Things That Go Bump

It was several years after moving here before I figured out the sound. It didn't happen often. At first, I was sure that our old rough cat, Jack, was out skinning a rabbit. In the middle of the night, I would go out in my nightgown intent on saving whatever he was killing. I could never find him. Later, I mistakenly thought perhaps it was a small screech owl. Finally, I came to know that the awful sound was a fox, likely the mating call of a vixen. It is an eerie sound. 

I'm not afraid of the foxes. More than one season, we've had them make their den back by the creek. They are very territorial and bold. Sometimes, I came across one in our front yard staring at the front porch and all off our cats cornered there. I believe they finally left because Daisy killed a kit.

I'm even a bit cavalier about coyotes because I've only ever seen one on our property in the twenty-two years here. It was a loner, likely sick, chased off by the miniature horses and then, by me, as it headed to the hen house. But, I hear them at night, high pitched, at a safe distance. Two nights ago on the way to the barn, it was very dark. I heard them closer than ever I have. I have to admit it was a little hair raising and I might have picked up my step a bit. 

Most of the time here, I would walk anywhere in the dark without fear. I enjoyed the stars and the quiet. Even in my imagined safety, however, there were things out there. Had I been raised in the woods, likely I would have known these sounds. I had to figure them out. I could tell the new owners, but perhaps, I'll leave the joy of discovery to them.

Before

Living here made me feel "rich". Up on the hill, my gray Arab mare grazed peacefully. We are able to support two mini horses that do nothing but eat money. In the summer, our cats lazed on the driveway, doing their best imitation of an inch worm as they enjoyed the blacktop heat. Around us is a grove of pine trees and oaks that make me proud.

Murphy and I like to stand up on the hill watching the deer in the back of the property. It seems five live here now, three large mamas and two yearlings. I worry that the new owners will appreciate and not hunt them. While we always considered them "our" deer, we share them with the neighbors. Indeed, yesterday, we saw "our" deer join in their pasture with four more deer - the most I've seen in one spot at one time. During the snow, they came often closer than they normally would, looking for food.

I even worry over the birds here. My feeders outside the office are always full, the birds used to that location. The feeders, however, were given to me by my father and I plan to take them. The birds will have to fend for themselves. 

I am looking forward to our new adventure, all the while cognizant of that we leave behind. I will find nature where we go. Perhaps even, I will have more time to admire nature once we are settled. I won't "own" it, but then, whenever did I really?

Scraps of Our Lives

As I pack for moving (which will be another blog post entirely), I have hard decisions to make. When you've lived in a place for over 22 years, you accumulate a good number of things that "I might need some day" or "might some day be worth something" or in the case of my sugar Easter egg, something I just can't bring myself to discard.

I've cleaned out several houses after the owner passed on and you come across items, such as a dead locust in a box in my uncle's drawer, that begged the question, "what did this mean to him?" There was no note or description. The weight of my belongings is heavy on my shoulders and I don't want to pass this weight along someday to another generation.

The egg in question was given to me by my grandmother, Eleanor. Constructed of sugar, egg albumen, artificial flavorings and colors by Hooper's Confectioners, my guess then and now was that it was prettier to look at than to eat. I liked looking inside the hole at the end at the make-believe world of a little bunny.

Sadly, the jelly beans and the edges have started to brown, possibly mold. Time to retire it to the landfill. Apparently, they sell on eBay (without browning) for $8-$10. This packing could take a long time.

Some Quick Tips

It's too bad we only get one life or that it is such a relatively short one. I'm just now figuring some things out and getting my act together. Such as today, my husband asked where the title was for an old car and I could tell him it was in the lock box at the bank. At least, I am about 95% sure - okay maybe 75% sure - that's where it is. I'm slightly more organized about important papers than I used to be.

I've learned how to clean things a little better.  For example, there are several ways to get the white mineral residue from glass shower doors. Once clean, you can keep them that way by using a water and vinegar spray and drying off each time the shower is used. Yeah, like that is going to happen but I'm sure you had the best intentions of doing so. Here's a tip though - when you first pledge that you will keep them clean and you get that glass all sparkly, tell your husband. If you don't, the next morning you'll hear him crashing into that nice clean door as if it weren't really there.

Speaking of the shower, you can clean the shower nozzle easily by filling a baggie with vinegar and using a rubber band to hold it in place while the vinegar does its magic. If you should get very busy with making dinner, washing clothes, answering the phone, paying bills, and in general, forgetting all about it, your husband will remind you what you did when he starts the shower up the next morning. You will know before he says so though as he will be trying to rub the vinegar from his streaming eyes.

Yes, I'm just now hitting my stride.

The Smallest Cuts

The tiniest piece of glass was imbedded in my big toe. It was worse than a large cut easily bandaged and fixed. It was so small I could not see it or dig it out, yet it hurt me with each step. It took days for the body to figure out how to fight it and fester it out. Words can be like that tiny piece of glass. Tossed out sentiments, like little pieces of glass, can get under our societal skin, be difficult to remove, while hurting us all.

So it was when we bought a van, bigger, room for a service dog and multiple boys. I met our seller at the county courthouse and all was going well until I was asked if I wanted a license plate with the state logo of “Unbridled Spirit” or instead “In God We Trust”. I paused, perhaps a little too long. I do trust in God, but would it be a false clarion that I was a conservative? And I do like horses and the state motto. On the other hand, I could use the extra prayer conveyed in having “God” on my license plate. (This is the sign of someone that thinks a little too much.)

The clerk and the seller waited. “This shouldn’t be that big of a decision,” said the clerk. Finally, I chose “In God We Trust”, the national motto. That’s when the clerk told me how she spreads little, cutting pieces of glass.

She laughed. “When I see someone that comes in that’s an Arab, I don’t give them a choice. I just give them the “In God We Trust” license plate.”

The seller laughed, too. My mind reeled for what to say. “They worship the same God” was what came to mind later, but I had, as the French say, l’esprit d’escalier, that is, I didn’t think fast enough and the moment was over. While I did not laugh back, I was ashamed I didn’t speak up for these little pieces of word glass, these ideas that are thrown out like little quips, this way of thinking is what eats away at our humanity and ability to truly see and understand the person before us.

Just the day before, I had been hugged by a young mother, a truly heartfelt and loving hug down to my soul. She was thankful. I had brought her our discarded old couch as they had nothing. I’d asked her what they needed. “We are very in need” she responded, and told me that she slept on the floor with her four children. Her back hurt. I also brought a quality air mattress and a few other items.

When I arrived, she took me into her home and showed me where they slept – on the floor. They’d been here two years and after one year, there was no help for refugees. I didn’t ask why they came, why they didn’t get off the ground with the help they did get at first. I didn’t ask why they continued to have more children or why the husband, who was there, wasn’t working. (These are all the little pieces of glass we throw around, that are imbedded in us, hard to excise.) All I needed to know was that she was a young mother whose back hurt because she had no place to sleep. It was right before Christmas and as she held her little brown baby, I thought of another mother who sought a place to lay her head with her beautiful little curly headed brown baby.

She has no car, so likely will never encounter the choice of license plate nor a clerk that shows her no courtesy. I won’t pretend that American society hasn’t always had prejudices against groups of people and still does. I grew up hearing that we are a melting pot, yet also knowing that differences were often met with disparagement rather than enlightenment. That pot holds many pieces of little glass. We Americans historically recognize and claim to fight injustice and large bleeding cuts, though, with the current political situation and the temperature outside, there is new meaning in the words, “A cold day in hell.”  Until we recognize how cutting and hurtful a small phrase or word can be, to both society and our own psyche, we will not become the great society we purport to be.

No Good Deed

Leaving William at his gym workout, Murphy and I began walking along a familiar path. At the gazebo, I was started to see a small woman curled up on the bench inside a gazebo surrounded by meager belongings. I wondered if she was hungry. Well, there, that's what I'll do with my time waiting for William: Murphy and I would walk to McD's and buy her some lunch.

Passing the car wash, a yippy dog surprised us with irritating barks. Murphy swung out on her leash but kept going. We'd done so well this morning in our "Wallflowers" class and in general, Murphy has been getting less fearful. (Note: work on small yappy dogs) At McDs, an older woman asks if she could take me home with her, confusing me. She then blessed me for the "work" I am doing with the dog. I don't bother to correct her (I am selfishly training this dog for my own son) because it would invite a long conversation. I accept my blessing. 

Placing my order, I go to get a drink. Murphy is used to establishments where I need to check out, and I made the mistake doing a sit-stay and letting go of the leash. At that very moment, two young girls emerged from the restroom located for best sanitation right near the drink station. "P-U-P-P-Y!!" they shrieked.

Murphy paused, her ears back. Then, she bolted. Without thinking, I stepped on her leash, a trick that usually works. The tile floor was slippery and my right leg slid and I went down on my left, hitting the base of my nose on the chair in front of me. I did successfully hang on to Murphy and I luckily was not holding the drink.

Tears streaming down, I wondered if blood was also shooting out of my nostrils. "I'm fine," I protested as I opened the door of the men's room. The women's is always on the right, isn't it? I noticed before breaking all the bathroom laws recently enacted to keep us all safe from people that need to pee.

Just then, my phone rang. I answered, promising to return the call in five minutes. My nose appeared unbroken, no blood, so I straightened up, marched out and got my chicken nuggets, not looking at anyone. We passed the yippy dog (teach your dog manners, for God's sake!) and got to the gazebo. It was a small man, not a woman at all! Murphy would not approach, so I asked if he was hungry and left the food on one of the benches. I got another blessing as Murphy pulled me away.

Sigh. Maybe next time we'll go sit at the library. 

Treasures

Shells from the beach sit in boxes in my closets. I am the keeper of these small mementos from vacations past. Each year, more are added. Pinterest is mentioned occasionally (by others), but I'm saving crafty years for when they put me in "the home" along with crocheting kitchen wash cloths. I mark the box "SHELLS" and return it to the closet.

In cleaning out some closets, I found I had more than one stash of this precious commodity. It was time to cull some of the less desirable shells, some chipped, some completely broken. ("I found a piece of a sand dollar!") I gathered these shards and thought it such a shame, carried a thousand miles to home, to relegate them to the landfill. I decided to dump them in our creek. 

My husband objected, "You'll throw off some future archaeologist!" Perhaps ruin the local ecology? Pffah! The idea of puzzling some future human only adds to my the fun of it. Our creek has long been a treasure trove of finds. We also have hundreds of pounds of horn coral in my keeping. 

Horn coral is pointy rock in the middle

As our creek has widened and the banks eroded, many of these horn coral lay as proof that millions of years ago, our land was underwater and a sea was home to these creatures. We also often find broken glass, washed from upstream and the occasional virus. 

This bend in the creek which used to be the only "swimming hole" is no longer the only deep place in the creek now and itself, is much deeper. It is home to frogs, tadpoles, and some small fish - oh, and of course, those little skimming water-walker insects. It is flanked by the "elbow tree".

The creek was one of the strong attractions to moving here. There is so much to learn just laying there.

Imperialis

My breath caught when I first saw it from the other side. A Luna Moth! I thought from the size. I was confused when I saw all the brown. I'd not seen this type of giant moth before. I Googled on my phone "from the silk moth family". It is an Imperial Moth, or Eascles imperialis of the Saturniidae family. Her wingspan is 4.5 inches.

Immediately, I worried that perhaps our elementary school experiments had ruined the local ecology and released silk moths in our neighborhood. We used to mail order the eggs and grow them to caterpillars, feeding them the mulberry paste or gathering leaves from our own mulberry tree. I don't remember releasing the moths, in fact, I do remember the caterpillars forming a cocoon - we watched them spin it - but I don't remember any moth ever hatching.

I was relieved to learn that this particular moth is indigenous to our area. I am seeing so many moths these days because I've been leaving on the porch light at night as a deterrent due to some robberies in the area. My niece asked me to look for caterpillars or cocoons, as she wanted to hatch some moths, but in this particular subfamily of moths, when the caterpillars are ready to pupate, they burrow underground. I have been keeping an eye out for the dead moths (they live only a few days after mating) but they have all flown off.

It seems over the years, I've written a number of blogs on moths and butterflies. You can find them by using the search box on this blog.

Grandmother Tree

If ever I leave this place, I will miss the trees. Kentucky is filled with trees but these are our trees. They are like old friends. Many I remember when they were much smaller. Some, we have planted ourselves. Two were transplanted from our first house. Two average sized oaks stood over our pool for over a decade, giving us shade but also causing yellow algae. The pool is now gone, the twin oaks are majestic and shade our house. We have an evergreen grove, baby trees planted by my husband when we first moved. He was going to transplant them around the property, but somehow, they got too big before he thought to do it. It makes a nice place for deer to sleep.

The tree I treasure most you would not see if you came to my house. It is on the hill in the back overlooking the creek. I call it our "Grandmother Tree". I often think about the history of our property, what it might have been like before Europeans arrived, who might have lived here before and since. We are only 5 miles by bird to the Ohio River, so it is not hard to imagine that natives roamed my creek, though I've found no proof.

This Grandma Tree is still healthy. She needs a few limbs removed, but shows no trunk rot. Measuring 177" or almost 15 feet in circumference, it is in the white oak family. I used "Leaf Snap", an app for identifying tree leaves, to determine that it was a white oak. Then, using a calculation for oak trees, I figured that this tree is 282 years old. This means it sprouted in 1735 or so.

The first main excursion into Kentucky didn't occur until 1750 when Thomas Walker came through the Cumberland Gap. Some of my ancestors would later follow this route to settle here. Many of my ancestors were still in Europe. This tree would have been 15 years old already when the first Europeans started infiltrating this land. It would have been a 34 year old tree when Daniel Boone led his first expedition and a full grown adult 40 year old tree when he founded the first permanent European settlement. Dan Boone was all over this land and could easily have sat under our tree. He wouldn't recognize the spot: the creek is much wider (due to runoff from development in the neighborhood) and I'm sure many trees weren't as hardy as our Grandmother tree.

If only she could tell me what she has witnessed...

Midnight with Paris

Last week, I woke, as I frequently do at night to look at my BG watch, but this time, sat bolt upright in bed. Paris was not at the end of the bed where I routinely put her before falling asleep myself. High up, she cannot get down by herself. I'd forgotten her! Well, she sleeps like the dead, both blind and deaf, and is old and small, so I often have to go looking for her curled under my desk or in Murphy's open crate (a much better spot than her own crate).

No! Did I forget to let her back in after going outside to potty? She sometimes will start wandering around the house if she loses her way. This is only in the last few days - she used to go out and come right back in, scratching at the front door. I panicked - we were having a new septic tank system installed. In the back yard, there was a hole, 8 feet deep, with the new, large tank in it.

I grabbed my largest flashlight and ran out in my nightgown. And there she was, at the bottom of the pit, circling the tank, around and around, looking for a way out of the vertical mud walls. Thank God, she was all right by appearances. But, how to get her out?

I woke my husband and had him hold the extension ladder, conveniently nearby due to my painting jobs. I climbed down and scooped her up. The hole was filled in the next day. Thank goodness I found her because the next day, I told the contractor the story and that he was lucky to not have found a skunk in the pit. He replied that he would have just filled in the pit on top of it. Paris' coloring - well, he might have thought her a skunk.

I can't figure out how she fell without any injury, but she was without a scratch. From that day forward, I take her out and wait until she does her business and carry her back inside. Other than she can't smell very well (she's brachycephalic), see or hear, and apparently can fall without injury, she'll likely live forever. She is otherwise in excellent health.

Death by Paris

Well before my children learn to drive, I throw out pearls of wisdom on safe driving. "If you see a deer cross the road, slow way down. There will likely be another deer with it." This week, I added another pearl of wisdom: "If you see poop on the floor from a toy breed dog, look for pee." 

Early yesterday morning, no coffee yet, I walked into our sun room where I store the dog food. I see that Paris, a 14 year old blind and deaf Japanese Chin, left me a "present". I fill my container with kibble and turn to go to the kitchen. In cartoonish fashion, my foot hit the pee puddle and I went down hard. Kibble flew up into the air. Bruised but not injured, my back was soaked in dog urine. 

I fed the dogs as fast as I could so that I could get out of those clothes and into the shower. Bright Spot: my husband did not slip in it, which might have ended poor Paris.

I'd like to say that Paris leaves such presents because she can't find the front door, but despite letting her out many, many times of the day, she seems to have a bladder the size of a thimble and when crated, has a screech that would rival fingernails on a chalkboard and a face only a mother could love.

Juice Box

I was shopping alone one day (a rarity) and the store was playing "Mama's Got a Squeezebox" by The Who. When it got to the part "in and out and in and out" I could not help think of the night before when my son was dropping low all night and I pictured a harried, tired mom in red light going in and out of a bedroom to treat T1D kid. I was laughing about that with my husband, that it could make a great video, and he suggested "Mama's got a juice box" as we often treat lows with juice boxes many kids will sip in their sleep.

 So, I rewrote the lyrics. Here they are. I think it would be a fun video but I don't know how you'd get around the copyright.

Juice Box

Mama's got a juice box
She’s always doing her best
And when the BG’s dropping low
She never gets no rest
'Cause she's testing all night
To get the BG just right
Mama's got a juice box
And she never sleeps at night

Well the kid’s sound asleep
When the Dex starts to beep
There's no escaping the ‘betes
Sucking down something sweet
'Cause she's testing all night
To get the BG just right
Mama's got a juice box
And she never sleeps at night

She goes in and out and in
And out and in and out and in and out
'Cause she's testing all night
To get the BG just right
Mama's got a juice box
And she never sleeps at night

She goes, please me, come on damn BG,
Come on and rise so I can sleep.
But child, I do love you.
Mama's got a juice box
And she never sleeps at night

If you are unfamiliar with the song, what rock have you been living under?, you can listen to it here.

Apples and Oranges

Because it's normally maintenance. Because it normally is not an emergency. Insulin prices are messed up (I would use a stronger word but this is a family friendly blog). Because of that we should not save a life of a drug user? Because drug users are not worthy of being saved? Because the drug user did it to themselves? Let me set you straight: I know people saved by Narcan. People having a hard time that went on to get their world together and become loving, productive, and oh, what would the world do without them? So, don't use my son's diabetes to judge people.

Maybe this meme was meant to decry the injustice of the price of insulin. On the list of the ten most expensive liquids in the world, people living with diabetes have no choice but to buy it at any cost. A one hundred year old medication, the patent sold for $1 for the common good because the goal was saving lives, not profit. Somewhere out there, someone is going to burn in hell for funding their Maserati or mansion at the expense of children and adults with diabetes.  Worse yet, children in under developed countries die for lack of it. Yet, I've not heard any T1D parent or adult expecting to get insulin for absolutely free, just affordably. First responders usually have IV glucose and insulin for those emergencies. "They" do give drugs to save the lives of  those with Types 1 and 2 Diabetes.

So why shame the drug users? Let's find out who's getting rich off of our kids and post memes of them and their golden toilets.

Anticipation

Murphy makes this face when she is so very excited that something good is about to happen. I try so hard to capture it on camera, but she quivers with anticipation and doesn't sit still very long. In my hand was a prized dried roll of codfish skin, her favorite treat.

Today, Murphy and I went for a short walk while William worked out at the gym. The path I chose took us along gravel edged with brush and trees. I was pleased when a small rabbit darted across the path and Murphy drew to attention but did not give chase, taking my arm with her. (I've had the unfortunate images of Monty Python planted in my brain by my husband who thinks that's hilarious.)

A little farther and I hear a woman yelling, "LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT!" Oh, no! Another dog must becoming our way and you just never know if the dog is friendly, on a leash, and/or under control. Murphy is a little too eager yet to meet others of her kind. I listened. "COME HERE NOW!" she continued loudly. "I said COME!" She went on more but I couldn't make it out.

Thinking to myself that this dog is not going to come or leave it if she is yelling in such a mean and mad voice, and surely it must be off leash. I prepared myself...but then heard small voices and laughter. I realized the geography of where we were and that, yes, that is about where the daycare would be next to the public library...on the other side of that brush line. She was not talking to a dog, but to a child!

There are times when I hear an owner talking sweet to their dogs and think if only people could talk to friends and family with the same joy and enthusiasm, this world would be a better place. Perhaps though, we might not forget the phrase, "I wouldn't treat my dog like that" when choosing daycare.

Daily Finds

We are considering moving closer to the city. We endlessly mow grass, waste gas, that does nothing other than to look pretty. Dh drives down a highway that wasn't designed to handle the traffic and semis that now crowd it, resulting in daily wrecks, many fatal. He spends hours a week just driving. We are not near any of the parks we like for bike riding, or for that matter, not near much of anything to do or places to eat. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger.

That said, it will be hard for me to give up this place where I can go outside at night and stand in my yard, looking up at the stars and late night plane flights and think. I will miss finding nature's surprises. For example, this bird nest is at eye level in the barn. It now has three eggs. My niece helped me determine it is a wren. I see the mom at night when I put the horses up.

Last night, something banged on my bathroom window. A Luna Moth!! I, of course, opened the window to get a closer look and he (I think, larger antennae) came in! I have raised one before so I was not that startled. They are the size of a small bird. I did get it back outside. 

Maybe I'll discover similar things in the park that we hope to live near, but I fear it won't be the same.

The Eyes Have It

Don't give me those sad eyes. I wrote two blogs here and here for you today.

Just Saying

William sent me a text from his bedroom (because that's communication in modern parent-child relationships) asking me about "that horrid smell"  and several animations of people offended by or dying of a bad smell. I was cooking, but not just any old thing. I was making dog treats. Liver to be exact.

He thundered down the stairs, gagging. Really, it wasn't that bad. "It smells like a mixture between burnt brownies and meatloaf," he whined. Well, brownies are good. Meatloaf is good. I don't like liver, but this was not an offensive smell to me.

The dogs go through a lot of treats to train and I don't want fatty treats with sugar added. Some treats have loads of chemical preservatives and ingredients or cost more than steak per pound. Chicken liver is very cheap. In case you want to offend your own children, here is how I make them.

Pre-soak some of your dogs kibble in water until all the water is absorbed and the kibble is soft. Using a food processor, blend two cartons of chicken livers until liquid. Add in the kibble to give it more body. I also added in some gluten-free flour to make it nice and pasty. I added a small amount of flax seeds. I spread this goo over silicone baking sheets on a cookie sheet and baked at 350 for half an hour. This cooks the mixture but doesn't completely dry it out so after cooling it, I cut it into squares and dry them on a cheap Rival dehydrator. Then, dogs will love you forever for the crispy treats that can be broken into small pieces. The treats, once dry, have little to no smell and it makes a lot of treats. Even the cats like them. In fact, Luna, William's cat, tore open the plastic bag on the counter to get to them.

There was the one time that I decided to clean by boiling the opossum skull I found out by the road for our natural history collection. Now, that, that was a smell I don't even intend to repeat. (Next time, clean bones by burying them for a while in the backyard.)

I'll take the smell of baking liver treats any day over a teenager's room. Just saying.

Throw Back Thursday

One day, ten years ago, my children and I helped a mama miniature horse birth her baby. She still lives here with her brother miniature horse born the year before. The mama and daddy returned to their original owner and were later sold. You can read about it here.

Don't Blink

"I am going to be homeschooling my kindergartner. What curriculum should I use?"

If only I had one day to have my little ones little again. Just one day. Blink and they are graduated from high school. Blink again and they finished college and are starting careers, getting married, moving away. Looking back, I have no regrets because I know we made memories. We played in the dirt. We were present in our days.

What curriculum? My advice is no curriculum. Go to the library and get out all the books you can carry and that the library will let you. In our county at the time, that was 99 books per person in the household, so I brought crates on wheels and filled them. It was like bringing my kids to the candy store and telling them everything was free. We read and read and read. I read aloud so much my throat would hurt and I would have to quit.

Go to the zoo. Go to the woods. Play in a creek. Dig a hole as deep as you can. Collect and identify leaves. Turn over rocks. Look at bugs under a good stereoscope (dissection) microscope. Go out into the world on field trips. Go to concerts and theater. Have a picnic under a tree. Paint. Play the piano. Blow on pieces of grass and dandelions. Raise chickens and hatch eggs. Find all the wildflowers you can. Use lots of paper and markers and paint. Make cookies and measure things. Count marbles and pennies. Play classical music all day as background. Sing. Dance. Go out in the rain. Get dirty. Get really dirty. Make forts out of blankets. Have lots of play time. Make ice cream. Laugh. Do messy science experiments like dropping eggs out of windows. Roll balls down an incline. Make a pyramid out of sugar cubes. Grow a garden. Go to a bird blind or put out bird feeders. Lay in the fresh spring grass. And above all, watch the joy of learning in your babies eyes.

I know you are anxious to get started, to not let them get behind, to make sure they keep up with their peers, but I'm telling you, your time with them will be very, very short or so it will seem when you are old like me. There is no curriculum that can instill in them the joy of learning like exploring the world with you. You will have years to nag them about their homework but the time will come, if you don't make those memories now and cherish every minute when you'll be wishing you had just one more day....

"A smile is a curve that sets everything straight."

In typical Kentucky style, it is cold again after unseasonably warm weather but it is sunny. Driving home from the gym, I relished the sunbeams coming in through the car window and heating my black leather GAP jacket I got for $12 at the resale store.

"Oh," I remarked to William, "this feels so good I ought to wear a suit of only black leather."

"That," he responded, "makes me cringe. I mean, (sputter sputter sputter), not cringe because of you in black leather.....well, yeah, maybe, but....(sputter), I mean it would be hot and sweaty! (sputter) Just forget I said anything."

Not known for my fashion sense, my kids do have opinions and always warned me that if EVER I wore anything animal print, they would swear they didn't know me. My careless fashion sense would have made Phyllis Diller proud. And if you don't know who she is, you should.