Autumn's Fire

Time Well Spent

I ate another donut today. Actually, it's mom's fault. I wanted to photograph a trashy house close to Daylight Donuts. Mom talked me into a donut run instead. And that is when I discovered Daylight Donuts charges 50 cents for a cup of ice water. Shame on Daylight Donuts. I still bought the donut and water. But next trip to Cleveland, I will look for a new donut shop. Tomorrow Chuck, the silent but deadly gassy dog, and I hit the trail for St. Louis. I lookforward to returning to Big Guy, Birdie and the cats Cracker and Slim Jim. Also, Daisy will be a just a two-hour hug away. Mom and I had fun this week. I opened her eyes to new treats like "What Not To Wear." We were glued to the t.v. set through two reruns and the premiere episode. We both clucked, shook our heads and gave ourselves bonus points for being well-dressed. And Mom reminded me of old favorites such as The Andy Griffith Show. That Andy was quite a southern charmer. I'm not sure what he was doing living with Aunt Bea. If it weren't for the family in St. Louis, Mom and I could hole up a while longer. We'd need a steady supply of donuts, the t.v. remote and someone to let the cats in and out the door.

Private Prayers

Soddy-Daisy has dropped prayer before high school football games. The Tennessee town felt divinely inspired to avoid a possible lawsuit. I don't live in Soddy-Daisy, but I'm glad to know prayers are more private now. There is not a prayer that's plain vanilla enough to not offend anyone. And honesty tends to shine in individual prayer. In Soddy-Daisy, students and parents can pray for exactly what they hope will happen on the football field. Some will pray that each player plays to his potential and stays safe. Others will be more blunt looking not only for their team to win, but for they themselves to be involved in scoring the winning touchdown. Those in an especially sour mood will flat-out pray for the other team to lose. A few bored moms may pray the game ends quickly. While one cheerleader may pray that the school jock finally dumps his girlfriend, the girlfriend might pray that her wandering-eye boyfriend and the cheerleader get struck by lightening. The principal probably prays that she can avoid the really whiny parents and manage to keep alcohol off school property. The parent running the concession stand prays he won't run out of ice. At least one dad prays that the ex-wife won't run into the new one. At least one mom prays her ex sees her hanging on the arm of her much younger boyfriend--the new one who still has a full head of hair. And the baby brothers and sisters pray the parents will let them stay until the game's over--and that it'll last way past their bedtime. With all of these prayers winging their way toward heaven, I think God gets reminded pretty well that we are human and He (or She) created us.

Catsup Wednesday

By any other name Catsup would be Ketchup or Catch Up.
The Girl Scout Samoa donut: Mom nixed the midnight run to Daylight Donuts. I settled for a solo midmorning trip. The GS Samoa donut tastes exquisite. I noticed walk-in customers of donut shops at 10 a.m. tend to be guys in all shapes and sizes. Women use the drive-thru.
Cat Videos: Yes, the cat-licking video was "softly focused." No, I wasn't drinking.
Work: One assignment completed, thanks Fae, hoping for another to follow.
Get to Work: Birdie and I (mostly not Birdie) pulled the house together enough to avoid landing on the hoarders show while Big Guy was in Brazil. And he's back.
Sweet Saturday: I have no idea who is in that photo.
Yellow Dog:  Robin is well on her way to losing the election, so when I get back to voting, it'll probably still be for Democrats.

Daisy:  Daughter Daisy and I skyped tonight. I noticed her bed wasn't made. She noticed I had a cat on mine.

Spiders: Last night I reminded myself that I liked spiders when a Daddy-long-legs spent the night. Could not find a cat to eat it and thought mom might bite.

Vampire neighbors: They're not out for blood, so guess they are not reading the blog.

And finally, Write Fright, it's gone :).

And The Sign Said

My guess is that there's a story behind the sign at Cofer Cemetery. I'm figuring sibling rivalry...two sisters competing for the same eternal resting spot next to a handsome beau, we'll call "Hubert," who died too young to ever "speak to daddy." One sister declares to the other, "You lie next to Hubert--over my dead body!" On that note, the two sisters quit speaking to each other and sit on opposite sides of the church. No doubt, there was a lot of headshaking over their spat, but true love is true love no matter how dead or two-timing the fellow might be. And then, one sister dies. She is halfway down to side-by-side hand-holding with Hubert when living, breathing sister shows up. What's meant to be a solemn graveside service turns into a lot of dirt flinging and hollering for Hubert. In the end, it's determined that Hubert can go in the middle and the dignity of the living and the dead is recovered.  If only the sign could tell me how close I am to right. Even more intriguing is a tidbit on the opinion page of the Daily Post Athenian--"This is a notice to the people who are dumping on McMinn County Road 5, west of River View. Smile the next time you dump a dead donkey; you're on camera."  Now that's a story.

Cleveland's Best

"Cleveland's Best Coffee" served as my perfect flimsy excuse to check out Daylight Donuts in Cleveland, Tenn. Cute name, cute donut-painted sidewalk and fabulous hours as it remains open until midnight on weekends. There's also a drive-through. All of these factors weighed heavily into my thinking as, of course, I would be comparing this donut place to Ellisville's Donut Palace. I didn't talk donuts with the clerk as much as I talked hours and coffee. Turns out, a lot of Cleveland Friday & Saturday night dates end at Daylight Donuts. Actually let me rephrase, some dates end at the donut shop, others refuel and keep going. As for the coffee, the clerk confirmed it is Cleveland's best and asked if I wanted it "strong." I did, she poured, I sipped, and also I nipped on a glazed donut for balance. The coffee earned its marquee billing, full-bodied without a bit of bitterness. The donut didn't meet Donut Palace standards, but it was 520 miles more available. On my way out, I took a second look at the donut counter and realized glazed wasn't what I should have ordered. This shop boasts delicacies so encrusted in sugar, the coffee--really strong--comes in as a mouthwash back-up. With donuts topped with crumbled Heath bars, crushed Oreos, and--be still my soul--Girl Scout Samoa crumbles, I'm coming back for a wilder walk on the donut side, probably at midnight. And I will bring mom. She is home now and I am going to need a driver.

Sweet Saturday

Patience

The emergency room requires patience, lots of patience. I spent today waiting at the ER with my mom. She had surgery a few days ago and didn't feel quite right. So we went in, just to be sure everything was OK. Turns out, just enough wasn't right with her blood work and other things that the hospital decided to keep her for the night. Tomorrow, I expect, she will be released. But today, we were in limbo. The emergency room wasn't like the t.v. show ER, with lots of action to occupy our thoughts. Instead, mom and I were wisked into a private ER room with a closed door, no windows and no clock on the wall. We had a t.v. to watch, but nothing worth watching. And so we waited. We napped a little. But mostly we waited. It was dull. But dull beats critical any day. We had patience enough to last and that made the day OK.

Dad's Day

Today would have marked my dad's 78th birthday. He died about 18 months ago, so I've had time to think about gifts he gave. First, the gift of reading. Dad was a reader. Growing up in the small town of Midville, he read every book in the library before he was a teenager. And in the home I grew up in, there were newspapers scattered everywhere, along with magazines and library books. It was impossible not to read, and to enjoy reading, in his house. Second, the piano. Dad got it into his head that the grandkids should have the opportunity to learn to play the piano. So my siblings and I each received some money to put toward a piano. That gift didn't take with every grandkid, but it took with some. Third, church. Growing up, our family mostly went to church--which is remarkable in that we moved a lot and while good churches abound, it takes time and patience to find one that fits. A fact I squirreled away from somewhere is that children are more likely to attend church as adults if their father attended with them when they were children. Fourth, pets. While Mom loves cats, Dad was the one that said yes to raccoons, horses and dogs. Don't know that Mom was happy about that. And fifth, education. Both of my parents believed in college and made sure all three of us went. In recent years, Dad tutored at the local high school and, along with my mother, established a scholarship to be sure kids in a poor rural county could continue their education. He gave a lot more gifts and for his giving, I am grateful. Few things in life are as special as having a dad. I certainly had a good one.

Cat Licks

Yellow Dog Season

I have always had yellow dog Democrat tendencies. As much as I may like Republicans as individuals, I have never cared for their collective legislative nose in my business. But this year is different. I don't like Democrats either. Watching t.v. commercials for Robin and Roy, our two U.S. senator wannabees leaves me feeling like I've stepped back into sixth grade at Hillandale Elementary School. Robin would be Alison, who constantly cozied up to the teacher. Roy would be what's his name who swaggered around the playground--note to what's his name, sorry I don't remember your name. Both wanted to be The One Big Fish. As a small fish, I wished they would switch to a different pond--maybe one with snapping turtles. Alison and what's his name could have improved life for the little fish. Alison held the teacher's ear and what's his name could have picked at least one geek for his team in dodge ball. But that is not how sixth grade worked. It's not how Washington works either. My bet is that Robin won't spend her capital to deliver my message to President Obama. Neither will Roy form coalitions with grown-up geeks who think differently. Robin and Roy excel at tattling. Once they finish tattling on each other, whoever wins will find someone else to tattle on. Come November, I'm not voting for U.S. Senator. I hope that whomever loses will learn and bounce back with a no tattling campaign. That candidate will get my vote. In the meantime, I support the yellow dog with his tongue stuck out. I don't know his politics, but chances are, he is not a tattler.

Spiders

I like spiders. I don't want to touch one. I'm as happy without them as I am with them. But as creepy crawlies go, spiders are o.k. They catch insects and wrap them for tasty snacks. Wilbur, the pig, would have been an anonymous pork belly without Charlotte. And camping with Girl Scouts would have been just another adventure of knot-tying and Dutch oven cooking. On this weekend, my troop of 10-year-olds arrived at Camp Butterfly. They ran to the cabins and started squealing. Turned out, spiders lived in the cabins. Sweeping the floors helped, but not enough. The rabble-rousers muttered about sneaky spiders lurking in corners. I assembled the troop at the picnic shelter and asked, "Has anyone here actually been bitten by a spider?" Half the troop raised their hands. Not the response I anticipated. Although, now that I think about it, no good answer exists to that question. Eventually I found a better way to reassure my precious charges--sleep with spiders who probably won't bite or sleep with leaders who will bite. Problem solved. In the years since, I don't know that any of the girls learned to like spiders. What I'm really glad for is that my Girl Scout leader days passed before bedbugs took hold. I wouldn't want to be the Girl Scout leader trying to convince a troop that "sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite" is simply a children's rhyme. My bet is that bedbugs bite just as much as leaders, though not as much as spiders.

Picture Pitchers

Freedom To Plan

Planned Parenthood is circulating a petition to make prescription birth control available at no cost to every woman who wants it. I signed the petition, via the internet. I hope the organization reaches its goal of a million signatures and that lawmakers listen. Contraception is only as good or as poor as its failure rate. I love Birdie and Daisy. I love that I planned for them. I never had to sweat the fine print on an over-the-counter package of something that might not work as well as what a physician could prescribe. And, with insurance, I didn't worry how to pay for the right to plan my family. I want that freedom for everyone, especially for the babies. Every baby deserves a welcome mat firmly in place.
http://www.ppaction.org/campaign/bcm10ppan

Get To Work

Big Guy travels to Brazil and Argentina. Today, he is in Sao Paulo. This weekend, he will be in Buenos Aires. While he is gone, Birdie and I relax. Very little gets done. I walk the dog. Birdie watches Law & Order SVU. I feed the cats. Birdie watches Glee. I pick up my book, this week it's "Help." Birdie skypes a friend. We consider when the lawn might need to be mowed. Or rather, I think about mowing; Birdie thinks about taking out grass with Round-up. The house could use a vacuum, but really, who cares. Birdie remembers to go to school. I think about the grocery store...as in, why shop when fast food and fine dining exist?  I notice celery in the refrigerator. It has been there awhile. Birdie searches for the half-pint sized peach frozen yogurt. I ate it yesterday. Big Guy calls to tell me about the view from his sixth floor hotel room balcony. I think that a second cup of coffee in bed makes perfect sense. Big Guy describes Sao Paulo traffic, in a knot like always. I think, yeah, but soon you will be wandering the streets of beautiful Buenos Aires. Birdie complains about pre-calculus. I complain about the dishes. Both will get done, but not right now. I check my email. A photo of Big Guy stares back. It's that "Get to work" expression. A new email address or a better spam filter? Birdie and I will work on it.

Worth Keeping

Profound thoughts come from strange places, so do useless ones. Sometimes it's hard to tell the quality of the thinking until a thought is thought about. So when a teenager, not my own, declared that Wednesday was the most useless day of the week, I decided to think on it.  I tried to look up Wednesday's mythological origin and that was boring. Then I researched if I or Big Guy happened to be born on a Wednesday--nope. And I already knew Wednesday didn't first welcome Daisy or Birdie. Situated equidistance from weekends, Wednesday is entrenched in work. Some banks close early on Wednesday. Its silent "d" adds treachery to spelling tests. And there is its fortune told-- "Wednesday's child is full of woe." I find a lot of reasons not to like Wednesday. But then I remember what the day is good for--Wednesday Addams. The psychotic-edged sixish year-old with her spooky black attire, slithering black braids and love of spiders added an extra layer of odd to the already odd Addams Family. I'd like to run into a stuck-in-time Wednesday Addams at Wal-Mart, the Donut Palace or Creve Coeur Park. I picture her hanging with her new BFF, the Brady Bunch's youngest, pigg-tailed blonde Cindy; they're both dressed in goth with piercings and tatoos. Imagine the chaos that friendship would unleash on the Brady Bunch. It makes Wednesday, the day, worth keeping.

Donut Test

My weakness is donuts. So I found the new Scotch tape dispenser especially intriguing. Could tape "in fun donut dispenser" be as fun as a donut? What an excuse for investigative reporting. I purchased the tape donut in fun cherry red, then wheeled up to a place I hadn't been before--Ellisville's Donut Palace. The sign on the door said, "When the line gets this long, please keep the door closed." That's my kind of donut shop. I wanted to be fair to the tape donut, so for my "is it as fun as a donut" test, I ordered, to-go, a sprinkle-laden, chocolate iced donut most likely intended for six-year-old Captain Crunch munchers. For immediate consumption, I ordered an exquisitely glazed classic. The counter girl and I exchanged cash and commentary about the lines and which donuts she loved best. She sent me on my way with my bagged sprinkle test donut and a complimentary, fresh from the kitchen, glazed donut hole--her personal favorite. I could already see the test sliding in favor of the sprinkle, not the tape. So I let the sprinkle, and the "fun donut shape" tape dispenser ride around in the minivan for about five hours. Then I went home and explained the donut test to Birdie. In a moment of spirited uncooperation, she grabbed the tape dispenser, called it cute, and refused to try the sprinkle donut. And we share the same gene pool? So Birdie played with tape; I ate the donut--which tasted pretty good in spite of its age and sprinkle overload. Soon afterward, we went to dinner. A starving Birdie dove into bread plastered with butter. I watched, smug in my satisfying sugar laden high. Having discovered the Donut Palace, I wouldn't trade my day or my donuts for all the boring bread, or tape, in the world.

Twin

I first saw Twin a year ago and believed he was mine. The grey-striped tabby looked so much like my cat Cracker that I thought I knew him, right up until the moment he ran. That's when I discovered my feral squatter. Twin sat on my back porch step. He lurked in my yellow bells. While not mine to touch, he became mine to feed. And with that connection established, I tried to trap Twin to provide basic veterinary care. I bought a cheap cat trap, but it proved too flimsy to keep anything trapped. So I bought a better cat trap and caught my own cats, several times; angry raccoons, both large and small; and one dim-witted opossum. But Twin evaded me. He ate cat food near my feet, played with string and bathed under the bushes. But he wouldn't enter a baited trap. It became a game. I settled into a lawn chair, read a book and talked to Twin while he nibbled catfood and sniffed at the sardines, chicken or dog food in the trap. Eventually, he would wander away. I would close up the trap--to keep everyone else out of it and we both knew we'd be back, same time, same place tomorrow. Yesterday, that changed. Twin took the bait. This morning, I hauled him to the vet and discovered he has FIV, feline immunodeficiency virus, an incurable, contagious condition. I agreed to euthanize Twin. This morning, Twin knew I wasn't his friend. Tonight I know I wasn't his savior. In his little piece of heaven, I hope Twin knows I love him. And I hope he forgives me.

Cats

Next Door Neighbors

Bright daylight sends the family next door scurrying for wide-brimmed straw hats and long-sleeved shirts. While my neighbors hail from Nebraska, their gaunt paleness gives them away. I'm pretty sure they are vampires. They don't nip on neighbors or even stray cats, thank goodness. I count them as friends good for borrowing stuff from and great for swapping lawn tips. Though, I wonder about the coffee grounds scattered in bushes--something beneath the ground demands caffiene when it rains. Their backyard is especially cool, with the maple tree sporting a bat house for friends passing through. With their quiet ways, there's something especially nice about my vampire neighbors. What I can't figure is why they left the rich food supply of corn-fed Nebraska for ravioli-fed, garlic-tinged St. Louis. Some night, I'll send Birdie over to ask, freshly scrubbed and well-salted.

Two By Two

Power nap, cat nap, thank you, love you, happy birthday, you won, found it, light's green, no traffic, good night, wanna share, pay check, bonus time, Merry Christmas, Happy Thanksgiving, my turn, your turn, his turn, dark chocolate, more chocolate, bed's made, laundry's done, home maker, well fed, I'm stuffed, hug me, kiss me, cutie pie, best friend, face book, planet Earth, island home, tree top, mountain stream, slim jim, just kidding, ray bay, phi mu, cracker barrel, toy land, krystal burger, root beer, ice cream, they're sisters, we're friends,  I'm fine, not hurt, ask me, tell me, what happened, start here, it's done, bless you, missed you, let's order, turn here, turn right, turn left, turn around, pied piper, pigs feet, front seat, back seat, middle row, up front, in back, sign here, no wait, good time, great time, first kiss, first date, first day, one step, how high, high enough, really cool, way cool, do over, that hurt, not much, name it, call it, own it, treasure it, what's it, who knows.

Truth's Sadness

My three-year-old Daisy unfolded laundry faster than I could fold it--and that was "helping." My one-year-old Birdie sucked her thumb so hard, it wrinkled. And my heart and mind held the raw emotion of a mother. That's when I finally ripped a page from my bible. It wasn't one filled with verse, but rather a full-color illustration of a family, complete with toddlers, praying for deliverance while cowering before lions. Ever since I received that bible, as a nine-year-old, the picture chilled me. That family, heaven-bound or not, stood moments from a public shredded death. And finally, when I saw the picture through mother eyes, I had enough of looking at it. The bible contains a lot of darkness, most of it isn't illustrated. This week, I found a verse so graphic I want to tear it out. Psalms 137:9 "Happy shall be he who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!" Brutality, savage warfare, autrocity and oppression defined the time in which this psalm was written. Nations were annihilated or assimilated into oblivion. But knowing the facts doesn't soften the blow. I will not rip the page today, but I acknowledge its enduring truth. It is possible to push good people so hard that they lose themselves in bleak and vengeful darkness and believe hatred and violence is what God wants.

The Garden

It's autumn in my Obama garden.The okra still blooms, high enough that its pods loom out of reach. A few eggplants, purple streaked with green, remain to be picked. The tomatoes turn pale red, then stop. After an experimental dig, I'm thinking that the crisp green sprigged carrot crop is all top with no bottom, but I'll know for sure in a few weeks. A fountain of purple and green foliage promises a rich crop of sweet potatoes. Already I have clipped some tomato plants to ground level. Dropped tomatoes, tattered bits of fabric ties, sneaky maple seedlings and weakened newspaper mulch show. I think I should feel sadness as the garden winds toward winter, but my mind leaps to next year. No carrots, more broccoli, maybe some squash, tomatoes (of course), okra, perhaps zucchini, and possibly watermelon. I hope the garden enjoys its rest. Next spring, it's back to work.

Privileged

Daisy's college keeps sending money. In three days, the mailman delivered three checks. Nothing on the checks tells me why they were written. I think they are Mizzou's way of saying, "Thank you. Daisy is such an enjoyable, motivated student, we will pay you for the privilege of having her." Someone else might suspect the checks reflect adjustments in meal plans and class credits. But I'll hang on to my "Thank You" theory and keep checking the mail.  

The View

Smile

It's October, so I decided to give my blog "a new look." I also gave my profile pic a makeover. Selecting the right photo took awhile. I wanted one that showed my thinner side. Apparently it doesn't exist. There were photos of me with a rose gripped in my teeth and chomping on a daisy. I found lots of photos of me with multiple desserts...maybe that explains the no thinner side photos. And there were a lot of close shots of me with wine glasses, those I don't remember. I found a close-up featuring my hair full of foil; also one where I'm decked out in a trenchcoat, peering into a mausoleum. And I've always loved the image of pajama-clad me sitting beside our camping port-o-potty. Amidst all the weird ones, I found a few of the expected family photos with Big Guy, Daisy and Birdie. Those ordinary ones remind me: Thank goodness they love me even when I live life the way I like it.