Good Ideas

     The streets in this new place sparkle like diamonds.  Even the parking lots glitter like dancing jewels when the sun shines on them.  I guess this is because of the large amounts of quartz in this area.  Whatever the reason, taking a drive on a sunny day, is always entertaining.  

     So far in our sojourn, we have only found one street that is not divided.  All the streets have some kind of medium that separates the lanes of traffic.  If your destination is on the opposite side of the street, figuring out how to get there can be a journey in itself.  But, we have watched the locals and it seems the very best maneuver, and most favorite, is the U-turn.  

     This makes the left turn lanes and interesting place to be.  We have learned that it is of the most utmost importance to pay attention to the vehicle in front of us.  Just because they are in the left turn lane does not mean they are actually turning left, many are getting ready to make a Uie.  Since the left lane turn signals only stay green for a short amount of time, everyone hits the gas pedal like they are at a NASCAR race.  Just about the time we are ready to make our flight across the intersection, the person in front slams on the brakes and makes a Uie.  

     This is surely the reason there are a lot of small pieces of  head and tail lights at nearly every intersection.  This has also given me thought to solve the problem.  Since most automobiles on the roads these days have a third brake light, allow me to introduce the U-turn signal.  This contraption, shaped like a capital U and approximately six inches tall, could be placed right under the third brake light in the back window.  It would have to have a separate switch and I think placing that by the hazard lights would work.  Of course, it would have to be turned off manually and this glitch would probably mean that we would have to endure following a vehicle for miles with their U-turn blinker blinking.  We'd never know which way they were planning on going, but I still think it's a good idea.

     Having waited until the cupboard looked like Old Mother Hubbard's, I set off for the big box store.  I do enjoy the opportunity to peruse the isles of the different grocery stores here, but since I needed some supplies and groceries, I chose the one-stop-shop.

     I always park at the far end of the parking lot.  I do this for two reasons.  One, the truck I drive is really long and does not fit easily into the small designated slots in the lot.  Since the back side of the lots rarely have anyone parked in them, I can take up two spaces. The second reason is because I need the exercise.   As I walk the distance to the store, the last thing I do is check to see what row number I'm in.  There's a special reason for that, but that is fodder for another day.

     I think I must have been in the store for two hours.  Since I did not take a list, I walked up and down each grocery isle, scanning the shelves to see if there was something I needed.  When I finally got through the checkout lane and headed out the door with my shopping cart about to runneth over, I discovered something I had not noticed before.  Not only had I parked at the far end of the lot, it was all uphill from where I stood. 

     I thought to myself that this was going to be some good, long sought after, exercise.  About half way up the hill, I began to have second thoughts.  At one point I thought I might have to start yelling "Help!" as I believed the shopping cart might start rolling backwards.  In my mind, I could see me lying flat on the pavement, small tire marks across my body, while the cart picked up speed as it headed back towards the store and all my recent purchases flying out with each bump.  When I finally reached the truck, I was in a full body stretch with my hands gripped to the cart handle and my toes digging into the asphalt.  

     I woke up the next morning and thought all was fine....until I got out of bed.  I was beginning to think the end was near because it felt like I had been kicked in the chest by a wild stallion.  Then I remembered the shopping cart workout.  Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

The Very Nature of Things

     During the recent March madness of college basketball, those who were glued to the screen saw a lot of competition.  There was a prize to be won, a title to earn and a trophy to claim.

     The dictionary defines competition as: the act of competing; rivalry for supremacy, a prize, etc.  a contest for some prize, honor or advantage.

     Here in the South, there was even a competition between man and nature.  I called it North Carolina P. vs. California D. aka, pollen vs. duster.  When the millions of southern pine trees produce pollen, everything is yellow.  It covers the streets, sidewalks and one of the most noticeable fixtures would be vehicles.  It does not matter what color the car is, during pollen season, it is yellow.  This did not sit well with my husband, the car nut, aka, clean car nut.  He has in his possession a tool called a "California Duster".  It is a hand held dust mop.  It's long strings are treated with something that makes it catch and hold dust and it seems, the dirtier it gets, the better it works.  So, everyday, during the reign of pollen, he would retrieve said mop and dust off his truck.  The next morning, it looked just like it had before he started.  I mentioned to him that I thought he was fighting a loosing battle, but he was not to be outdone.  In his own mind, he did reign supreme, but, I think the trees were just done doing their thing.

     Of course, without competition in the business world, there would not be the plethora of products available to us.  Even in the cottage cheese business there is competition.  Not only are there many brands to choose from, but I have discovered that two of the bigger grocery store chains, who have their own name brand of cottage cheese, have something else going on with it.  The lids do not interchange with each others cottage cheese containers!  I always figured there was some person sitting on a beautiful white sandy beach, sipping a drink that had a little umbrella in it, watching the waves roll in, who had the monopoly on the cottage cheese container.  Not so.  Since I use above mentioned containers, instead of the pricey plastic ones, to store leftovers in, I have my own competition in the kitchen trying to find a lid that will fit.

     Competitiveness is alive and well in the natural world too.  Most species compete for a mate or a particular territory.  Anyone who has raced two horses back to the barn, has felt the surge of power beneath them when one horse thinks the other might pass.

     Competition is everywhere, it is the thing that makes things tick.  It lies at the very heart of the human spirit.  Without it, no one would have ever picked up a basketball, a golf club or a bat.  There would not be weekends of watching race cars fly around a track and cottage cheese would have never left the farm.

     

Where Everyone Gets Along.......Sorta

     To the south lies Big Pond.  Its shape is almost square and two sides are lined with loblolly pine trees while the other two sides are open, with grassy banks.  The pond, and its surroundings, is teaming with wildlife.  There are tadpoles, by the hundreds, maybe even thousands, and the water ripples constantly from their continual dance to the surface for a gulp of air.  A piece of bread, tossed on the water's surface, reveals a flurry of hungry sunfish. Sometimes, the bread is bigger than the fish and they will gang up, to tug off a tiny morsel.

     There are lots of turtles and they look like the kind many of us baby boomers had as a pet, until someone came along and said we could get salmonella from them.  Most of these turtles are bigger than those we plucked from an aquarium in a department store, many moons ago, and they scramble to the water when they hear someone, or thing, approaching.  But, they are curious creatures, as they will usually resurface just a few feet from the shore, to see what all the racket was about.  

     The loblollies are alive with grey squirrels.  Since the trees grow so close together, a squirrel chase can go on...and on.....and on. There are countless species of birds, some familiar and some not and their morning chorus masks the fact that a large metropolis surrounds their woodland habitat.  Among the birds are red shouldered hawks that call out to each other as they navigate the maze of tree limbs, like skilled fighter pilots, usually looking for a lower species of their genus, for a meal.

     Big Pond has ducks, the occasional heron and Canadian geese.  According to the locals, the pair of geese who have claimed Big Pond as their own, have been here for a long time.  

     All these creatures, in this small space, live in harmony....for the most part.  But, Spring has sprung and with its arrival has come the time for the birds and bees to do their thing and bring new life into the world.  With the geese, it is a time of much honking and staking out their territory.  Even though the pair of geese on Big Pond have been together for several seasons, that does not discourage a new, younger, suitor from taking his chances of luring Ms. Goose away or taking Big Pond for himself.

     For the casual observer, this is the only time to be able to distinguish the male from the female.  Mr. Goose has no intentions of being de-throned and if a newbie is brave enough to put his webbed foot onto the surface of Big Pond, it is a declaration of war.
Geese have a tendency to be a bit crabby, but when it's nesting season, all rules and regulations, pertaining to geese, go right out the window. 

     Mr. Goose is a fighter and has obviously picked up some good techniques during his lifetime.  This was a certainty when we watched him nearly drown his most recent challenger.  When Mr. Goose returned to his beloved, in a most victorious mode, he extended his long neck and gave off a sound that was reminiscent of the long, plastic, raspberry horns......my Dad blew one of those at a referee during a basketball game one time....which resulted in him receiving a technical from said referee......but, that is blog fodder for another day.  Anyway, with another notch in his wing, Mr. & Ms. Goose honked together, to let it be known, Big Pond was still theirs and Ms. Goose wasn't going anywhere.

     The human race could learn a lot by observing the law and order in the natural world.  Instead, man saw fit to put a honking mechanism on his mode of transportation and the blaring of horns are used for many a triumphant acclamation.  I discovered this first hand the other day, when I made a right turn on a red light. The maneuver was perfectly legal and I was sure I had checked all manner of traffic flow.  Obviously I missed one, because no sooner had I turned, a young woman in a little car was right on the back bumper of the truck, laying on the horn.  I honestly do not know where she came from, but she was making sure I knew she was there.  I glanced in the rear view mirror and she was still honking at me.  She finally threw both arms up in disgust, while mouthing some indistinguishable words, and swerved into the next lane.  As she got next to me, the idea of telling her she was number one crossed my mind, but I thought better of it.  I just want to get along with folks..... and still keep my piece of the pond.   

     

     

     

Heaven's Chains

     It was Christmas break, 2007.  At that time we were in the student transportation business and the time off for the holidays was always a welcomed event.

     My husband left that morning, like he did everyday, to make sure all the buses were in good working order.  When he left, I noticed the music playing.

     Our children had given my husband an under the cabinet combination radio, CD player for Christmas.  He had wasted no time installing it in the kitchen.  The man likes his music.  I, on the other hand, rarely have music playing in the background.  I attribute this to the fact that there is usually a loop feed of some song playing in my head and I just listen to it.  Right now, it's "Once I was seven years old.....".  I thought about getting out of my chair and turning the radio off, but my mind drifted to another place and I left it on.

     I don't think I had ever been so sad in my entire life.  Mother had been gone nearly four months.  It did not seem possible.  Her passing had left me with a vacancy in my soul that I didn't think would ever be filled again.  I sat in my chair, book in hand and began to read.  I was reading a book by psychic medium, John Edward, titled The Other Side.  I had been a fan of John Edward for quite awhile, so his stories were not something new to me.  

     I was just finishing a chapter in the book about a man who had gone to John for a reading.  This man wanted to know if his father, who had passed, was at his wedding.  The man said someone told the DJ, at the wedding reception, to play a song different from the one that had been prearranged for the Mother/Son dance.  He took the DJ around the reception hall, looking for the man who told him to change the song, but the man was nowhere to be found.  He finally asked the DJ to describe the man to him and the DJ described this man's father to a tee.  

     The song that was played was, Wind Beneath My Wings.  That song had been this man's parent's song.  The information the man was looking for did not come through in the reading.  The man and his wife left the reading and went to their car.  He said while they sat there, they could feel the presence of his father.  When he turned the key to start the car, Wind Beneath My Wings was playing on the radio.

     I put the book in my lap and just sat there, thinking about Mom. Suddenly, I felt something.  It felt like static electricity in the air.  I looked at my arm and could literally see the hairs beginning to stand on end.  I uttered out loud, "What the h....." and that's when I heard it.  My head snapped up and I stared across the kitchen at the radio.  The first words I heard were, "Did you ever know that you're my hero?"......Wind Beneath My Wings was playing.

     I recently wrote about finding feathers.  Feathers have a significant meaning to my family.  They let us know that we are never truly alone and our loved ones who have passed are never truly gone.  My oldest daughter had the first feather encounter and she knew they were from one of her dearest friends who had passed a little over one year ago.  Her finding led me to find a feather the very next day.  I was then inspired to write "Tale Feathers".  When the friends' mother read it, she shared the following with me:

     "Interesting that you should post this article today.  I am in a hotel at a conference this week.  I was in the bathroom Monday morning, fixing my hair, when a white feather floated down beside me.  I picked it up, pondering the meaning, then laid it on the silver tray on the sink.  I left the bathroom and got dressed.  When I returned, the feather was gone and I was unable to find it anywhere.  The next day, at the conference, I received a surprise award that my family attended without my prior knowledge.  I then knew where that feather came from and why."

     At the precise moment she told me this, I found another white feather identical to the first one.  I have done a tremendous amount of walking in this new place of residence and those were the first feathers I have seen.......and believe me when I say, when you live in an area where there are many dogs and the many of the owners of said dogs do not clean up after them, you always walk with your head down.

     There is no sense of time on the other side of the veil.  Things that are past, present and future are all rolled into one.  This gives way to the Heavenly chain of events that take place, in order to let us know, that love is eternal. 

Tale Feathers

     A book titled, "Into The Light" by John Lerma M. D. is a favorite of mine and my family.  One of the many stories it contains is about a priest who had been entered into hospice.

     Throughout his life, the priest had the opportunity to travel extensively.  Whenever he found a feather, he would keep it and place it in a large glass jar in his study. He said the feathers were reminders that God's angels were always present.

     Upon his death, the hospice nurses reported that a sphere of bright white light danced around the room before shooting upward and out the window.  Then, the room was full of white feathers.  It was also reported that the feathers from the large jar in his study were strewn all over the room at he precise time of his death.

   Since reading that story, finding a feather now has a significant meaning.  I started my own collection and even the grandchildren will come with a new found feather to add to the jar.

     Our oldest daughter shared a recent experience with me.  She and her husband were sitting on their front porch when, out of nowhere, five white feathers drifted down around them.  It is pretty safe to say there are few, if any, all white birds in the area and the feathers held a special message for her.  She said they made her smile.

     After a North Carolina downpour, I took the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, Runtly, out for a walk.  The street was covered in damp piles of pine needles that resembled motionless waves where they had washed down from the hill side.  The air was clean and crisp and full of the promise of Spring.  Imagine my delight when I glanced down and there, along side of the curb, laid a beautiful white feather.  It was in pristine condition and not the slightest bit wet.  Since I had left my original feather collection behind, I decided to start a new one and this was a perfect specimen to begin with.

     When I arrived back at the apartment, I placed the feather on the table and took a picture of it.  I then sent the picture to my oldest daughter and we were both overjoyed to have such close, 'back to back' feather experiences.  

     A few minutes later, I went to retrieve the feather and it was gone.  I looked on the floor and it was nowhere to be found.  Was this some sort of miraculous sign?  As I spun around to further my feather search, I noticed the above mentioned ever so entertaining Runtly.  He was ever so slyly stretched out on the back of the couch, with one hind leg dangling off the edge.  He looked at me as if to say, "You lookin' for this?"  That's when I saw the feather, hanging out of his mouth.

     It certainly was no longer in pristine condition, but I have it taped to the glass on the patio door.  Even in its mauled state, it can still be a reminder of "For He shall give his angels charge over thee..."


     

     

Holy Guacamole

     The Voice, that lives inside my head, walked into the small galley style kitchen.  I was just going to glance at it, but when I did, the glance turned into a full blown, jaw dropping stare.

     The Voice was dressed in a chef's hat, full length apron and had oven mitts on each hand.  Not only that, it was wearing safety goggles and hip waders.  "Seriously?", I said.  "Good grief, it's deviled eggs.  What could possibly go wrong?"

     The Voice made an effort to raise its eyebrows under the goggles, then sauntered over to the corner and sat on the counter.  I ignored it and went on with a new, super easy, deviled egg recipe. Four ingredients....doesn't get much simpler than that.  

     Seven eggs had already been boiled and cooled.  All that remained was to remove them from their shells, slice them in half and save three of the yolks.  Then came the best part, an avocado.
I do love avocados and I could hardly wait to taste this new recipe. The other three  ingredients where cilantro, lime juice and a bit of chopped onion.

     After mashing the avocado and egg yolks together, I added the rest of the ingredients and stirred them together.  I found a colorful plate and arranged the egg halves on it, grabbed a spoon and filled each one with the, sure to be delicious, green mixture.  There was an optional ingredient, paprika, to be sprinkled on top, if so desired. Why, they wouldn't be deviled eggs without paprika and I shook the container of said spice over the top of the eggs.

     They were just lovely, although they did kind of put me in the mood for a Dr. Seuss book.  I grabbed my phone, took a picture of the eggs on the pretty plate and posted it on my favorite social media platform.  Then it was time for the taste test.  As I turned to place the dirty dishes in the sink, there it was......the onion.

     "SERIOUSLY?", I exclaimed and the Voice left the kitchen to go lounge on the deck.  I got out a clean bowl, scooped all the filling out of the eggs, chopped the onion and started over.  When I had them refilled, I noticed the paprika got smeared in the process so I added some more.  Satisfied that the eggs were right this time, I covered them with plastic wrap and stuck them in the refrigerator.

     I then proceeded to make a favorite dish we have enjoyed many times.  I had concocted this recipe myself and it called for a homemade taco seasoning.......something else I have made many times.  When I was done and had all the ingredients in the crock pot, I realized I had used the wrong measuring spoon for some of the spices.  I looked out the kitchen window towards the deck.  The Voice was sitting in a chair reading a book titled 'Why Some People Never Learn'.  I closed the blinds.

     Random thoughts roll through my head during the sleepless hours of the wee morning.  It was 3 a.m. and I could not think of Fred and Wilma Flintstone's neighbor's wife's name.  I could come up with Barney and that was it.  The next thought that drifted through was that of the eggs........they were still in the refrigerator....I had forgotten to get them out at supper time.

     Later in the morning, my husband remembered her name was Betty.  Barney and Betty had Bam Bam and Fred and Wilma had Pebbles.......And I had deviled eggs for breakfast.

Drivers, Dryers & Gratitude

     When riding in a vehicle, the passenger always has the advantage.  They can do many things at once while not having to worry about being behind the wheel.  The passenger can tell the driver how to drive, regardless of which seat they are sitting in. They can sleep, riding along with their mouth hanging open for other driver's amusement.  Probably the best thing about being the passenger is being able to take in all the sights and scenery.  They can gawk all around and do the occasional sucking in of the breath, when they see something they think is awesome.  This usually has a detrimental effect on the driver, but the passenger can always say, "Didn't you see that?!", knowing full well, the driver did not see it.

     The one disadvantage to being a passenger is not paying attention.  When I arrived in this new place, the largest metropolis North Carolina has to offer, I was amazed at how my husband navigated his way around the area.  This man, who before, would not drive 60 miles to the capital of Illinois because of the traffic, was now zipping around like he had been here forever.  "They drive crazy down here.", he told me, while driving.  He obviously did not see that my knuckles were white from hanging on to the arm rest, because from my view point, he was right there with the 'crazies'.

     My husband has mentioned, on more than one occasion, that he was amazed he had ever driven anywhere without my help.  With that in mind, I had to remind myself that he had been here for nearly a month and had gotten along quite well without my vehicular driving assistance.  I needed to pay attention to where we were going, not how we were getting there, because one day soon, I would be navigating these busy streets by myself.  It seemed like a daunting task at first, but I've finally learned the lay of the land and when in doubt, the navigation system on my cell phone sure comes in handy.

     I have no focal attachment to washers and dryers.  If the clothes get clean and the clothes get dry, I don't give a rat's pa-toot what the outside of the machine looks like.  It's not like they are going to sit in the living room to be used as a lamp stand.  The washing machine that we found had been left behind by a recent tenant. Why on earth they left it is beyond me, maybe they left in a mini van and it would not fit.  Regardless of why, it works like a charm and that is all that mattered to me.  

     I was extremely grateful for this washer of clothes, but, I must admit, having a clothes dryer would be another grateful experience. Wet clothes are really heavy, especially if they have to be packed  down the stairs, put in the back of a truck and then hauled into the laundry mat.  

     We drove to a place that sold used appliances on a Sunday morning, two hours before the NASCAR race was to start, and found a dryer. It wasn't pretty but the owner assured me it worked and that's all I needed to know.  We loaded the dryer into the back of the truck and set out for 'home'.  When we got out on the 4-lane beltway that surrounds the city, I asked my husband if he knew the way back and he said he did, so I turned the gps off.  As our exit was coming up, in less than a quarter mile, we were still in the far left hand lane.  

     I tried really hard not to suck in my breath when I exclaimed we were not going to make the exit.  The next thing I knew, we glided across three lanes of traffic and onto the exit ramp.  The dryer was still in the truck and my fingers were clenched deep into the upholstery.   "They drive crazy down here." echoed in my head.

     Getting the dryer up the flight of fifteen stairs went almost as well as the washing machine ordeal, albeit, this time we did not have a two-wheeled cart.  My husband took the lead, and I followed.  By the time we reached the top step I truly thought I might die.  My mind began to drift to the front page of a North Carolina newspaper,  Death by Dryer, the headlines would read.

     Twenty minutes later, with two minutes to go before the race started, the dryer was hooked up.  Like its new mate, it runs like a charm and I was indeed grateful to have lived to use it.