• Friday, January 29, 2010 - Snowy magic

All week, we have been told there would be a heavy snow arriving yesterday. But as Wednesday faded into Thursday, the snow was to arrive early Thursday - then afternoon Thursday, then late Thursday - well, maybe early Friday. As the entire day of today faded into darkness without a hint of snow. Not even a flurry. Oh, it was blustery. It was gray. The cold seeped through coat, shirts and punched prickly pin holes into the covered skin below - but not a hint of snow. After my daughter came home from work, I took Little Bird and went to the grocery. Not for emergency supplies, but to find a dessert to go with the ham and yam dinner I was making at DD’s house. We were going to watch a movie - and we did: Julie and Julia. It was very good. Periodically, DD would peer out the window. At one point, she said the snow was coming down ‘really heavy now.’ I looked into her face - believing every word, when she suddenly burst into laughter and said, ‘Nope! Think the weatherman is tricking us again.’ She was referring to our past snow events - the ones that never materialized. As the movie played, I glanced now and again out the large picture window to see if the world was turning white. It wasn’t, and soon I was tiring of the game and forgot about snow and concentrated on the movie as Little Bird cuddled in my lap, wrapped deep within layers of a knitted throw. Soon she was asleep. DD got up and let her dogs out. Once again she said it was snowing. Yup...that’s nice. I paid no attention, sure that there was going to be a punch line once more. But as she said it, her old dog came racing in like a young pup. Since she’s blind, unlike a young pup, her romps were shortened by thuds against furniture. Not that any of that deterred her. She simply got her bearings again once the stars quit twinkling in her head and romped until another bit of furniture or human legs stopped her progress. ‘Why is Corky acting so funny?’ I asked. DD replied, ‘Because it’s snowing. She’s excited about the snow.’ I glanced out the window again and this time, the world looked different. Winter magic had begun. The world was dusted with white. Tree branches were iced along their dark bark and my red van was repainted to match the snow. When I got up to leave an hour later, there were several inches of fluff covering everything. With snow on the ground and coating everything, the world seemed a bit warmer than it had during the day. Footsteps fell muffled to the earth and I understood the excitement of the old dog, for I felt a bit of excitement stir within me as well. I thought of curling up, cozy and warm inside the house tomorrow. Soup will be simmering on the stove and I’ll glance through magazines. By Monday, it will likely be warm enough to have melted off most, if not all the snow. The world will return to normal. But for tonight - there is sparkling magic in the air.

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• Wednesday, January 27, 2010 - Idiots, morons and other intolerant folk

How interesting. I write a humorous take on ghost hunting and the super Christians, as I call them, come out to condemn me for not believing in Jesus.... Funny - they want to quote Bible passages to me, but I note these folk NEVER seem to ALSO remember the one where Jesus admonishes folk for criticizing the speck in another’s eyes, but ignoring the log in their own. Gosh! Wonder what he meant by that....hmmm....betcha I have a clue! He was referring to people who think THEY have the one and ONLY answer for ALL OTHERS on the face of the earth! And they think I’m rude? Ha! They have no idea what rude is - because they’re so busy criticizing others... I have friends of many faiths. BUT, the only ones who have EVER been obnoxious and rude are the ones I call ‘Super Christians.’ They are the Bible thumping bores who think they own the corner market on righteous. I have Catholic friends who not ONCE have EVER told me I should pray to the Virgin Mary. Yet I’ve attended Mass with them and enjoyed learning about their faith very much. I’ve got Jewish friends who have not ONCE insisted others wear a Star of David nor kiss the Torah. I also have TRIED to maintain friendships with the Super Christians, but they make it impossible! Why? Because when they pray before their meals, I politely and quietly sit respectfully while they pray and simply listen. BUT, when it comes to their asking about MY faith and MY religion, I’m suddenly bombarded with religious cards, tracts AND informed I’m going to Hell. Well, that’s good, because if they aren’t, at least I won’t have to deal with THEM after death! I have gone to craft classes and been cursed at because I didn’t want someone putting a cross on my stuff. Yet I didn’t offer to put a Star of David upon theirs.... I have no use and less patience for those who would judge me or another based upon their beliefs. I believe MUCH of the worlds problems are visited upon our heads NOT by God, but by religious zealots who want to preach and pound THEIR version of ‘The Truth,’ as they call it, into other folk’s heads. They are the SAME ones who want to claim our country was founded on Christianity and prayer.... Ha! Far from the truth, folks! Our founding fathers were in fact UNITARIANS and believed Unitarianism was the way for this country to go simply because the philosophy behind that was to respect other people’s faith and pathway to faith - NOT produce an atmosphere of hostility and intolerance! I find it interesting that these people do NOTHING to learn more about ME! They don’t know what I look like, what I do in life, my personality, what my interests are, anything about my struggles - NOTHING! But they think they have the RIGHT to decide ALL about ME because they haven’t the kindness and decency to listen, to learn, to see if there’s something in the world they can learn beyond their OWN narrow definitions of right and wrong. How RUDE! If you read this and don’t get it, you’re a fool. If you read this and don’t like it - don’t return. Easy as pie. Simple. But do NOT try to shove YOUR version of TRUTH down my throat! That only makes me realize what an intolerant idiot you really are! And I take note that I have NEVER gone to another person's page and written anything AGAINST THEM!

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• Monday, January 25, 2010 - Questions about ghosts...

I enjoy watching ghost programs - where the people are out hunting for evidence that we are not alone. If anyone also follows this stuff with any interest, you likely have also learned there are various types of ‘haunts.’ There’s the residual haunt: Someone’s story plays over and over again, like a movie trailer. There’s the intelligent haunt: Those are the dead who realize we’re around and interact with us. (Which begs the question are they on the other side trying to prove we’re real?) There are also assorted demons and evil doers. Not being raised with a background in evil, demons or devils - it’s rather hard for me to buy there are bad fellows on the ‘other side’ looking to do me or anyone else ‘in.’ But apparently others are not so easily convinced, so there are bad haunts, too. I’m sure there are likely others that I’ve forgotten about. Not being an expert in hauntings, that’s to be expected, I reckon. Now, I’ve had experience with things that went bump in the night. I’m not always sure those were ghosts, but perhaps an active imagination - but still in all, there are things I can’t explain. For example, after marrying, I moved into an old Victorian home that had been converted into apartments. It was cold in the winter, prone to frequent electrical outages, and hotter than Hades in the summer. It was also circular, which made it quite interesting. What I mean by that is I entered the ‘living room,’ turned right into the kitchen, went straight into the bathroom and turned right into the bedroom. Another right lead to the landing and the ‘front’ door of the apartment. Heck. I even remember the rent! Would you believe a whopping $100 a month? Thought we were quite extravagant, at that. Can you imagine? At any rate, I had to rise early in the morning because I had to be at work by 8 AM in a city a good 45 minute drive away. So, I got up about 6 AM - or should I say I tried to get up by 6 AM. Most of the time, I hit the alarm and snuck in another 15 minutes, but that’s not the point of this story.... Ahem...back on track. Every morning, the alarm would go off. I’d open my eyes to two women and a man in black clothing. The women wore billowing skirts and funny hats with lace over the brim, while the man wore a suit with a stiff-looking white shirt. And they were always heading past me toward the North side of the room - which puzzled me, considering there was nothing there but an attic area we used as a closet. (On the other hand, perhaps they were hoping to find a more modern wardrobe.) They never appeared on the weekends or when I slept in. They only appeared when the alarm rang - so they were very prompt ghosts. What they did all night was beyond me. Never saw them at any other time. Just at 6 AM, which is strange. Now, I’m not sure exactly what that was. I am sure I did see it - since it repeated on a daily basis. And they apparently knew I was there, as they always looked utterly startled as they looked into my direction and immediately disappeared. But beyond that, they did little else. (No cleaning, dusting or baking while I was at work. Darn it!) Now I’ve also been on ghost hunts. Those bus tours that promise to take you to the scariest and most haunted areas where you live or visit. Never saw a danged thing - although others would claim to see blue lights and figures. I’d look exactly where they pointed and never saw a thing. Other than freezing half to death in the dark, there was no great excitement or sightings. What that was in that particular house where I used to live, I don’t know. But it’s part of the reason I like to watch the programs - just to see what they might come up with. (Mostly, for me, it’s a lot of laughter about their interpretations of a ghost that looks a LOT like a bug to me.) I don’t know why all that was on my mind tonight, but I was at Walmart and got to wondering what on earth ghosts do in their off time - for surely they do have off time. They certainly don’t seem to perform haunts a solid 24/7 - so what else do they do? If I were to die right now - unexpectedly, which apparently is one cause of ghost exhibition - my family would likely get rid of this house, all the contents and the car I drive. Since I like to go and enjoy my independence, if I died without realizing I was dead, wouldn’t I get a clue when I went to hop into my van and it wasn’t there? Some of the programs explain the ghosts are simply going through their day to day life - as they did when alive. So you’d think old farmers might be out in the fields trying to plow and plant, housewives might be found cleaning or baking or following more modern pursuits, such as trying to figure out how to fit the kids, job AND time to read into one day. Don’t ghosts ever get bored and want to go visiting? And if they are the few who don’t realize they’re dead, exactly who would they visit? And wouldn’t the fact they didn’t find anyone around maybe clue them in that something is amiss? If they’re folk from modern times - and does it strike anyone odd that ghosts seem to always be from some distant past? - do they go shopping, too? And if they do, exactly where would they carry their money? Do ghosts have pockets? Do they have needs? Do they eat and drink and therefore have daily ‘duties?’ Which makes me wonder if ghosts use showers and other things in a bathroom? Where do they keep their clothes? Where do they sleep? DO they sleep? And exactly why is it ghosts seem to prefer the dark? That has always bothered me....what? You die and suddenly sleep during the day? I don’t get it.... Frankly, this business that there are people who lived and died and don’t realize they’re dead has always disturbed me. That’s because I can’t imagine going around with everything changed and not getting a clue something might be wrong. It just might be me, but I do think it would eventually become a question for me: Am I dead? So, are ghosts just really dumb dead people? And if animals are particularly sensitive to ghosts, do ghosts ever get bitten? If it’s not their dog, do they try to sue? Must be very frustrating not to be able to file papers with the courts and such.... So, I’m left with a lot of questions and few answers....but I’ll still watch those folk out in the dark making programs about spirits and ghosts and other things that go bump in the night. But have to admit: Glad it’s them and not me out there losing sleep over it....

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• Monday, January 18, 2010 - Customer service?????

Does ANYONE do that wild thing anymore? You know...that thing called CUSTOMER SERVICE! If so, I’m curious, as I’m finding it to be sorely lacking everywhere I go! Took granddaughter to McDonald’s so I could take her to a movie. No one smiles at this particular McDonald’s. I can understand why, as the manager is behind the counter yelling about people not coming in on time or not coming in at all....thanks for sharing, moron! Are you kidding me? So why hang the sign up front saying, ‘Looking for friendly faces?’ Frankly, if I worked for a manager like that, I wouldn’t smile, either. But why on earth is this manager SO poorly trained???? The next goof up in recent days is the fact I can’t seem to get the paper. Now I’ve been a customer for 7 or 8 years - since I moved here. They have my phone number. They have my e-mail. But does anyone call me when the auto pay won’t go through for some reason? NOPE! Instead, I receive not ONE but TWO bills in the mail. I e-mail - utterly confused and frustrated about the whole situation. Am told my auto pay - which has been going through just fine - suddenly isn’t going through. When did this first happen? Ummmm....Dec 24 - then again Jan 4 - then again.... And no one could CALL me? Ask me a question and get things resolved? NOPE! So, I called Friday. Got it all taken care of. I thought. Asked if someone could call me if there was still a problem. SURE! Silly me....I believed them! Sunday - NO PAPER at all! I called. Not told a THING about the so-called ‘glitch.’ Was told there’d be a paper. By 2 pm, I kind of figured out there would be NO paper. I trucked over to Walgreens to BUY a paper. E-mailed the idiots at the paper and told them not to bother delivering a Sunday paper as I bought one...please credit my account. No response. This morning: NO PAPER! Gee, I’m seeing a theme here. Called AGAIN. GAVE THE SAME FRICKING INFO AGAIN! Asked AGAIN, would someone please call me if something doesn’t go through? NOPE. HUH? NOPE???? What do ya mean, ‘NOPE.’ Reply, ‘System doesn’t work that way. Why don’t you check with your bank and see what THEIR problem is.... Ummm...could be me, but why would I call MY bank to find out why THEY aren’t delivering MY PAPER???? So, I wrote to the big guns. Surely THEY can fix this! Got a response, at least. They’re checking into it.... Well, check fast, fellas, cause you’re about to lose a long time subscriber.... Then it’s on to Rural King....now why on earth would Rural King be a problem? I certainly didn’t expect one. Just wanted to even exchange a pair of socks. Didn’t think THAT would be a big deal....well...duh.....apparently, it IS! She told me to go get a pair of socks. I went. Came back. HUGE LONG LINE now....instead of taking me and simply letting me walk out the store, I was told to go to the end of the line. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Of course, EVERYONE in that line had a problem! Price check. Then call a manager. Manager came up - ah, surely NOW I’ll have satisfaction! HA! Manager shrugged and said, ‘That’s how we do things.’ Really? Even WALMART, where I HATE to go isn’t THIS stupid! I tossed the socks on the counter, asked for a refund and told him I hoped losing a customer was worth the $1.29 - cause I sure won’t go back THERE! Wrote to their corporate offices. Asked them if this is a Rural King policy. If so, they could kiss my assets goodbye, because I’ll take my business elsewhere....and I don’t care if I DO spend more on dog food. At least the next place MIGHT - oh say it’s so - have CUSTOMER SERVICE!!!!

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• Saturday, December 26, 2009 - A Charlie Brown Christmas

I don't think Christmas was created just for commercialism. Think that's how it has evolved - especially more recently with the build up of Malls and the whole movie industry creating all those perfect Christmas moments for the world. Just like the rest of Hollywood fakery, it's hard to live up to those images if we're given to do so - or attempt to do so. I don't. I know there's no perfect Christmas. There's no magic or anything else. But there are people and families and other things that mean more than how much money we spend or don't spend - or how much we decorate or don't decorate. My neighbors put my little bit of display totally to shame. They have lights that dance to music and porches created just to hang lights on. Every year, they try to out do each other and put on brighter and brighter displays. Why, I'm surprised a jet landing over at the regional airport doesn't mistake this area for a landing strip. My dear daughter asked about what we had as kids. A tree. Period. We went out and picked out a tree from a dimly lit lot. Dad would stomp it on the ground to make sure the needles stayed put - not that they would after we got the tree home. And it was always a Scotch pine with fragrant needles that told me it was Christmas. One year, it was a white pine. I loved that tree: long needles that were soft and pliable. So unlike the little sharp blades that came on a Scotch pine. Those long needles didn’t stick into the area rug to lurk until July to poke me in the foot. While we all went to pick out the tree, it was specifically dad’s to pound the tree into a stand and to cuss at the strings of dusty lights that ALWAYS became magically tangled in the attic over the year. It was us girls’ job to blast the ornaments and tinsel onto the tree. Single strands of tinsel was perfect, or so we were told - not that any of us listened. At the top of the tree would be half a Santa. His arms were stiffly open, as though he were nailed to a cross. Even after he should have long been retired for something safer than his single bulb and brown strand of wire, we insisted dad repair with tape and glue each and every year. Because without that broken down half Santa, it simply would not be Christmas, although I wondered for a very long time why he lacked a body beneath the belt. I always winced just a bit when Santa was poked in the behind to sit upon the tree. We had huge bulbs and bubble lights that went on the tree. Bubble lights. Another thing dad was required to fix year after year and we used long after they were likely safe for a real tree. But what was Christmas without the threat of fire? It just wouldn’t and couldn’t be the same. There was one memorable year when mom was out. Likely, she was shopping. I think Judy was with her, as I don't remember her in the scene. Left at home was dad, little sister and I - oh, and the Doxie named Tish. I remember when we brought the tree in that year, we all laughed because Tishie stood up on end in order to better smell the tree. It wasn't long before she was more decorated than the tree - with hives causing huge lumps under her red fur. And so, there we were: Dad cussing up the tree and trying to shoo the dog out of the tree in hopes her hives would calm down. And there was little sister and I - not allowed to help decorate OR haul Tish out of the tree. So what were we left to do? Easy! Go into the bathroom. Once there, for some reason, we decided to turn on the water and wash our hands. Well, we were good hand washers, for soon the soap became thick and gooey. That's what lead us to squeeze the soap between our fingers. Now I don't recall whose idea it was to mold the gooey soap into the single overflow hole on the sink, but we were quite efficient workers once we set upon a project. Soon, water running in a stopped up sink overflowed and splashed on the floor. And being the good kids we were, we knew better than to get wet, so we ran from the bathroom. I don't know if dad really heard the water splashing on the floor or not. I'd judge the whole chain of events that followed was likely caused more by our racing from the back of the house to the front. And I, for one, arrived just in time to see dad split out for the bathroom in the rear - and Tish giving chase from under the tree - only one of her little paws tangled into a string of lights dad was trying to fix. It was quite a parade, if I must say so myself....dad in the lead, followed by Tish, followed by the tree. If time ever stood still, I do believe it was in the moment dad must have realized realized the tree was going to hit the floor. That’s because dad sort of stopped in mid-run. He was suspended there, caught between the tree coming down and the house floating away. I clearly saw panic, anger, frustration - all of it - in his eyes as he looked back to the tree, down to the dog and up toward the rear of the house and back again to the tree. For just a moment, I saw dad do a Ninja sort of twist in midair, twist and turn and land on his feet facing...oh, oh! US! The tree went crash, glass began to pop and bounce, the dog yelped loudly and dad saw all his work go out the window as the lights went out on that fallen tree. Now, I'm sure we could have won America's Funniest Home Videos. Top prize, likely. Just didn't happen to have video equipment in those days - nor that show. So all that is left is my telling these stories - and to add to the scene I'm describing mom entering the house at just that moment. I remember the bags in her arms, as though it were yesterday. I also remember the perfect 'O' that formed on her lips as she scanned dad, tree, dog - us. We were grinning from ear to ear - I mean, it WAS funny! But that was before the realization of just what kind of trouble we were in caught up with us - or mom. Yup, we still had Christmas. The tree was a bit less decorated with lights, as well as glass globes. While I don't recall our punishment - and I'm sure there was one - that part was forgotten in the travel through time. I do remember getting up in the early morning light of that and every other Christmas to see the tree silhouetted in the living room window, tinsel glistening in the warm movement of the heated house and Santa leaving  presents under that poor old broken down tree....

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• Saturday, December 26, 2009 - The Ancestors

I connected with another cousin today. I reckon this is my most special Christmas gift because it brings my ancestors more real and back to life for me. See, this particular cousin has photos to go with her list of names. I mostly have names. The reason was simple: My ancestors had itchy feet. They rarely stayed in the same place for long. The result was that out of my dad’s seven brothers and sisters, none were born in the same house - and more often than not - different towns. When folk move around a lot, they don’t tend to gather things like photos and mementoes that can be looked upon and held by later generations. So, there are no dishes once used by my grandmother or linens sent through the generations. Movers simply have no room for such things. And they likely had little money. My ancestors were mostly adept at gathering dust. Dust upon their shoes, their boots and the wheels of their wagons as they moved from the East to the West or the South to the North and back and forth again as the whim or circumstances or economy nudged them onward. The few things I do have, I treasure. I have a simple tatting bobbin held by dad’s mother. It’s simple and plain - unlike the young woman that used it once upon a time. She was beautiful, with deep, dark eyes and mounds of dark hair framing a dark face. That image is forever in my brain, as it was likely her wedding day. She sat stiff and looking very uncomfortable as she sat beside her husband  - a long necked, skinny guy with a short shock of hair and clear blue eyes that blazed directly into the camera. So unlike my grandmother’s eyes, which were down turned and to the side - looking shy or embarrassed or frightened by the camera about to capture her very soul.... My grandmother died young. She died the day after dad turned four. From then on out, he would be removed to Montana to be raised by his grandmother and an unmarried uncle on the open plains. His life was harsh. So harsh, he said little about it. What I did glean came from my mother who spoke in hushed tones, as though we were in church or a funeral parlor with the body of the deceased freshly laid in the coffin. Dad didn’t return to Indiana until he was 18. When he did, there likely was little left of his mother, save that photo and her tatting bobbin. The bobbin was always kept within a Prince Albert tobacco tin filled with buttons and other small items from another era. Before his death, I told dad my Christmas wish: To receive the button tin for a gift. To my great pleasure and surprise, the tin was wrapped in comics and placed under the tree - the last gift I ever received from dad. Baby sister and I played with those buttons. We looked at the beautiful lady who would be the grandmother we never knew, save through that photo. We dreamed of princesses and queens, for in our imagination, that’s what our grandmother had to be in real life. Although I felt close to mom’s people, I felt a kinship I can’t explain with dad’s people. They were secretive and quiet folk - not given to the broad gestures and funny stories of mom’s folks. So I knew little about them or dad or my own ancestry on that side, while knowing buckets about mom’s. That’s why when dad died late in the last century, I began a quest to learn more. That quest has sometimes become more to me than eating and breathing - and about that time, I have to take a break. And that’s what was going on more recently: I’d been taking a break. I’d not looked for any information or at any of the papers I’d gathered. And today, of all days, I received a gift: Contact with a cousin who had PHOTOS! I looked at those photos. I studied each and every one. I looked into blue eyes and brown eyes, laughing eyes and serious eyes. I saw high cheekbones and high jinx. I saw people who were worn down by the day-to-day lives they lead - women wearing plain dresses standing by men in bibbed britches - lines worn deep on their faces. Houses sat upon stones and slabs and whatever else might have been handy when built - open windows without screens held children hidden in the deep shadows cast by a tree. Others were knock out, drop dead gorgeous! Young men, long gone, with square, strong jaws and women glammed up in the fashion of the day. Young girls dressed as flappers. And old woman with twinkling eyes gesturing above the head of her husband, I assume. He was also laughing in the photo. I looked long and deep, because I wondered if I had any of their features. Which one might have been handed down through all those generations to show up in me? Were there any familiar faces or eye shapes or anything that hinted at my own ancestry? But I also looked long and deep, trying to listen to their stories, trying to read their faces and their eyes. She is so lucky. While my ancestors were gathering dust in far corners of their world, hers were gathering memories to hand down to her....and a little bit now to me... For that, I’m grateful, and ready to go ahead and try to learn more - to uncover the mysteries she mentioned - find the truths: Just who is this murder victim in the family? Did I know..... And that is my quest once again.....

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• Tuesday, December 22, 2009 - The Shining Story of Rudolph

The Shining Story of Rudolph As told by Santa Claus Land of Lights Let’s take a moment to learn how the enchanted land of the little town of Santa Claus helped our story begin: You see, elves don’t live just anywhere. And reindeer don’t learn to fly in just any old forest. It takes a magical place for elves to thrive, reindeer to fly and a good story to start. No one knows how the town of Santa Claus became so magical, but it became so a long, long time ago. It may have started when the first elves arrived in America, hidden in the toll boxes of the craftsmen who came here with their families from the Old World. Maybe the people coming here, with all their marvelous stories, wonderful traditions and faith, just made the place perfect for the elves to thrive. This did not go unnoticed by Santa Claus himself up at the North Pole. With more and more people coming to the New World, he wondered how he would be able to visit so many new houses and if his team of reindeer was strong enough to carry that extra load so very far. Santa thought ad thought, and came up with the perfect solution. He would have his elves build a castle in each of the four corners of the world. There he and his reindeer could rest for a moment while elves reloaded his sleigh. So here, near the middle of America, Santa chose to build one of those castles. Just one thing, since there were people about, Santa had the castle made practically invisible. Santa wants people to believe in him because of their good hearts - not because they see castles and toy shops. While the castle was quietly and secretly built, the people went about their business, never hearing the occasional ‘ouch!’ called out when a hammer found a thumb instead of a nail, nor the smell of fresh cut wood, brick dust and mortar. Not that they would have noticed any of those clues anyway. They were far too distracted, having a terrible time deciding what to all their town. They had been calling it Santa Fe, but just as they were getting used to that name, they discovered another town in Indiana had already picked it. If they were to have a proper post office, they would have to come up with a new name. So the story goes, that one Christmas Eve, the town folk were having yet another long meeting, trying to decide on a name. Well, into the night the children, who had long fallen asleep on the pews of that meeting hall, were startled to hear sleigh bells. They ran outside and not only saw Santa, his sleigh and his eight reindeer, they also saw the  new magical castle! One child ran back inside and yelled, ‘It’s Santa Claus!’ The adults inside sat up straight, their eyes got wide and they said, ‘That’s it! That is the perfect name for our town! Now, what did you say is gong on outside? By then, the castle had faded from view; all that was left to see were a few specks of light from the trail of Santa’s magic sleigh. Two things remain to this very day: The name of the town is still Santa Clause and that mystical castle is still there...somewhere. perhaps, if you keep your eyes open and truly believe, you, too, will catch a glimpse. So this is the place where our story of Rudolph begins: Right in the middle of the town of Santa Claus. There’s a lake called Lake Rudolph. It was here that the very special reindeer we all know was born. You already know the famous part of Rudolph’s story - but you don’t know about Rudolph taking flying lessons in flight school or that an elf believed in Rudolph and his ability to lead Santa’s sleigh...until that dark and foggy night.... And it all happened here: In Santa Claus, Indiana.....

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• Sunday, December 13, 2009 - The Front Porch

When I was a kid, there weren’t many TVs and certainly no central air conditioning. So no matter what place we found ourselves in the evening, the scene was much the same: After dinner dishes were done, everyone would wander outside to sit on the front porch. Perhaps a bit of orange sherbert or some vanilla ice cream topped with peaches would be passed about and enjoyed, metal spoons clattering in glass bowls. Mom was from Beardstown, IL. That’s where she grew up, although she’d been born in New York. Her dad, being a rail road man, moved his large three-generation family to Beardstown when mom was still very small. So we often went back to visit an aunt, uncle and cousins who continued to live not far from the family homestead. Sometimes we stayed with Uncle Bob and his family. But sometimes, we stayed with Mrs. Mose. Her house faced the flood wall that overlooked the river and smelled of dead fish, no matter what the season. She lived on the lower level of a two-story house with her sister. Of course, there was a front porch where all gathered in the evenings. Like most porches of the time, it was filled with furniture to make passing the evening more comfortable. There was a metal glider, several wicker chairs and a rocker or two. Someone would sit down and begin the evening song with the creak of a rocker. Soon, the squeak of the glider would join and the snap of wicker as someone tried to settle into a more comfortable position. All the furniture on that gray painted porch was covered in the hand made cushions fashioned by Mrs Mose. And every single cushion was covered with huge, swirling floral and leaf patterns. To this day, when I see that type of pattern, I’m automatically transported to Mrs. Mose’s front porch and memories of those warm summer evenings. Those memories include the music of the porch chairs intertwined with  voices sharing the events of the day, the latest gossip, the aches and pains of growing older. Neighbors might wander past on their evening walk, some stopping to pass a few pleasantries while others would position themselves on any available chair or step. And the day would drain from the porch as night crept in with cricket sounds and lightening bug dances. There, I sat on the glider, my feet not reaching the edges as I wondered just how long it would take for my legs to grow enough so that my shoes could rest on the floor like mom and dad's. I would sit by dad, sometimes studying his watch or his face. I'd also study Mrs. Mose's face and wonder how she got a name like Mrs. Mose...and where exactly was Mr. Mose and why did she live with her sister? They looked so different - those sisters. Mrs. Mose had black hair she wore in a single braid that went down her back at night, but was pulled and pinned against her head by day. Mrs. Mose was a sturdy and no nonsense sort of person, always chatting and laughing while her large hands created cookies and other things in the kitchen. I can’t seem to recall her without the white apron with straight, wide straps that bridged her shoulders. Unlike my mother’s aprons with their frills and fancies, Mrs. Mose’s apron was plain, starched and very white. By comparison, her sister was slight and thin and didn't say much. In fact, I can't even recall her name, let alone her voice. She had snow white hair that I never saw fall down her back. Her position always seemed to be supported by a rocker that she rarely left as hands rested quietly in her lap. She could well have been the resident ghost, but on occasion, she lifted a glass to her lips or quietly passed some comment on to others around her. When seated on the porch, she held the exact same position as she had in the house. The only change was the setting of her rythmic rocking. Eventually, the voices of the evening would be punctuated with yawns and stretching of arms that fell back upon a lap or belly. One by one, someone would drift inside the house to prepare for sleep. Us kids never wanted to join the sleeping. It was far more interesting to be here among the adults, listening to comforting voices speak of things we didn't understand but wanted to hear about all the same. As the evening ended, all would move into the living room where lights clicked on and different tones of creaking could be heard from the tired old wooden rockers and straight chairs. Us kids would be readied for bed and tucked into clean, white sheets for our ride to dreamland. That bed was a brass fixture in a back bedroom - tucked behind the kitchen and just off the back porch. Inside that room was dark old furniture that served as closets and dressers and such. At night, they became formidable giants gloating at us in the dim light showing through a single window. Sleep did not come easily with the monster furniture glaring upon us. But eventually, sleep did come - as did morning - and all the sleeps and mornings since that have spirited me from that long ago place into today. In spite of the years and the fact most of those people are long gone, I can bring them all back: Mom, dad, Mrs. Mose, her sister, my Aunt Hall - even my older sister. When those memories return, I'm not all grown at all. I'm still a small child nestled beside my dad and wondering when my feet will finally reach the floor....

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• Saturday, December 12, 2009 - Birthday party for a dog.....

It was a warm June day. Mom had gone to the grocery store, leaving my younger sister and I to fend for ourselves. BIG mistake! We were bored, to say the least. And frankly, mom should have known better than to leave us two alone. After all, didn't she tell everyone who she could button hole long enough that her two youngest were worse than the Katz and Jammer kids? Now, we weren't quite sure who those other kids were, but everyone in mom's group seemed to understand, as they nodded in silent agreement. As for Jackie and I, we shrugged and went on about our business.... But I digress...this is about that fateful June afternoon, now, isn't it? Jackie and I sat and pondered what we should do that afternoon. Go out and chase those yellow butterflies outside? Maybe go searching for a five leaf clover? (Forget 3 and 4 leaf - so mundane to our pre-teen views...) Maybe we should cook up a plateful of 'Tree of Heaven' dinners... And that's when Jackie remembered it was our dog's first birthday. Almost simultaneously, we decided we'd bake a chocolate cake for the dog! So, we set to work in the slightly darkened kitchen. For you see, although it was afternoon on a bright sunny day, dad had installed these new fangled screens. They were green with tiny little slats, like a venetian blind in miniature form. The slats bent up toward the sun, deflecting it out of the house, while the tiny slats going downward supposedly allowed the breezes to come into the house. yeah, right... Whatever. It might have been the darkness of the kitchen - or perhaps the fact we couldn't cook anyway - that lead us into the Great Kitchen Caper, as it was forever known from that day forward. See, we got the cake mix box, only to realize it wasn't - well, chocolate! It was white or vanilla or some other awful flavor. And our hearts were set on chocolate. Well, being the kids we were, and not about to be deterred from our wonderful plans, we decided to dump an entire can of baking chocolate into the mix. What we didn't know, but everyone else apparently did know, was that baking chocolate is bitter. VERY bitter! Well, we added the baking chocolate, the eggs, the milk and whatever else the box called for. We put the glop into two pans - not of the same size - and put it in the oven. Set at 450 degrees.... And then we decided on the icing. Of course, we'd watched mom make icing a thousand times. Not hard, right? Just add powdered sugar to water and milk and ta da! Icing! So, a bag of powdered sugar went into a bowl - along with a half gallon of milk. Now exactly how did mom make it thick, we wondered? Well, Jackie suggested, how about flour? It looks just like powdered sugar - which was now decimated from the pantry - didn't it? Wonderful idea! A bagful of flour later, and yes, we certainly DID have the right consistency - we thought. But it did look bland. So, we added a bit of food coloring. But didn't like the results, so we added a bit more of a different color. Wow! It turned blue! Wonder what red would do??? Before long, we had grey 'icing' and a cake that was exploding in the oven. In fact, the kitchen was filling up with smoke....gosh, now what? My sister, being always efficient, called the fire department.. ..who came right out and put out the stove. They were leaving just as mom returned home. If I had a camera, the look on mom's face was priceless. In fact, I think I saw a tear or two fall from her left eye as she looked over the smoke covered walls, drapes and windows...which did a nice job of covering up the eggs and flour on the floor and table, I thought. Nice touch... My sister, being the thoughtful sort, told mom how nice the firemen were. "They wiped their feet before they came in the house. Wasn't that nice of them, mom?' 'Mom? Mom? Hey,' she turned toward me, 'what's wrong with mom?' Oh, nothing that a month or two in the hospital with complete bed rest wouldn't cure.... BTW, the dog didn't have a birthday party after all. Isn't that tragic?

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• Friday, December 11, 2009 - Christmas in the Dunes

It was Christmas in Dune Country. That’s where I grew up. I celebrated over 50 plus Christmases there and looked forward to each and every one. But one in particular sticks out in my mind.... What was I? Twelve maybe? There were five in my family: Mom, dad, older sister, baby sister and me. All year, we had to put money into something called a Christmas Club. At year’s end, we each would have $25 for Christmas gifts. Of that, half had to be put back into a new Christmas Club account, with the remainder going for any gift we wanted to buy. I clutched my $12.50 tightly inside my heavy mittens - playing my fingers over the folded dollar bills and cold 50 cent piece every few seconds to make sure it was still there. I’d been to Elocution lessons that morning. I remember walking to the old building, climbing up the stairs to the stuffy offices filled with over stuffed brown leather furniture. The lady who taught me to pronounce each word properly in a poem about being a winter tree seemed ancient. Surely she had NEVER been young with money for gifts resting inside her mittens. I repeated my poem, raising my arms above my head and waving them to mimic branches being blown about by the harsh, cold winds. Would this class EVER end? I thought many things, which drove the teacher who was teaching me to be a ‘proper young lady’ nearly to distraction. Who on earth ever asked me if I wanted to be a ‘proper young lady?’ Why couldn’t I just be a kid? Why did I have to be here anyway - wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning repeating silly poems? Finally! Over! I shot out of the classroom, grabbed my coat, mittens and sister before anyone could change minds about the drudgery coming to an end! Soon, my sister and I were walking side by side as large white flakes swirled about us. Our footsteps muffled by the gathering snow, it was made more magical by a church bell tower ringing out ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.’ Oh, it was so beautiful! Repeat a poem? Why, when I could sing a carol as we covered the streets to the downtown area and Goldblatt’s Department Store? Inside the store, I viewed everything, carefully weighing the cost. Did I have enough for this? Would I have enough left over if I splurged on that? Finally, I chose soap on a rope for dad, two garish pillows for mom - but what to get my sisters? Candy, perhaps? Some sweet treat from the large glass display cases filled with wondrous chocolates and cookies? Or maybe perfume for my older sister and bubble bath for baby sister? Or maybe nail polish? Jewelry? Would baby sister like jewelry, too? So many decisions. Not being happy with anything in Goldblatt’s, we left the heavy warmth of that store, crossed the street to see what the Five and Dime might offer. Oh, it had wonderful aisles to wander with wooden floors that creaked in a most satisfying way. At the rear of the Five and Dime was a soda counter. We would stop there later, but first, my mission was to find two more gifts. Soon, I’d looked over every single counter and had chosen bangle bracelets for older sister and a new ceramic castle for baby sister’s fish tank. Heck, I’d even had enough money to buy a new ball for the family Doxie and still buy a Coke from the soda fountain. Clutching my purchases close to me, fearful someone might want to steal these precious gifts, I sat by my sister. She had something called a Cherry Coke. That didn’t sound very good to me. Plain old Coke and a plate of fries to share sounded just the ticket. The Soda Jerk behind the counter smiled and flirted with my sister. I found that rather odd. Just why did he tip his little white cap at her anyway? We caught the bus back home. Sneaking into the shot gun house with my precious cargo, I happily wrapped and taped and gloated over the finds. For a change, I’d gotten big enough to join the grown ups on Christmas Eve for their gathering. I attended church with my aunt, being very quiet and dignified for this important occasion - being among the adults and not squirreled away for an early bedtime. Aunt Hall and I walked back home. I shivered deeply within my thin winter coat, looking up at the stars glittering in the sky and loving the way the snow glittered in the street lamps. Was it possible anything could ever be so perfect? This was the best Christmas ever, in my mind. Back home, cookies came out with hot cocoa. The adults had a bit of deep purple wine and I was allowed a sip....just a sip. It tasted terrible, but I didn’t say a word. After all, I was among adults. I wasn’t quite sure if adults ever said anything as childish as not enjoying the flavor of something. Gifts were exchanged. Mom loved the loud colored pillows for her couch - at least, she said so. Dad exclaimed soap on the rope was very clever and would be handy, as he’d never lose it while taking a bath. Judy admired her bangles. And all too soon, it was time to go to bed - for even at the ripe old age of twelve, Santa would visit that night and I’d share in gift opening with my baby sister. The next morning, baby sister and I were surprised with a huge Pinocchio doll with elastic under his feet. We were shown how the elastic went around our feet so we could dance with that doll. We had a ball taking turns whirling about with Pinocchio - whose head would roll behind him with every twirl. There wasn’t a lot of money in those days. Yet we didn’t feel the least bit poor. We had family, a roof that didn’t leak and food for the table. It might not be steak, but it was filling. What more could anyone want?

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• Tuesday, December 8, 2009 - As year ends

Have a cousin who says I share the Eldenburgh humor. Not sure what that means, as she has a rather odd humor sometimes. LOL! But she can also write some rather serious stuff in her blogs. One of her blogs is about the things she's thankful for over the past year. Here the year is ending once more. Doesn't seem possible we're again in the Christmas season. Thanksgiving is over and gone. (The turkey was delicious! The pies - from pumpkin grown in my garden - were not!) I was able to make most of the Christmas gifts for the grandkids. Made them each a nap mat - something they can throw on the floor and watch TV or take a little cat nap. Turned out to be very popular - especially with oldest grandson who wasn't feeling well while on our visit there last month. The mats are two beach towels sewn together, divided into thirds, with middle section open on one side to serve as a pocket and the top third stuffed to create a pillow. Extra long shoelaces worked great to serve as ties on one end. Very easy, and I was able to buy their favorite Disney character towel on clearance. That really helped, as my budget isn't very great. That's what has sucked all year: The budget. The van needed a new transmission. Just got it fixed and within two weeks, it needed new tires. Just got those on and the alternator went out - which also meant the battery was drained. That was followed closely by new brakes and new wipers - nothing less than three. All three were shredded. Add to that mess the plumbing flooded the house. Didn't flood it a little. Flooded it a LOT! And I had a terrible time with illness much of the first half of the year. While had a healthier summer, the van kept breaking down. Was on foot more than riding around. So, what am I grateful for? For making through another year, for a new granddaughter born July 8 and healthy. If you've been keeping up with my blogs, you know my son and his wife lost a baby in August 2008 - so the birth of Chloe came with great joy and happiness and completed their family - they hope. Since they aren't using birth control, they are flirting with fire. This could get interesting as the boys arrived a little over a year apart. LOL! I'm also grateful the roof isn't leaking. It's pouring a cold rain today and I was told several years ago the roof needed replacing. Not had the change for that - so I've continued to hold on and hope for the best. (Trust me, when the one bedroom flooded, first thing I thought of was the roof - but it was the plumbing, not the roof.) Also need a new furnace. Those are rather expensive needs for a house. What I'm proud of, however, is in spite of all these problems, I managed to finally grow great tomatoes. Canned several pints out of my garden this year. Wasn't the year for peppers and spinach however. Likely too cold and damp. I'm also proud that I figured out how to fix a few of the leaks. It's just the last one was more than I could deal with, as I couldn't see where it was. I was on the right track, at least, as I learned from the plumber. Just needed to know the direction. Note I did say leaks. Had nothing less than four in this house. Yup, I've felt there was a curse on me - and did a smudging. That seems to have helped. I'm also grateful to live near one of the grandkids, so I've had the great pleasure of watching her grow and develop. Little Bird is three and a half now, and informed me she's skipping four and just jumping ahead to five....next, she'll be informing me she is old enough to drive. Shudder... She makes me laugh. She's always making up stories and people and telling me all about her adventures. Sometimes, they can get quite interesting - such as the teacher who is 'mean.' I later learned she's mean for telling LB she needed to learn to 'share.' Yup, that sounds like LB alright! Share? Isn't that a cuss word? To hear LB, you'd think so, at least. I've also got Emma with me - my old Labrador. She's blind and diabetic. I'd be hard put to tell you who takes more medication: Her or me. It's hard to see her getting old, as she's added much to my life and been a great service dog. But when her legs seem to hurt more, I understand as my legs hurt, too - especially on rainy days. In early summer, I decided it was a good time to getting healthy. After being sick all last summer, fall, winter into Spring, I thought perhaps eating better would help. At least it wouldn't hurt. So, I looked at various diets and settled on one that is most heart healthy. Since then, I've lost about 35 pounds. I still have more to go, but at least there is progress. Course, that brings up another issue: Clothing getting too big. LOL! I'm not sure what size I wear anymore - but I can tell the size I did wear is hanging on me, as is my watch. Not anxious to go out and buy a new wardrobe. Thankfully, I can get by for now. Another thing for which to be grateful! I'm grateful for having two great kids! Both are successful in their chosen careers and are law abiding citizens of the planet. They've given me four healthy grandkids: Two boys and two girls. Having grandkids is better than having kids. Ask anyone. They'll agree... My daughter complained that I've forgotten about her. When I go to their house, I rush to find LB - by passing my daughter. She said it sucks to come in second now. Second? I thought it was fifth or sixth...after all: There ARE three other grandkids! I'm also grateful for friends - new ones and old ones. They add to life. When I was a Girl Scout, we sang a song about friends: Get new friends, but keep the old; one is silver, the other gold... 'Course, Lincoln, Lincoln, what have you been drinking brought more laughter - as did the one about eating an apple and finding a worm...and a few others we thought were hilarious when we were kids riding in the back seat of old sedans... Ahh - life was so simple then. But I wonder if it was as much appreciated as it is now that I'm older.... Have a great year end. May all your wishes come true and all your bills be paid. Imagine - I used to have far loftier goals than paying all my bills....LOL!

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• Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - H1N1 info

It's always a good idea to prepare your family for flu season. With Thanksgivng upon us, its important to arm yourself with information to decrease the spread of the H1N1 (swine flu) virus. Learn how to help your family stay healthy using our flu prevention resource guides. http://www.redcross.org/portal/site/en/menuitem.86f46a12f382290517a8f210b80f78a0/?vgnextoid=11c1d7ce92dd0210VgnVCM10000089f0870aRCRD&vgnextfmt=default

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• Friday, October 16, 2009 - Outrageous treatment of Hunter the Police Dog in NY

• Sunday, October 11, 2009 - Fishing

Had LB today. We went fishing. She caught two 'fish.' I put them inside markers as they were actually bait from someone else's line - those tiny little minnows. She saw them and asked if she could talk to them. Her imagination! Soon, there was quite a lively conversation going on between her and the dead fish. That lead to her noting one had a 'boo boo.' Let me add to that: Fish not only had his guts opened, but his (or her) tail missing. Then she began telling it she would take care of it. That lead to my walking up the dock to get a bag for the fish. Which then lead to her insisting fish needed water - which meant I 'fished' for a coffee cup someone had littered with, filled the bag with water (plastic bag, I might add). Soon, she happily exclaimed they were 'swimming.' Actually, they were laying sideways, but when you're three, that's good enough. 'See guys? I told you I would take care of you! Oh, aren't you just so cute! You're just the cutest little fish on all the earth,' she was soon gushing. Meanwhile, a couple of fisherman nearby were cracking up. We left the Wildlife area in search for a park. The fish needed a 'play date.' Yes, I'm dead serious....so off we went to the park - while she constantly chatted with them and told them about the scenery they were missing - swimming inside a plastic bag and all. Likely, they couldn't see very well thru that plastic, she reasoned. No, never did mention the dead don't tend to see anyway, so it didn't matter - but I could just imagine her dad's reaction when she got home with dead fish....in a leaky plastic bag, because by now, the fish had 'danced' inside their bag. That meant she bounced them up and down on her lap and they jumped around in the water - as she squealed about their happiness at her healing them. Got to the playground and she was so excited! there was another kid there and she had ants in the pants wanting to show him her fish - they did need introductions, after all. It's the polite thing to do, don't cha know? Wasn't she miffed I insisted she go to the bathroom and wash her hands prior to playing, as it had been several hours since we'd left home by then. Fish went potty too, of course. She washed her hands and I'm frankly surprised she didn't insist on their fins being washed. Whew! got out of that one! Once all done, she ran squealing to the little boy and his dad about her fish. Not being short of imagination, she now told them the fish would soon grow legs and arms and turn into her baby sisters. Twins. How about that? Wonder if Mommy knows these things....oh well. She soon will.... Now doubled bagged, the fish 'enjoyed' sliding, climbing, escaping monsters and going head over tail - literally - on a free fall down the slide - all while she applauded and shrieked her approval at what 'big' fish they were getting to be - becoming independent like that! Before long, it was getting dark and cold and time to leave for home. Now tripled bagged, the fish went into WalMart for frosting and the things needed to make sugar cookies when we got home. I have to hand it to the clerk - he didn't bat an eye nor say a word when her fish had to get yet another bag - to help keep them 'snuggly' warm for the rest of the trip home. At home, we made sugar cookies under the watchful eyes - errr - under the dead stares of those fish. She chatted away, showing them each cookie cutter and explaining each and every shape. She made stars of three sizes, hearts, bunny rabbits, Easter eggs - apparently these are all perfectly acceptable Halloween items when you're three. She rather impatiently waited while the cookies baked as she wanted to decorate them with the pink and purple candy dots. Again - perfectly acceptable Halloween colors, too. Flour in her hair, on her chin, across her jacket and down her britches, there were soon sprinkles as well because the fish asked her to throw some in the air. Amazing how clearly dead fish can speak to a three year old! The cookies were decorated, a plate ready for mom and dad and the fish and it was time to take her home. But first, we had to take a short drive to go see 'Halloween' lights. Can you imagine? Gosh, when I was a kid, we were lucky to have Christmas lights on the tree! Now the next door neighbor's yard looks like an overgrown Halloween fantasy of lights. Of course, the fish were held up to the window to see the lights. Every so often, I heard a squish of hugs and kisses on the bag as she told the fish they were 'just so cute!' Oh yes, the fish made it ALL the way to her house! Dad didn't take it too well - asking where I got the fish. I told him I didn't get the fish - she did....he wasn't too thrilled with the reply. So, sue me... Mommy took the leaky bags and set them in a vase. Little Bird screeched! She wanted to take the fish to bed. I suspect the fish will just disappear over night. I also suspect Little Bird will remember and be looking for those fish in the morning. After all - they are due to grow arms and legs and become her twin sisters by morning....

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• Tuesday, October 6, 2009 - Rainy fall day

Rain falls today and a chill is in the air. Yellow is becoming the dominate color in the garden as green bleeds from the plants. Tomatoes - the few that remain and are struggling to turn red and produce their seed to continue their life cycle - now come with tough skins. They lack the sweetness of summer ancestors. Hot and cold struggle for the right to rule the land. Cold is winning. It always does this time of year. The canning supplies are slowly making their way back to the shed. They return home with a few more dents and a bit more rust on their sides. The water canner is showing it’s age. How old is it now? Over 30 years, perhaps? Time to think about replacing it? I think these same thoughts at the end of every season. Likely, the same canner will be in my kitchen, used and then returned to the shed next fall - and me still thinking the same thoughts. As long as it’s still usable and still good, I don’t tend to replace things in my arsenal of preserving.... That dent in the side is an old, familiar friend. When did it arrive? I think I dropped that canner when it was but a sprig in my kitchen....perhaps within a year or two of it’s arrival. In fact, I can’t recall now if the canner arrived new or used - as many of my mother-in-law’s canning equipment became mine once she learned of my interest. She was then living in an apartment and apparently had decided canning days were behind her. I was the new generation who would take over. Funny. I’m not far from her age at the time. Becoming her age seemed like an eternity. It didn’t take long for that trip from that time to the present...not in my mind.... The other funny thing was how I thought I knew so much. Age is one of those great levelers. Through age, we realize we know nothing at all.... Besides changes in the garden, there are changes in the kitchen. Another sure sign of fall are thoughts of soups and stews. When it’s hot outside, I yearn for salads and cold things. When the chill begins to creep in, I think of hot things. This morning, I was thinking of pulling out a roast for Friday’s weekly dinner with DD and Little Bird. Smothered in onions and trimmed with potatoes and carrots, it sounds delicious after a summer’s hiatus from all things meat - or mostly meat. Other changes are open windows. Although it has been as chilly as 40 degrees over night, I’ve resisted turning on the heat. Instead, I’ve piled up more quilts on the bed, realized it might be time to switch to flannel sheets, and find myself growing sleepy early in the evening. During the day, things warm up a bit - but not today. Not with the gray rain falling outside making things feel chillier than usual. I do love having the windows open. I like to be able to hear the bird chatter - which is also dying back with the changing of the leaves. I love to feel the freeness and openness of natural air entering the house, versus artificial. That’s what I call AC air. It’s nice during summer broiling days and nights, to be sure, but also boring and insulating. Sometimes, that’s a good thing when idiots drive past with stereos so loud it rattles my window and teeth and sets me to making a few oaths against buffoons. Even they have gone the way of the cicada songs and chirping crickets, however.  Thank goodness! I miss cricket songs. I do not miss idiots doing drive-by noise.... In the evening, I can hear the river sounds and coyote cries. The cooler, clear air carries both animal and human calls a great distance. It’s a lonely call, yet comforting, somehow. And so it goes. Nature changes. Summer says its goodbyes and winter its hellos. For now, it’s the in-between phase and all is quiet and serene on this gray but gentle fall day.....

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• Sunday, October 4, 2009 - Fruit Fly Frenzie

It seems to me that every year, there’s a new challenge. One year it was flies. They were outrageous! Every morning, I’d enter the kitchen to see dozens of flies basking in the morning sun. It took quite a while, but eventually, they were evicted. Earlier this year, it was rats. Can you imagine? RATS! Turns out this area is notorious for rats. So notorious, in fact, that the city offers residents free rat poison. The kit includes not only rat bait, but gloves to place the bait with, instructions and such all presented in a neat plastic bag. All you have to do is promise you’re using it on rats - not a family member or neighbor. Oh, and sign an affidavit to that effect in blood.... Fall has arrived with cool temperatures, the end of the canning season and, to my horror - fruit flies! My little granddaughter thinks they are baby flies and screams bloody murder if I attempt to assassinate them in her presence - so all deeds must be done while she’s away. That’s not easy, considering she’s here several times a week, and my swatter fairly itches with the need for swing when I see a fruit fly perched upon the cabinet door or eyeing me from the fridge.... But I’m on the attack as soon as Little Bird is gone. I swat with abandon. But the fruit flies are on to me. They will grin at me as I enter a room and flee the moment I have swatter in hand. They seemed to be getting under control - until today. Once again, it’s a three-at-once strike when the swatter and I can do a sneak assault. What really ticked me off, however, was finding the danged creatures enjoying the Sunday paper. I mean, I hadn't even had a chance to read it myself! The gall! For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what on earth was drawing them. The peaches had all been turned into jam. The tomatoes all canned or turned into sauce. The garbage with peelings had been removed. Yet the flies seemed to increase in number.... I tried so many things, I’ve lost count of the attempts of eviction. I tried loud music. The freaking flies danced. Only the neighbors had issue with the music playing....seems they were being driven out  of hearth and home while the fruit flies flung themselves into frenzied flying flings. (Try saying THAT three times fast....) I offered free fruit fly fries. No one bit - especially the flies.... When they tried to hold funerals for their fallen comrades, I ordered a stop because they hadn’t applied and been granted the proper fruit fly funeral permits. Didn’t work. Finally, last night, when moving onions and potatoes around in their hanging basket to make room for more onions and potatoes, I discovered a mushy tater. Ah ha! Fruit fly Disneyland! I quickly cleaned out the basket and tossed everything outside in the trash heap. Think that ended the fruit fly frenzy? Nope! They are back in droves. Only now they are holding marches about the unfair treatment they are receiving at my hands.... Humph! I’ll still win the war - you darned creatures you! Just wait and see! Take that, and that, and that! Swat! Swipe! Swing! So the saga continues....

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• Thursday, September 24, 2009 - This was reported on Fox News

• Thursday, September 3, 2009 - Canning

I've been canning today. Picked tomatoes and got them ready for canning. Finished 9  1/2 pints of stewed tomatoes. It's very satisfying to hear the 'thwack' of the lids as they seal on the jars.  It'll be nice this winter to enjoy soups, chili and other dishes made with the work I'm doing now. Hard to believe it's already September! The years go faster and faster as I get older. It used to be summers that ran. When school started after Labor Day, the days began to grow longer and longer. Christmas seemed to take forever to arrive. Summer was but a memory I might not ever see again! How things have changed as I've gotten older. I don't want the years to fly by so quickly. They've sped up as I've grown older! They run. In fact, they race! And there's no need to hurry. The grandchildren are growing so quickly, too. I was looking at photos of the boys when they were babies. Now, the oldest is almost 6. His brother is 4, their baby sister 2 months and Little Bird is three. She'll begin her second year of preschool on Tuesday. She's excited about returning to school. She's looking forward to the holiday parties, pizza parties, puppet programs and Christmas  programs. She's like I once was - waiting with anticipation for things to arrive - and they seem to take forever for her.... Hope all are having a great day. And have a safe Labor Day weekend.

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• Thursday, August 27, 2009 - Wild caving

Okay. You've enjoyed my camping stories. And the story about salt at McDonald's. How about a caving story? In a past life - meaning back in the Olden Days - I was a reporter. More specifically, I was a stringer. That's a fancy term to mean I hustled to find story ideas to pitch to the local paper. Some of the stories I did were 'assignments.' That meant they came from the top. But I was also expected to go out and round up stories like a cowboy rounds up 'doggies.' Only, I had no rope, no horse and no hat. Translation: Not easy.... One of my story ideas was of a lady from Northern Indiana, where I used to live, who moved to Southern Indiana, where I now live, and owned a cave. It was an interesting concept, as not many high school year books showed people yearning to grow up and become cave owners. Yet this lady did - by default. She married the cave owner. So, I pitched the story idea to the cave-owning woman and then to my editor back home. That's how I found myself on a blustery early October weekend driving from Northwest Indiana to the middle South of Indiana to not only write about how a nice girl like that ended up in a place like this, but to go on a 'wild cave' tour. Gosh, how much like fun things look on paper! (And dove tails nicely into another camping fiasco - more later) Anyway, it was early October. A cold front was arriving early from the North. But I was headed South and not worried too much about it being cold there. (There is NEVER a time you can worry too much, by the way...and the fact I was so eager would put me on notice these days) In a word: COLD! It was freezing cold when we arrived at the camp ground. The wind was blowing hard and with gusts that must have reached hurricane levels. We were alone in the campground - the kids and I. And while that looked like a fine idea during day light hours, let me tell you, it was NOT such a fine idea by night fall. Leaves were swirling about, sounding much like clattering bones in the dark. AND the hot water heater in the bathhouse was on the fritz (of course), the drains plugged (of course) AND no where to hang clothes and towels to keep them dry while showering (of course.) Anyway, we got through the night and the next day drove to the cave lobby to get the story. That's when her husband mentioned he was getting a group together to go wild caving. Since these were a bunch of disabled kids, he wouldn't mind the extra hands (meaning us) helping out and we could get a tour for free. (now I happen to like the word FREE very much) So, off we went. Brief drive and we met the group of kids with Downs Syndrome gearing up to go into the cave. We great confidence, I geared myself and my kids up with helmets as well. Gearing up, by the way, was nothing more than sticking a helmet on our heads and looking eager eyed at the cave entrance. At the cave entrance, it was a piece of cake! We could stand up and walk into the cave. Then came the river. The owner leading, he said something about we'd have to walk a bit in the river, but to stay to the one side as there was a cliff to the....and his words faded as he rounded into the cave further. Cliff? What cliff? Did he say hug the wall on the right or the left? How deep is this 'drop off.' Is it important I know? I asked the kids surrounding me, who ignored me and simply followed the single file group. Oh yeah...good idea. Follow the rest of the folk....good plan. He, he, he....good thing I'm such a quick thinker on my feet.... Soon, the water was swirling deep and cold about my waist. Even with jeans, heavy hooded sweat shirt, I was beginning to get freezing cold. Was it me or was I the only one shivering and not particularly enjoying this wild cave thing? Before long, we were unable to stand upright any longer. Instead, we were instructed to 'squat and walk like ducks' across yet another stream. The good news was this stream was mere inches deep. The bad news was I lacked a good center of gravity. Since childhood. squatting and walking like a duck has been an illusive dream. That's why I ended up on all fours more or less crawling thru the water like an infant - and that's when the other shoe dropped. The bottom of this river bed wasn't sandy gravel. It was rock cut and honed by eons of waves into sharp, jagged razor-like humps. The humps sliced and bit at my hands and knees. I soon learned to sort of half crawl, half waddle like a duck to stop the pain of those sharp edges under the water. Who knew? After all those years, I was finally maybe gonna perfect walking like a duck! I could die with happiness.... NOT! The little water deal behind us, we came to dry land. Well, dry being a relative term. It was drier, meaning instead of water, we were crawling, climbing or walking through mud. This was gray mucky mud. It grabbed and sucked at clothing, feet and hands. When we finally got out of the mud, I'm not sure it was improved. That's because instead of mud, we were now climbing over huge boulders inside the cave. In most caves, there is lots of light and you can clearly see the pathways. In wild caving, there are tiny lanterns perched on top of hard hats that tilt and wobble with every step, crawl or climb because the ceiling often is smacking the helmet on top and tilting it here and there. At least, that was my experience. So, climbing boulders wasn't a lot of fun. With so little light, the spaces between the boulders looked like huge, deep, dark crevices without floors. With my fear of height, it was dizzying to climb over boulders to reach the next challenge on our tour. With each step and hand placement, I was POSITIVE I was going to be pitched into a hole so large and deep, my body would NEVER be recovered. With pounding heart, I was so happy to reach the other side - a large FLAT floored room! Oh, would my happiness ever end? Oh yeah...and very quickly. That room lead to a passage way that shrank inch by inch. The floor, ceiling and walls all poised to slap each other in unison. And we were climbing, crawling and then snaking through this passageway. Not only do I have a fear of heights, but I ALSO have claustrophobia! So, this 'fun' little tour has gone from bad to worse, in my opinion. But the final straw came when the leader announced, 'Now, we'll have to slither on our bellies to the end of the passage. The only way back is to slither backwards.' Oh no...this chick ain't slithering into ANYTHING ANY smaller than a six-foot high and wide tunnel....forget it! I'm done! 'Well, you'll have to wait here in the dark,' he said - as though THAT were gonna work on me! HA! I was WAY beyond and above the 'fear of dark' threshold, it wasn't even a glimmer of threat to me. That's when some of the kids decided they'd also had enough. Seeing my anguish, they huddled in close to me. Thinking they wanted comfort, to my surprise, one little guy said, 'That's okay. I'll stay here with you and keep you safe.' I wanted to blubber right then and there. But I didn't. Instead, I said thank you and waited while everyone else - my kids included - slithered on elbows into that tiny passage and investigated the world beyond. The return trip was uneventful, save for the fact we had to repeat our steps - including the boulders, walking like ducks, and hugging the wall to wade waist deep back to the entrance. I was NEVER so happy to see daylight again! Oh, and I never again desired nor went on a wild cave tour again.....

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• Sunday, August 23, 2009 - Weeds

While I love the neat yards and gardens of many around here, my garden and yard is generally a weed haven. It's not that I particularly like the wees towering over my roses or enter twining the mint garden or tomato cages. But it's usually way too hot for me to go out and pull weeds. That's because here in Evansville, the Ohio River Valley's summer air is dead and leaden - heavy with both heat and humidity. This year is different. In fact, these last two days have been fall like. I've had the windows open and done all manner of yard work. Today, that included freeing the roses and mints from their green grave of grass. How very nice it looks now - neat as a pin. The roses, hidden just an hour ago by tall bent grass, are now stunning in their show of color. I didn't realize how very beautiful they were this time of year. The mint shouted with their fragrance heavy in the air as I pulled their towering neighbors - some odd weed with multi branches that over took the space the mints like to claim as their own. Small things things I couldn't see - and perhaps wouldn't want to see - scurried before the growing small bare spots of ground. In a corner, caught in the fence, numerous small crickets tried to climb the wall to escape what they must have thought was sure capture. But I didn't want them. I just wanted their forest home. Although I wished I'd known they were there - tonight would be the perfect night to go fishing for blues or perhaps bigger game. Last night, the old posts from the garage post were cut into small pieces and burned. There was a nasty invasion of carpenter bees within the walls of the old posts. I had to laugh because several of the fat bees were shaken from their nest as the saw rattled their home. They fell to the ground, confused and upset that someone had so rudely invaded their peaceful evening, while others remained behind deep within the wood - buzzing their outrage and likely hoping I'd be scared off by their angry fuss. I wasn't. There are people who shuddered earlier today when I told the story of the carpenter bees. They don't like the bug that tries to disguise itself as a bumble bee. But they are really gentle souls. Had they not taken up residence in my garage posts, I would have left them alone. But they were weakening the structure and had to be evicted. The notice was sent last week. Apparently, they were reluctant to move. They have since rethought their stance. The wood was piled on a fire. For over an hour, I sat alone, watching the comforting pop and hiss of wood being consumed by fire. It was a lonely vigil, as normally, company is around a fire and voices murmur in the growing darkness. I missed having folk around to enjoy the cool evening. Soon enough the coals died down into embers. While some charcoal remains behind, it will become the base for the next fire I host. Perhaps next time, I'll have company. And perhaps next time, we will sit back and enjoy the beauty of the roses and a comforting mint-raspberry tea....

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