A New Planet

     As the mother ship entered the outer edges of the solar system, the school orbiter left the holding bay to begin the journey for the day's lesson. 

    The alien children gathered quickly at the windows.  They were small in stature, only about eighteen inches in height.  Their heads were large and bald. Their faces had a tiny nose and mouth and their skin color was grey.  They all looked alike, except for their eyes.  Their eyes were huge round circles of color.  Some eyes were brown and some were blue. There were green eyes, yellow eyes, red eyes and even purple.  It seemed that every color ever imagined could be found in the eyes of the alien children.

     As the school orbiter cruised by the outer planets of Uranus and Neptune and a small dwarf planet called Pluto, the children listened as their teacher explained the facts of each one.  The teacher, who was about three feet tall, looked very much like the children except for one distinct difference.  His eyes did not share the same bright colors.  They were large, black almond shaped discs that set at an angle on his face, the inner edges pointing towards his small nose.    
     When the school orbiter cruised past Saturn, the little alien children were delighted by its many rings.  Jupiter soon came into view and the children listened intently as the teacher explained its large black spot.  Mars was next and the children with red eyes were amazed this planet shared their color.

     Suddenly, one little alien boy shouted, "Teacher! Teacher! What is that bright blue planet?"  It was Agog, who was always excitedly curious about everything.  He had already left the group and was looking out the windows on the other side of the classroom.  Agog, with his bright lime green eyes, had one thing the other children did not.  Agog had one strand of blonde hair, about an inch long, that grew right out of the top of his head.

     As the rest of the children scurried to the windows where Agog was standing, the teacher answered, "That is the destination for today's lesson, it is the planet Narci."

     The children all chimed at once, "Narci?"

     "Yes", the teacher answered.  "It used to be called planet Earth."

     "Why did they change the name?", Agog asked.

     By this time the school orbiter had entered Narci's atmosphere, and began to slow down.  The children lined the windows, their faces pressed against the glass.  From the outside, their bright colorful eyes looked like a rainbow of polka dots. 

     As the orbiter hovered above an ocean of blue sparkling water, the teacher began the lesson. "Two thousand years ago, Narci, then called Earth, had inhabitants know as humans.", the teacher said.

     The children giggled.  Agog yelled "Huuuuuumans?", drawing the word out and making the giggles turn into loud laughter.

     "Yes.", the teacher answered.  "Now, settle down and listen.  Listen very carefully."

     Silence fell over the room as the children all turned to look at their teacher.  His voice had never sounded like that before.  It sounded almost sad.  He motioned for them to resume looking out the window and simultaneously, they all turned their faces back to the glass.

     The teacher went on to explain that when the humans lived on Earth, they were very smart.  They loved to learn new things.  In fact, during their last two hundred years on the planet, they had made more technological advances than at any other time in their history.

     "What is that!?", Agog shouted, pointing to the surface of the ocean.

     The teacher walked over to the window and looked out at a pod of giant blue whales that had breached the surface.  There were hundreds of them.  As the whales spouted, the mist rose up in the air and tiny rainbows formed as far as the eye could see.   

     "Those are whales.", the teacher said.  "They were nearly extinct when the humans were here."

     "What is ex-stink?", Agog asked, causing another ripple of giggles.

     "Extinct.", the teacher corrected.  "It means that the whales were almost all gone.  If you will be quiet, Master Agog, I will explain."

     Once again, the children fell silent.  They knew when the teacher used the "Master" title, he meant business.

     The teacher continued, "The humans had made leaps and bounds in their ability to communicate with each other.  They made a device, called a cell phone,  that would let them contact any other human on the planet, regardless of where they were.  They could be on the tallest mountain or in the deepest ocean and still be able to talk to each other."

     "Then the humans put cameras on this device and they discovered they could take a picture of where they were and send it to someone.  Not long after this, the humans were able to put all of their computer technology in this device and carry it in the palm of their hand."

     "They made a program called a social media application and put this into their cell phones.  This let them communicate all their day to day activities to everyone they knew."

     The teacher paused and joined the children again at the window. The school orbiter was coming close to a land mass.  The dark green hues of the tree lined seashore were coming into view.  He could hear small ooh's and aah's as the children watched a thousand zebras gallop down a sandy beach.

     "Then what happened?", Agog asked, his face still pressed to the window.

     "The humans discovered they could take a picture of themselves with their phone.", the teacher spoke the words almost as a whisper. He looked down and all the brightly colored eyes were staring back at him.

     The children had never seen their teacher actually look sad.  Agog asked, "Was that a bad thing?"

     "It turned out to be.", the teacher answered.  "The humans became so involved with looking at pictures of themselves that they began to forget about the things that were important.  They enjoyed this activity so much that they became narcissists."  The teacher paused and raised one finger.

     Even though he knew he would never pronounce it right, Agog spun around to ask what the word narcissists meant.  When he saw the teacher's raised finger, he closed his little mouth and turned back to the window.  The teacher smiled as he watched the sun glisten on the one blonde hair on Agog's head.

     "A narcissist is someone who is in love with their own self", the teacher explained.  "The humans spent so much time admiring their own faces that they forgot about each other.  They became vain and very selfish. They began to be mean to each other and to not care how other humans felt.  They forgot to do the things that made their societies function.  They forgot to go to work, they forgot to learn new things, but the worst part was, they forgot how to love."

     "But, but, but", Agog interrupted, "Why?  This place is so beautiful!  Just look at all there is to see!"  The teacher fell silent and watched again with the children.  There were all sorts of animals roaming the landscape and hundreds of different species of birds flying through the air.

     "The planet did not look like this when the humans became narcissists", the teacher said.  "When the humans only thought about themselves, they forgot to take care of the Earth.  They took the things they wanted from Earth, but did not give back to the Earth.  They used up all the Earth's resources, and since they had quit learning, no one knew how to take care of the Earth anymore.  The Earth began to die."

     "Die?", the children gasped together.

     "What happened to the humans?", Agog asked, his voice now a whisper.

     The teacher continued, "There were a group humans who tried to get the others to stop being narcissists.  These humans did everything they could think of to make the inhabitants of Earth stop looking at themselves.  They tried to explain that what they were doing was wrong and they tried to teach them to take care of each other.  But, the others would not listen."

     "There came a time when there were only 100 humans left on the planet, who were trying to make things right again.  They were vastly outnumbered and since they were the only ones who knew how to take care of each other, they moved to a region that the other humans had forgotten about.  It was in a valley, between those mountains up ahead, that we found them."

.......to be continued..........

        

     

     


     

      

       

     

Now or Later?

     Runtly, the dog, and I walk the same two blocks everyday.  It is a neighborhood I have known for over fifty years.....half of a century.  As I walk past the homes, there is a memory associated with each one.  

     This two block radius now has six empty houses, that are no longer homes.  Mother always said there was nothing harder on a house than for it to sit empty.  I agree.  A houseful of children can in no way equal the wrath brought about by emptiness.  This is just a small area of town, there are many more empty houses and homes that have been on the market for months.

     This small town, like so many others across this nation, is dwindling.  I remember a time when it supported two grocery stores, a hardware store, three restaurants, a dry cleaner, a movie theater, five & dime store, three gas stations (where they actually pumped the gas for you) and thirteen hairdressers. 

     As I make this several times a day journey, it brings me to something I've been trying to make a decision about.  Downsizing.
Not just downsizing, but getting rid of everything and hitting the road.  Traveling the country in a home on wheels, taking my business and my writing on the road.  Some days it sounds and feels like a grand plan.  Other days.....not so much.

     It's difficult to walk through the house I've lived in for almost my entire life and think of leaving it.  It is equally difficult to walk through the yard, my sanctuary, that I have toiled endless hours over and to realize it will never look like this again.  That there is no one who will love this place like I do.

     I mull this thought over and then shift gears into overdrive and listen to the Voice tell me, "Oh, but what a great adventure lies before you."  I've ignored the Voice many times, but this time I think I should listen and listen well.

     The old church hymn, The Old Rugged Cross, probably says it best with the phrase, "when my trophies at last I lay down".  So, do I lay them down now, or let our kids do it later?  If you have ever had to go through your parents belongings, the answer should be obvious.

     

What's The Norm?

     Dad had four siblings, three older sisters and a younger brother. I am the youngest of this generation's children.  Being fifty SOMETHING for a while longer, I have many memories of the Fab Five.

     They always got together, several times a year, throughout their entire lives.  This being the case, all of their children, my cousins, knew each other from an early age.  

     There were times when one or two of Dad's sisters, usually the original Lela and Blanche, would take one, two, five or more of their nieces and nephews for the entire weekend.  We would spend those days at the cabin on the river or at one of their homes and there was never a lack of entertainment.  Sometimes we played cards, sometimes we fished and one time I remember we went hunting.  

     Lela's husband, Uncle Wally, was a back woodsman born in the wrong era.  He should have been best buds with Daniel Boone.  He took us out into the woods to go rabbit hunting.  There was a bit of snow on the ground, but we didn't care.  If you got to go someplace with Uncle Wally, it didn't matter where.  There we were, at least five of us, probably under the age of twelve, tromping through the woods with a man carrying a shotgun.  We were in heaven.  

     I can remember this event like it was yesterday.  I was wearing my older sister's coat, one she had left at the house while she was living on the other side of the planet.  A beautiful tan wool, double breasted, trench coat with a fur collar.  Uncle Wally would call out for us to stop, take the shot, and then I would pack the rabbit.  For some reason, when we got back to the house, Mother was not pleased with the blood stains all down the front of the coat.

     This was the family I grew up with.  A family that, even though they had their moments, got along with each other.  They are all gone now and I miss them.  I never knew that there were families that did not speak to each other.  I never knew kids whose parents were divorced.  I thought our family was normal.

     Then again, I grew up in a house with a galley style kitchen and a long kitchen table that was attached to the wall, a mother who always peeled fresh tomatoes and once threw a turkey carcass out the kitchen window.....who am I to say what's normal?

I Was Wondering

     Some days there is no blog material floating in my brain and today seemed to be one of them.  I did have an idea, but it is a topic I've written about many times before and I feel like I'm beating a dead horse.

     There is a stack of newspapers by my chair, where my husband puts them when he is finished reading.  I have not read them in as many days as there are papers stacked.  I picked the top one up this morning and scanned through it, wondering if some creative topic would give me a call to action.

     Yesterday while I was taking a break on the back deck, I could hear them approaching.  Two young boys, maybe around the ages of 10 or 12.  They were talking to each other and before they came in to sight, I think I heard the F-bomb dropped about ten times.  Runtly, the dog, was also on the deck  and when he finally heard them, he began his big bad dog bark.  I heard the word 'dog' mentioned in the conversation and I thought to myself, "Yeah, drop the F-bomb on my dog".  The boys spotted me about the same time as they saw the dog and the conversation turned into, "Oh, look at the cute little doggie".  I smiled at them and they continued on down the alley, resuming their F-bomb dropping conversation.  

     This always bothers me, the fact that they had no qualms about using that kind of language knowing I could hear it.  I'm not a prude, I remember very well what it was like to be young, daring, disruptive.  But, I will not pass up the opportunity to call someone out on disrespectful behavior, a trait that may someday lead to my demise.  I wondered how they got through a day in school without getting into trouble.  I wondered if that was common place in their home.

     The article that caught my eye in the paper was the never ending battle of the fast food joints and raising the minimum wage.  I'm not going to get into the logistics of how that works and does not work.  The article mentioned a man who had worked for the fast food industry giant for 32 years and was still making less than nine dollars an hour.  That in itself is sad, if you have that kind of dedicated employee, which are few and far between anymore, then for crying out loud, pay them more.  But I was wondering if maybe there was a greater story to be told with this particular individual. He had obviously learned how to live within his means.  He probably understood the value of his earnings better than most.  I wondered about his lifestyle and imagined it was simple and not filled with a lot of material things. I wondered if he had ever had a credit card, or two, that were maxed out and bet he did not.  I wondered if he had a savings account and how much was in it.  I envisioned him as being kind and respectful to his customers, probably having known many of them for years and had watched their children grow into adults.

     This instant gratification society we live in has created far more damage than meets the eye. The ideas of hard work, being diligent, being respectful and saving for a rainy day are becoming obsolete.  I do not look forward to the day I stand in line, smiling nicely to the young man on the other side of the counter and hear the words, "Here's your F'n cheeseburger".

     

Dog Walks

     Runtly is nearly seven months old.  The guide book I have for Jack Russell Terriers says it can take up to eight months to potty train them.  It also says that the reason for this is because it takes them that long to decide if they want to follow your plan.   Runtly has not let the author of the book down.

     It's getting better, but I don't think I have trained him, I think he has trained me.  I'm just now recognizing the signal he gives when he needs to go out.  I tried the bell on a string by the door idea. There are bells at the front and back door.  I only had to show him once how to ring them.  Since then, he rings the bells when we go out.........and he rings the bells when we come back in.  

     Being a gift, Runtly came with a retractable 16 foot leash, so when we walk, he can go hither and yon without yanking my arm out of the socket.  He is very smart, he can sit, shake, lay down, roll over, stand on his back legs, and hop like a bunny.  Heel and stay, not so much and the few times he has been off the leash, it becomes a no holds barred competition with all learning going out the window.   I never quite appreciated the retractable part of the leash until it broke.  Walking him with sixteen feet of loose leash ends up with his legs being tangled about every ten feet of walking distance.  I resorted to the short six foot leash and that was a nightmare for both of us since we could not get far enough away from each other to enjoy the outing.  Between potty breaks, I purchased a new retractable leash.

     We walk the same path every day.  Runtly does not care to get too far from home, unless he thinks he is going to his mother's house.  She is never glad to see him, but he hasn't figured that out yet.  We walk around the block several times a day and for Runtly it is an endless adventure.  There is always a new scent for him to sniff or a new article to carry.  It doesn't matter if it is a stick, candy wrapper, dryer sheet or a flat toad carcass, every time I look at him, he has something new in his mouth.

     I remember years ago, the commercial for the anti-litter campaign.  An old Indian chief, standing along side of the road, with a tear running down his cheek.  He was sad because someone threw a bunch of trash out the car window.  I was thinking it might be a good idea to bring that commercial back.  But, if that were to happen someone would be upset that it was not politically correct, someone would protest and then there would be riots in the streets.

     Maybe I will start carrying two bags.  One for the trash and one for Runtly's donation.

Double D's

     The dictionary app  gives the definition of 'advise' as counsel.  I was told not too long ago that I should be a counselor.  Well, I'm not planning on going back to school for a plaque that states I'm a counselor, or have a degree in B.S., so all my counseling is just going to spew from my fingertips.....and besides that, it's free.

      I've mulled this topic over all day, even into the wee hours of the night.  Should I or should I not?  What the heck, I'm going for it.  I thought about going into great detail on each topic, but then I remembered the glazed eye look that my kids would get when I impounded them with too much information so I'll be brief and to the point.

     I blog a lot about my personal life.  I figure that a personal blog is like an online diary.  I do not have many skeletons in my closet. The reason for that is twofold.  One, I can not give counsel if I have not experienced something someone may be going through. Second, I don't like skeletons, so I rattle the bones around and toss them out.

     The double D's stand for death and divorce.  If you thought it was something else, sorry 'bout that.  Death and divorce are a lot alike.  They entail someone leaving, never coming back and someone left behind.  

     Death in itself is like a wake up call, a slap in the face.  We tend to get out the list of things we've always wanted to do and try to check them off as fast as possible.  After all, you never know when your number may come up.

     Divorce is rarely an amicable process.  There is usually a lot of mud slinging before it's a done deal.  When there are kids involved, the parents have no idea the upset their children experience.

     One thing that would drastically cut the divorce rate by more than half is if the marriage had never happened in the first place. People contemplating marriage should be required to write an essay titled "My Idea of Married Life", then give it to the person they want to spend the rest of their life with.  It is probably safe to assume that, after reading each other's essays, there would be much room for serious discussion.

     The grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence, but, sometimes it is.  If you are in a marriage/relationship and you are miserable, do something about it.  Either try to find and fix the problem and, if it is un-fixable, get out.  Don't stick around telling yourself that waiting for the kids to grow up, before you leave, is a good idea.  My reasoning for this is because you have shown them that living in a loveless marriage, or a relationship where neither party can say anything nice about, or to, the other, is the norm, or just the way it is. When the rug is yanked out from under them when they are almost adults, it takes a long time for their heads to stop spinning.

     My number one golden rule for marriage, when there are children involved, is never put your kids before your spouse.  If you are doing that, stop now.  Your children, in most cases, are only with you for a short time.  When they leave the nest, you may find yourself with a partner you no longer know and one that no longer cares.

     My first marriage was a disaster from the beginning.  EVERYONE knew it would be and I'm sure that we "knew" it too.
If you find yourself standing at the alter and somewhere in the back of your mind a voice is saying, "Run Forest, run!", by all means, run.....like the wind.  Do not worry about all the plans made, money spent and gifts received, they are an easy fix.  There are worse things than 'death do us part' and divorce is one of them.

     Been there, done that.........shoulda' run.

Dog Day Dilemmas

     A friend of mine tells a story about a mission trip he and his wife took to South America.  While there, a huge spider, common to that region, was in their quarters.  As everyone gathered to get a closer look, one of the locals called out "They jump!"  I think of this story every time some one meets Runtly, the Jack Russell Terrier, for the first time.  I have to warn them....... he jumps.  

     Runtly has now passed the age of 6 months and is nearly full grown.  He is true to his breed, full of endless energy.  He can go from zero to 60 mph in under two seconds and when he kicks in the turbo boosters, he looks like a white bullet.  And.......he jumps.

     He not only jumps straight up and down, he has now mastered being able to ricochet off of a counter stool to land in the middle of the kitchen island.  While all this is quite humorous, it also causes some panic.

     The guide book, Jack Russell Terriers for Dummies, states that this breed of dog has a tendency to forget where they are.  If they are on top of something high and their focus is distracted, they can literally walk off the edge and fall.  

     Our back deck, where I do my domain surveying, is about eight feet wide by ten feet long.  Not huge, but just the right size for four chairs and a small table.  A 2x6 graces the railing on the long sides and its main purpose is for Tigger, the cat, to have a place to lounge.   It also provides Tigger with an escape route when he has had enough of Runtly, or when he simply wants to drive the dog crazy while waltzing around the deck, just above Runtly's head.

     We were sitting out on the deck the other afternoon when the grip of panic happened.  Runtly got into one of the chairs, jumped and landed on top of the railing.  This would not be such a big deal except for the fact that the top of the railing is nearly nine feet off the ground.  Fortunately, my husband was sitting close by and was able to catch Runtly before he exited stage left, into thin air.  About five minutes later, he did it again and I caught him that time.  

     We tried moving the chairs to the center of the deck, which totally ruins their function, and that did not work.  Now, they are stacked up, one on top of the other, and placed far enough away from the railing to keep Runtly from taking flight.

     The above mentioned book also states that if a fence is put up to keep a JRT within a certain area, it needs to be at least five feet tall and buried twelve inches in the ground.  I do not relish the idea of having to make the back deck look like a giant baby crib, but I do not relish the idea of having a dog with broken legs either.  

     We have discussed many options as to what to do, from chicken wire (bleck) to lattice (double bleck), none of which sound appealing to the eye, or very user friendly for Tigger.  Hopefully some idea will come to us soon.  

     The weirdest part of this whole thing is that there is a two foot tall baby gate that keeps Runtly from going down the steps from the deck.  He never jumps over it.

Odd Things

     An odd thing happened this morning whilst I was standing on the back deck, surveying my domain.  Tigger, the cat, has been feeling feisty the last couple of days and I suppose that is because the weather has cooled off some.  There's nothing like a nice cool morning to put him into Tigger Tiger Mode.  

     Out of no where, a large dog appeared from behind the neighbor's garage.  I had never seen this dog before and he looked to be part boxer with a long tail.  Needless to say, I feared for Tigger.  He doesn't like dogs, except for Runtly, and he usually makes a fast get away to hide under the pool deck.  Tigger had spied the dog too and I watched him, waiting for his great escape.
To my horror, Tigger swelled up and began the sideways spider walk down the sidewalk, towards the dog.  I was thinking this was not going to be pretty and all that would be left of Tigger was a lot of yellow fur drifting in the wind.  I called to him, but, he paid me no mind.  The dog, who made about six of the cat, was just as dumbfounded as I was and took off down the alley.....with Tigger in hot pursuit.  

     I could not even follow, for fear of what I would be witness to.  A few minutes later, Tigger returned, his tail still about the size of a ball bat, but his mission had been accomplished.  The dog was gone......odd indeed.

     Several weeks ago, I went to a friends' house who was hosting a psychic, for a reading.  Now, before you get all "Heaven Forbid!" on me, let me briefly explain something.  I used to carry that banner, but in the last few years, I've had a change of heart......and Mother had this 'gift', but that is a story for another day.  Anyway, during the reading, which wasn't too eventful, I asked the lady if she could find a missing set of keys.  These were not my keys, but a friends and they needed desperately to find them.  I had been shown, during the previous night's sleep, that they were up against something yellow. The psychic told me they were wedged in something.  I asked her if the 'something' was yellow and with a look of surprise, she said it was.  I relayed this information to my friend and within about 30 minutes, they called to say they had found them wedged way down in the seat of their truck up against the yellow upholstery foam.

     Yesterday, this same friend sent me a message that she had lost one of her favorite earrings and could I help.  As I was answering her text, I immediately 'heard' "the post broke off the back of the earring".  Then I 'saw' the earring laying on some rocks.  Again, I relayed the information.  They found the earring.....the post was broken and they found it laying in gravel......odd indeed..... I've looked for two days and still can not locate my glasses.

     I often mention the Voice that lives in my head.  I've always thought it was just me talking to myself, but now I'm not so sure. The Voice actually has a form and when the Dairy Queen commercial came out, with the large talking mouth, I was amused because that is very much what the Voice looks like.  It does have eyes, that it rolls quite often and stick arms and legs.  It also wears shoes and has a large collection.. 

     I woke up the other morning and the first thought that hit me was that I had forgot to buy my lottery ticket.  I grabbed my phone and did a search for the winning numbers, figuring I might as well get the agony over with early.  Whew, was I relieved that my numbers had not been picked.  I do not gamble, that takes a healthy dose of understanding mathematics, which I do not possess and the ability to have no emotional ties to the bet.  I just play the same numbers each time because my husband always says, "Somebody's got to win it, might as well be us." 

     Winning the lottery would solve a multitude of problems but, in the long run,  would probably cause even more.  The Voice told me this morning that I already had the winning numbers.  "Yeah, right", I told it.  "No, really", it replied, "I'll write them down."  Although I thought it was awfully early in the day to be wearing stilettos, the Voice strutted over to the counter and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.  I glanced over its shoulder, waiting anxiously for the six winning numbers to appear, but what I saw were not numbers at all.  The Voice had written down six titles.  Six titles, to six books, that are stuck in my head.   When it was finished, the Voice put the pen down, did a 180 degree spin effortlessly on one spike heel and headed towards the door.  It stopped just before making its exit and said, "The rest is up to you."

     Odd indeed.......now, where are my glasses?

     


      

What's It Going to Take?

     In general, laws are a good thing.  They are meant to be for the betterment of society, to keep things rolling smoothly.  Then there are laws made that make people shake their head.  I refer to these as the BWLACS laws; Because We've Lost All Common Sense.

     Most of these laws were meant to keep us safe.  For instance, the car seat law.  That is a good one, but I've always thought that whoever created it, did not have any children.  Riding for an hour with a screaming child strapped in a car seat is not for the weak of heart.  Then there is the seat belt law, to save us from ourselves.  I've always been a stickler for this one, I can't back the car out of the garage to drive it fifty feet and park in the driveway without putting on my seat belt.  It is now illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving.  This one is a perfect example of BWLACS.

     When I drive to the county seat, a whopping 8 miles from home, I rarely turn on the radio.  Sometimes I do and sing "Uptown Funk" at the top of my lungs, but for the most part, the radio is off.  The main reason I do this is because I prefer to drive defensively.  If I meet ten cars between home and my destination, I can safely bet that eight of those drivers have their faces looking downwards. They are not checking to see if their shoes match or whether or not they zipped their pants.  They are looking at their cell phone, either reading a text, sending a text or checking their social media app.
It's very disturbing to meet that many people hurling a ton or two of steel down the road at 60 mph and realize they are not looking as to where they are going.  Meeting an eighteen-wheeler with the driver doing this is the reason I color my hair.

     The other evening as I was walking Runtly around the block, for the umpteenth time, a young girl drove by.  She was looking down and the glow from her cellphone illuminated the driver's side of her car and her down turned face.  She had no clue there was someone out walking.  She would have never seen a young person on a bicycle, an approaching vehicle from a side street, or someone's pet crossing the road.

     What is it going to take to get people to understand that driving a vehicle is something that requires their undivided attention?  How many more lives are going to be lost from answering something as trivial as "Whatcha doin?", or updating their most recent social media post?  

     I do not know the answer, but I think there may be another BWLACS law in the making.  It will need to state that it is illegal to carry a cellphone in a moving vehicle unless said phone is locked in a steel safe mounted securely in the trunk.

Remembering the Good Ole Days

     While pondering the age old question, 'what's for supper?', my mind traveled back to a time when I was about 7 years old.....many, many moons ago.  

     Mother had to have some kind of surgery on her foot and the hospital was at least an hours drive from home.  This was long before the days of out patient surgery where they slice, dice, staple and send you home.  This surgery required a three day stay.

     A three day stay meant that Dad and I would be on our own.  Being the WAY youngest of three, sisters Lela and Blanche had already left the nest.  Dad had to work and I was in school so there was no time for running back and forth to visit Mother.  

     At the tender age of seven and not having a worry in the world, I thought this sounded like a great adventure.  My first quest was to sleep in the folks bed.

     The first night I realized that my dad snored.  He did not just snore, he raised the roof completely off the house.  I tried everything I could think of to block out the noise.  I put my fingers in my ears, that didn't work.  I wrapped the pillow around my head, but the sound of fifteen chainsaws made its way through the feathers.  I finally gave up and went to my own room.  

     The second night, I had a plan.  I would go to bed and hour early.  Dad probably thought that was pretty funny since getting me to go to bed on a school night was like pulling teeth.  I slammed my eyes shut and summoned sleep, but it was not to be.  I went back to my own room again and the third night I didn't even try.

     During our three day hiatus, Dad had to cook.  This was something I had never seen him do.  He brought out the sandwich grill and began to rummage through the pantry and the frig.  Mom's sandwich grill was long before the days of George Foreman.  It had a pair of flat steel plates, absolutely no non-stick coating and boy oh boy, did that thing get hot.  This must have been a high tech appliance, back in the day, because it also had a pair of waffle plates.  I saw Mother use them once......I also saw her chiseling burnt waffles out of those plates with a screwdriver.

     Dad gathered all the ingredients he could find and set about to concoct something for supper.  He had bread, butter, peanut butter and hot dogs.  I can remember laughing and him assuring me that it would be the best sandwich ever.  He sliced the hot dogs lengthwise and placed them inside the peanut butter sandwiches, buttered the outside of the bread and tossed them on the grill.  We ate them for three days and to this day, it's one of my favorite sandwiches.   It was a Saturday morning when we  went to get Mother from the hospital.  We left an hour early and stopped at a hamburger joint called Sandy's.  I think we each had five burgers, poor Dad, he must have been about starved to death.

     Although my husband does not share some of my culinary delights, I'm thinking grilled hot dog and peanut butter sandwiches might be the answer for the age old question.

Planting & Growing

     Last summer I built a compost bin.  It is a large 55 gallon barrel that sits in a stand and can be rolled by hand.  It did not look like there was much in it, but I decided to give it another spin or two before emptying it and starting the process all over again.

     Unfortunately, when I tried to spin it, the lid came open and I had to scoop most of it off the ground, but, to my delight, I ended up with almost ten gallons of fabulous looking, homegrown compost.  I can hardly wait to mix it into my homegrown potting soil recipe and fill the flower pots.  I usually get a little carried away with my flowers.....springtime has that affect on me.  After a long cold winter, most folks are ready to see some color, and it just wouldn't feel right if I didn't get to hear my husband say "Don't you get tired of watering all those?", every year.

     With several days of rain in the forecast, I decided the garden needed cleaned, the yard mowed, the compost bin filled and to "getter' done" in one day.  When I woke up this morning, I felt as if I had been run over by a Mack truck.

     The compost bin is supposed to be filled with layers.  Browns, leaves, small twigs and greens, self explanatory.  It is also a good idea to add some cow manure to the greens.  This helps to make a nourishing finished product.  I had plenty of browns and a large pile of greens but was missing what I felt like was the key ingredient.  I sent my son-in-law a text asking if he would inquire of his cousin, a farmer, if I could gather some cow patties.  The response I received was, "Sure, but he said if you take one, you have to take them all!"

     This small town I call home sits in the middle of farm country.  The cow patties were less than three blocks from my house.  Since it was Sunday and the traffic is nearly zero, Runtly, the Jack Russell Terrier (aka terrorist) had spent the better part of the day outside with me without a leash. He was being a pretty good dog, other than falling in the garden pond.....again.....which was par for the course.  The night before I had given him a bath....the first bath he'd had in over two weeks.....at least he was clean for about eight hours.  I told my husband that Runtly and I were off in search of cow patties and would return shortly.  I thought too, this would be the perfect opportunity for Runtly to run full bore through an open field.  

     As I drove down the lane, I realized the cattle had been moved to another location and figured that was probably a good thing.  I did not know who would be more traumatized by their presence, them or the dog.  The farmer keeps a couple of his hunting dogs at this place and they looked up lazily as I parked, but never made a sound.   I opened the car door and immediately lost one of my plastic shopping bags to the wind, surely two bags would be enough.  

     Runtly bounded out, nose to the ground and ran up and down the fence line while I opened the gate.  I had no more walked through the gate and called to him when one of the dogs bayed. With a look of terror in his eyes, Runtly took off in the opposite direction.  I'm standing there in the gold mine of cow patties, hanging on to the flapping shopping bags, with a small scoop in one hand and now the dog is MIA.  Thinking he surely would not go too far, I began the search for the perfect patty.  It did not take me long to realize the sun baked patties were much easier to pick up than the slightly fresh ones.  Not only that, it is really difficult to maneuver manure into a flapping plastic bag.

     With the bags full, I headed back to the car and still no Runtly in sight.  As I reached in to pop the trunk, there he was, hiding in the back seat.  His open field jaunt had consisted of about fifty feet.  We returned home and I started filling the compost bin.  When I turned to get one of the bags, Runtly was happily gnawing on one of the fresher patties.  Great, I thought, I'll get to see that again, and......... so I did.  

     Planting and growing season, one of my favorite times of the year.