My dashboard snowman

I have a little snowman on the dashboard of my car. He doesn't reside there all year, just November through February or March (depending on March's weather).  I found him at a long ago rummage sale and had to get him. He's just a little, unassuming, white terry cloth snowman, three balls high and filled with beanbag type stuff.  Pipe cleaner arms, cloves for buttons, teeny black dots of some sort for eyes and a teeny carrot-looking thing for a nose - no mouth - wearing a faded little scarf.  Nothing much to look at.  . . . But he's magic!

Every November I put him on my car's dashboard, on top of a square of grippy stuff (that no-slide rubbery stuff you sometimes see in cupboards).  I set him securely upright, facing the inside of the car, looking ahead, between the front seats.
But he moves!  All by himself!  After a few trips in my car, I'll look over at him and there he is . . . staring at me!  And he's usually leaning forward toward me, too!  This year, though, he's kind of leaning back, away from me, but he's still got his beady little eyes on me!  I want to say "What?? I'm not driving that badly!", (and, okay, I often do).  If I put him back in his original position, within days, he's back to staring at me again!

I think if I put him facing the windshield, he'd somehow manage to turn around and look at me over his little snowman shoulder!

First Snow

My town got its first measurable snow yesterday and today. Depending on where you were in town, you got between a couple inches to only a dusting that is already gone as I write this.  My street got the dusting.

I remember first snows of my childhood. Why were those snows so much better, so much more magical than the snow I had to go out in to run some errands in this morning?  Where were the big, fluffy flakes, lazily floating down from .... who knew where?  Where was the snow I couldn't wait to get out in, to catch on my tongue and feel kiss my eyelids?  What was so different about the snow of my morning today? I would no more have thought of catching this snow on my tongue than I would have thought of licking it off my car (something, by the way, I've never done).  Did the snow change? Or did I? And how rather sad and disheartening it is to think that it is me that has changed.  Me that has lost the ability to see the magic and charm of a first snow, thinking instead of whether I should put warmer blankets on the bed and if I really needed to run these errands.

Maybe I should start by buying myself a silly, childlike hat. Something whimsical to wear when my inner child needs to be shaken awake. Maybe then I'll feel like going out to catch a flake or two on my eyelids and tongue.  Maybe I will.  Maybe on the second snow of the season.  . . . In the back yard.

Stray thoughts about books

The Disclaimer: These opinions and ramblings are my own, so take them with as many grains of salt as you like.

I don't go out of my way to read them, but some of the most fun books I've read are geared toward young adults.  I just picked one up today that sounded good, and when I looked at the library's spine info, there it was, "YA".  All the Harry Potter books were, I believe, for younger readers and probably the Twilight books as well - although that series wasn't my favorite. Belle annoyed the heck out of me. So did Edward, for that matter.

Of course, I've read some fantastic books geared for older readers, too. One can't live on Oreo cookies and milk all the time (huh??), and I probably read more of the older-geared genre than younger.  But for a quick read that moves right along (young adults must bore easily), it's hard to beat a good Young Adult book.

I like series books.  I like getting to know the main characters and all their quirks as the books go on, and love catching references to previous books in the series (which is why I read them in order whenever possible).   The Sookie Stackhouse series, by Charlaine Harris is nice, racy fun, and Kate White's Bailey Weggins books are also excellent; fun, kind of sexy murder mysteries that never give away "whodunit" until the very end (at least I never know).  Also, in case you're interested, the Kathleen Mallory series, by Carol O'Connell is very good.

And, finally, here are some other authors I have found to write very good books, whether horror, fantasy, mystery or more serious subjects:  Stephen King; Dean Koontz; Robert McCammon; Neil Gaiman; Frank Delany and Mary Ellis, who wrote the not-to-be-missed, The Turtle Warrior, a book that moved me to tears many times, and has stayed with me for many years.

The Whisper of Change

The Mountain Ash outside my computer room window is getting its berries. My first thought when I noticed it was that it was too early, but with my next thought I realized July is nearly over. The spring, and even the early summer flowers are long gone and the season of daylilies is upon us. I see them running riot in every yard in town, it seems. They grow like weeds - except where I'd like them to grow, of course.  The stores have baskets of mums for sale outside their doors and, inside, whole aisles are devoted to back to school stuff.  To me, it seems as if the schools have just let out, and I imagine it feels that way to a lot of kids, too.  Even the days are getting shorter, a minute or two a day, and now that I think of it, some of the "Summer birds" are gone from the feeder. I guess they must have moved on to wherever they go when Autumn approaches.

Oh, I know we still have a month or more of high heat and humidity, and I'm certainly not pulling out my cold weather clothes yet, but if you stop a moment and look around you, you can feel it.  Amid the simmering heat, the splashes and shouts of kids in neighborhood pools, and the savory smelling smoke of summer barbeque grills, is the cool whisper "Fall is coming".

Forever 19

There is a child living inside me, I swear there is. She's about 19 and isn't overweight, so she has me convinced I look good. She gets really mad, however, when she sees photographs of me (us) and sees only the older, heavy, outside person.  I've tried to convince her that's really what I look like, but she still isn't convinced and, therefore, neither am I.

 I don't think I'd have as much fun if I didn't let her out now and then, though.  She likes to make me do things, then hide behind the unassuming facade of a 59 year old housewife.  The other day I was at the movie theater, for instance, and was annoyed by a guy in the row ahead of me cracking his gum loudly and repeatedly.  Any mature middle aged person would have simply asked him to stop, but instead I found myself wadding up a piece of paper I just happened to have and throwing it at his head.  I quickly turned back to the movie as he turned to see who had hit him, inwardly snickering along with my alter ego at his confused look.  He's lucky he stopped after that warning shot, because the next one would have been a spit ball. 

And there was the time, a year or so ago when, after playing UNO for shots awhile, I began shouting out the window to the neighbors behind us that the party we could hear them having was lame and we knew how to party! I swear my daughter . . . or that 19 year old . . . or both made me do it.

There you have it. My confession to childishness.  To my credit (maybe), I do act responsibly most of the time. I pay my bills, get the check ups an over 50 year old must get, all that. But there are times I catch a glimpse of that other me, the one who'll never grow old - she's most often seen now driving my convertible, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses - and I just have to smile.

Some gushing about my granddaughter

Colleen and Brian's baby was born on the fifth and Tom and I went to see her the next day.  She is just adorable! I know I'm biased and that all babies are cute, but Riley (Riley Taylor) is just stunning. She's got the sweetest little face and long fingers and toes and her disposition is as sweet as her face. She never cried, despite being passed around from grandparent to grandparent, and occasionally to parents, too. She only fussed a bit once when she was hungry.

If I didn't know she was adopted, I'd almost believe she was Colleen and Brian's natural born daughter! She has Colleen's long fingers and toes and the shape of her foot could be a match for Colleen's at that age! Both have narrow heels. It's really uncanny!

I went out to a rummage sale to look at a Pack N Play, thinking it would be a handy crib to have here, and ended up getting it, then couldn't resist also getting a few cute clothes I saw.  I hope Colleen likes them, but it's no problem if she doesn't - they didn't cost much.

We're going to see her this weekend and I'm counting the days, and hours, till then!

Sheesh! I was trying to help!

While out in my back garden, the one dominated by a huge box elder tree, I noticed a baby bird in the grass. Not wanting to accidentally step on it, I decided to shoo it over to a more protected spot. Little did I know my good intentions would create a riot among every bird in the yard! The birds were doing their sharp, clattering alarm calls, the baby was squawking at me (with very p'o'ed looks over its little shoulder) and all the birds followed me, cawing, chattering and squawking over my head all the way through the tree as I moved the baby along.  Finally the mom, or maybe the dad, flew down into the yard and did a wounded bird act trying to get me to leave it's baby alone.  I told the parent (and all the other birds that were carrying on in sympathy) that I was trying to help! I wasn't touching the baby! I'd leave it under this nice trailer for safety, shade, and easy access, but by the time I got it there, the whole yard of birds was involved and nothing would do until I finished my work and left the area.  I was a little surprised that blackbirds and grackles cared so much about a baby robin!  I guess, when one bird's not happy, nobody's happy!  I'm just glad none of the birds decided to dive bomb me - or bomb me in another way!

Discoveries in the gardens

I was looking at the daffodils I've got blooming in my garden when I saw the shell of a robin's egg laying on the ground. I looked closer and saw it was a complete, unbroken egg! I picked it up and held it while I looked to see if there was an occupied nest I could leave it in, but found none.  Not wanting to put it back on the cold hard dirt, I fashioned a little nest for it from leaves and dried grass and put it back where I found it.  I don't know if a robin will come to tend it, or if it already has gotten too cold to ever hatch, but I did what I could and will have to see what comes of it.

A few minutes later, I looked at my rhubarb plants, which I had divided last Fall and saw they were doing well.  So well, there was some pickable rhubarb there! It was short, but a nice size, so to have a bit of it and thin out the plants, I picked what I could and cut it up to freeze.

April First Foolishness

A little thing I wrote some years ago and added to recently, based on the antics of my three cats.

 

So, in memory of Timothy and Jasmine, and in honor of my present cat, Millie, I give you:

KITTY PLEDGE

I will not stare at the dog while he's eating to make him eat so fast he chokes.

I will not run wildly through the house, chasing imaginary prey.  Especially not at 2 AM.

I will not hide behind the sofa when I am about to throw up.

I will not throw up in the car.

I will not scootch my bottom along the carpet to get rid of hangers on - or even to scratch an itch.

I will not unroll and shred the toilet paper.

I will allow my humans to cuddle me when they feel the need, without resorting to my "dead cat" routine, or acting as if I can't breathe.

I will cover my poop and not scratch the side of the pan, the wall, the floor and everywhere except my sand.

I will not drag dirty socks and underwear into the living room, especially not when company is present.

I will not wake Mommy up by sticking my paw into her eye, biting her feet, or walking on her stomach.

I will not secretly annoy the dog until he barks and chases me, just to see the humans yell at him.

When in my carrier, I will sit quietly and not wail like a banshee for the entire trip.

I will not drop golf tees, paper wads, or toy mice into shoes.

I will not use my human's lap as a launching pad for my panic attacks when the doorbell rings, the street sweeper goes by or the dog barks - especially not if the human is wearing shorts.

I will remember that the dog is not a trampoline and his ears are not there for me to chew on.

I will not chase Mom down the hall and bite her ankles when she's going to bed instead of to the kitchen.

I will not jam my favorite mouse under the stove, then meow till someone gets it - or if I do, I won't do it again five minutes after it has been retrieved.

I will not scratch the sofa, the chair, the bookcases, the door frames, the piano or the carpets.

I will not eat plants, and I will not tip over flowers in vases.

I will remember it is a big, scary world outside and will not try to leave the house at every opportunity.

If I do accidentally get outside, I will return promptly to my back steps, not hide in the neighbor's bushes and watch while my mom wanders the neighborhood rattling my treat can and calling for me.

I will wear a collar and ID tag with grace and style, instead of hooking my lower jaw on it and gagging until it is removed.

I will show my humans some affection—even when they don't have food I want.

I will be gracious to guest pets, allowing them to use my home as their own, instead of hissing and spitting at visiting dogs, and screaming so loudly at other cats I scare everyone except the visiting cat.

What a mess

I suppose this isn't the sort of stuff one puts in a blog, but it's what's on my mind, so it's what you get.

Yesterday our sump pump, that keeps excess groundwater away from our foundation, was rattling and sounding like it was about to die.  My husband did what he could for it, then went to work, telling me to keep an eye on it.  Within an hour of his leaving, the pump died completely.  I put down towels, hoping to control any overflow, and called my husband, who was able to take a day of vacation and come home.  He got a new pump, installed it and all was well.  . . . we thought.

This morning I woke about 3, just feeling something wasn't right.  Upon hearing the pump, I knew there was a problem. I went down and checked and saw that the room with the pump in it was flooded and water was spewing out every time it kicked in - about once a minute!  I ran/slipped/stumbled up the stairs and woke my husband. He fixed the pipe that had come loose while I began mopping up and squeegeeing the water to the floor drain. Half an hour later, the floor was just wet and rugs that were on the floor were hanging over chairs to eventually dry.

Now if it would ever stop raining/snowing and give the pump a break, I'd be happy.

Irish musings on St. Patrick's Day

First of all, my favorite Irish themed saying:

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
And if He cannot turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles,
So we may know them by their limping.

The corned beef is in the crockpot and I'm dressed for the occasion. Not in green, I don't own any green, unless I wear my jacket all day.  So I'm wearing orange.  Not as a political or religious statement, just because it's what I have. So don't you green-wearers hate me ;-)

If you ever have the chance - and the time - read Frank Delany's book, Ireland.  It's fantastic.  It gives you a history of Ireland, all wrapped up in a tale of an itinerant storyteller and a boy who loved him enough not to let him, or his stories, be forgotten.

Although I have an Irish maiden name, I don't think I'm Irish. My paternal grandfather was adopted (he was an "Orphan Train" child) and his biological parents' lineage is cloudy, but from what we do know, it doesn't appear that either of them were Irish.  So I guess you'd say I'm Irish by marriage. And throughout that marriage, which has spanned 2/3 of my life, I have learned two truths:

You can always tell an Irishman . . . but you can't tell him much!

and:

When Irish eyes are smiling . . . they're usually up to something!

Signs of Spring?

No, the snow hasn't melted - at all, it seems, and most days I still need my winter jacket if I'm going to be out more than a few minutes. But there are birds in the feeder again and it's nice to hear them twittering amongst themselves in the mornings and calling to each other whenever I am outside during the day. Usually, even in the winter, we have little juncos (snowbirds), a few hardy sparrows and, as long as I feed them, mourning doves, but this past winter there haven't been any and I missed them a lot! I don't know where they were all winter - I think they went further South than usual . . . for all the good that did them this year.
Also, the sun is more Spring-like. I can't really explain that, except to say that it is. It's like it is shining more gently, and higher in the sky, instead of the low, hard Winter light we've had for so long.
And there is a "near 60 degrees" day in the forecast this week.  I swear, if it hits 60, I'll put the top down on my car and go for a (chilly) drive to celebrate!

But I haven't seen any robins yet, and I won't even think about last year when we saw a whole mess of them in the (bare) yard on January 31st. That was a fluke, though, I admit.  I think they're just waiting till there is some bare ground to walk on.  But aren't we all.

Stray thoughts . . .

Every morning I wake up with a song in my head. It's seldom the same one as the day or so before, and I never know why I'm thinking of such odd songs.  Today's song is Rawhide. Go figure.

I've always sung to myself when doing mundane chores. Most of the time, I don't even realize I'm singing.  I found out from my daughter's friend that, when they were young and playing in the house, they would sometimes pause in their play to listen to me.  When I heard that, I was retroactively embarrassed, lol.

I've about had it with Winter. It just won't let go. I know it's fairly normal for Wisconsin to get snow in March, but that doesn't make me like it any more, or wish for Spring any less.

A pleasant weekend

Colleen was here this past weekend, with her Beagle, Gage. My cat, Millie wasn't pleased, but company is something she'll just have to deal with now and then.  Millie tolerates Gage, just barely, coming out of hiding when she must (to eat and use her sand), but expressing her displeasure by hissing at everyone she sees.  What a little diva!

One of Colleen's high school friends came by on Sunday with her little girl and, once she overcame her shyness - and as long as we kept Gage controlled and across the room, she entertained us with her chatter, books and toys. And with her "happy feet" - stamping on the kitchen floor to make tap dance kind of noises, and with the sweetest smile on her face! She had us all laughing along with her.

All in all, a nice couple of days amid this never-ending winter.

Thoughts on two dogs

Sometimes I miss having a dog. Or, maybe I should say I miss my dog, Smokey, a gray, black and white Collie mix my family got at the county shelter back in 1990 and had until age and arthritis took him from us in 2003. He was truly a good dog, and sometimes I really miss him.  I miss our walks. He never met a person he didn't like, but occasionally, he'd object to other dogs, if he thought I might be threatened. But even then, he reacted more passively than aggressively. A three-legged Cocker Spaniel who rushed us a bit too quickly comes to mind. I don't think it had bad intentions, but it was loose and coming fast and Smokey took no chances. He met the Cocker's charge and, faster than I could see how he did it, he pinned the smaller dog to the ground! Bedlam ensued for a moment. The poor little dog was yelping, the woman whose dog it was was yelling at her dog for running off, and I was pulling Smokey off saying, "Let him up, Smokey, he's only got three legs!"

Sometimes, when looking out at the open area across the street, I remember the games of Hide and Seek we played over there. I'd let Smokey off his leash and we'd start out like we were going to walk down to the river. Smokey would range on ahead a bit, checking things out and generally having a good time and I, when he wasn't looking, would duck behind a tree. After a few moments, Smokey would look back to see where I was and when he didn't see me, he'd come tearing back to find me.  It was especially fun in the snow, when I'd run clumsily away, yelling "Help, help! It's a wolf!"  Yes, the dog made me as nutty as he was.

Someday I'll have to post about him and our car wash experience, but that'll have to wait for another day.

But, as much as I loved Smokey and miss having a dog, I know it's better I don't have one. For one thing, I don't know if I could keep up with the walking he or she would need.  I'll content myself with my "grandpuppy" Gage, my daughter's and her husband's Beagle. A sweet dog, but not one to stay in the yard if his nose leads him elsewhere.  A fact I was a bit concerned about a few weeks ago when I was petsitting for a weekend. One morning when letting him out, I dropped his tie-out and had to go outside to get it. Gage didn't understand why I was pushing him back and squeezing past him (in my robe and slippers). I picked up the clip, clipped it to his collar while still on the steps, then opened the door further to let him out and me in. But Gage didn't seem to understand. He went out, but then came back in with me! And then expected a biscuit for coming in! I pushed him back out, telling him he had to "do something" first.

And now you've met the two dogs I've had in my life, and I'll end here, before this becomes a novel.

March First

They said on the news this morning that it was the first day of meteorological Spring. You couldn't prove it by the view outside my window.  With all the snow heaped along the roadside and laying in sparkling drifts as far as I can see - maybe half a mile, to the road and building on the other side of the open area across the street - Spring looks far from being here, no matter what the weatherman said.  But the neighbors have a couple of new snow-people in their front yard - a result,  I suspect, of their daughter's and their grandkids visit last week - and the bright orange hunting cap I noticed one of them wearing brightened my day and added a bit of interest to the usual walk to the mailbox.

I suppose, since part of this blog is titled "Read" I should make an attempt to stick with the theme - at least for this first post.  So . . . I am reading John Connolly's The Reapers.  It's the 8th, I think, in the "Charlie Parker" series of novels and I'm enjoying it. Usually JC is very wordy and rambles off into a lot of back story, but this time he's sticking more to the plot and the back story he goes into is interesting and useful.  Although I wish he wouldn't do those chapters in italics.  Italics are hard for my old eyes to read. Especially when contrasted to the nice clear, easy to read font he uses for the present day parts of the book.