THSTL Manual, Part 3 - "Thrift"

Thrift

“Thrift: the art of not getting what you want, but wanting what you got.”

  ~ Anonymous

I love that saying! It has carried me through most of my adult life and is probably the number one reason why I never jumped off a bridge. In my first marriage (the ‘old days’), it was not just a saying, it was a way of life for our family.  Well, for at least one of us, anyway.

I always wanted a swimming pool. Not one of those blow-up types where by the time the rings are all filled with air, you aren’t – and when your bluish color returns to normal and you come out of your coma, then the kids can jump in and have a blast. But, I dreamed of a real, live, water-deep-enough-that-your-whole-body-is-covered-with-water-at-the-same-time kind of pool. My then-Mr. Wonderful always said, “No.” Excuses given: we can’t afford to buy a new, $300 pool (honest…that’s what they cost back then), the chemicals and what-not to take care of the pool cost too much money, the water bill will go sky-high, and further more, you can just go to the lake with the kids each day and we won’t have the muck and mess of muddy foot prints all over the house…and so on.  Then, one day, my brother took pity on me and decided to give me his old above ground pool. His family no longer used it, he said, and it was a shame to see it go to waste.  

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven! At last – a pool was finally going to be ours!! Happy, delirious thoughts of no longer having to trek four energetic, rambunctious kids to the lake anymore caused me to go into a kind of trance. Finally, the big day arrived and the pool and its components were dropped off at our house. “It won’t be long now,” I thought, “and we’ll all be enjoying summer like never before!”  As a kid, I also believed in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny way too long – but that’s just me.

We unrolled the skin of the pool and were a bit shocked to realize that a 15’ above ground pool measures approximately 47’, when stretched out on the lawn. That’s when the problems began. There were lots of rust spots in the metal – some of them huge holes, actually – that demanded fixing. Mr. Wonderful came up with a plan:

He spent about $50 on a new heavy-duty electric drill, $60 for special little grinding/sanding bits for the drill, $15 for a 100 foot specially rated extension cord,  $30 for a pop rivet gun, and believe it or not, about $150 for one large piece of custom cut sheet metal. The idea was, he was going to sand away the minor rust spots, then patch the sheet metal in where there was a huge hole. Hard to imagine, I know, but the best way to explain this is to take a tin can, cut it from top to bottom, spread it out a bit and ‘patch’ in another piece of tin, attaching it to both cut ends with pop rivets. Yeah…really, that was the plan. Every evening for about 2 whole months, that is what we did: unrolled the metal ‘skin’, and sanded and scraped it until I thought I would scream! FINALLY,  it was time to pop rivet the new metal onto the old. We had, at last, one complete circle of metal – and then it was time to buy the special, marine-rated paint (cost: $50 a gallon – we had to buy two).  Expenses thus far: $435, or about $135 more than the cost of a new pool already – and we weren’t quite done!

It was time to level the ground, and lay down a cushion of sand. This we did over the span of one week, working each night after dinner until after dark. Cost of sand: $40. Excedrin, Ibuprophen, muscle rub medicine, new heating pad: approx. $45.

At last, the moment arrived to put the liner in the pool. For some strange reason, it did not seem to quite fit. We pulled and pulled, stretched, coaxed and cajoled the plastic liner to its absolute breaking limit, and with about 1 inch to spare, for over-hang all around the perimeter of the pool, it was at last in place.  Something didn’t feel right, I told Mr. W.  Shouldn’t there be more over-hang?  “Nah….don’t worry about it,” he said. (We learned the very hard way that when a pool liner is left to dry out for a while, it shrinks. Who knew??)

The water tanker came the next day. Since we had a well, we figured it would take about 3 months to fill the pool and it was already July. So, he bought us some water. Cost: $50 (cheap, I know, but this was back in the ‘80’s).  As the water began to enter the pool, the liner began to slip. First one area, then another was sliding back in toward the inside of the pool. Like madmen, Mr W, the water guy. and I started pulling like mad on the liner to keep it in place.

“Go get some hot water, and that will help to stretch the plastic,” the water guy said.

“Uh…I think we’d better stop,” I ventured, “We need to get a new liner, I think.”

“No..no..it’ll be alright. I’ve seen this before,” Mr. Water- guy said. “Besides, I can’t get my truck back up your driveway with a load of water on it,” he concluded. I asked if he could just dump it on the ground and Mr. W almost had a conniption!

“And waste all of that money we spent so far?” he screamed. “We’re going ahead!”

So, kettles of hot water were provided and sure enough, the plastic did begin to stretch…and hold!

“See?,” Mr W. said smugly to me, “I told you it was going to work!”

The kids by now were in the pool, with the water nearly to the top. My life long dream of a pool in my own backyard was now within moments of being a reality! Visions of pool parties, tall cool drinks on a cute little patio table on the deck we were going to build, no more sopping wet bathing suits and towels making a mess in my car and so on filled my brain. I could barely contain myself!

At that point, I decided to go in the house to get a cigarette. I had been standing by the sheet metal patch, and left my post to go in the house. As I walked toward the back door, I heard a sound that I will never in my lifetime forget. I can’t quite describe it – words don’t exist to tell you what it was like. All I can say is, it was part way between a screech, a bang, and a tremendous “WOOOOSH!”, all at once.  I turned around to see my now nearly-flattened pool, in this monstrous, obscene “U” shape, lying in a heap on the ground, with my four kids riding a tidal wave down into far reaches of our backyard. (Don’t worry….they were fine).

The irony is, had I been standing where I was standing just moments before, I would have been cut in two. The break occurred exactly where the sheet metal patch was, and with the force of that much water suddenly escaping, pop rivets were found weeks later about 100 feet away from the center of the scene As it was, Mr. Water guy had a cut on his arm about 6 inches long that looked purely ugly – and he had been standing right next to me. It was the one time in my life where I can safely say that smoking saved my life.

Listen carefully – if you really want to save money, do it right the first time. Some things are better left alone and you will be richer for having bought brand new to start with. Our grand investment of $570, give or take, resulted in no pool and praying we weren’t facing a lawsuit from the water guy.  He was only too kind and we never heard from him again.

Incidentally, we never did get a new pool. Mr. W. just wouldn’t hear of it, and besides, we spent all of our ‘extra’ money already. For the next several years, I continued to truck my kids to and from the lake each summer.

I may not have gotten what I wanted, but I wanted what I got: four happy, tanned, and pleasant- memories- of-afternoons- by- the -lake kids. 

And, evenutally, a divorce.

"The How to Survive Life Manual" - Part 2

THTSL Manual, Part 2

“Exercising while communing with Nature is good for you”

Don’t believe that one for a second! Exercising is one thing; communing with Nature is quite another. Put them together and you could have a recipe for disaster.

My walking buddy, Ann, and I love to explore beautiful, historic Fairmont Park, which surrounds the entire city of Philadelphia. In fact, of the two of us I am the lucky gal who lives right across the street from one section of the park, called the Wissahickon Creek area. (most natives here just shorten that to “Whistling Chicken”).  It is a beautiful, invigorating walk and will really get your heart pumping and the old blood stream flowing. Except….if I may offer some advice….there are a few rules that should be followed:

1. Never go walking in the park with your friend’s dog off-leash, and relying on the electric collar gizmo thing.

2. If you do, make sure you check the gizmo’s batteries beforehand.

3. Only take ONE dog at a time! This is crucial!!

4. If they are hunting dogs….leave them home!

5. Know the area, mark your trail somehow, and even better, bring a portable GPS with you. And, for good measure, a cell phone, map, flashlight, compass, extra water, pup tent, back pack, flares, and maybe some food.

6. Make sure you tell someone where you are going, and when you expect to return home.

7.  If the electronic collar gizmo should fail, and the dogs take off down a huge hill at break-neck speed, do not attempt to run after them – especially if you and your friend have a total of 7 artificial joints between you! Someone should have at least one good leg to stand on. Running, falling, tripping or rolling are not advised.

8. If you do run/trip/fall down the hill sprinting after the dogs, make sure you noted where the top of the hill was. This will come in very handy later on.

9.  When you eventually do catch up with the neurotic dogs who are going ballistic and determined to dig out some rabbit, chipmunk, or what-not under a rock the size of a small bedroom – do not attempt to put their leashes on them.

10. If you do attempt this, make very sure the one dog you caught doesn’t decide to excitedly leap in the air toward his owner, who is busy trying to get the other dog tethered and not quite paying attention to dog number 2, who is now pulling you up into the air after him like a streamer because you are attached to the other end of his leash!

11.  If you and the dog you caught should happen to crash into the other person and the dog she has finally caught, and you all go rolling down the hill in one huge human, dog, and leash ball – keep calm, cool, and collected. Spit the debris out of your mouth because it doesn’t taste very good and you can’t quite yell with a mouthful of leaves, grass and dirt.

12.  If your airway is clear, stop laughing. Get up and make sure everyone is ok. Yes, the dogs, too.

13. Look UP toward the top of the mountain from which you just rolled down and determine where your start point was. Note: all trees tend to look alike. Honest…they do.

14. Let the dogs pull you up the hill and pray they don’t spot anything else they’d want to chase.

15. Once at the top of the hill, look all around for familiar things. You know you got there somehow…right? Well, there has to be the way out, like going in reverse.

16. This would be a great time to double check and make sure your cell phone has a full charge. That is, if you remembered to bring one with you. Either one of you.

17. Do not panic! It is simply inconceivable that you would get lost in the deep woods that are right across the street from your own house! Just know there are two directions: down the hill (warning: do not pick that one) and going flat. Choose flat.

18. Listen for the sounds of cars on the road which you know whizzes right past the park.

19. Go in the direction of the sounds and ignore the fact that is it now getting kind of twilighty. It’s amazing how dark the woods can get all of a sudden! With all those trees’ leaves, hardly any sunlight gets through, anyway. Hiking in late afternoon is not such a great idea.

20. Once out of the woods (in more ways than one!), continue to your house and make a vow to never, ever try that stunt again! If you do, just stick to walking on the outside perimeters of the park, leave the damn dogs home, and better yet, just do some shopping at the local mall. You’ll get plenty of walking exercise, there!

The “How to Survive Life” Manual – Part I

My last entry got me to thinking that I might have sounded just a tad ‘angry.’ Who, me?! Nooo…not angry at all! I’m just a bit miffed. What I wanted to sound “funny” came out a bit caustic, and for that I apologize. I really am a great neighbor and love my neighborhood, and in fact, I am thought of as the “mom” of the entire block! I am the only one who is home during the day time, so I get to let my neighbors’ dogs outside, bring them back in and at times, feed them; I accept UPS deliveries for everyone in case it needs a signature, water their gardens and houseplants if they are away, and basically tend to the care and feeding the more mundane details of their lives, and their homes in their absence. Since I got ill and became unable to work outside my home, I have not been busier.  I’m seriously thinking of going back to work, just to get some rest!

It’s just that now I’m at the age group where I can look back over my life, and measure it against things that are going on in the world today. It’s called “Experience”, and believe me, what they say is totally true: Experience is the best teacher.  Trust me: we did it all without a self-help group, telethon, marathon, counseling, or how-to manual. And, we survived it all.

When I see today’s young couples’ quasi-mansion homes outfitted with the latest and greatest in electronic technology (huge flat -screen TV’s, computers throughout the house, Game-Boys left carelessly on the floor, and two or more vehicles in the driveway, plus a camper, motorcycle, boat or other large toy, etc., etc.) and then I am bombarded by their complaints on how they can barely afford next month’s mortgage or rent, I tend to get a little cynical, and more than a bit cranky. My compassion level dips a bit and I find it hard to “commiserate.” All I can think of is, “Just wait until Life steps up and smacks you in the face with a really painful, mysterious, and chronic illness like AVN and you need to deal with all of that – then, I’ll feel really bad for ya.” But, to feel sorry for someone who put himself into the poorhouse because he had to ‘have it all and have it right now’?? No. Not in this lifetime! In fact, to get completely down to the nitty- gritty, I know no less than four couples who filed for bankruptcy – and then went on vacations less than month later!! Their explanation? “We figured we owed it to ourselves to treat ourselves since we have been feeling so down!” Good Lord Almighty! Someone skipped a few chapters in the “How to Survive Life” manual! What more could I or anyone possibly say to them that would make any sense at all to them? Not a damn word. Bank on it.

I’ll never forget my first marriage and what-all I went through to keep things together. That was back in the old days, when credit purchases were starting to  come into their own, and people were buying stuff very timidly on the “buy now, pay later” plan. We had a credit card, too, but hardly ever used it. Our theory was “if we can pay for it, then we can have it.” Silly of us by today’s standards, I know, but that’s how we were. The credit card was for emergencies only, objection over- ruled, case closed (bang gavel!).

We managed to have four babies in four years, and had at least two of them in diapers at any given time– and owned no washing machine or clothes dryer. Pampers were just being introduced, and no self-respecting young mother would be caught dead putting them on her precious baby. So, my life revolved around baby care all day long, then laundry at the laundry-mat every other evening or so. Sun, rain, sleet or snow, I lugged baskets of clothes around until one day I had had enough!

“We need a washer and dryer!” I cried. My then-husband just looked at me as if I had said, “There is a little green Martian at our door and he’s demanding our first-born!”

As God is my witness, the man said to me, “What for?” (Maybe this helps to explain why he is a former husband).

“So that I don’t kill someone!” I growled. He probably correctly figured I meant him.

So, at work the next day, he inquired if anyone had a used washer they would like to unload. It just so happens, someone did. It was old, he told my Mr. Wonderful, but it still had some life in it. For $50 dollars, the new/old washer was all ours.

I could barely contain my glee as he hooked it up for me! Visions of relaxing in the living room while the machine beat the dirt out of our clothes filled my head. Shivering with excitement, I was almost in heaven!

“Come in here a minute,” he called out to me. He lifted the lid to the machine and I could not believe what I was seeing! Instead of those paddle-thingees that go back and forth to swish the clothes around, there was….nothing. It was just a big, empty round barrel. But, the most interesting feature was the barrel itself: it looked to be made of, of all things, rubber. Guess what? It Was.

My father, who sold furniture and appliances for years, came over to check it out for us.

“Hmmmm…., “ he said, peering inside the cavern of the machine,  “I haven’t seen one of these in a dog’s age!”

“What kind of washing machine is this, anyway, Dad?” I asked with growing dread.

“We used to call this model the “Douche bag” in the industry,” he replied, a grin spreading slowly from ear to ear. Well, I had news for him! That’s exactly what I was calling it right about then!

“No, seriously…the idea is the machine will pull the rubber liner in toward the clothes and out again, over and over….then in the final phase, ‘the big squeeze’ will push the water out of them, “ he said. “It’s done by some sort of vacuum system, but the idea never really caught on,” he finished. “You have a very rare piece of machinery here, and who knows? It just might still work!” he added with a wink.

The next day, I filled the machine with dirty diapers (yeah… I know…what was  I thinking?!) and let the water run into the machine. I turned it on. All kinds of noises ensued and for the life of me, it appeared the machine was doing its thing! Then came the glorious rinse cycle – the pointer on the dial was getting close to the “Done” letters, printed in chipped red paint. Suddenly, the washer fell silent. The pointer had landed on “Done.” Odd, I thought: precious little water had come out of the machine. I lifted up the lid and cautiously reached in to pull out the diapers. There was just one minor problem: they were totally soaking wet. I mean, the dam broke, tidal wave time, get Noah on the phone because it’s time to launch the Ark soaking wet. For what seemed like an eternity, I stood at the sink, hand-washing, rinsing and wringing out diapers until my skin started to slough off. (It was also at that moment in time that I decided never to get pregnant again!)

We hung on to that douche bag washer for the next six months or so, but never used it again. Back and forth to the laundry-mat I went, ad nauseum. Then, Mama stepped in! She got my dad’s ear but good, and one fine sunny day a brand new washer appeared on our door step, a gift from my mom and dad.

But, that’s how we did it in the ‘old days.’ We built up our homes and our material goods as we could afford them, or until someone took pity on us and gave us some. By the time my kids were in grade school, I had both a washer and a dryer and let me tell you, I felt like a queen! No one ever appreciated a pair of appliances like I did. They weren’t the latest, greatest, or most expensive, but they got the job done and I loved them.

Young people today have no clue how to survive! If it isn’t instant, it isn’t worth waiting for. If it’s not the latest and most expensive, it isn’t even worth considering. And, God forbid, if something newer comes along, well, then, out with the old and IN with the newer one. But, someone forgot to check the chapter on, “If you can’t PAY for it right now, then you can’t really afford it” in that manual I mentioned.

I swear, I think I know what the world needs right now: that book! If I get miffed enough, I just might start writing it myself!

"The road to Hell...."

You know the old saying, “The road to Hell is often paved with good intentions” ? What they don’t tell you is that the starting line is right here, at my own front door! I swear to God, it’s true. I get into more trouble helping out my friends and neighbors than anyone else I know! Here’s a great example:

A neighbor of mine who I only very casually knew (i.e., we had said “hello” a total of four or five times) came to me one day and asked me if I would let her dog out and feed him for one week, as she was going on a trip to Florida. It didn’t seem like too big of a favor to ask, and in my benevolent stupidity, I said, “Yes, of course.”

She told me where the dog food was, gave me her key,  and said thanks a bunch, phone numbers are on the counter in the kitchen, see-you-in-a-week -- and then happily ta-ta’ed me on her carefree way. 

Later that afternoon, I went over to let Spike (his name, for real) outside and give him his dinner. He was such a nice dog! Tail wagging like an oscillating fan, he trotted outside to do his thing. Meanwhile, I set up his food dish and set it right back where I found it, on the floor next to the doorway to the dining room. Odd, I thought: they have a gate there, which for a dog his age seemed a bit over-kill. Spike was about 10 years old, weighed about 60 or 70 pounds, I guessed, and seemed to be mostly shaggy, aging fur. Boy, was I ever wrong! 

Spike came back inside and went right to his food dish. Then, all hell broke loose.

I had to walk past him and his food dish to leave the kitchen. An ominous growl filled the air – low decibels at first, it crescendoed to a full roar within about 5 seconds. HUGE white teeth glared at me and as he hunkered down for his forward-thrust kill- leap, I just about fainted. Never, ever in my life had I been challenged by a dog. Never, ever in my life had I been in a situation where if I got hurt, NO ONE was going to be around for at least a week! And….let us not forget, I am a bit physically challenged and sport no less than three artificial joints, which add collectively about 14 pounds of stainless steel and plastic to my body. There was no where to run and I couldn’t run, anyway, if my life depended on it. Which it did.

I managed to scoot around the kitchen table, with Spike following me every inch of the way, snarling, growling and purely salivating by this point. “Alpo, move over!”  I thought. “I’m here for dinner and I AM the dinner!”

At the last instant, as I rounded the far side of the table closest to the dining room gate/door, I picked up a chair and like a lion tamer, held it in front of me, warding him off. He lunged! And, got himself all tangled up in the chair’s legs long enough for me to make my escape.

“OH MY GOD!” I panted. “What am I going to do, now?!” There was NO way I was going to go back into the kitchen ever, ever again – but as luck would have it – where was her list of emergency phone numbers? You got it! ON the kitchen counter!

With Spike now totally p***** off, and snarling like a maniac, I prayed the gate would hold long enough for me to find a phone number – any phone number. Looking through a drawer in what appeared to be a little end table, I found some numbers! I dialed the first one and Holy Master of Mutts, it happened to be my neighbor’s sister, whose name was Marvella.

“I’m not coming down that far just to feed a dog!”, she complained. “Hey, I didn’t get to go to Florida,” she pouted.

“Look, you don’t understand, Marvella! I am NOT ever coming back into this house again –un uh – no way Jose, nada, nyet, nein, and in case you didn’t understand -- NO! You have got to call your sister and make other arrangements!” I concluded, sweat pouring down my face, with Spike now chewing on the gate!

I guess they did make other arrangements because that night I saw a car out front of my neighbor’s house and one very angry-looking woman walking Spike who now appeared to be a model of Pure Pooch Peace.

The following week, when Mrs. Neighbor returned from Florida, she came over to apologize and explain to me that she had forgotten to tell me one little thing: never to walk anywhere near Spike’s dish when he was eating.  With this, she kind of giggled as if I would find it somewhat funny, too. Sorry to say, and though I hated to disappoint her, I didn’t find it one bit amusing.

That week, I went out and bought an interesting book: “How To Say No.”

Good book, that one!

"I will not be home until after Christmas!"

Is it just me, or are there far too many kids running around out there selling stuff for their schools, sports teams, cheer leading squads, acne-no-more groups, and what-not??

Every year from about October 15 until New Year's Eve, I am flooded with cute little neighbors' kids (and not so little ones anymore), ringing my doorbell and asking if I want candy, wrapping paper, gift tags, scented candles, flower seeds for next year's garden -- just name it, and they're selling it -- until I find myself pretending I'm not home, just so I don't have to answer the door. If this keeps up, I am going to start claiming them as dependents!

Listen -- I don't mean to sound mean or anything, but I've been this route in my life. With four kids of my own all into sports, music, and other activities, we hit up our family and neighbors, too. I admit it: I was guilty of allowing my own kids to fleece the populace, too! But, now that my kids are grown, there are the grandchildren who are hawking wares. My closets are full of things I will never use and will probably pass down to them someday. The last thing I need is to buy more needless stuff from people I barely know!

The two kids next door, who were rather little when we moved here, are now both in college. Hooray!!! This lets me off the hook, I thought. WRONG answer. Just yesterday as I was leaving my house, the girl bolts out her front door, catalogs in hand, yelling, "Miss Marie! Would you like to buy some Yankee Candles for my (whatever) team?" My ears had shut off the instant I saw the catalog in her hand, so I didn't really catch what she was selling for.

"Uh, Megan...I'm in a rush here, but I'll take a look later on, ok?" I replied rather weakly. I think she could read my mind at that point, but happily trotted back into her house, promising to come back later. Make no mistake about it:  she will. 

Now, seriously...for real, my husband has very severe allergies. I can't even use deodorant that is scented! Just a whiff of a scent when he opens up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom would send him into fits of sneezing and pack up his sinuses as quick  as a flash flood in Texas! Then, I have to deal with the aftermath and trust me, there is no chance of  FEMA waiting to help me! I can run, but I can't hide!  I am somehow going to have to explain to Megan again, for the umpteenth time, that we can't have any scented whatever's in our house. You would think that over the past 10 years, she would remember that, but NO. No such luck!

The three new kids that moved in on the other side of us are all grade -schoolers. Oh, joy! We have how many years to look forward to, now, of door-bell dodging?? At least 7 to 9, by my count. Only, these kids are super smart! They will snag me as I exit my car, waiting at the fence with their big, sad eyes just pleading with me to buy some thing or other for their schools or teams. For good measure, their puppy is standing there, too, tail wagging and looking all lovingly pathetic!

It just isn't fair! I don't get the opportunity to return-fire! My family all lives about 200 miles away from me, so they're no help! All I can do is post a sign on my door (and hope all peddlers are old enough to READ it), that says, "I will not be home from now until after Christmas!"

I understand you, Mr. Scrooge. "Bah, humbug!" sounds about right to me right  now!

Saga of Wicky the Wat - Epilogue

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Epilog….

It had been a few days since I’d seen any trace of Wicky. The fat cat continued making guest appearances, prowling happily around the perimeter of our yard – and even Max began to treat him with benign neglect and apparently doesn’t seem to mind the intrusion at all.  Figuring that Wicky had at last found his way back home (I hope!), it was time to secure the rest of the yard for the coming winter. Peace seemed to have been restored in my micro-cosmic little war.

DING dong! Front door bell – and who should be at my door but none other than little Donnie.

“Hi, Mithith Thanahan!”

“Hi, Donnie.”

“Do you wanna buy any of my thcool’s thtuff for Cwithmath?” he asked, thrusting a thin little catalog and crumply jelly-stained order form at me.

“Sure thing,” I reply benevolently. “By the way, Donnie, did your little pet rat find his way home to you, by any chance?” I ventured.

“Huh?”

“You know…little Wicky, your pet rat,” I offered.

“Uh…Mithith Thanahan, Wicky ithn’t a wat ,” he replied, looking very puzzled.

“Let me guess: Wicky is a cat, right?”

“Yup”.  

Go figure!!

The End...really, I promise!

Chapter 11 - "When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on"

OK. This has gone on long enough. Now, I’m super ticked-off.

Not only was Wicky’s trap empty of all food – and the damn door remained open and the trap critterless – but Chuckie’s trap was in the same condition! Not only is this is the final straw, but my hair is starting to fall out (stress? lack of sleep? too much color??).  As for Wicky, I can’t catch him, can’t kill him, can’t figure out what in the hell I’m supposed to do next. I’m tired, and out of ideas, and haven’t seen Donnie since day 1, and……

WAIT! 

Be still my heart!!!! I looked out my back door this morning and saw something that just left me speechless: of all things, a great big cat was prowling around on the sidewalk between the gazebo and the side garden! The opening strains of "The Overture of 1812" suddenly filled my brain!!

Max stood at the back door, just itching to bolt at the cat, but I told him to just cross his legs and hold it for a little while longer. There was NO way I was going to scare this gift of the gods off! Besides, this cat looked awfully familiar. I’ve seen him around now and then and once or twice shooed him out of my yard (mainly to save his butt from Max)….but today, there he is!

Yeah, I know. Don’t get my hopes up. The way things are going around here, I’ll probably wind up with yet another “pet” that I didn’t ask for. Still, there was something about his attitude that gave me a little hope:

With my luck, this’ll probably be more like it…..

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One more chapter to go, "Epilogue"...look to the right for the link to it