The Cat We Don't Have - Part 2

Part 2 – Getting to Know You

When Max’s battle with cancer was over, I was so emotionally devastated that I vowed to never again have a pet. Max and I had been through a lot together. My constant companion for nearly 15 years, he was there for me when my husband had to be out of town, which was quite a bit, or was simply too preoccupied with his own life’s events to have much time left over for me.  My faithful dog was there for me when my mother passed away, and curled up on the spot where her hospital bed had been, as if to say, “I will watch over your spot, Grandma.” 

 Over the years, I spent a lot of time recovering from some pretty difficult surgeries, and Max always cheered me up with his kind, gentle mannerisms and loving antics. So, when he died, it was as if I had lost a real child, someone who loved me without question or conditions. There was simply no way I was ever going to open myself up to that kind of pain again – so I promised myself, ‘No more animals. Ever.’

Suddenly, I was facing a minor dilemma once again: a stray had singled me out, most likely for food alone. And, I was OK with that. At least, I was ok with it for a while. I made sure The Cat We Don’t Have (which I shortened to “TC’) had the best cat food, and  I unashamedly spiked it liberally with all kinds of good stuff: steak, roast beef, fish, shrimp, and turkey, and so on. I always saved her a few bites or more of whatever we were having. It tickled me to see her dive in to her food dish, which in time was moved from the bottom of the steps to the top landing, which she surprisingly allowed me to do. There was just one condition: I was never, ever to try to approach her once she began to eat. I had to remain hidden on the other side of the door, peeking out carefully through the curtains.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and finally one whole year had passed. I was beginning to feel a little bit impatient with TC, so anxious was I to form a real bond with her. More than anything else, I longed for the day when she would approach me herself and allow me to touch her. Visions of her curled up in front of our fireplace, or on my lap,  on cold winter days and nights filled my head with hope and eager anticipation.  But, try as I might, TC showed great fear and would run away as fast as she could, running from the human monster that she was sure was going to hurt her. So, I hit upon an idea that I hoped would help to convince her that I meant no harm, and only love:

I started meowing to her through the door.

She heard me and to my great delight, she began to meow back at my voice! So, day by day, I would crack the door open a little bit further and ‘sing’ to her with my poor attempts at her language. At last one day, the door was fully open, and still protected by the outer storm door, she looked me dead in the eyes and meowed back to me. I could hardly believe it! So, together, we meowed back and forth for a while until I realized she must be hungry and wanted to eat. So, I left her to her food. A little while later, I looked out through the window and saw that she was gone. The bowl was totally empty.

In excitement, I called out to Peanut one through five and tossed out their usual trove of peanuts, dried corn,  and sunflower seeds. Within moments, my yard was full of squirrels, birds, and even Gus poked his head out, grabbing for the pieces of melon I tossed toward the shed. I had to laugh – all was right with the world. Everyone was being fed and showed signs of harmony, of being happy to all be eating together. All, that is, except for TC. She would not come back my way until later on, at dinner time.

Then, it hit me. What was I doing, I asked myself. Somehow, I had allowed myself to feel an attachment to this stray, feral cat and it felt too late to turn back, to turn the emotions off. For some stupid reason, it felt as if her name, ‘The Cat We Don’t Have” proved she was not our pet – so I clung to it. As long as we did not have a pet cat, I would be OK, I thought.

How wrong I was, it turned out. But it was way too soon to know that. I could still fool myself into believing that ‘we did not own a cat.’  Not much, that is.

Looking back at me through screen door

To be continued....

The Cat We Don't Have, Part 1

Part I- No more pets

I thought that I would never forget the year 2012 because of the sadness that it brought into my life.  That, of course, being the death of our Max, our beloved 16 year old German shepherd, black Labrador mix.  Right before Max passed on, he was lying in the grass out front one day.  He was quietly watching the cars go by on the highway, when all of a sudden a tiny little puff ball of gray and white hopped into view.  The little puffball had huge, wide blue eyes and tiny pointed ears.  Quite obviously it was a very small kitten.  Max did not seem to mind this little visitor, and before long they seem to become friends.  There was just one problem: the little puffball did not appear to like humans. At all. Any time it caught even the slightest glimpse of me it would take off as if running for dear life.  I tried to coax it to come to me, but the kitten would have no part of it.

Well, in late May of that year Max crossed the rainbow bridge and it was a very long time before I could even think of him, let alone mention his name, without my eyes welling up with tears.  So, it was best to try not to think about his last few weeks on this earth, which, of course, meant trying to forget about the puffball as well.  I was determined to never, ever again let myself get attached to a pet.  The pain of losing them was just too strong and I was not about to put myself in that position again.  Or so I thought…. 

Spring turned into summer, and with it came a slight surprise.  A beautiful young cat appeared in my backyard one day.  It didn't look very old, nor did it look like a baby any more.  Strangely, it had the same coloring and marks as the little puffball did that I first saw a few months earlier.  It had boundless energy, and the cutest gray and white face I had ever seen on a cat.  Its tail sported perfect, concentric rings from beginning to end, much like that of a raccoon.  I guess you could call it a tabby cat but I swear, it seemed to be a perfect blend of different kinds of species.  Part cat, part raccoon, and part clown, its white beard and bib gave the cat an almost distinguished tuxedo cat appearance. 

Over the years, I developed a very bad habit of feeding the wildlife in my backyard.  I guess you could say that's what led Wicki the Wat to  me in the beginning (If you didn't read that part of my blog, please go back and read it.  You won't be sorry!)  Anyway, I have an entire gang of animals that come to me every day looking for hand-outs.  I have a family of squirrels that I have named “Peanut one through five”, and all kinds of birds, plus a very lazy groundhog named Gus, who now lives underneath our shed.  I figured, what's one more animal?  So I bought a box of dry cat food and started leaving some out for the young cat.  Needless to say, the cat food was a big hit with her.  For some strange reason I decided that her gender was female.  I don't know why – she just looked very feminine and small, so I always thought of her as a she.

There was just one little problem: the cat was simply terrified of me or any other human being.  As hard as I tried to make friends with her she made it very clear from the start that I had to keep my distance.  Her eating food that I offered to her was perfectly okay; but for me to come within 20 feet of her was out of the question.  So I became determined that one way or another I was going to make friends with this cat and offer her a home of warmth and love, and all the food she could ever hope or want to eat.

After a few months it was quite clear to me that it was going to take some time before this cat would accept my friendship, let alone my touch.  It used to really bother me to see the fear in her eyes, and see the snapping turn of her body to flee from me, should I break the 20 foot rule.  Still, I persisted.  I began adding canned cat food to her menu which she ate with gusto.  But I had better make sure to stay out of sight while she was eating, or she would bolt away from her dish leaving it for Gus and the birds, who all would invariably finish it off for her.  Feeding this cat was getting to be quite expensive!

Then one day, I was in for another surprise.  Placing the food in her dish at the bottom of my porch steps, I turned and went back into the house to hide behind the curtained window of the back door.  To my astonishment another gray and white cat walked up to the food dish began to eat!  This cat was quite a bit bigger, and reminded me more of a painted horse rather than a tabby cat.  Huge gray and white patches adorned its body, and over all, the cat looked to be a pound or two heavier than the former puffball.  That was when I decided the first cat definitely needed a name!  Nothing came to mind right away, nothing that seemed to do her justice.  I asked my husband and he suggested the name Scraps, because she was also by then eating a lot of table scraps.  At first I thought it was kind of cute and did start to call her that, but somehow it didn't quite fit.  She looked much too elegant to be associated in any way with the word scraps!  And, I was determined not to have another pet.  So, the name came to me one day, a name that fit her perfectly, and it was this: The Cat We Don’t Have.  This way, I was free to pursue establishing a relationship with her yet keep my emotions in the clear by not considering her a real pet.  Safety.  I vowed I would never cry over another animal again.

All during the rest of that summer, and into the fall and winter The Cat We Don't Have came to me daily for her food, and even camped out in our gazebo once or twice when it was really snowy.  The larger cat would make very infrequent appearances, however.  Because it did not seem to be afraid of me or other people, I guessed that it was somebody else's house cat that had perhaps gotten out of the house. 

No matter – I seemed to have at least a cat and a half, and although things were neither black nor white they truly were another shade of gray. 

Two, in fact.

To be continued.....

My "Mini-Bio"

Writers Group Assignment - Feb. 2014

My Mini -Bio

Sometimes I like to fantasize about reincarnation – what it might be like to come back to earth again and again, choosing what kind of lifestyle I would like to try – kind of a “re-birther’s choice.”

I really think this is what happened with me!  This time, my little angel-soul-spirit-whatever you choose to call it, said to the Lord, “Let me try a life that is a little different!”

“What do you mean, different?” the Lord asked. “You mean, like a bird, or a fish, or perhaps some type of four-legged mammal this time?’

“No,” I carefully replied,” I mean, can you please let me try being a person with a little bit of challenge to it. Nothing as severe as total physical or mental deprivation – but perhaps a life with some strange twists and turns. I’d like to see how I weather the storms of the unexpected, and truly bizarre.”

“Ok, “said the Almighty. “This, we can do! Just don’t forget to call on me if you really get jammed up and remember that this time you have to be ready for any and all really weird things that I toss at you,” He finished with a nod of his massive head, and called a special Guardian Angel to accompany me to this next flight to Earth. The angel had a pained expression on its face, yet was totally obedient to the One Most High,  and firmly taking my chubby little cherub arm in his hand, together we flew back down to earth.

The first thing I remember as I entered the world was being very, very cold! There were lots of voices all around me – some yelling, some talking in hushed tones. Of course, I could not see but I could hear! Beautiful church bells filled the air. I later on found out that I took my first breath as we passed St. John’s church in Beacon, NY. , Having made my first over-the-water trip at the tender age of minus 1 to 2 hours, my tiny body was nestled in loving arms and under a huge tweed coat – in the back seat of a 1945 Plymouth, on the Duchess Ferry boat, as it bumped and coursed through the choppy ice on the Hudson River – between Newburgh and Beacon, NY.

Well, so far, the good Lord kept his promise! My birth made the local newspapers and was talked about for a long time to come. I even earned a knick name – Duchess – before the age of two days old. How many kids can claim that?!

The rest of my life pretty much followed in the same fashion: if the world zigged, I zagged. If it crumbled, my head peeked out through patches of either clover or weeds. But, I refused to give in, or call it a day. If the teenage citizens of the world were all scooting off to college, so did I – for a while. Then, I decided to give marriage and motherhood a try. As a result, my kids and I grew up together and while we survived some really stormy seas, we all became the best of companions, blood-line friends and confidants. This put me in the curious position of being a kind of counselor to my friends who all got married and had kids later than I did – and who turned to me for support and my thus far acquired knowledge.

That had a very curious up-shot, many years later! In middle age, I was slammed with a very rare disease, called Entamoeba histolytica, which caused me to get another very rare disease.  The first one nearly killed me, thanks to a flesh-eating microbe that devoured my entire lower intestine, live. The second one, called Osteonecrosis, or 'dead bones',  was caused by the medications given to me during that time (powerful corticosteroids), and which in turn, began to kill off my skeleton, joint by joint.Undaunted by these weird turns of events, 19 years ago I started a support system for all those who suffered from Osteonecrosis, or Avascular necrosis. The result? The world's first -- and so far only -- non profit Association for that disease, which became international with literally thousands of members. Stop by my website sometime at http://avnsupport.org

Years later, I beat the “C” monster, too, thanks to ovarian cancer. I now have several body parts up in heaven ahead of me, waiting for my eventual return. It’s really strange that I am still here, when I stop to think about it. But, “strange” is what I asked for! Sporting multi-artificial joints, and with now more than 30 surgeries to my credit, I let nothing stop me for very long, and today I enjoy a very rich, full and often energetic life.



I tried  much, sampling all kinds of things the world offered. Of them all, music remained my mainstay – and I became what some call an accomplished musician and pianist/organist. Music became my anchor and it saw me through some pretty tough times, such as divorce, death of my parents, dealing with my sometimes off the wall teen age kids. And now, as an older adult, music is like the tapestry that I wove along the years of my life, a tapestry I can enjoy dragging out and examining over and over again. As a professional pianist-accompanist for a local performing choral group, my life has only gotten busier in my later years. Wow! Who would have thought?!

Yes, the good Lord kept his word: my life was filled with the bizarre. But, I kept mine, too and turned to Him more often than not. So far, my life has been an adventure just  chock-full of the unexpected and truly unusual. You know what they say: be careful what you pray for - you just might get it!

Peace, all!

Why I Love Philadelphia!

Why I love Philadelphia – Philly “outside the box” 

Writers Group Assignment - August 2013

The parades. The museums. The theaters. The Mann and Kimmel Centers, Reading Terminal, The Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, The Seaport Museum, The Michelou, The USS America, The Spirit of Philadelphia, and the water front. The Eagles, Phillies, Flyers, the 76’ers, and let us not forget the statue of "Rocky", his fists perpetually risen to the sky on muscular arms, in front of the Museum of Art – all wonderful reasons to love Philadelphia! But, those are the obvious ones. There is another side to Philly that often goes unappreciated, or not appreciated enough!

The Wissahickon Creek and Park, the massive stone statues of the Quaker, and the Indian chief Tediescum set high on the hills in the park. The finger bridge, the red covered bridge and the wonderful stone bridges that cross the creek, with historic Valley Green Inn nestled quietly beside it, with diners gently clinking glasses of iced tea on the front terrace. Joggers, walkers, mothers pushing upscale strollers with their babies strapped safely in. Move over! Here come two horses with their riders cheerfully talking back and forth with each other.  A few walkers take out their camera phones and snap a few pictures, as the riders greet them with shy smiles. With the Monastery and Northwestern stables at each end of the park, horses are a common sight. In fact, “Forbidden Drive” meant at one time, “No cars or other mechanical moving machines on this drive. It is intended for horses and riders only.”

 The plaintive call of a red tailed hawk, the scatter of a chipmunk making a mad dash across Forbidden Drive, weaving in and out between people and dogs and baby strollers,  and too many bicycles to count!  Ducks, geese, birds of many species all vying for their place on the water, hoping to catch a fish in the shallow, cool waters of the creek.

Looking out my front door and seeing a herd of horses, burros, and sometimes a llama or two – and knowing that my mailing address says “Philadelphia, PA” makes me smile a goofy grin! A huge city, no less! Yet, I expect to see Rebbecca of Sunny brook farm picking up chestnuts off the ground, dropped by the aging chestnut trees that border Saul Agricultural School Field.I am fortunate enough to live very close by to Saul School; its sprawling fields are my amphitheater. It is the only school of its type on the entire east coast, as it proudly calls Philadelphia its home.

The antique car shows that spring up now and then around the area like wild mushrooms that grow overnight! The wonderful festivals that honor all sorts of things: holidays, cultures, ethnic groups, and the greatest ethnic gathering of all, St. Patrick’s Day parade, at which time everyone becomes Irish! And the Mummers! Unique to Philly, the Mummers are in a class of entertainment by themselves.Wild colors, toe-tapping, foot stomping music fills the streets, as people do the "Philly Strut" along with dancing marchers. It is a spectacle to behold!

Let us not forget King of Prussia Mall, at one time the largest mall in the entire country! Even though I hardly ever go there, it is nice to know that it is waiting for me to return whenever the need to do so may arise. Speaking of Malls, there are so many within a 30 mile radius that it almost seems ludicrous! This just doesn’t happen in a sleepy little upstate NY community, such as the one I hailed from.

Cheese steaks, soft pretzels with mustard, macaroni and cheese served with diced tomatoes, and pork loin served on New Year’s Day – plus the absolutely must-do corned beef and cabbage on St. Paddy’s day.

Everything in this essay is a part of the tapestry that makes up wonderful Philadelphia – and I for one am very happy and proud to be a part of it!   

44 different Philly ‘attractions’ mentioned

51 if you add in the ducks, geese, birds, horses, llamas, dogs, and chipmunk!

Writers' Group Assignment: Why People Lie

Why People Lie 

– Writer’s Group assignment for 9-20-13

Lying has always been a topic of interest for me for one basic reason:  my mother absolutely prohibited it. She told me my tongue would turn coal black, and fall out. She told me my soul would go to the eternal fires of hell. She told me she would beat the stuffing out of me, which to me, was the worst fate of all. So, I tried very hard not to lie when I was a kid. As a result, I had a somewhat uneventful childhood, while my friends were all having a ball and sopping up the joys of unbridled and nearly worry--free youth.

Then, I grew up. Things changed. First, there was college, back in the dinosaur days before the beauty and ease of computers. How do one hundred and fifty four freshmen do a 10 page report on The Great 100 Books, when there are just one set of them in the library? Easy – you lie. “Sorry, but my car broke down and I couldn’t get to the library in (whatever city).”  It didn’t help. My grade was still a great big “F” for that assignment.

Next lie, to my parents:  “My professor was a total jerk! She lost my paper and refused to give me the grade I deserved!”  Their stony stares told me my lie fell pathetically flat, but I stood by it, no matter what.

I just gave a great example of one of the top 3 reasons why people lie: to avoid trouble.  I once heard that there are mainly 3 reasons why people do lie and they are:

1. To avoid trouble

2. To make oneself seem more important

3.  For personal gain

All other lies would come under one of those topics, such as reason number 1:  to avoid trouble can mean to avoid problems in relationships, or bodily harm,  or avoid punishment of any type, and so on. It can even mean lying to avoid hurting someone’s feelings – which, of course, could translate out to be troublesome to the liar. It if means “trouble” in any flavor, the lie falls under reason number 1.

Then, reason 2: to make oneself seem far more puffed up than he or she is. That can mean lying to appear smarter, or more educated, or more experienced than one really is. And, it can also mean lying to appear richer than one actually is. Lying to influence others is also an ear-mark of this reason, and can have deadly consequences. Just look at most politicians!

Reason number 3 is probably the grand-daddy of them all. People lie to acquire things more easily, with as little work involved as possible. A great example of this is cheating on one’s income tax returns. A very real, yet sad, first cousin to this is stealing – the two go hand in hand.  Example: claiming something belongs to you when you know it belongs to someone else is a combo sin: lying and stealing.

I guess my mother was right. I’ve tried to live my life as honestly as possible, telling little “white lies” hear and there like we all do. But all in all, she was a very wise woman and I trusted her teaching. And, to think that at one point in my life, from about age 15 to age 22,  I thought she was the dumbest simpleton I ever knew. 

To say otherwise would be a lie.   

The only thing missing.....

Well, I guess I am not quite over the 'nesting" instinct. Relax, gang. I'm not talking about babies (at our age....Good Lord Almighty, NO!) I'm talking about sprucing up the nest we already have.


What they say is true: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT start any projects around the house, or you will be sorry! One little thing somehow mushrooms into a mad flurry of activity, resulting in bunches of money going out faster than it ever came in. And, somehow, it is all never quite 'done.' So, about half way through our little spruce- up, I got the bright idea to see what else is on the market. Yeah -- a buyer's market is THE time to look, I told myself. Really, I was trying to duck out of going any further with our madness of fixing up this place we call home. So, believe it or not, we DID find something rather interesting, just a few miles up the road from us. It sounded wonderful, the kind of house I always dreamed of!! The pictures on the web showed a house well cared-for and cared about with every creature comfort you could think of, including a massive "Florida room" -- which could house the entire downstairs of our present home, with room left over. A HUGE in-ground pool was right outside that room from paradise -- and the inviting blue water looked so cool and refreshing!! I just about ran all around, looking for my floaties, as we prepared to meet the Realtor the next day at the house.



Waiting for us in the spacious driveway, the Realtor figured he'd better prepare us for a little surprise: "There is some slight water damage, " he said, looking a bit sheepish. "Don't worry - a coat or paint will have it looking good as new in no time!" he finished with a flourish.

We entered the massive house (did I mention it was huge??) Nearly 4000 sq.ft. I believe the ad said.And, about 50 of 'em were lying face down in the downstairs hallway. The hallway ceiling had fallen down and lay in dusty piles all over the once-powder blue rug! "Water damage??" I asked, stepping gingerly around the fallen plaster pieces.

"Uh..yeah," he said. "Toilet upstairs probably over flowed or something. Hey! Did you see the size of the family room over here?!" he quickly added, hoping to distract us for a moment or two or a thousand.

My hubby was ominously quiet, always a bad sign. Polite to a fault -- but not saying much whatsoever. He asked where the basement door was and Mr. Realtor pointed to it. Richie went on downstairs and I swear, I have NEVER, in my whole life, seen such a dark, dreary, and totally horror movie-like basement! When I saw him round the bottom of the stairs, I held my breath, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly, expecting to hear a blood curdling scream at any moment! None came. Within moments, Richie was back upstairs.

"How long has the water been pooling down there?" he asked. The realtor tried to explain various scenarios re: sump pumps and what-not (boring stuff for a woman!) and I lost interest. I wanted to see the appliances in the kitchen. One look at the ancient stove caused me to actually ache for the new range back home that we bought 2 years ago, and its lovely glass top and self cleaning oven!

As I heard the men's conversation turn toward things such as "biologic tests for mold" and other dry as dirt topics, I meandered outside to view the pool and landscaping. The pool was a total nightmare! I mean, at any moment I expected to see a skeleton, eye ball, or other scary thing pop up to the nearly green-black water's surface, next to the dead cover floaty things bobbing around aimlessly. In my wildest dreams, I could NOT imagine that water ever, ever becoming blue and sparkling clean again! And the landscaping -- holy smokes! I never knew weeds could turn into tree-like plants if left alone to grow long enough, undisturbed and well nourished by the yuck probably leaching from the pool. Just how old WERE those pictures shown on the Web??? Probably about 5 years was my guess! (Turns out, I was almost right!)

We thanked the realtor as we left, and honestly, we could not get away fast enough! Back home that night, we both sat in our cozy living room, enjoying all of the sprucing up we did over the past 2 weeks, including putting in a deck out back and a patio out front -- and felt safe and secure there. We talked a bit about 'the dream house' we went to see and as I live and breathe, I will never forget my better half's final comment on it:


With dead-pan expression, he said, " The only thing missing was Jack Nicholson’s insane grinning face coming around a corner and yelling "Heeeeere's Johnnny!!"



Yup. That said it all!

Three Little Words

This was our Writers Group assignment for Feb. 15, 2013

Three Little Words

Three little magic words can set a person’s heart to dancing and leaping virtually out of his chest with visions of sheer delight going through his mind!  His senses on fire with thoughts of pleasures as yet unfolded, he anticipates how great life is going to become with the utterance of just those 3 words.  Sadly enough, some of us don’t learn these three words – said all together in one comprehensive thought – until there is some frost on the roof and the fire in the furnace is growing a tad dimmer. For me, I learned them early on,  thanks to Big Foot, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.The words are: "No, Thank You."

It was back in the late 70’s, when my son Jimmy was in the Cub Scouts. Needless to say, I was a den mother and up to my neck in volunteering for that noble cause. Someone came up with the idea of a real kick-butt Halloween party, complete with the landing of a flying saucer and a cameo appearance of none other then Big Foot himself. I never quite made the connection between the two, but that’s what the committee voted and decided upon. Besides, no one dared to come up against fellow committee person Lizette Beesley (who came up with the idea to begin with) too strongly as none of us wanted to deal with the fall out of her venom-laced outbursts of sheer anger. So, Big Foot it was to be.

“Who will help make this costume?” Lizette challenged. All eyes looked downward toward the table – all, that is, except for mine. Knowing I also had the Brownies, Girl Scouts, 4 H, youth league basketball, and community marching band volunteer duties to juggle, what do I say? Her eyes were burning two holes into my skull! She knew exactly who to target.

“I’ll do it!” I proclaimed as my stomach pulled inward toward my bowels and the vein in my forehead throbbed a little bit. After all, Lizette used the word “help”, insinuating that she was going to be in charge of the production. I could surely help. After all, what were an extra couple of hours of my time donated for a good cause, anyway?

That was my first mistake. My second one was in suggesting the materials of said costume – which she quickly put me in charge of procuring. Third mistake was I agreed to do the shopping/gathering of all of the stuff needed. So, the next day I bought four skeins of brown wool, six yards of burlap and a latch hook gizmo thing. My plan was to latch hook individual strands of yarn to the burlap, which I would of course fashion into a one piece suit (like an infant’s onesie, but enormous in size!) Lucky me – the volunteer to be Big Foot and wear the costume was a full six foot four inch dad of one of the cubs in my den. So, this costume was going to be extra, extra, extra large. Oh, boy.

One month later, and with my strained eyes streaming lines of salt water from seeing almost nothing but six inch lengths of brown wool for four weeks, and with fingers now permanently curled in the weirdest way from latch hooking literally thousands of these pieces, it started to really get to me! The four women who said they would help me never once showed up. It was one excuse after another – some of them quite creative, I might add. But, nevertheless, there was I like Mother Macree, latch hooking day after day, night after night until I wanted to pass out!

The big night arrived and our Big Foot was a smash hit! In fact, I can still hear the ear-splitting screams of the younger kids as they fled in terror from the room,  with hysterical, frantic mothers running after them. To this day, Lizette’s youngest daughter goes into a form of  PTSD at seeing the color brown – which is a strange kind of justice, I think. Score "one" for Karma.

Anyway, I learned from that experience that there are some times when you simply must take a step back – view the situation for what it really is (an escape for someone else from some chore they’re rather avoid)…and firmly aver, “No, thank you!”

Pardon me, but I have to get going now for two committee meetings here at JW, and will be teaching a class on brain training next week. Then, our chorus will be getting ready for St. Paddy’s day, and our beading group is gearing up for a big jewelry sale…and…........