Our Front Yard

20 Jul

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

These two friendly critters came by for a visit this afternoon. They were racing and chasing all over the place,  and I was lucky to get this shot at just exactly the right moment.

In spite of the fact that a snapping turtle bit my toe Monday evening, I wouldn’t live anyplace else in the world.

My eyes were bothering me on Sunday, so I took out my contacts as soon as I got home, and put in some OTC eye drops. I woke up Monday with my left eye glued shut, and blood red when I did get it open. When I’d had my last eye exam in February, I was told I had a cataract on that eye that was just about ready to be removed, so The Squire called his eye specialist (he suffers from frequent, spontaneous detached retinas) to see if they could work me in. I think he hoped they could treat the pink-eye and diagnose the cataract in one swell foop, but that was not to be. Still, they told me to come down ASAP, and they would work me in. They had an opening in 15 minutes, which I couldn’t have made even if I had been dressed, but the receptionist said they’d just take the folks who were there a bit earlier, and slide me in when I arrived.

Prescription eye drops four times a day in both eyes, and a follow up the first week in August, and we’ll see where we go from there.

It is, as they say, always something.

 

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Mother of the Bride

18 Jul

A young lady at our church has “adopted” The Squire and me. Rather flattering, really, but she is getting married in September and has asked my help in planning her wedding.

The child has had a pretty rotten life, and she has met a most delightful young man, who had asked her to marry him. She is just giddy with excitement over her up-coming nuptials (I felt the same way over The Squire.), but I swear William and Kate got married with less upheaval.  I promised I would make her wedding cake as my gift to her, but I would not attempt anything I thought was beyond me. The Squire has promised he will give her away. I mentioned a while back that I had addressed her wedding invitations for her.

She is a very savvy shopper. She found a dress and a veil that she liked and then went on-line and bought the same thing for about one-tenth the price. $200 for a veil with a bit of “bling” around the edge, and she’s going to wear it for two hours? Never mind that!  She found something close enough for $25.

Friday, she and her daughter came over for lunch, and then we went off in search of accessories and other odds and bobs. We have agreed to keep the daughter while the happy couple go on their honeymoon, but we discovered the child is allergic to dogs! Well, she’ll only be here for a short time each day, before and after school. We also have a cat,  and Daughter wanted desperately to play with the cat. Eddie doesn’t take to strangers any better than most cats, so Daughter sat at the foot of the stairs and began meowing at the cat, who kept backing up the steps. I asked her to be careful. “You might be telling his something he doesn’t want to hear. Did you insult him? What did you say to him?”

She turned around and gave me the most bewildered look. “I don’t know. I don’t speak cat.”

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The Wisdom of a Child

13 Jul

One of our odder hobbies is to wander around in old graveyards. We don’t necessarily have to be looking for somebody, we just enjoy looking.

And often, we find something worth appreciating.

This photo was taken before Amanda turned five.  She is leaning against the very ornate tombstone, shaped to resemble a bed, of a little girl named Ruth, who died when she was the same age. We had noticed other markers for small children, and explained that kids died of things such as measles and chicken pox,  whooping cough and diphtheria (which we explained was a very sore throat), all of which can be prevented today by vaccines.

Amanda considered all this for a moment or two and then asked us to take a picture of her. “I’m going to put this on my mirror at home, to remind me that when Mummy takes me to the doctor’s for shots, it’s so I won’t die, too.”

Smarter than a lot of grown-ups.

Amanda&GraveStone

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A Rolling Catastrophe

7 Jul

Tuesday, it was rolling stones. Yesterday, it was rolling catastrophes.

First of all, The Squire had to go in for an MRI on Tuesday, which took an hour and a half of lying flat on his back, with his arms over his head and being perfectly still.  And NPO, to boot. Try it some time.

On the way home, he stopped at the library – hey! a guy deserves a reward, y’know – and as he was  backing out of his slot, a car pulled in and they ran into each other. Since The Squire was backing up, he was considered to be at fault. My attitude is that if you are more than halfway out, the other person ought to be able to see you in plenty of time to stop.

However.

Yesterday, The Squire went to the Y and I went to the laundromat, where I spent a half an hour trying to discourage a fellow who thought I was single; I’ve gotten too heavy to wear my wedding band, so I’m going to have to get a band of some sort to preserve my sanity – and my honour. The Squire called to ask if I wanted to meet him for lunch; I didn’t, but he’d gotten the results from his MRI, and wanted company. (There are few words in the world less reassuring than “It might be a false positive.”)  As I was slowing down to make the turn, a car came up behind me, going much too fast. I heard the brakes squeal, and the fellow had to turn into the jersey wall to avoid hitting my car.

My only thought was “What was that in honor of?” and I kept going. I really should have stopped to see if he was OK, as he called the police and said I’d sideswiped his car. Since the damage was on his driver’s side, my car wasn’t damaged at all, and we were going in the same direction, it would have been difficult for me to have hit him at all, let alone on the driver’s side.

Well, he’s young, and Heaven knows what this would do to his insurance rates if he was found to be at fault, but it’s going to play hob with our insurance to have two accidents in as many days.

And then, the phone rang as I was fixing supper, and when I went to put it back, I hit my arm against the hot toaster oven, burned my arm and dropped the phone into the dishpan.

Never rains…

 

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Rolling Stone

5 Jul

This morning I noticed a largish grey stone in the front garden. I’d didn’t remember seeing it before, but lately I’ve begun wondering which box I’ve used to pack away my brain, so just figured I’d tend to it later.

A few minutes later I noticed the “stone” was trundling off in the general direction of the pond. Given the layout of our property, how a snapping turtle had managed to get from the stream into the flower bed is one of life’s great mysteries, but I certainly didn’t want this beast in the pond. I figured it was probably a new one – I recognize the three we have by their markings – and three is already, oh…about three more than I wanted. snapping turtle

Emptied one of the cartons I’ve been using to pack books, and went out to corral the monster. While it was busy trying to bite off pieces of the flaps, I picked it up by the sides of the carapace and flipped it into the box. Hooray for our side! Closed the flaps and put it on the back seat of my car, and off we went to church.

Stock photo from Google

Getting across the field and down a muddy bank with a damp corrugated box, which threatened to break apart at any moment, down a steep bank, and to the river’s edge was a bit trickier than I anticipated, but mission accomplished.

I had to put the box in the recycling. I can’t use it to pack books, as it smells of snapping turtle spit.

Spit!

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Yuck!

4 Jul

fireworks

This has been a most dismal day. It is July 4th, supposedly the Biggest Day of the Summer, but it reached a high of 75F, and has been windy and rainy all day long. Certainly not conducive to fits of patriotism.

Or anything else.

I made a few half-hearted stabs at sorting photos, but other than reading a book and doing some ironing, I didn’t accomplish a bloody thing.

It’s been that sort of day.

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It’s Only a Flesh Wound

28 Jun

I don’t know what it is with men and medicine.

The Squire suffers from Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome (named for the two French doctors and one Englishman who zeroed in on it), which is an hereditary nerve condition. The nerves die and the muscles atrophy, pulling against the bones. If it “kicks in” when you are a child, the bones twist to accommodate the muscles, but if you get it as an adult, the patient frequently opts to have the foot amputated, as the pain is simply excruciating. As it is, The Squire often has nights when he is very uncomfortable.

His nightly routine is two Tylenol PM, which don’t always control the pain. When his feet hurt, the only way to soothe the pain is to keep the foot moving. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle. Naturally, this doesn’t do me a bit of good, but when I suggest he go sleep  in the guest room, he assures me he is fine.

That’s nice, dear. Now, go away. You bother me!

My dad used to lean against the door frame and moan, and I’m not sure which is worse. If my mum didn’t stab Daddy with a paring knife, I guess I can avoid smothering The Squire with a pillow.

I’ve recommended he ask the doctor for something stronger, if only to take on a PRN basis. “That isn’t necessary.”

When I had my neck surgery in September, I was given a months-worth of surgical strength pain medicine, to take every four to six hours, so I have loads of the stuff left over. Blithely disregarding Federal laws, I strongly suggested he take one of my little white pills. Just to shut me up, y’know.  So finally, about a month ago, he did agree to take one of them, and announced he’d had the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages. (That made two of us.) A few days later he again requested a pain pill. Maybe we’re making some progress; I even put the bottle with his other meds, but No, we’re back to the Tylenol.

Last night, he said he got up at 1 AM, took two more Tylenol, and slept in the other room. I never noticed he was missing.

But I did sleep well.

 

 

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Singing In The Car

26 Jun

The Old Testament lesson this morning was the story of Elijah being taken up in a chariot of fire, and we sang Swing Low, Sweet Chariot as the Gradual hymn.

Which got me to remembering…

The car I drove when I was married to the Late and Unlamented had no radio (it also had no heater, reverse gear, or lock on the glove box, but that’s another story) so the girls and I sang while we drove along.  We sang everything from Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer, to Camptown Races, to There Was an Old Woman, All Skin and Bones. The girls even knew the words to the Canticle from Morning Prayer – Blessed art thou, O Lord God of our fathers. If you are old enough to remember when the Episcopal Church actually did  Morning Prayer,  you know it’s a lot to memorize, but we sang it three weeks out of four, and the girls apparently listened. And learned.

But mostly, we sang Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

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Jackals?

23 Jun

The Squire, quite frankly, is as deaf as an old shoe. Oh, he swears I am too soft-spoken, but the truth of the matter is the man just plain can’t hear.

We have five birdfeeders in our yard, plus one we sit on the ground for the squirrels. It’s bad enough the blue jays try to eat us out of house and home, but the bloody, bloody grackles also swoop down and grab whatever they can get their beaks on. I don’t mind them coming in the winter when it snows and bringing their side-kicks, the starlings, along with them, but it annoys me when they hang around all summer, too.

To the best of my knowledge, grackles were the only critter that could make my dad angry. When they lived in Bel Air, he would occasionally sit on the patio and snipe at them with a B-B gun. “I know they are God’s creatures and they need to eat, but they just don’t know when to quit. A bunch of bloody vultures.” He trained men to go overseas during WWII, so I suppose that’s where he learned to shoot (it never occurred to me to ask) and he seldom missed. It wasn’t a constant thing, but from time to time he’d pop off two or three.

This morning I was fussing about the grackles in the front yard  and mentioned that my father didn’t like them either.

The Squire turned to me in utter bewilderment. “Your dad didn’t like jackals?”

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M.I.A.

21 Jun

When I got the blouse I’m wearing in yesterday’s photo I had purchased a pair of earrings to match. They  are a crescent moon, a bronze sort of colour, with a vague sort of embossing and a row of turquoise beads dangling from the outer edge. The two points of the crescent are joined by short length of chain, and hang from an “S” hook. Anyway, when I got dressed for church yesterday, I couldn’t find them. How can you misplace a pair of earrings, for goodness sake?

The Squire and I spent a fair amount of time yesterday carefully removing and replacing every piece of jewelry from two jewelry boxes, with no luck.

So today after I went to the doctor I went to the mall and purchased another pair very similar to the original, which means the original pair will show up within the next week or so.

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