First a bunny, now a longhorn.

For last year's FFA (Future Farmers of America) project, young Miss C raised a baby bunny. Her dad built a bunny-condo for Mr. Chubbs, and the bunny grew from a tiny ball of white fur into a quite pudgy rabbit. C had to bring her adult rabbit to be judged at a FFA-sponsored contest, but Mr. Chubbs didn't win any blue ribbons.

After the contest, C got to keep her bunny throughout the winter, and she was thrilled! As we all knew it would happen, C got attached to that bunny, and I'm sure Mr. Chubbs was attached to her as well. The bunny was tame enough to spend hours quietly sitting in C's lap while she did her homework or watched television. We had quite a few cold snaps this past winter, so C and her parents had to carry that bunny condo from out on the patio into the laundry room, or into the garage--- anything to keep the bunny warm and healthy and out of the cold winds we had during December and January.

I think C's parents got tired of hauling that bunny-house back and forth, but C's two dogs were delighted to have the bunny right close to their dog-beds. I'm sure the two dogs thought they had a real live play-toy when they saw that little white bunny. At one point, C asked me if I would take the bunny--- she said we could put the condo out on our screen-porch and she'd come over to take care of it. I told C that if I didn't already have a full house (one dog and three cats), then I would be delighted to take Mr. Chubbs for her. However, as much as I love that little girl, I just could not make room for one more pet in this house, no matter how cute and how fluffy it is.

Most likely, the never-ending quest of C's dogs' attempts to capture Mr. Chubbs was the ultimate straw that broke the parents' back, and C's mom and dad said enough was enough. The bunny, along with his condo, would have to find a new home. C's dad listed the homemade wood and screen condo on Craig's List, along with a line that said "bunny included." After just a few days, a woman called and said she would like the bunny for her two little girls. They gave Mr. Chubbs and his condo to that lady and her daughters-- for free. C's dad was happy, to have the condo out of his garage, C's mom was happy to have the condo away from her laundry room, and C was thrilled because she knew the two little girls would take good care of Mr. Chubbs. I'm sure C's two dogs weren't pleased that the bunny was now out of their house and out of their reach.

Now for this year's FFA project--- C has convinced her parents to let her raise a longhorn steer. Her dad won't be having to build a corral for the longhorn, since all the steers are kept on local FFA property which has wide pastures and a huge covered barn. C will have to go to the barn every day, to make sure the longhorn has food and water.... she has a driver's license now, so she can easily get there after school, and all during the summer. She also has to brush down the longhorn and keep it reasonably clean. I offered to buy bubble-bath for the steer, but C just laughed and said I was a city girl.

At the end of this project, C will have a full-grown longhorn that will be entered into a contest... the ribbon-winning longhorns will be taken out for mating, or may end up on a dinner plate, for goodness sake. I'm sure C is aware of that part of the project... she's been raised here in Texas, so she knows the deal with beef around here.

I have to wonder, however, if after raising this longhorn, C's culinary choices change from hamburgers to big salads.

"Stamp Camp"

There is an organization in Pennsylvania which accepts cancelled stamps from all over the US (and the world)------ they take these stamps, magically release them from the paper envelope, and give them to children for their stamp collections. They are trying to give these kids a good hobby, educate them on the stamps from around the world, and promote stamp collecting.

This doesn't cost a thing, except for one stamp of your own to mail them to Stamp Camp, and takes very little time. All you have to do is cut out a small square of the envelope where the stamp is on the letters you receive-- just leave an edge of paper all around the stamp so the people separating the stamps from the paper will have room to work. Just keep putting the stamps into an envelope of your own, and when that envelope is about half filled with your cancelled stamps, put one (unused) stamp on the envelope and mail it off to this address:

Stamp Camp U.S.A., 117 Court St., Suite A, Elkland PA 16920.

It doesn't matter if all or most of your cancelled stamps are duplicates, because they are being given away (free) to children all over the country. Stamps can be from post cards, letters, and even the "free postage" stamps that are sometimes on envelopes from charitable organizations.

This is a good way to recycle those used stamps, and the kids who get them are developing a good hobby that will keep them busy for years. I've been doing this for a couple of years now, but just kept forgetting to mention it here. It's amazing how quickly the envelope fills up with stamps for those kids. I just keep an envelope on my desk, already addressed to Stamp Camp, and I mail it off when it's half filled. Before I put that envelope in my mailbox, I take a new envelope and copy the Stamp Camp address on it so it will be all ready to go when I have enough stamps in it.

Rainy yard sales.

This weekend was our community-wide yard sale..... and wouldn't you know it-- the rain has been falling since late last night. Thunder and lightning around three o'clock this morning, which had Mickey Kitty running around the living room and scattering cat toys from one end to the other. Amazing how loud that tiny cat can mrrrrrr-ooooooowwwww when he gets scared. Needless to say, we were wide awake and up for a while during the worst of the storm.

By dawn, the rain had simmered down to a little drizzle, so I went out to the yard sales. Not too many households taking advantage of the community sale day, but those that did had all their stuff on tables in their garages instead of in their driveways. Only the die-hard yard-salers were out and about in the drizzle, and I saw my friend B and her niece K on a couple of the streets. B is the Yard Sale Queen, in my opinion. She can find great things at just about any sale, and she sells her treasures at huge country markets and on eBay.

I drove up and down all the streets of our subdivision, and spent less than two dollars. I found two nice books-- one of which is very hard to find, and I had been looking for a copy of it to give to one of our friends. That's about the only thing I really look for these days at the yard sales-- books. I find other neat things from time to time, but books are the main focus for me at the sales.


My husband and I have been watching travel videos, in preparation for our summer trip to Germany. Beautiful landscapes, immaculately clean villages, castles and cathedrals wherever you look..... it should be a very interesting trip. We watched a video this morning on travel tips-- like packing light. I am determined to take just one carry-on suitcase, plus my purse, and if I follow the clothing suggestions on that video, everything should fit in that case.

Dressing in layers in the way to go, which I had already planned on. One pair of jeans, one pair of black slacks for evening dinners, and one pair of capris. Tops that go with all of those, plus one sweater, one short jacket to dress up the slacks or the jeans. It all sounds so easy, and it is, really. I just have to set my mind to not packing all of my favorite things. And we'll be in lots of different towns and villages during the trip--- so who will care if I wear the same thing more than once, twice, or even three times.

The biggest problem is going to be my hair. I have a tiny fold-up blow dryer that's as light as a feather. Years ago, I bought a package of International plugs, which are supposed to work wherever you go, as long as you use the correct plug. We went to Australia in 1993, and I packed a small blow dryer and the plug that was meant to be used in Australia. Well, I was lucky that I didn't electrocute myself the very first morning there--- not only did the plug not work in their outlet, but it blew out the dryer and turned part of the nail polish on my thumb from "Sweet Mauve" to "Coal Black." I spent the rest of that trip with wavy hair, unless we stayed in a hotel that had their own blow dryers in the bathrooms.

So this time, I'm bringing the blow dryer and the plug, with hopes for the best. But-- I'm already practicing alternative styles with my hair. Instead of blow drying my hair smooth and nearly straight, I'm letting it dry naturally, which gives me a wind-blown wavy look. Actually, I have to say that it looks rather nice. Takes less time than blow-drying it straight, and I know it's better for my hair. It will take a while for my husband to get used to this new look, however. Right about now, he thinks I look a bit "wild." And is that such a bad thing?

Helping Hands Award

My husband and I were invited to an awards dinner in League City tonight. One of the children's foundations affiliated with my chapter of the Pajama Program gave me a community service award for all the pajamas, books, and slippers that I have given to their facility over the past year. All of those pajamas were made possible by a host of volunteers in and around this area.... 4,214 pajamas; 2,564 books; and 215 pairs of slippers-- to date.

The award itself is a very pretty desk clock, with a plaque at the bottom of it which is engraved with Helping Hands Award, my name, the date, and the name of the foundation.

What was even nicer was one of the stories that the director of the event told everyone after she called me up to the dais to receive the award---- a young mother was leaving the facility with a cart filled with groceries from the center, and her eight-year-old son was walking beside her with his new pair of Spiderman pajamas donated by my Chapter of Pajama Program. The little boy was jumping and "flying" across the sidewalk with those pajamas held up as high as he could get them. The director of the event said the smile on that boy's face was absolutely priceless, and was a brilliant reminder to everyone working there that smiles like those were why they were all there serving the community.

Not only was receiving the award a surprise, but seated at our table were two couples that we knew--- one couple who used to live right near us but have moved to the other side of town, and another couple who works with my husband.

There were lots of stories of volunteers tonight..... a man who collects old bicycles and reconditions them for the children of this foundation; another gentleman who teaches children and adults how to use computers; groups who collect toys and games so all the children who come through this facility will have gifts for Christmas; women who work countless unpaid hours at the resale shop which raises money for this organiztion--- last year alone, their shop made over half a million dollars in sales.

Proof positive that every little bit helps. No matter how little or how much you do, it all adds up, and every tiny bit counts.

Look... up in the sky....

.... it's a bird...... it's a hawk! And down the hawk flew, right into our yard, zeroing in on one of the tiny sparrows at our bird feeder. The smaller birds either heard or sensed the large hawk flying down at them, and they scattered into the azalea bushes around the four bird feeders in our back yard.

I saw the hawk as he flew straight into the largest of the azaleas-- so fast that I couldn't even see if he had one of the sparrows in his talons as he sped out of the bushes and up into the sky again. For the rest of the day, not a sparrow was in sight in our yard. The bird feeders were empty... not even the squirrels were out there. It was eerily quiet.

I've seen a hawk in our yard from time to time, and I always worried about AngelBoy when he was out in the yard. An adult hawk will fly low and scoop up a white rabbit if he's hungry enough, and AngelBoy, with his fluffy white/gray hair could easily be mistaken for a rabbit when seen from a bird's eye view. I had asked my next-door neighbor V about that possibility, since she knows so much about the local creatures and their habits, but she hadn't ever heard about a hawk flying away with a cat.

"Then again, AngelBoy could be the first for the record books," she told me. That wouldn't exactly make me proud, was my answer to her. I never worry about AngelBoy and the hawks anymore, since my cats no longer go out into the back yard.

But the poor sparrows...... they wouldn't have a chance against a hawk. I've always fed the birds, and I don't plan on stopping now. I guess the sparrows will have to just take their chances, and be aware of large brown hawks hovering up in the Live Oak tree at the back of our property. I wish the hawks would zone in on the tiny field mice and leave the cute little sparrows alone.

Summer has arrived....

.... and we have been going to the Kemah boardwalk for brunch. If we get there around 11:00, we can easily find parking. By the time we're ready to leave the restaurant parking lots, cars are circling like vultures, waiting to slip into a vacant space.

Since the Crab House closed (and changed to the mega-expensive Chart House), we've been eating at Landry's, right next door (a dozen restaurants there to choose from). Basically the same menu, more or less, just different sauces offered for the seafood dishes. Landry's has a great seafood salad on their menu (as did the Crab House)..... lots of different greens topped with fresh crab, salmon and shrimp. "The big salad," as Elaine on Seinfeld would say. Wherever we go, as long as they have a large dinner salad on the menu, I'm perfectly content.

Lots of boats out on the water today. And for all the boats on the water, there are three times as many back at the marina, just parked in the slips. Can people afford to buy those boats and just let them sit there looking pretty? Or maybe they can afford the boats, but not afford the fuel and the insurance.


I found a new "toy" on my computer this weekend..... it's a web-site that translates English into other languages-- French being one of them, and that was my intention. I can now type into the computer what I want to write to the war-time friend of my dad, then the computer translates everything into French for me. I have to sit here and copy it out, because I don't intend to send that man a computer-printed letter. That just wouldn't do, especially since his letters to me are beautifully written on pristine note paper.

While I was in Barnes & Noble yesterday, I splurged on a box of very fine Italian-made writing paper. Not many pages and envelopes in the box, but enough for ten letters. I used my best and favorite ballpoint pen, the same pen that daddy gave me for my 16th birthday. This pen has been with me all these years, and I have to get refills directly from the Sheaffer Company because the refills aren't available locally.

I told my husband that I am going to splurge on a fountain pen. Real ink, although I'm sure the ink will be in cartridges. When I was in grade school, we weren't allowed to use ballpoint pens--- only fountain pens, or the nuns would give us a "zero" for the entire assignment. It felt like a freedom of sorts when I went into high school and was able to buy a package of Bic pens for schoolwork. Now I hate those Bic pens.... I use them for grocery lists and check-writing only. Greeting cards, letters, journals... "important" writing gets my Sweet 16th birthday pen.

In Barnes & Noble, I found two additional books for my dad's friend in France: one book of photographs from the 1940s war years, another photo-essay book of New York City. Last week at Half Price Books, I bought a book on Texas and a book on the United States-- all four are photo-essay books, and they all fit into the International Priority box that I got at the post office. I would like to be a little fly on the wall when this box of beautiful books arrives in France next week.

I had planned on buying my dad a book about France, but he's very frustrated with his eyesight right now. He can no longer see out of his left eye, and his right eye gets tired very easily (from doing the work of both eyes, I would imagine). He told me that any sort of reading gives him a headache and makes his eyes fill up with tears. "It's hell getting old," he told me. I told him that the alternative wasn't exactly a good prospect either.

The Italian restaurant.....

We went out for dinner last night..... to "our" once-very-favorite Italian restaurant. This is the third time we've been back there now. The food is always good.... we're careful with ordering the "Special Menu" items because we just think they're over-priced (downtown prices in a local restaurant).

I just can't get used to the new location of that restaurant, I guess. The restaurant itself is larger than their old place, the decor is a mix of contemporary and classic (a kind way of saying that it's an uncomfortable mix of styles). The booths are too high, with cushioned seats aren't comfy at all. The tables are too "out in the open" in the middle of the floor, but the wooden chairs have soft leather seats.

Bottom line..... the old place was small and cozy, the wait-staff was excellent (especially our friend K)........ and this new place is just that-- too new. And too large. Going to the old restaurant was a night out.... we were there for more than two hours. Having dinner at the new place is just that-- having dinner.

Oh well.... it is what it is. The food is good and I don't have to cook. And I come home with half of my dinner in a little white to-go box, so I don't have to make anything for myself the next night either.


Pouring rain this morning.... raining so hard that the noise of the rain on the porch roof woke me up before dawn. I got out of bed and let Mickey Kitty back into the house---- he was out on the screen-porch during that rain, and I know he's afraid of hard rain, plus there was thunder and lightning as well. When I go to bed at night, I have to remember which cats are in the house, and who's on the porch.

These days, AngelBoy is always on the porch. It makes me sad, to see his little blue-eyed face staring at me through the breakfast room windows. Once in a while, he'll give me a sad little meow, but I think he's used to being out there now. I sit on the porch with him during the day, so it's not like he's in solitary confinement or anything. Plus, at any given time of the day, one of the other cats is out there with him, or Gracie is out there on the porch as well.

I have to admit that it's easier without AngelBoy in the house. I don't spend any time looking for him in the house..... he's on the porch and that's it for now. Used to be, I had to make sure I knew exactly where he was when he was inside, just because I didn't trust him to do the "right thing." It's strange that when AngelBoy is on the screen-porch, he always uses the litter boxes out there. Only when he's in the house does he go outside the box. Strange cat, that one.

More Letters from France

I have been corresponding with the gentleman from France who knew my dad during WWII. This man is now 72 years old, but he was just a nine-yr-old boy when daddy was there during the war. My father was a young soldier then, in his mid-twenties.

In his letters, R refers to my dad as "our very own soldier." He told me about my father and the other GIs fixing his bicycle for him, and as a young boy of 9, he was "quite proud" of that bicycle from then on. He also said that my father gave him his "first taste of a cigarette." (Looking back, I doubt my father would be very proud of that-- he used to smoke years ago, but quit when I was in high school in the 1960s.)

R also tells me that when he was a boy, his own father was "very severe," but became more lenient when the American soldiers came to their small town of Cremieu. In his latest letter, he told me that my father spent many hours with his parents, learning how to play French card games. He also said that my father and some of the other soldiers set up a "cafe," where soldiers and French citizens could listen to music and dance. R wasn't allowed to go there, because of his young age, but his parents would let his older sister go from time to time.

R also mentioned in his letter that one of the young girls in the town married one of the soldiers. She became a "celebrity" in their town, because she left the village and went "ah.... to America. America!"

In this latest letter from France, R wants to know what sort of work my father did after the war. When R "became of age," he started his own company of "refuse elimination," which is now run by his sons because he has retired. Refuse elimination-- such a delicate way of saying that his company was responsible for picking up the trash in the town.

I think I will look for two books to send to my father's long-ago friend in France: a book on New York City, and a book on Texas. I think R would like to have a photo-essay book of the big American city where my dad spent most of his life, and now that I'm writing the letters for my dad from Texas, maybe R would like to know what this state is like as well.

R had sent me some literature on his little village of Cremieu. Not much has changed there since the Middle Ages..... it looks very peaceful, very old-world, and very beautiful.

It is R's wish that my father come to visit him and his family in Cremieu. I will have to explain to R that that isn't likely to happen. If this "reunion" of sorts had taken place ten years ago, my father would have been able to make such a trip. But now, with his recent diagnosis of the beginnings of Alzheimer's, my father wouldn't be able to travel that far. As daddy said to me the other day: "I can barely make it across the street these days."

The letters from France are wonderful to read, and beautiful to look at. The paper is plain white and unlined, the words are written carefully with a fountain pen. The numbers are written European-style, just like the way my father still writes them to this day. When I was reading the latest letter out loud to my husband yesterday, my voice started to crack and I nearly cried. I don't know why. I couldn't explain it.

R cannot speak or write English, so his friend A does the translating and the writing for him. When I write a letter to R, I also send a short note to A. R lives in Cremieu, A lives in Trept... the two friends aren't that far away from one another. I know the names of their wives, and how many children and granchildren they have. R's daughter gave birth to twin boys this past January, on the very day that my first letter arrived in his mailbox.

When I go to the bookstore for those books, I think I will look for four of them and send two books to R's friend in Trept. And maybe I can also find a book on France to send to my dad.

DaVinci

We went to the Science Museum yesterday, to see the exhibit on the DaVinci inventions. They had very nicely-made wooden models of all of his inventions. Interesting, but not exhilarating. Some of DaVinci's paintings were there as well, but not as many as I thought there would be. While we were there, we also saw an IMAX film on the Galapagos Islands.... that was more interesting than the DaVinci exhibit. (My apologies to Leonardo.)

Afterwards, we went to a Turkish restaurant downtown. We had been there once before, with our friends K & B (who always manage to find great ethnic restaurants). This one is called the Istanbul Grill...... cute little cafe that's hidden behind huge potted plants. The parking lot is in front of the restaurant, and they have outdoor tables behind all those plants, but sitting outside in such a small space leaves us wide open to people who smoke. So inside we went, even though it was a beautiful day. They had the doors open in the restaurant, so sitting inside was just as breezy and fresh as sitting at the outdoor tables anyway.

I can't remember the name of the dish I ordered....... I just know that it was delicious--- very thin wraps of sliced vegetables cooked in tomato sauce. They served it with a cold cabbage salad---- white cabbage cooked with beets, I think, because the cabbage is pink when it's served. Nice sweet taste.

Speaking of sweet, I couldn't leave there without having a tiny slice of their baklava. It's made with pistachio nuts, which are sweeter than walnuts... their portion of baklava is about a two-inch square piece, just enough to satisfy your sweet tooth without wreaking havoc with your hips. And the Turkish tea...... sweet tea served in a petite gold-rimmed glass...... that tea glass alone is worth the trip downtown.

Mediterranean Buffet

We tried a new local restaurant last night..... it was advertised as a Mediterranean Buffet. I had visions of hot and steaming trays filled with delicious Greek and Turkish foods. Oh me of little knowledge.

What we found there was lots of trays filled with foods, but nothing remotely resembling the Greek and Turkish foods that we have eaten in the past. The buffet was filled with Middle Eastern foods. Lots of rice dishes, spinach, cabbage, chicken, fish, lentils (yellow lentils?), potatoes, and other things that were unfamiliar to us. Had their sign read Middle Eastern Buffet, we would have thought twice about going there.

When we walked into the restaurant, we had to pay for the buffet before we were seated. We thought this was a little out of the ordinary, but when in Rome.... (Or more appropriate: When in the Middle East...) After the young man at the counter ran my husband's credit card through the machine, he told us we could walk down and look at the buffet before we paid. But the card had already gone through, and we were there.... so we just took a chance.

I helped myself to some of the fish, the spinach, the cabbage, the tossed salad, then more of the spinach. They had some rounds of pita bread there-- which were straight out of a package and as cold as cardboard. (Our favorite Greek restaurant has delicious hot pita bread that tastes homemade.) The fish was good, the spinach was okay, the rest was so-so. My husband tried some of the chicken dishes, the potatoes, some of the vegetables..... everything was either not hot enough, or too overdone. I watched him as he was tasting the foods---- he originally wanted to drive downtown for dinner, but my suggestion was to try this buffet. We had driven past it one day this week and the parking lot was positively packed. A full parking lot usually means great food. As my husband was eating what he could of the dinner last night, I know he was wishing we had gone downtown.

Oh well. As long as we were there, I tried some of the desserts. The baklava was good, the other ones weren't worth the calories. My husband said the restaurant was a tiny step above fast food. Which is an insult to McDonald's. I don't eat at McDonald's, but I know their burgers are always hot, their bread is warm, the fries aren't stale, and even though you have to pay before you get your meal, at least what you get will be good. (Maybe not good for you, but good.)

So that was our adventure for last night. When we came home, we checked the Internet for that restaurant-- we thought it was just the one, but it's part of a chain. There are seven or eight of them all around Houston. How can that be? I guess you have to just like that type of food in order to enjoy those restaurants.

I told my husband not to bother taking any business trips to the Middle East. We already know we aren't going to like the foods. And I don't intend to fly across an ocean for cold bread that could be tossed like a Frisbee. No wonder everyone in the Middle East is so downright cranky.

Fried Rice and Solitaire.

We went out for lunch to the Hot Wok today.... which means that we have enough left-overs for dinner. That restaurant is one of the larger Oriental/Asian restaurants around this part of town, and in my husband's opinion, they have the only "fried rice" in southeast Texas that even remotely tastes like the fried rice from the Chinese restaurants up in NY.

You can get a lot of delicious foods here, in the hundreds and thousands of restaurants from Galveston to Houston and beyond, but it's nearly impossible to get Chinese food that's as good as what you can get in NY. And you can add pizza to that as well.... only NY "pizza places" have really good pizza. Everything else is just "almost as good as NY." As for a good NY bagel, we don't even expect to find those anywhere but NY.

But there are other things here, which we love just as well. And, in the words of the wife of Professor Randy Pausch (from last night's "Prime Time" show).... It is what it is. I think that will be my new mantra from now on. It is what it is. Such a simple phrase which applies to anything and everything. If it indeed is what it is, then the trick is to just accept whatever it is, and carry on. Life is just too darned short, no matter how long you may live, to get caught up in meaningless nonsense. And a lot of the little every-day things that we complain about are just that-- meaningless nonsense. Anyone who doesn't have really big things to worry about should be counting their lucky stars.

And heaven knows, I've been trying not to worry about things that I cannot change. Everyone's life is just that-- their life. I can't fix it, change it, alter it, or make things all gone or all better. I wish, though, that I could..... and right now I can list half a dozen friends and family members that I would love to wave a magic wand over and cure their illnesses, cushion their falls, soothe their fears, and just make them happy enough to dance on tables and healthy enough to live to celebrate their 100th birthdays. I won't mention names.... they are always in my mind, no matter what I'm doing these days. I am determined not to worry about them all, because then I can't sleep, but I can't stop myself from thinking about all of them.

So........ I play Solitaire. That old card game that my grandfather used to play at the kitchen table. Solitaire. My grandfather would play that game every afternoon. He said it put his mind at rest. My grandmother said he just liked to play cards, plain and simple. I can see, though, how it did "rest" his mind. After you deal out those cards, your mind is just on the cards....... your eyes go from the cards in your hand to the cards on the table. Hand-eye coordination.... a great thing for the brain to be busy with, at any rate.

There I am, at the dining room table, for a little while just about every afternoon now. Less than half an hour, usually, just enough time to play Solitaire the way Grandpa taught me. I don't know what's better for me--- the hand-eye coordination, the concentration, or the good memories of Grandma's kitchen that come flooding back as soon as I shuffle those cards.

I used to watch Grandpa playing cards all the time..... for as long as he played, I was content to sit there and watch what he was doing. I don't know how old I was, but I remember asking him to let me show him that I knew how to play the same game he was playing. He handed me the deck, and I dealt out the cards just the way he did. I guess I had watched him so many times that I just memorized what to do. I remember Grandpa telling Grandma (in Italian)-- "Look at this... she knows how to play!" I knew how to deal out the cards, and Grandpa showed me his strategies with the game.

After that, there were lots of afternoons when Grandpa would be at his usual spot at the head of the kitchen table with his deck of cards, and I'd be in one of the side chairs, with my own deck of cards. We would play Solitaire together.... every once in a while, Grandpa needed to remind me that I couldn't put a red six on a red seven, or that I needed a picture-card to start a new line.

When I first started playing Solitaire again (a few weeks ago now), it took me the longest time to "complete" a game. When I finally did, though, without even thinking about it, as I put the last card on its suited-pile, I said out loud "This one's for you, Grandpa."

Such memories. No matter what we do and where we go, and no matter how far we get in this life, we are all just filled up to the brim with memories.

"The Last Lecture"

I watched the TV show "Prime Time" tonight.... Diane Sawyer interviewed Professor Randy Pausch.... and they discussed his now-famous "Last Lecture." Amazing story about one truly remarkable man.

My husband had seen The Last Lecture on the Internet, but I hadn't read more than a few sentences here and there in newspaper articles. Seeing the professor and his family on TV tonight was very humbling, to say the least, and even though the story brought tears to my eyes, it also made me smile.

Makes you wonder.... if one person can face life head-on, even when he knows the end of the road is coming up quicker than he would like, then surely every one of us has the same capability. You just have to be able to know you can do it, to live in the moment, to enjoy every blessed day as if it truly were your last blessed day.

I intend to buy a copy of Professor Pausch's book, "The Last Lecture." I'm sure it will become one of my most-treasured books, one that gets a special place on my bookshelf and comes down from time to time to be re-read and re-visited.


My husband and I were talking about an article in today's Chronicle --- the newspaper had a photo of school children in Kenya, dressed in their school uniforms and on their way to school. They weren't walking along a quiet stretch of land.... the students were running through a street filled with exploding cars, burning debris and soldiers with guns.

My question to my husband was how can we all, as citizens of this planet, see that and not realize that we are endangering the children of this world who could quite possibly make their way through school, through college, and maybe find the cure for cancer?! Do we need armed soldiers between a child's home and their schools? Soldiers with weapons, and countries with nuclear bombs, and dictators whose goals are to increase their personal wealth while everyone around them scrambles to feed their children? Is this any way to make a planet keep spinning through space?

I guess my real question is "Will we ever learn?" This is just one planet, people...... we are all sharing just this one blessed planet!!!!! And we're all the same....... inside, we are all the same, and until we stop plastering labels on everyone, we will always be different.

And that is my two-cents-worth for today.

Red shoes.

Nothing perks up a cloudy day like a new pair of red shoes. And today was a cloudy day, with enough gray in the sky to look like rain. Yesterday was cloudy also. I couldn't stand one more day of just waiting for the rain to fall, so I got in my car and went to Marshall's.

I needed a new carry-on suitcase, and this is the time to buy them--- all the stores have lots to choose from. In a month or so, there will be precious few colors and styles. Lots of black and brown and beige today, and one that was black/white/gray-- interesting design but very busy. At the bottom of the display was one gorgeous carry-on in a silver blue color---- perfect size, lots of pockets inside and outside, and marked down to $29.00...... how could that be? It was perfect in every way, so I wasn't going to question the price.

Being that I saved so much money on the suitcase, I drove to Shoe Cents..... my favorite shoe store because you can buy excellent quality shoes at bargain-basement prices. I needed two pairs of flats for the summer, one pair black, one pair white..... found them both, then turned around and saw the cutest pair of red heels. Cranberry-apple red, open toes, closed backs, and just about a two-and-a-half-inch heel----- pretty, comfy, and perfectly red.

Between the suitcase and the shoes, plus a lampshade for the yard-sale brass lamp that I found for the screen-porch, the small trunk in my little car was just about full. That's the downside of a two-seater car..... you can't do all that much damage when you go out shopping. (I wonder if my husband knew how small that trunk was before he surprised me with that car......)

Sunny weekend, cloudy Monday.

Woke up to a foggy day here. Did we click our heels and end up in London?

The weekend was beautiful, very warm and sunny. Yesterday we went to the Kemah waterfront and had brunch out at one of the waterfront restaurants. We used to go to the Crab House for our Sunday sit-and-watch-the-boats-go-by mornings, but now we've switched to Landry's restaurant. The Crab House is now The Chart House--- with an upscale (translation: expensive) decor and menu. The new menu is posted by the door..... $29 and up for an entree.... I don't think so. This is Clear Lake, not NYC.

Landry's has the same sort of menu that the Crab House used to offer--- lots of seafood dishes, with all the fish from the Gulf...... and they have a big salad topped with shrimp, crab, and salmon, which is what I always order. Perfect weather to sit outside yesterday...... nice and warm in the sun but the temperature hasn't reached the high 90s yet here, so you don't feel like you're broiling. That will all change by the end of the month.

When we were driving home from Kemah yesterday, my cell phone rang and it was Miss C. Where are you?!?! I told her we were in the car--- "And where are you?" Miss C was at our front door, along with her friend M. They had walked over to visit with us, and C said she had something for me. I told her we were on our way home, so they decided to walk to the park and meet us at our house within the half-hour. I told my husband that C sounded very motherly--- Where are you?!?!? -- as if I wasn't supposed to leave the house that morning.

C and M were doing a charity walk for a student at her school who had passed away from cancer. The student's mother founded a charity to benefit the Cancer Society, and every year around the time when the girl passed away, students pay a few dollars to the charity, and walk a certain number of miles in memory of the girl. So C and M made our house a stop-over during their walk. C came in with a handful of wildflowers that she picked from the park, and a little beaded orange/white cat key chain for me. She said the little cat reminded her of our cat Rusty, who died a couple of years ago. She liked Rusty because he was our first cat and she used to play with him when she was a second-grader. ("When I was just a little kid," says C.)

Speaking of cats....... AngelBoy is still on the porch. C said I will probably get soft and let him in the house again, like I always do. I told her I will do my best to keep him out there this time. Having AngelBoy in the porch makes life in the house much easier--- I'm not going from one end of the house to the other, looking for AngelBoy and making sure he's not doing anything stupid. (Translation: finding a corner that's softer than his litter box.)

That cat....... he is such a hard cat-- hard to understand, hard to love. A cat's cat, as compared to our other two, which are more like doting puppies than aloof cats. In one of my cat books, I read that the best cats are the ones who choose you-- as opposed to you choosing the cat. With our two black cats, ShadowBaby and Mickey Kitty, they were strays who literally found us. ShadowBaby was sitting outside an antique shop in a tiny Texas town northwest of here..... my husband and I got out of our car and there was this tiny black kitten who ran right up to me as if he'd been waiting for us. When we asked the owner of the antique shop who the kitten belonged to, she told us "Well, he's yours now... that kitten has been sitting on the curb all morning not bothering with anyone till y'all came along." So instead of coming home with antiques that day, we came home with ShadowBaby.

As for Mickey Kitty, my husband was in the park with our dog Gracie and he heard the meowing of a tiny kitten..... he walked down near the bayou in the park and there was this tiny black kitten who sat there at his feet with the biggest eyes and the loudest meow. My husband picked him up, and Mickey Kitty sat in his arms for the rest of the walk around the park, and then all the way home. To this day, Mickey Kitty will sit in my husband's arms, or on his lap, or on top of his head, or squeeze half of his little body into my husband's slippers.

Our "first" Shadow...... I had been walking around our subdivision (when we lived in League City) with a neighbor when this tiny black kitten started to follow me. I picked up the kitten and put him into the front yard of the house we were walking by, telling the kitten I already have a cat, so go home. (We had Rusty then, who was just a couple of years old.) As quickly as I put that tiny black kitten behind the fence of that yard, he was at my heels again, trying to keep up with me as I walked. Once again-- I picked up the kitten and put him behind the fence of yet another yard. And minutes later, he was at my heels, struggling to keep up with me. My neighbor told me that it looked like the cat had picked me and that was that. When I walked into our house with this tiny black kitten, my husband said that two cats couldn't be that much harder to take care of than one. We named the kitten Shadow because that's what he was like--- my Shadow, constantly following me everywhere I went. He was the best, best cat, and his death was very sad. We spent over a thousand dollars trying to make him well, then realized we were making him suffer so we wouldn't lose him. We vowed never to do that to another pet.

And AngelBoy...... he didn't find us at all. I had gone to the SPCA about six months after our first black cat (Shadow) had died. I was looking for a cat to "replace" our beloved Shadow who died from a concussion after having a fight with a stray cat right in our own driveway. (It was after that when I decided that letting cats go outside was not a good thing, no matter how much they loved running in the grass.)

So there I was at the SPCA, looking at all the cats, with my eyes puddling up whenever I looked at the black cats. How could I have another black cat when I was still so sad over losing Shadow? When I saw AngelBoy in the crate, this fluffy white/gray cat with the bluest of eyes, I thought he was the most beautiful cat there. And he was, and he still is the most beautiful cat. But he's also the most ornery, the most picky, the most sensitive, the most pee-ing-est cat I've ever known. And those blue eyes just kill me every time, I swear.

The best cats we've had are the black cats. All black, from ears to tail... the three we've raised have all been the friendliest, the most loving, the best behaved, the most perfect of cats.... and not a blue eye on any of them.

Maybe that's the trick-- never choose a blue-eyed cat.

A chili weekend.....

I guess if it's the first weekend in April, then that means there's a Chili Cook-Off at our local college. And that is just what is happening on the college campus today--- pots and pots of every chili recipe that the student groups can download from the Internet or copy from their mothers' cookbooks.

Thankfully, I didn't have to do the chili thing this weekend. My husband went to the college with Miss C's dad, who has the same taste for chili that my husband has. They rode there on the motorcycles-- one more reason for me not to go. I don't do chili (I never did). I don't do motorcycles (not since I was 20-something). In my opinion, neither is good for one's health. (To this, my husband would say "And I suppose kettle corn is?!")

So the guys went to the chili cook-off, and I went to the local resale/consignment shop. Always fun to look around there, and they always have different displays of new items. They seem to do a lot of business at that shop because what is there one week is usually gone the next. I've also brought items there for them to sell for me, and the two checks from them have been surprising--- more than what I would have gotten for the items if I had sold them in a yard sale (which I don't want to take the time to do). I probably could have sold the items on eBay, but that is always such a pain.... between the ever-complicated selling page, and the sometimes ornery behavior of my computer, my patience for listing items on eBay is running thin. So when I have to adhere to my "one thing in, one thing out" rule, I bring the "out" items to the consignment shop and let them sell them for me.

Last night, I was up at the High School to see Miss C and her Color Guard group perform their competition routine. C and one of her friends are co-captains of this term's CG group, and the new routine was wonderful.... happy and vibrant with great music and creative dancing. This is C's last year of Color Guard--- she won't have time for it next term, her Senior year. (How did we get to be Seniors already?) I have to say that C was beaming last night.... she truly loves to perform, and she loves dance and gymnastics, and she's excellent at both. Watching her nearly broke my heart last night...... to see her performing so well, and blowing me kisses as she ran from one side of the stage to the other..... makes me regret not having children of my own. I sat there watching her last night and my eyes filled up with tears.

After the performance, C ran up into the seats to thank me for coming to the school to watch the routine. Her parents were there also, but I have to admit that while C was hugging me, and I was telling her that I was so very proud of her, I was pretending that she was my child.

Speaking of "my child...." -- AngelBoy has been banished (yet again) to the screen-porch. I swear, that cat will be the end of me one of these days. The other day, on a perfectly quiet afternoon when neither ShadowBaby nor Mickey Kitty was bothering him, AngelBoy pranced and purred his way to a corner of the living room when his destination should have been his litter box. And heaven knows, between the laundry room, the screen-porch and the bathroom, he has enough litter boxes to choose from. But he didn't... and the result was a little puddle on the carpet that I had to clean up, disinfect, rub and scrub and spray.... and hope that I got out every last drop.

So AngelBoy is on the porch. My husband says I should leave him there "for good." Well, that always seems to be my intention, but I always cave. Just wait until the next thunderstorm, when AngelBoy is meowing pitifully by the door of the breakfast room. Or the next time the lawn-guys come with their cat-menacing noisy equipment. Or how about when we get a frigid day in December and I can see AngelBoy's little whiskers shaking in the cold breeze on that porch--- do I keep him out there then? "Put him into the laundry room on those days," says my husband.

Easy for him to say. When AngelBoy is in the laundry room, his blue eyes peek out in the two-inches of space between the door and the archway... and that meow grows louder and more pitiful for every hour he's sequestered in that room. And then AngelBoy raps his paw up against the door in a kitty-rhythm that breaks your resolve to leave him in there "till kingdom come."

One day at a time. For now, AngelBoy is in the porch. And when I'm in the breakfast room or the kitchen, he looks at me through the windows and I know those blue eyes of his are asking me why he's in jail. I just don't understand this cat. And I don't understand why we named him AngelBoy, of all things.

Fly the friendly skies....

Lots of articles in The Chronicle the past few days about the airline companies and their planes. Their very old planes, to be exact. Just how many miles should an airline expect one of their planes to fly? I would think that the stress on an airplane is not exactly like the stress on a car. Those planes are speeding along at 600 miles per hour, aren't they? And just what does all that speed do to the nuts and bolts, not to mention the engines of those planes.

So there I was, reading the articles this morning, and knowing that we plan to make at least one plane trip this coming summer. My husband tends not to worry about those things. I, on the other hand, do worry. I told him about the offending airlines...... I explained about the lack of inspections and the repair work going to non-American companies so the airlines can save money.

Let's see...... would you rather a highly-trained and well-paid technician work on your airplane, or would you give the work to a minimum-wage apprentice in a country whose government may not impose safety regulations on their airlines? And how come all the top-notch million-dollar executives at the airline companies aren't worried about their own planes? Are they not flying in them? Do they all have private jets with personal pilots so they don't have to even think about their safety as they buckle their seat belts?

Don't get me started, I swear. This is why I hate to get on an airplane. I've always hated it, but I've done it many times over the past fifteen years. We've gone as far away as Australia, Hawaii and Amsterdam..... and as close as Las Vegas and Savannah. No matter how many miles it takes, I still hate the thought of getting on those planes. But I do. Can't drive to Hawaii or Australia, after all. And I loved both places, and would have missed great trips had I not gotten on the planes.

My Uncle Mino didn't trust the airlines. He never got on another plane after he got out of the Navy when WW II ended. He didn't trust the pilots ("How do I know if he had a fight with his wife before going to the airport? The pilot could be getting on that plane and be mad as hell."). He didn't trust the people in the control towers ("How do we know if their eyesight is 20/20? And what if they have to sneeze and they shut their eyes for a few seconds and two planes get too close to one another?") He didn't like going to the airports to pick anyone up ("They can't even figure out how to keep the traffic moving on the ground at Kennedy, so what makes you think they can keep those planes moving up in the sky?")

He had an excuse for everything that was connected to airplanes or the airports. When I was just married to my husband and beginning to take lots of airplane flights all over the country, Uncle Mino would listen to my trip plans and look at me with a serious face and say "I don't fly. Period. I just don't fly." I would look right back at him and smile, with my answer: "I don't fly either, Uncle Mino--- that's why I take a plane." While I'd be laughing at my joke, he would still be looking at me seriously and telling me "You have your father's sense of humor... your father's sense of humor."

My Uncle Mino has passed away now...... nearly five or six years ago. He didn't go anywhere that he couldn't drive to..... and kept to his word about not flying. Period. He didn't have a lot of exciting vacation memories, but he didn't care. He was alive when my husband and I went to Australia, and he was thoroughly appalled that someone with "good sense" would take a plane ride over an ocean.

I need to stop thinking about that "over the ocean" part.