options. And it's long enough to pull back and tuck behind my ears. What on earth got into me. I told Katie to cut it a little shorter this time. Just to see what it would be like. So now it's cut at the chin line.

Yesterday I had my shower and let it dry straight with just a bit of my roll under. OH NO. I looked like the Little Dutch Boy on the old paint cans.

So this morning I tried the flip out the ends style. OH NO, NO!!!! Now I look like President George Washington's portrait. I want my long hair back.

Confrazzled

How do you normal folks turn your minds off so you can get some sleep?? Is there some secret that was never programmed into my brain?

It's not just pain that keeps me awake all night. (And day.) My mind reminds me of an old taunt that was used when I was a kid.

Roses are red.
Grass is green.
Your mouth runs
like a sewing machine.

But, it's not my mouth that runs all the time. (Well maybe sometimes.) It's my mind that won't shut down. No matter how sleepy I get, my mind jumps from one crazy or genius thought to another. I don't know if I'm a genius without a clue or a crazy sap with too many clues and no idea where I'm going so I can't get there from somewhere. And I don't know where I'm going with this...so how will I know if I get anywhere?

What do you do with a mind that won't quit, doesn't know how to rest , but works fine (truly, actually I believe so) when it has a project to complete, but forgets to turn off when sleep is an absolute necessity?

And there you have a sneak peak into the befuddled sleepless mind of me. Am I suppose to apologize for bringing you along on my confrazzled trip?

Spider

I told a friend about this little incident and she told me I needed to put it here in the blog. So Sherrin, this ones for you.

I blame all of this on the headaches and sleepless nights I've complained about all my life. The combination would make anyone loopy. (Which is now what my friend Sherrin calls me.)

The other morning I crawled out of my sleepless bed and wobbled my way to the bathroom. I was sitting on the throne when I realized that spot on the floor wasn't due to my dizzy head, it really was moving. Once I'd focused, I saw a big brown fat bellied spider. It wasn't close enough to cause me any panic, so I just watched it. The spiders progress reminded me of my trip from bed. I realized the bugger was missing a front leg and was moving forward with a drift to my left, but trying to come my way. As I watched my thought process was along these lines.

Poor little thing. Should I put it out of it's misery? Maybe I should just let it be since it already had enough problems. I was leaning toward putting it out of it's misery. Do spiders know what misery is? Was I thinking like that just because I did not want to share my bathroom with a spider? Even a crippled one?

OH GOOD GRIEF. That's when I realized I was loopy and I had a bigger problem then that spider.

I walked over the spider and left it and the room. Now every time I have to go back to the bathroom my skin crawls and I'm constantly looking for a crippled spider. Dead or alive.

Definitely loopy.

Vacation

We're back from vacation. Our first trip in many years. In a summer when gas prices are keeping a lot of folks close to home, Bear's sister sent us a gift card from her husbands BP station for our anniversary so we could visit them in northern Michigan. Not the U.P., but way up there in Oscoda County. They have a beautiful home on a beautiful property on a beautiful lake. This was the first time brother and sister had a chance to spend time together since they lost their Mother. It was family time together at it's best. Shared memories, teasing, Sunday morning at Church, and getting acquainted with spouses. And a week that went by too fast.

I had the added bonus of spending half a day with old friends. A couple I've known since 1964 when my first husband, G. and I were stationed in Germany. Bill is a Michigan boy who married a German girl. They finally came back to the states when the Berlin Wall came down and now live about an hour and a half from Bear's sister. We've managed to get together just about every time I make it to Michigan. That was often when Bear's Mother was alive, but it's been about 12 years since my friends and I've been able to be together. We keep in touch with mail and e-mail, but that can never compare to a real visit. Now, that's what a vacation should be.

The last time Bear's sister came here, her hubby was on a hunting trip. So she brought a friend with her. That friend and her husband had us all over for a BBQ. Another highlight of this vacation. She has two gorgeous matched gray Percherons and a pretty bay mare. The plan was to hitch up the Percherons and go for a buggy ride after we ate. But that plan was ruined by a strong storm. It hit after we ate and we were protected in the barn, but it would have been stupid to take the horses out in the lightning and thunder and heavy rain. She already had them in part harness, so I was allowed to help take it off. It's been a long time since I've been able to get that close to any horses. I loved just being with them.

Even with some severe weather, (I stood in the patio door and took pictures of hail and rain so hard we couldn't see the lake from their deck) I was surprised to discover my headache wasn't as bad as it's been. I even slept for longer stretches. The obvious explanation would center around stress and relaxation. But, something happened when we got home to remind me of something I'd forgotten. This is going to sound crazy, but I have to believe there is something to it. I believe the big electrical transformer on the pole above our house has a lot to do with my pain.

When W. and I built our house in the country, my headaches were there, but tolerable. Of course I was younger and the Dr's. did warn me that as we get older our veins lose elasticity and the Arterial Veineous malformation in my brain would cause more problems as I aged. (The aneurysm was way back in 1978 when I was 33.) While W. and I still lived in the country, a new house was built in the woods behind and below us. A new transformer was installed back there. My pain increased. One day when I was outside, I realized I was feeling something like a vibration in the ground. I went looking for the source. It was a bit like a marco-polo game. If I went in the right direction, the vibration was stronger. When I found the transformer, it wasn't up on a pole. It was sitting on the ground. Standing near it made my head throb unbearably. That transformer was just one of the reasons W. and I set out to buy land and build the log home. Away from any towers or transformers. Looking at properties I discovered I was effected if we were close to a high power line. We found the 38 acres and started the house back off the road.

When I first moved in with Bear, this transformer right by the house caused me problems too. But, I've lived here so long, I'd totally forgotten the connection. (Being away at work days helped. Now I'm not working and home all day.) The week at the lake, without the intense pain......then coming back and getting hit with it again was a reminder. I don't think I'm crazy. There must be a connection. With my past experience, I don't believe it's just a matter of the A.V.M. and stress.

When I Was 58

It's just come to my attention that I never told this story on here. I've written it, and told it so many times I guess I thought I'd already put it here. This is what happened when a Grand Mother tried to keep up with the Grand Kids.

I was 58 years old. My youngest son lived a few blocks away with daughter, Leslie and son, Bryce. I live closer to the river then they do, and it was a rule when they were smaller that they couldn't go to the river without a grownup. I was working part time and usually home shortly after noon, and they often rode their bikes over to spend summer afternoons with me on the river.

One day when Leslie was 12 and Bryce was almost 10, they came over with their friend Amber. The river had been dredged a couple of summers before and it's shallow across from my house. It also has a lot of dredged up sharp stones. I made sure their shoes were river ready and off we went. We waded up river a ways and the water was only ankle to mid calf deep on me. Which put it no higher then the knees of the younger ones. We have a favorite tree that was blown down and hangs out partly submerged in the water, but is still in the shade. It's a perfect place to rest while you dangle your legs in the water and talk. Walking up river against a current is more exercise then you'd realize if you've never done it. The girls and I were enjoying the conversation, but Bryce got bored with our "girl talk." He asked permission to cross the spit of land behind us and explore the back water we all knew was there. A perfect place for frogs and little boy adventures. It was real close with just a few trees separating us. I gave permission and he was off like a shot. I yelled, "Stay out of the water, it's scummy." Soon he yelled to me that the water was gone and it was just muddy. Of course I yelled, "Stay out of the mud." Of course Bryce was already in the mud by then. And he started screaming, "Gram Lee, I'm sinking in quicksand." I knew there wasn't any quicksand over there, but I also remember the thick mud that use to suck me down when I had to feed the hogs.

We ran to his rescue. The girls were faster then I was and I yelled at the girls, "Stay out of the mud." Does anyone listen to Gram Lee? Stupid question, I know. The girls went into the mud to rescue Bryce. So when I caught up, I saw three kids stuck a lot deeper then I expected. It was almost funny. They'd sunk as deep as they were going to go. Arms were swinging and they were swaying. The little giggle that escaped me must have given them a clue that they weren't in any real danger. I pulled off my shoes and waded out. Being the oldest and heaviest and slowest, Les was the closest. When I reached her I was in thick sucking mud about 14 to 16 inches deep. She was almost as tall as I was. I pulled and pulled, and the suction would not let go. Then I realized the kids still had their shoes on and were trying not to lose them in the mud. I told Les to straighten out her foot and let the shoe slide off so we could get her legs free. The mud was so thick it didn't cave in on itself. I was able to reach down the hole to pull out her shoes. Or I could have if the mud would let go. Bryce had seen Leslie's success and he lifted his own legs out, without shoes. He had also gotten further out and the mud was wetter and he was able to pull his shoes out. He started playing with the suction by dancing around while holding his shoes. I told him to throw his shoes over on solid ground. Amber soon followed his example. Les and I were still trying to get one of her shoes out. But after watching the others, she abandoned me to join them in their salute to deep sticky, sucky mud. I struggled on to save her shoe. When that #*^&~ mud suction finally let loose of that #*^&~ shoe it came out with a sluuuurp all at one. I sat down hard. Now picture me stuck in mud 14-16 inches deep with my chin almost on my muddy knees and my fanny buried so deep I couldn't wiggle. I could not move. My hands were free, but I knew if I tried to use them to push myself up, I would be good and stuck. After laughing much too long, the kids waddled over to help me. After pulling and pushing and making a thick soup of the mud around me and laughing so hard they weren't much help, Bryce wanted to go back to the house and call 911.

Oh NO! I worked at the Hospital for 9 years, when our emergency squad was stationed there. Then the new fire station was built just a few blocks from us and they moved in there. I know most of those guys. (I was making them home made Hershey Cocoa Fudge every Christmas.) There was no way I wanted them to find me like that. If anyone had a video camera, the kids and I would have won the hundred thousand America's Funniest Video, hands down. I wouldn't let them give up and they finally got me back to my feet.

We headed back to the river to get some of the mud off. My darling Leslie put one shoe in the river while she rubbed mud off the other. I heard her squeal and looked up in time to see the shoe in the current and headed downstream. We spent 20 minutes trying to find that shoe. Finally we were lucky and found it caught on a rock. "That's it, enough, we're going home." a frustrated Gram Lee announced. We waded back down river to where we can cross the woods and reach the Dyke to the park and over to the house. But, when we got there, Bryce wanted to cross the river to the other side and show Amber the new park the city was building at the old stone quarry. By then I had calmed down enough to agree. (How is that grand kids can wrap you around their fingers and get you to agree to more then their parents ever could?)

To get to the new park, we have to climb a 25-30 foot high embankment. I've done it lots of times with the kids. But, that summer the neighborhood kids had made a path that was just stones and dirt with no bushes or saplings within reach left to hold on to, and it's steep! Leslie gets poison ivy just looking at it, so I insisted we stay on the path. Bryce and Amber went first and made it okay. Les was hesitating so I went next. I was almost to the top where I got hold of a sapling when Leslie let out a pitiful yelp and cried out that she was slipping. I turned to her and put out my left hand, which she grabbed. And, jerked me off my sapling anchor. The two of us tumbled all the way back down. She was on top of me three times, so I have to assume that I was on top of her at least three times. When I finally found myself on the bottom of the hill I was all tangled legs and arms with my grand daughter. I started to laugh, but quickly stopped when I realized it HURT. I asked Leslie how she was, she was still giggling, which I took to be a good sign. The other two kids were back down, dancing around us and bent over laughing. Once again, where was the video camera and the money. It took an effort for me to get up and this time I knew I'd had enough. I was in pain and Les was limping with a sprained ankle.

We waded back across the river, went through the trees, over the Dyke, and across the park, the street and home. Where my husband took one look at us and said, "You are not coming in this house, are you?" The kids got back on their bikes, but were stalling. They were afraid of what their parents would say when they saw them. Soooo, Gram Lee got her bike out. No Way was I getting in my car like that. I rode home with the kids so their parents wouldn't kill them. Can't you just see me? A 58 year old, covered in mud, my straw hat soggy and muddy and twisted in a weird shape and on my bike crossing High Street at the light with three muddy kids. My son and Amber's parents were laughing so hard at me they couldn't scold the kids. Then I had to ride back across High Street at the light all by myself. When I got back home, my husband was waiting. He still wouldn't let me in the house. I had to get out of those clothes on our back deck before he'd let me in so I could have my shower.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is how Gram Lee cracked a rib at the ripe old age of 58!!!!

Fact or Rip Off

I received a catalog in the mail today that is chock full of all kinds of gimmick gadgets. Gee, the things they come up with to separate us from our money. They advertise them of T.V. and then they show up in catalogs with that little "As Seen On T.V." emblem. Like that's suppose to convince us they are for real.

Then an item really caught my attention. Have you seen the "Toe Flexor?" Honest. It's suppose to keep your toes separated. A toe stretcher. An exerciser for you toes! It's a piece with holes that you poke your toes through and it puts me in mind of the stocks that the colonists used to punish transgressors. You know what I mean. They had to stand with hands and head poked through the holes. Now the catalog claims this soft foam gadget, if used 10 minutes a day, will make foot pain go away. It will help improve flexibility and circulation. It will make your feet stronger, healthier, and more beautiful. It claims it's used by dancers and athletes to stretch Achilles tendons and ease fatigue. This old farm girl doesn't know about dancers or athletes, but WOW! Remember, I was forced into early retirement from my lots of walking job about 3 years ago when I did damage to my Achilles tendon walking on our bike path.

Maybe this is something worth checking into. I let my eyes wander to the price. ARE YOU KIDDING? They want $11.99 a pair for this 5 inch piece of foam? And, I'd have to pay shipping and handling on top of that! I'm not really a skin flint, but let's be reasonable. Still........my feet do hurt. Not just when I stand or walk. They hurt as I was reading that add. And, I was sitting all relaxed in my recliner.

It set my mind to working. There must be something around here I can experiment with, without spending all that money. After all, all it really does is keep your toes apart. Let's see. It needs to be soft so it won't hurt, but it can't mush together. Not too big or wide. I know! Ear Plugs. I have plenty of those so I can get even a bit of sleep. Now please, for the sake of my dignity.....don't try to picture me in my recliner, feet up and with my orange ear plugs stuck in between each toe.

You know, this doesn't feel too bad. I settled in with a book I'd been reading and floated away in the story. After a bit I was totally surprised to realize my feet no longer hurt. This may actually help. Of course I haven't walked very far yet. But if I re-use my earplugs for a few days it will be a lot cheaper test then the $11.99 Toe Flexor. Plus shipping and handling. I may look silly, but I'm no dummy.

When Right turns Wrong

I've been forced to phone the police twice now. It was the right thing to do. But, when they showed up, it was a false alarm both times. Now I feel like that little boy who cried wolf and when he needed help, they didn't come. I'm going to be thinking very hard before I phone the police again.

The first call went out very late in the night. Bear was in bed and I was sitting up reading. There were loud voices just outside in the street. We live across from a park and this happens a lot. I have always ignored them before. But, then a shot rang out. No back-fire, there were no car sounds. A loud bang. I know a bit about guns and this sounded like high power. But, just one shot. And the voices were angry and and still yelling. I phoned the police. But, before they arrived it got real quiet and everyone seemed to be gone. I told the police just what I knew, which wasn't much. They circled the block a few times and drove the length of the park. But, they never did any search, or even turned a spotlight over the park. So I didn't feel they had done a very good job of checking it out and it made me nervous. That was the end of it. No report of any shooting, nothing.

Then two nights ago, around 10:15 or 10:20pm I was sitting here waiting for Bear to get off work at 11pm. There was shouting again. A mans voice and a womans voice. There is a street light across from the house. But, I couldn't see anything. Suddenly the man was pounding on my front door and shouting for me to call the police. He sounded frantic and was yelling that his wife was threatening suicide. I did not open the door. I did not see him. I did phone the police. And they were here within minutes. Two cars. But, again, no sign of anyone in the street. And, again, they talked to me and I told them what I knew. Which wasn't much. The officer in the other car did talk to a neighbor who walked out on her porch, but I have no idea what she knew. And once again, they patrolled, but never looked in the park or used a searchlight to see if there was anyone over there. It was "all quiet." They told me to call again if I heard anything, and left.

Two days later, and it seems that once again I've "cried wolf." Nothing in the paper about any attempted suicide or even any trouble. So what am I suppose to do the next time I hear trouble in the street or over in the park? Give the police the idea that there is some crazy, scared old lady who phones over every little disturbance. (Let me say, I wasn't scared either time. But, I'm not stupid either, and I know better then to go out and check it out myself.) Do the right thing and call anyway, and let the police sort it out? Or mind my own business, like most people do nowadays? Now I understand a bit better why no one wants to get involved. It leaves you feeling very awkward when it turns out like this. Still, how would I feel if I ignored someone who turned out to really need help? After two calls, how long before the police quit taking me serious?

My Tirade

Sub Title: I Can't Be Silent Anymore.


My husband likes wrestling. Last night I was forced to listen to something that has gone too far. And yes, I had to listen. This house is small and there is nowhere I can go where I can't hear the angry shouting voices. I wear earplugs to bed in an effort to get some sleep. They block out street and most noises, but they don't work well on voices.

Bear has always liked his wrestling. So when he isn't working the evenings when it's on, he gets to see it. It use to just be an annoyance I was willing to compromise over. But for several years now, each event and each wrestling federation has been trying to top it's previous show.

It has gone too far. We've been disagreeing more and more. He sees it as "not real" and "just entertainment." So do millions of others apparently. But last nights torture made me snap. It wasn't even something that happened in the ring. (Which is bad enough.) This was one of those scenes where we are supposedly peeking in on what is going on in back. One of the old time stars was working on a young team mate. Teaching him "to be a man." "Toughening him up." With a lot of shouting, he was pushing his mates head under water and holding him. Then barely letting him catch a breath before shoving his head down again. Bad enough. But it didn't end there. Next he used metal clamps on the younger mans nipples, body still wet from the dunking, and shocked him. (But, it's OK because it's not real?)

Is that entertainment? Is that a good lesson for our young people? It's not a movie where the good side is out to stop that kind of thing because it's wrong. No this was suppose to be OK. Do impressionable children need to hear that it's OK to do that to anyone? (Let alone your partner?) Do impressionable children need to hear they need to take this kind of treatment to "become a man?" "To toughen up?" Even beyond lessons for our young generation, I shudder in wonder that adults can choose this kind of "make believe entertainment."

It's causing a serious rift with my partner. This sport (?) is escalating faster and faster in it's hope to top the previous entertainment. This morning my hubby tried again to convince me it's just a show. It's not real. Somehow, for me anyway, that makes it worse. The mindset. I can't stop trembling. ( I've cried too.) What I saw and heard last night has gone too far.

Last night was just one more step in this thing they call sport. They were advertising their next Big Event. A slew of wrestlers in a steel cage, that once everyone was locked in, WEAPONS would drop from above for them to use on each other.

I rest my case. Where's Law Enforcement?





Am I really being unreasonable?

About "Dr. House"

(My goodness, it's been a long time since I wrote on here. It's not that I haven't thought of things to write. Actually I have. But, I've been in such a bad kinda mood, that I was afraid to start. I don't want to cause hard feelings or upset anyone or even make myself angrier. It's a combination of things. Just like life always is. Uppermost in my mind (besides my own physical pain) is that my oldest son is having his problems. And, it looks like they will lead him right out of Ohio and into another state. As if the other end of this state wasn't far enough away. Being a mother, and wife and woman, and human is hard. I've recently added one of those saying to the end of my e-mails, and I'm trying to keep it in mind as I stumble through my days. It's a quote from Dr. Wayne Dyer. "We need to remember that we are not Humans having a Spiritual experience. We are Spiritual beings having a human experience." This ties in with my favorite T.V. Show.

So, to get back on track, this is suppose to be about the T.V. show, "House.")

About "Dr. House"

Dr. House is suppose to be a man that we are suppose to love to hate. (I sure do. But then I'm not fond of Doctors in general.) On the other hand it's about a tortured soul who needs to save the lives of humans he proclaims not to care about. And, thats the part that fascinates me. He's portrayed as caring more about the puzzle of a disease then the patient who has the disease. I guess the question is suppose to be, does this make someone a better Doctor? But, the real question for me is, what really leads to a human feeling this way? If the mystery of disease hadn't captured his attention, would his lack of caring about humanity lead him into more terrible actions. Of course they show us bits of clues that show he isn't as disconnected from humanity as he proclaims. It's easy to see that he is a bitter man. (Pain can do that to you, and must be kept in control. Not just control the pain, but control the feelings pain leads to.) That should be a large part of solving my questions, but still I ponder.

I know, I know....... he's an imaginary T.V. character. But we all know there are folks out there like him. And, are they on the good side, with passions that lead to helping, or they the ones we have every reason to fear? This is why I'm hooked on a T.V. show, when most shows can be interesting, but don't involve my mind like this one does.

Then recently, the show caught my attention for another reason. House doesn't believe in an afterlife. (Why was I surprised?) Now there is a tortured soul for you. And my mind is off again in a multitude of directions.

A Poke and A Creep/ not what it sounds like.

Where do thoughts come from? I'm asking about the memories that pop into our heads without any apparent trigger? Especially when we are trying to empty our minds on those long nights when we can't sleep.

Last night (actually early this morning) my mind turned to Grandpa Bro..... Not my first father-in-law. This was my second Mother-in-laws Father. A sweet old man who lost his wife shortly after I started dating his grandson. I barely knew her, (she lived out her last years with colon cancer and being passed among her kids to be taken care of.) but I came to deeply love and respect him. His daughter, my mother-in-law, was one of seven children who grew up on his farm. His kids all called him Pappy. Even after they were grown. So I will call him Pappy here to simplify this story. When age advanced too far to make farming easy, Pappy spent his time with cabinetry and wood working. To the point of upsetting his daughters sense of clean by moving his efforts right into his kitchen. The old farm house was too big to heat all of it. So he lived and worked in the kitchen and living room. There was a big table saw, with all accompanying saw dust all over everything, right in his big farm kitchen where it was warm and handy. They couldn't change him, so they finally accepted what made him happy and that was the situation when I joined the family.

When W. and I started building our house, Pappy wanted to be the one to make the kitchen cabinets. And, he was afraid he'd die before they were finished. So they were started long before we were ready for them. He did a beautiful job, and to my surprise, they fit even though they were started before the kitchen was even framed. All he had to work from were the drawings (blueprints??) we'd made on draft paper. It did turn into a job where Pappy had to accept help from one of his sons to finish though.

Pappy's real passion though, was his grandfather clocks. He made one for each of his kids. Out of trees from his own land. They each chose the kind of wood they wanted. He had cords and cords drying in his barn from years of saving lumber from trees cleared on his land. Once he'd finished a clock for each of his offspring, he started on clocks for the grandkids. W. wanted his to be cherry wood. When we showed Pappy the floor plans we'd drawn up ourselves, I pointed out the spot where his clock was going to stand. His face lit up like I'd given him some enormous treasure.

But, I've strayed from the original thought that popped into my head early this morning. It was the first time I was taken out to his farm to visit. Pappy was still growing a huge garden and sharing everything with his family. The farm sprawled across both sides of the road and the garden was across the road from the house, and quite a walk at that. While my Mother-in-law tried to tidy up the house a bit, Pappy took my Father-in-law, W. and I across to raid the garden. After a bit, Pappy turned to me and said, "Girl, would you go get us a poke?" I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. The others acted natural and there was no hint of any prank. Not willing to show any ignorance, I headed for the house thinking R. would know what a "poke" was. Every step of the way though, I was remembering another occasion. The time my own Fathers leg was broken and he asked my then boyfriend if he'd go fill the creep with calf food. And the boy friend refused to believe it was a real request and refused to be fooled. We laughed and laughed because the "creep" was a calf feeder. It was called a creep because the cows would have had to crawl (creep) to get under the low fence and the calves could just walk in. (Can't you just picture a cow on bent knees creeping under a low fence?)

So, all the way to the house I was wondering if I'd been sent on a fools errand for a poke. Should I have laughed and refused to go....and been a fool.....or go....and be a fool? I glanced back several times, but they weren't laughing at me. So I went all the way to the house and asked R. for a poke. She hunted up several bags/sacks/.....pokes, without a comment and sent me on my way. And, my new family never knew that I'd never heard a bag called a poke. I've still never come across anyone but Pappy to use that word. (Though I've since seen it used on T.V. and in books.)

And, why on earth did I remember that somewhere around 3 a.m. this morning???

Last Night I Rescued Taz

Bear worked the late shift yesterday and when he came home the weather was awful. Rain and sleet and the temperature was falling. I fed him and he took his shower and we settled in for the night with him watching T.V. and me working Sudoku.

About two hours later the wind really kicked up and we could hear it wailing and blowing. That's when he remembered he hadn't ever carried our trash can back from the curb. (Three days.) He wasn't dressed, but I still had on my sweats. So I told him to stay put and I went out to find the trash can.

About the time I stepped off the back porch it dawned on me that the last time I went out in the dark to retrieve a trash receptacle was the night I fell on a raised sidewalk corner and broke both bones in my wrist and smeared up my face on concrete and ruined a pair of glasses. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

So I was going slow and being careful. The wind and sleet wasn't making it easier. And Bear was at the back door calling out advice. (Let's not mention what I was thinking about that.)

I found the trash can easily enough. It was caught on a bush and wedged in tight. I don't think it could have gone any farther and could have stayed there all night. Then something else caught my eye. Our neighbor across the street had already put up Christmas decorations, and this looked like one of their inflatables in the hedge further down the street. So I went after it. Can't you picture me, in the dark, fighting the wind and weather, going after some formless inflatable something that wasn't even mine? Pat me on the back, good neighbor. When I grabbed it, the rain slick plastic slipped out of my hands and I had to lunge for it before the wind caught it. No big deal. Since it was somewhere around 1 a.m., I couldn't return it then. So I carried it to our porch and wedged it into a corner out of the wind. Now I could see it in our porch light. Taz.

In the middle of the night, in a storm, I'd been braving the elements for a trash can and Taz. There must be some moral to a story like this, but I'd rather not investigate it.

AAHHH! But, it doesn't end there. This morning I took Taz over to the neighbor. I didn't want them to see him over here and think I was stealing their Taz. (This time I was standing in a snowfall.) The man of the house opened the door and saw me standing there with his inflatable Taz and his expression was quite confused. I quickly explained, and he told me........"OH That. We left it out for someone to carry off free." He threw it back out toward the street, thanked me and shut his door!!!!

Call me Charlie Brown. Why does everything always happen to me????

(But, on the positive side......I did get some exercise.)