Tree trucks....

There are huge trucks in our subdivision now, as well as fork-lift machines which can grab the massive piles of branches, limbs, and tree trunks that are lining every inch of curb-grass on each and every street. The Powers That Be have started to clean up the tons of tree debris that Ike's winds left on our streets.

And I swear, the piles of tree branches have been growing every day. I think homeowners are looking around their property for any and all green things that they no longer want on their lots. I would imagine that they're figuring that as long as the city is going to be picking up all this tree-trash, then they may as well take advantage of the opportunity to just fling out a small tree or a large branch and add it to the pile. Some of the four-foot high tree piles are now way over my head and you can't see from one side of the street to the other. I've noticed all of this as I walk through the subdivision every evening. It's hard not to notice the newer, greener branches on top of the brittle brown ones that have been at the curb-side for nearly two weeks.

The neighbors are starting to calculate how long it will take those trucks to get from one side of the subdivision to the other. I'm just hoping that the piles of tree-stuff will be gone before Halloween. There has already been one article in the Chronicle about a little girl being hit (and killed) by a car because she walked out into the street from her driveway and couldn't be seen by the driver because of the six-foot pile of tree branches that was in front of her house. If all the tree debris is still around on Halloween night, that's just one more thing that parents will have to worry about. Thankfully, we have rules for Halloween night here-- kids can't go out without adults, and trick-or-treating lasts for just two hours.

Halloween..... the decorations in this house have multiplied, and everything is out of the storage cabinet and arranged around the house. Miss C was over here twice, to help decorate. School has been out since Ike came through, so she had plenty of time on her hands. C is taking care of four long-horns, as part of an FFA project in her school. Each steer has its own personality, C says, and they are all learning to respond to C's voice, and she's trying to teach them to learn their names. She has to care for them every day after school-- brush them, wash them down, give them food and water, clean out their stalls, and she reads to them (which was her own idea-- C thought it would be a good way for them to get used to her voice). Last year's project was one tiny little bunny; this year's project is four huge long-horns.

Our neighbors have already been RSVP-ing to the Halloween party invitations. Well, so this is what it takes to get everyone to take an RSVP seriously: a hurricane. Seems that everyone is so thankful that we were spared anything worse than fallen tree limbs and smashed fences, and all the neighbors are excited to have the party to look forward to. One neighbor told me that she was going to come to the party as "a hurricane survivor who had to live without power for six days." I restrained myself from reminding her that parts of the greater Houston area are still without power, and Galveston Island is still without running water, as well as not having power.

The Chronicle continues to publish photographs of Galveston and the near-by waterfront areas. The devastation is unreal, when I see the pictures in the newspaper, but all-too-real, I'm sure, for those who have been living in the midst of it all. The Seabrook and Kemah areas here are still cleaning out from the four to six feet of water that was in their streets and in their homes.

We have not had one single drop of rain since Ike came through here. Every day, except for the early morning after the hurricane, has been picture-postcard perfect. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, blessedly gorgeous days. The kind of weather that makes us all grateful to be living in southeast Texas in the first place. When you enjoy these pretty days, you never think that a hurricane can swirl in from the Gulf and tear everything to pieces in a matter of hours.

"Too close to the coast." That's what most of our neighbors are now saying. We always thought we were far enough away from Galveston Bay here. Not far enough, depending on the strength of the hurricane and the level of the storm surge. We were lucky this time. So very, very lucky. I wish that the small towns closer to the waterfront had been as lucky. My husband and I drove down there one day last week. It looked like a war-zone on most of the tiny streets near the Bay. Fences down, cars wrecked, wet furniture piled up at the sides of driveways, trees leaning against houses, and everyone was outside their homes looking for "keep-able" things in the piles of debris. When we came home to our post-hurricane-perfect house, it made me appreciate it all the more.

Yard of The Month.

That was the caption underneath a photograph in yesterday's Chronicle, picturing a home in the Sea Isle subdivision in Galveston. The house itself had been boarded up in preparation for the onslaught of Hurricane Ike. The yard was thigh-deep in debris-- boards, baskets, lawn furniture, palm tree branches, and tons of indefinable items either washed ashore or swirled around on shore by the relentless waves of the storm. In front of this house, in the midst of all the debris, the home owner used a large piece of wall-board and a can of black spray paint to make his sign: "Yard of The Month."

I cut that picture out of the newspaper and put it on my fridge. It makes me smile at the blessed resilience of people, and it reminds me that everything that we went through because of Ike was microscopically minuscule compared to what other residents of the waterfront communities had to endure.

You just had to laugh out loud at the irony of that sign, and commend the home owner's sense of humor and perseverance. All of the subdivisions down here have elaborate "Yard of The Month" signs that are displayed on the best lawns each month. Supposedly, master gardeners from the individual community associations drive around the neighborhoods and decide who gets the much-coveted sign that proclaims to one and all that that particular home has the greenest and lushest lawn, the tallest and prettiest flowers, the most pleasing arrangement of landscaping. The master gardeners/judges seem to prefer traditional English garden designs. I have yet to see a "Yard of The Month" sign in front of any house which features a painted one-dimensional wooden woman bending over the flower beds and exposing her lace bloomers.

I doubt very much that any subdivision around here will be displaying a "Yard of The Month" sign anytime soon. The mountains of tree branches are still outside each and every house. Everything has been moved from the front lawns to the curb-side part of the lawn, and we're all waiting for the huge trucks promised by the city. According to the mayor, all of the tree debris will find its way to landfills. The city of Houston said the entire procedure could take as long as six months. Does that mean that we will have to decorate the branch-mountains with holiday lights?

Our neighbor at the corner of our street has been trying to reach The Powers That Be in our own community association. She swears that they have taken the phone off the hook. "Honestly, how can their line be busy for six consecutive days?" She has vowed to drive to the office of the president of the community association and tell him that with all the subdivision maintenance fees that we pay every year, we shouldn't have to wait six months for the city of Houston to come by with their dump-bound trucks. This neighbor is worried that the six-foot piles of branches will soon become mouse condos and snake nests. Snake nests. Well, that's all she had to tell me. Now when I walk Gracie, I'm walking on everyone's front lawn instead of the sidewalks, which are way too close to the bottom of those fallen-branch mountains.

These mountains, which were once green with just-fallen branches, have now become brown and brittle. When the branch-mountains were first assembled near the curbs, you could actually smell the inside of the broken branches, sort of sappy-sweet and bitter green. Now the piles of debris just smell like old trees, like charcoal that has turned to ash and then been rained on.

I started walking along the Greenbelt again this week, after having nearly a two-week walking break because of the storm. Nearly all of the pines on both sides of the bayou were damaged. Most dropped their branches right close to the walking trail, other pines have broken branches still hanging by a thin strip of bark, ready to fall down as soon as we get some good winds from the Gulf. Neighbors are riding their bicycles, skating along with roller-blades, kids are on skate-boards, walkers and joggers are all out there again--- and we're all looking up at the dangling branches. Can I make it past that tree without that branch falling down on my head?

Now that would be the greatest irony--- walking or jogging around the Greenbelt to keep fit and healthy, and ending up in the hospital because a massive pine branch fell on top of you. Not a good thought.

Here's looking at you, Ike.

We found out from some of the neighbors why our subdivision was very lucky during the latest hurricane--- the eye of Ike passed right over here. Literally right over our subdivision. The neighbors who chose to stay here heard the storm's winds and rain, then the ghostly silence of Ike's eye, followed by the rest of the winds and soaking rains. When we came back to our neighborhood, as we were all tsk-tsking over the loss of thirty-year-old oaks and elms, twisted lawn furniture and smashed fences, other homeowners in subdivisions closer to the Bay were dealing with waist-high water and the resulting damage.

Our favorite little Greek restaurant, barely a twenty-minute ride from our front door, is now cleaning up from four feet of water. The restaurant is located right in front of an island community in Kemah, all of which was innundated with three or four feet of water. All those stilted island homes with the pretty palms are now sopping and soggy with mud and water (not to mention fish and debris) from the Bay. The Greek restaurant has been flooded before; they are cleaning up now and will most likely (hopefully) be open for business as soon as they can.

The trees and large branches all over our subdivision are now out on the curb-side part of our lawns. Mostly everyone has had their lawn services come by and rake up and clean up as best as they could. Lawns have been mowed, and now look green and leaf-free again, but the stretch of grass near to the curbs are just covered with piles of branches and tree limbs, some piles reaching six feet high. The once green leaves are now turning brown and brittle from the heat, which thankfully didn't come back until we all got electricity again. How nice it was to turn the central air units to the on position, and to hear the familiar hum of the fridge.

Now, of course, all the neighbors are wondering who is going to take away these mountains of tree debris? The city of Houston? Clear Lake City? Our own individual subdivisions? Or will we all have to just pay someone to come by with a truck to haul all of this out of here? Most of the trees on our street now have dead branches hanging precariously from other branches that were spared by the winds of Ike. One good rainstorm with some wind from the Gulf, and those dead branches are sure to come spilling down. Tree-trimming companies are backed-up with calls, and we haven't even tried to call anyone yet. Our next-door neighbor has the largest branches still hanging from her trees, so we figured if we both called the same tree company, maybe they would give us a discount for taking care of all our trees during the same visit.

We are all thankful that our subdivision didn't flood, that the water in the bayou running through here didn't rise up over its banks. There are so many neighborhoods very close to us that are still sweeping out the mud, siphoning out the water, drying out whatever is usable in their homes. If I were faced with that task, I do believe I would just take out what we could, slap a "For Sale, As Is" sign on the front door, and just look for another house.

Ike was kind to us here: he simply gave us his eye. The other waterfront and near-to-Bayfront areas got other parts of his anatomy.

Welcome Home.

We evacuated for Ike, the latest hurricane to come speeding and spiraling across the Gulf. We took our dog and our three cats and stayed with our friends K and B, who live in the older part of downtown Houston (original high ground, not built on a landfill). They have a little "casita" out in their backyard-- they took a three-car garage and turned it into a guest house. It has a little living room, kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom. K's grandchildren love to stay there because it's like a private doll-house, and it was truly our port during the storm.

The pets seemed to be okay, just a little stressed-out from the drive downtown. Once again, we took both cars, for the simple reason that we thought there would be very little left here after Ike marched through. I had AngelBoy and Mickey Kitty in my car, my husband had Gracie and ShadowBaby in his. We each took personal items, plus food and water for the "kids." When we got to K's guest house, the cats promptly ran underneath the bed to hide. Not a good sign for my cats, who are always content to sleep out in the open, flat-out on their backs with their paws pointing to the ceiling. Content cats will only hide in fear, and I guess by the time we got downtown they really didn't know what was happening.

We left last Thursday, which seems like a life-time ago. We had the news on constantly, and we kept hearing that Ike was not only gaining strength but heading straight towards Galveston. Not a good thing to hear. On Friday morning, we drove back to our house to rescue irreplaceable items. Old family pictures, wedding and photo albums, one-of-a-kind mementos. We had until noon-time that Friday morning... after that, everyone here was under mandatory evacuation and we wanted to be able to drive back downtown without getting stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

It was emotionally hard to drive back here that morning. Heartbreaking to put things into boxes.... our wedding album and video, my sister's wedding photos, my grandparents' 50th anniversary picture, my friend F's son's wedding day picture, my husband's mother's music box, my baby pictures, my husband's album of old photos.... we kept looking around for small things that we could take, that could never be replaced. And to look at all we had to leave, that was harder still. My grandmother's rattan furniture, my husband's mom dining room set--- how could this all possibly be under water in less than twenty-four hours?

We left and headed back downtown, and I absolutely refused to look back at this house after we locked the door. I didn't want to see what it looked like in the rear-view mirror. When we got back to K's guest-house, Gracie was right by the door, with her nose practically glued to the glass, waiting for us to come back to her. The cats were still under the bed.

In the middle of the night on Friday, which was really Saturday morning, Ike hit Galveston. By now, we all know that most of Galveston was swallowed up by Ike's wind and waves and let's not forget the storm surge. Clear Lake was another casualty... the water was up at least eight feet, drowning parts of Kemah, Seabrook, Nassau Bay, Bacliff-- all the little towns so close to our home. If they were under water, what would that mean for our own subdivision?

I was awake for the entire night, watching the news. The power was still on there in the downtown area, and didn't go out till nearly five o'clock in the morning. I heard about Tiki Island, Crystal Beach, the Bolivar Peninsula, and Galveston, poor Galveston. Glass windows were splintering and raining down on the downtown Houston streets; one side of the Nassau Bay Hilton fell into Clear Lake and the water was rising up over NASA Road One and heading for the Johnson Space Center. I wondered about the bayou that runs through the center of our subdivision. If the water in Clear Lake was flooding NASA Road One, would that mean our bayou would flood? And wouldn't that mean all the houses here would be flooded?

During the worst of the storm, I put the cats in their crates and I sat down on the floor with them. K's guest house has floor-to-ceiling glass doors and I figured if those blew out, I wanted the cats safe in their crates so they couldn't get hurt by the glass. I didn't even think to put a blanket or something over me in case the glass went flying. I was just worried about the cats. Gracie was in the bedroom, sound asleep for the better part of that night, with my husband. The air conditioner was on in that room, and it was a loud unit, and super-cold, which is why I was in the living room. Plus, with everything going on, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. And the cats... I didn't want them underneath the bed and scared out of their whiskers.

I was fine until the power went out. The storm sounded horrible, with trees snapping outside, windows rattling and shaking, the wind just howling, actually howling as if we were all in the middle of a horror movie. But when the power went out, of course the television went out, and with it went my link to what was happening in Houston, in Galveston, in Clear Lake. The cats were eerily quiet, quite content in their crates, wide awake but not making a sound.

When Saturday morning brought the first light of day, we could all see the damage. Tree branches all over the place, little trees bent over, large trees uprooted. All of our cars were okay, just covered with leaves and pine needles. My little car was luckiest of all... it was parked underneath a carport across the street at one of K's neighbors. Except for leaves covering the back end of it, the rest of the car was barely wet.

We all didn't know whether to laugh or cry. We started sweeping and raking instead. Just about all of K's neighbors were there through the storm and everyone came out and started cleaning up after the rains had quit. What we didn't finish on Saturday got cleaned up on Sunday. By Sunday night, K's neighborhood had the power restored.

We drove back here on Sunday afternoon. Two cars, same as before, just in the opposite direction. We had heard that parts of Clear Lake were under four to six feet of water, but our subdivision never flooded. The storm surge didn't get up high enough for the bayou to run out of its banks and down our streets. That pretty, winding bayou, surrounded by wildflowers and home to turtles and catfish, egrets and herons.... I never thought it would be a flood-gate for our homes.

Trees were uprooted on every street here. Branches were all over everyone's lawns. Fences were smashed flat, lawn furniture was scattered. Everyone's perfectly manicured lawns were now a perfect mess. But the roofs of the houses were intact. Chimneys were still standing. Cars weren't floating, homes weren't flooded. There were signs saying "Free coffee" at the little Stop-n-Go market in the middle of the subdivision. People were out sweeping and raking, cleaning up, moving all the branches from their lawns to the curbs.

When we got to our street, I could have cried. All of the Live Oaks that line each side of our street were still standing. The canopy from one side to the other was still intact, still magical, still beautiful, just missing some large branches here and there. Every home on our street looked okay. Not one was missing a roof, not one even seemed to have anything worse than rearranged landscaping.

The inside of our house looked as if we had just left it. The Halloween decorations were still right where I had put them. The power wasn't on, but the power of Ike hadn't done anything more than blow off one of our roof vents.

The electricity on our street has just come back this morning. Within the first two hours of having the power turned on, I had washed my car and tucked it safely back into the garage, I had vacuumed all the carpeting, and I had done two loads of laundry. Gracie is doing just fine, walking in the park with my husband every morning, and the cats are back to sleeping in the house, on their backs with their paws pointing to the ceiling. Everything is all right in their purring little world.

The Houston Chronicle began deliveries three days ago, and we've been getting mail again for the last two days. Every day's newspaper brings pictures of the devastation in Galveston, and it will be a good long while until that island is back to its happy, beachy, carefree self.

Our favorite photographs are back in their places... all my aunts and uncles with my grandparents on their 50th anniversary, my husband's parents' wedding picture, me adjusting my sister's veil on her wedding day, the little photo of my husband and his grandfather, a picture of J and M after their marriage ceremony in Queens. Our home is all back together, with the wicker furniture out on the screen-porch instead of being stacked up in our living room. Not even the porch screens were damaged by Ike, and I'm sure the cats were happy to have their porch back.

This was the second time we have had to evacuate, Rita being the first. We never forgot Rita, even though that storm barely ruffled the palms out here. Ike was relentless, totally without mercy for Galveston. Clear Lake was fairly lucky this time, except for the towns bordering Galveston Bay and Clear Lake itself. We live far enough away from the storm surge. But had the surge been worse, and had Clear Lake risen higher, I might not be typing at this moment. We all might still be in downtown Houston, trying to get the cats out from under the bed in the little guest house in K's backyard.

Ike.... as in Yikes!

I'm beginning to absolutely hate hurricane season. Gustav... Hanna... and now Ike. When they first announced the name Ike, my husband and I both said that the name itself didn't sound like it would be a friendly storm.

Some of our neighbors have already boarded up their windows. Other neighbors never took down the boards that they put up in preparation for Gustav. Still other neighbors have already made plans to leave (or have left) and they didn't even bother with the boards at all.

My husband and I looked around our house tonight after the late news, and after checking the storm's progress on the computer. I made a list of what we needed to take, if we have to leave. (My cousin L recently asked me what important things I would take out of this house if we had to evacuate quickly. I told her that the only "important" things were those that are breathing.)

The mayor was on television telling everyone that evacuation wasn't mandatory. He is advising anyone "on high ground" to settle in and stay put-- but he didn't say just how high the ground needed to be.

Galveston Island is already evacuating, especially the west end of the Island, which will be under water if the storm is as bad as they said it will be, and if the storm surge is as high as they're predicting, and if the hurricane itself doesn't take a right turn towards New Orleans. All these ifs that they keep throwing into the news and the weather updates.

The way I see it, remembering the bumper-t0-bumper traffic on the Gulf Freeway two years ago when everyone in Galveston and Houston was trying to get away from Rita (which did take a turn and brought only rain and low winds), the time for evacuating everyone in this area has already passed.

We're watching the storm pattern now, and we'll see what they say tomorrow morning. If the storm continues to move towards the right in the Gulf, then we'll probably just get a good heavy rain with some winds-- enough to blow the ceramic ducks around the yard, but not enough to blow the roof clear into the next town.

As a precaution a couple of days ago, my husband had made reservations at a pet-friendly hotel in College Station, which is about two hours north of here. When we made those reservations, we had no way of knowing that the path of the storm could bring the worst of it right through College Station. Well... guess where we're not going.

The weathermen were talking about all the construction equipment in and around the downtown areas of Houston.... all of which can become projectiles when you have hurricane-force winds. If the storm hits the way it's looking right now, the downtown area could have 100 mph winds by late Friday. The weather guys were suggesting that everyone needs to not only pick up or tie down all the stuff in their own yards, but everyone should go around town and pick up construction supplies, orange road cones, and highway safety barrels.

Are they for real? Do they really think people are going to do that? Shouldn't that be up to the construction companies themselves? All they'd have to do is get their own crews out there to either remove or tie down their supplies. And how about those huge cranes that are peeking up around the downtown buildings-- how safe are those going to be with 100 mph winds?

Oh well. The next twenty-four hours will give us more information about Ike. This storm stuff is getting very old. In all the years we've lived here, only these last few have been so threatening with all of the summer hurricanes simmering in the Gulf.

I'm hoping that Ike doesn't boil over. And I've already been decorating our house for the Halloween party next month. We're ready for Halloween, not a hurricane.

Tow... tow... tow your bike....

.... gently down the road..... la la la la la la la.... life is but a dream. (I forget all the words inbetween there, but you get the idea.)

My husband rode his motorcycle to his office last night. Beautiful weather, not a raindrop in the sky, and it seemed like the perfect time for a ride. He's been so busy lately that the motorcycle has been parked in the garage and hadn't seen daylight for weeks now. So off he went.

After his office hours, back he came... walking through the front door, instead of riding the bike down the driveway and into the garage and coming through the back door. That the was first hint of a problem. Where's your motorcycle?

"At work. Parking lot. Got ride home." Second hint-- my husband doesn't usually speak in incomplete sentences.

What happened was that the motorcycle wouldn't start when he was ready to leave. The engine wouldn't turn over, no matter how hard he tried. One of his co-workers drove him home and dropped him off in front of our house.

As I was about to ask my husband how the motorcycle was going to get back here, he told me that as soon as he changed out of his good slacks and shirt and into a pair of shorts, we would drive his car back to the parking lot. Then he would tie a rope around the trailer hitch on the back of the car, and I would drive the car pulling the rope that he would hold as he straddled the motorcycle. What? What?

"Easy as pie," said my husband. "It's late, it's dark, there's no one on the road, it's less than half a mile. Not a problem." When my husband gets that "no problem" look in his eyes, there's no sense in arguing. So off we went, with me shaking my head all the way... I can't believe we're doing this.

When we got to the parking lot, the motorcycle was the only vehicle there. As we drove up to the spot where the motorcycle was, we saw an armadillo walking slowly right next to it. In all the years we've lived in Texas, that armadillo was only the second one I've seen alive. We've seen lots of armadillos over the years, but they've all been smashed dead in the middle of the road. For all their ugliness, when you see them up close, they're almost cute. Not kitten-cute, but cute in an E.T.-way (as in "E. T., phone home," the ugly-bordering-on-cute alien).

Anyway, back to the motorcycle. We did indeed attach the rope to the trailer hitch, then my husband got on the bike and sat there holding the rope in his left hand as he waited for me to drive. I asked him if it might be a better idea to tie the rope to the front of the bike, but he didn't want to take the chance of me driving too fast and then he wouldn't be able to disengage himself from the rope. Before I got behind the wheel of the car, my husband reminded me that he would be holding that rope, and he didn't expect to get rope-burns from trying to hold on. "Don't go too fast, don't go too slow... just keep a steady pace and we'll be fine." (No pressure here.)

I had to drive very slowly, less than five miles an hour, while my husband held on to that rope and steered the bike behind the car. He had to drop the rope a few times, then I had to stop the car, get the rope and give it back to him, get back into the car and get going at a steady pace again. It was nerve-wracking, especially since the lights on the motorcycle wouldn't work. Thankfully, because of the late hour, only one car passed us all the way from his office to our driveway, and we made it home safely. When we got here, I told my husband that this had been an "Amazing Race" stunt, except we couldn't go fast. I think he wanted to laugh out loud at that remark, but he was too ticked off at the motorcycle to appreciate my sense of humor.

The good, the bad, and the buggy.

The bug guy was here today, spraying the outside of the house with the bug-stuff that keeps away the fire ants, the mosquitoes, and the wasps. Unfortunately, the spray also keeps away all the good bugs. I swear, I haven't seen a firefly since we moved to Texas in 1993.

I also let the bug-guy spray the inside of the house, but I watch him carefully and make sure he doesn't get that stuff too close to places where I'd rather not have it... like the closets, and inside the cabinets, and anyplace near the pet-food dishes. He thinks that the spray should go all over the house, into every nook and cranny. I told him the first time he came here that this house isn't like an English Muffin-- it's perfectly okay to miss some spots.

We used to have a different bug-guy, but he moved away a few years ago to San Antonio or somewhere up in the Hill Country. He understood how careful I was with the cats, and he made sure not to get a drop of that bug-stuff anywhere near the cat dishes or their toys or pillows. He was always very careful when he went in and out of the doors, always making sure that the cats weren't at his heels and ready to run out the door behind him. As he once told me: "If I ever let one of your cats out and he got lost, I swear to the Lord that I'd flat-out just leave the country." (Now he was a nice bug-guy.)

The guy we have now is okay, but I don't think he has cats in his own house. I have to remind him at least a dozen times not to spray near the closets, not to spray near the bed, not to spray near the cat-pillows, and please please please make sure the cats don't get out. He looks at me and nods his head, but I know he's not listening. Either that, or he just thinks I'm crazy. So I just follow him around the house, saying "Not there.... not too close to that.... don't bother with that spot... " I followed him around the house for twenty minutes this morning, telling him where not to spray, then the phone rang just as he was walking out the front door to do the outside. (I know he was thinking "Saved by the bell...")

Once he gets outside, though, he's on his own, and the hose that he uses to spray the bug-stuff shows no mercy as he aims it up into the trees, deep into the bushes, up around the roof line, and I swear he sprays every brick, every bit of the driveway, and every blade of grass.

One thing I forgot to tell him this time was not to spray the spot near the front porch where the little brown frog lives. I'm sure the frog was underneath the pavers of the porch when the bug-guy came, because the frog usually doesn't come out until it gets dark. Hopefully, the frog's hiding space is far enough underneath the flowerbeds to escape the bug-guy's toxic spray.

I can just imagine the look on the bug-guy's face if I tell him not to spray the front porch because I don't want him to disturb my frog.

Yard sale minks.

My next-door neighbor V could barely wait to show me what she found at a huge church yard sale this past weekend.... not one, but two mink capes. Genuine mink, one in a butterscotch color, the other in a very light brown. Both of them were hanging up on a rack with jeans, sweaters, and jackets. V couldn't decide which one to get, so she bought both of them. (For just a few dollars each, she enjoyed being extravagant.)

The last person on this earth that I thought I would ever see in mink is V. She is a friend to every animal, every insect, every reptile. She takes in every stray, feeds all the raccoons, pets the snakes at the local Nature Center, and truly has never met a creature that makes her say "Yuck." So why did she buy those mink capes? Two reasons. The first-- she figured that only she would appreciate the pain and torture the poor minks went through to get from their four-legged life to their shoulder-hugging death. The second reason-- one of those capes will be the start of her costume for our Halloween party next month.

So now, of course, V is hoping that the temperature gets a lot cooler before Halloween gets here. I told her that I would turn the thermostat down at our house so she wouldn't be too hot underneath her mink cape.... it would be worth the chill just to see V wrapped up in one of those mink capes.

V's husband is out of town for a few days, and he called up that afternoon after she had gone to the yard sales. He asked her how she had spent her morning, and she told him about the big rummage sale at the church. When he asked her what she bought, she told him "Nothing."

"And the pumpkin goes to...."

I spent part of the afternoon shopping for prizes for our Halloween party next month. The best selection is when the stores first start displaying the holiday items, so I try and get there at the beginning of September. By the end of this month, all of the good stuff will be picked-over. Halloween is very big down here, and there are lots of at-home parties, so it pays to be an early-bird at the stores.

I had the idea to get some sort of Hollywood Oscar-esque award for Best Costume (one for the ladies, one for the men), Funniest Costume, Most Original Costume. I found a Halloween lady with a pumpkin for a head, all dressed up in black and silver fabric... she stands nearly 15" tall-- very Oscar-like for the woman who wins Best Costume. For the men's Best Costume, there was a pumpkin-man dressed up like a scarecrow, the same size as the pumpkin lady-- put them both together and they look like a couple. They are now on a shelf in my storage closet, with "Best Costume" ribbons hanging around their necks.

For the Funniest Costume, I found a funny-ugly witch, complete with green hair and pointed fingers and striped stockings underneath her purple dress. If a man wins the "Funniest," then he gets a box of pumpkin lights to string around his front door. Everything is wrapped up, tagged and ribboned.... and waiting on the shelf in the closest. Invitations won't be going out till the first of October, but the prizes are all set.

Yesterday morning, I went to the yard sales and came home with a beautiful wooden birdhouse. Someone had made it by hand, with intricate roofing, doors, windows... just three dollars. I was going to put it out in the garden, but then I thought the sun would fade the green roof and the white house. While I was looking through my Halloween idea books yesterday, I came across instructions on how to build a little Haunted House.

Well... bird house, haunted house.... this had potential. When I was in Marshall's today, I found a cute little witch to stand outside the front door of my two-story bird house... then I found little ghosts, black cats, orange pumpkins, bats, skeletons... all these cute little miniatures that are now glued to the bird house, which is now a perfect haunted house. This is how my collection of Halloween decorations adds up each year.


Another hurricane is on the way.... this one is named Ike. From the way it looks now, it could threaten New Orleans again. The people there are just getting back after the Gustav storm. Maybe Ike will find someplace else to go, and give New Orleans a blessed break.

Speaking of break..... our microwave zapped itself out this morning. My husband was heating up his cup of coffee and there was a tiny lightning bolt inside the microwave... looked like a haunted house inside there. Needless to say, the microwave is now out on the curb, waiting for trash pick-up tomorrow. We'll have to make a trip to Best Buy tomorrow and buy a new one. The kitchen looks very un-kitcheny without that microwave.

Not one single raindrop...

That's what we got from Gustav, and that's not a complaint. I watched the news on CNN the other day, and saw all the cars lined up on I-10 as the residents of New Orleans and the surrounding areas in Louisiana tried to get out of their state. Just a couple of years ago, we were in the endless traffic on I-45, driving away from the coastal area here before Hurricane Rita came through. Luckily then, as now with Gustav, Rita didn't do much to this area. But everyone left anyway, after seeing what Katrina had done to New Orleans.

This time, I saw only two houses with their windows boarded up with plywood... the one house on our street whose owner always boards up his house at some point during hurricane season (and any time the wind is strong enough to fly a kite), and a house on the next street with not only plywood up against the glass, but two-by-fours nailed up across the plywood sheets. Guess he didn't have much faith in the weather reports about Gustav.

So for right now, Gustav is a memory that never happened. Now we've got to watch Hanna and Ike, and heaven only knows what "J" storm will be following them.


The political stuff.... I don't know which is more entertaining-- listening to my next-door neighbor V talking about the Republican vice-presidential candidate, or listening to my cousin L talking about the Republican presidential candidate. V gives me her opinions on the governor from Alaska as we walk around the Greenbelt after dinner. L tells me about McCain's military career over the phone as I page through a magazine and mumble "Mmmm" every few minutes.

And to both my cousin and my neighbor, when McCain first introduced the "regular hockey mom from Alaska," I said "How on earth can she even be thinking about taking such a job when she has children to raise, and especially the baby who isn't even a year old yet?" And then, the very next day, we hear about the situation with her seventeen-year-old daughter. I won't even go into that situation because I agree with Obama.... the families, especially the children, should be kept out of this whole thing. So in my opinion, the mother from Alaska should straighten out things in her own house before she tries to straighten out anything in the country.

My cousin L tells me that the vice-presidential candidates will have a televised debate pretty soon. Well, that should be interesting to watch, but I haven't made up my mind yet if I will take the time to watch it. I don't think there's a single thing that the hockey mom can say to make me think that she shouldn't just stay up there in Alaska and take care of her children.