Pumpkins, funerals, things going bump in the night.

The last few days have been unsettling, more so for my family up in NY than for me. The youngest of my dad's sisters passed away last week, making my Aunt Dolly and Aunt Jaye the last two surviving daughters of my grandparents. Being that Aunt A was the youngest of my grandparents' children, both Dolly and Jaye (at 97 and 90) were saddened beyond belief at A's passing, at just 75 years of age, I think she was.

My cousin F was eMailing me with details of the wake, funeral, burial. I've been reading and re-reading eMails all day long. We were all more worried about 97-yr-old Aunt Dolly than anyone else. In less than a week, she was driven to Virginia to see her sister A before she passed away, then driven back home to Florida. She wasn't home for more than a couple of days (she lives with Aunt A's son S) and they got the phone call that A had passed. A's body was sent up to NY, for viewing, for the Mass, for the burial in the family's plots in Queens. No time for a driving trip from Florida to NY...... my cousin S got on a plane with Aunt Dolly. She hates hates hates to take a plane. I don't know that a long car ride is any better because her back and her legs begin to hurt after just an hour or so. A plane ride it was, and she had no choice.

Somehow, Aunt Dolly finds the strength to withstand the most uncomfortable situations. Granted, she's more frail and unsteady than we'd like to see, but my cousins in NY said that most of her instability was due to the stress of the situation, not her actual health, which has always been very good. Aunt Dolly has forever been a study in moderation and control. No drinking. No smoking. No sun. No over-eating. No deep-fried foods. No cheap or fast foods. No low-calorie, light, no-sugar, no-fat foods.... it was either "the real thing or nothing," as she told us. She was such a good cook that no one ever wanted to take her out for dinner-- they'd rather eat her cooking in grandma's kitchen. Aunt Dolly lives a long way off from grandma's kitchen these days, but I'm sure she can still put together a great five-star meal.

With my mind being on the funeral, and wondering how Aunt Dolly got through it, I was a ball of nervous energy here today. Couldn't sit still to read much; didn't want to drive the car; didn't feel like cooking much (fridge filled with left-overs); but I did pour ingredients into the bread machine this morning, and the kitchen smelled like a bakery before noon-time.

What to do with the hours of this day while I was waiting for eMails from the northeast to come in...... I went into the storage closet and took out the Halloween boxes. I usually put up the Halloween decorations at the beginning of September..... today is August 31st-- close enough. Out came the pumpkins, the black cats, the witch's hats, the ghosts. The foyer, breakfast room, living room, and dining room are all Halloween-ed up. Only things left to do is the purple and black Halloween tree, and the haunted house that I made a few years ago. I will take out those last couple of things tomorrow.

This big old doll-house of a home is perfect for holiday decorations... the more, the merrier, with all the rooms and the nooks and crannies and surprise spaces. Everything we moved here just looks better here.... no other way to explain it. When I was a kid, I played with my doll-house for hours on end. More than fifty years later, I'm doing the same thing. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.... it just is what it is.

Things going bump in the night..... I have no idea what or who's going bump in the night, but I've not had a full good night's sleep in the past four days. I don't know if dreams are keeping me awake, or thoughts of the family are keeping me from sleeping..... all I know is that I'm waking up in the morning and feeling like I've been awake most of the night.

This too shall pass. Everything (and everyone) does.

Got snakes?

I wonder how many times the neighbors have heard me scream. Yesterday, Mickey Kitty was underneath the bushes near the back porch. I thought he had found a frog or a lizard because he was sitting there in the mulch with his paw on top of something. I leaned over the railing to ask him what he had found, he looked up at me, his paw came off his new-found treasure, and within two seconds, a small snake jumped up from the mulch and nearly landed on the porch between my feet.

One scream escaped me, and I ran into the house. So much for rescuing my cat from whatever creatures are around this property. My husband had just sat down to watch The Little League World Series--- the team from Pearland, Texas (!!!) was in the finals. My husband jumped up from the sofa at my first scream, and he was in the kitchen before the screen door slammed shut. Snake! Mickey has a snake! The damn thing jumped up and almost landed on the porch! Of course, my husband is thinking that "snake" means something three feet long. The snake that Mickey had was maybe 12 inches long, if even that. And it was just a green/yellow chicken snake, nothing too bad. (Is that me typing this?)

When my husband got into the yard, Mickey was still guarding his prize, which had curled up and was staring at my little black kitty. Come on, cat... make my day. I asked my husband if the snake could bite Mickey.... he said he didn't want to find out. Into the garage he went... out came the heavy garden gloves, the rake, the hoe. My husband asked me to get him a plastic container, telling me to put holes in the lid. (What?!) I came out with a throw-away container from organic cottage cheese, and I had quickly sliced a couple of slits into the lid.

Then my husband asked me to hold the container--- he had the snake hooked on the rake, and he was going to get it by its tail and put it into the cottage cheese container. (I swear, I am not making this stuff up.) I told him no way was I going to be holding that container, and I wouldn't have cared if that plastic cup had been the size of the Queen Mary. He asked me to just put the container down on the bottom step, which I did, then I took about three dozen steps backwards.

Into the red and white plastic cup went the green and yellow snake. My husband snapped on the lid and asked me to get his car keys. (What?!) He said he was going to re-locate the snake. (Honestly, I do not make this stuff up.) Before he got into his car, I told him to make sure the snake didn't get out of that container because if it did, I'd never set foot in his car again. I don't know where he released the snake, but I'm guessing it was up near the highway in one of the fields there. That's about two miles away from our house. Good enough, I guess. What are the chances of that particular snake finding its way back here to our porch?

Of course, that was a baby snake. I can't tell you how many times I wondered yesterday how many other brothers and sisters that little snake has... and are they all underneath those bushes? If they're out there, no doubt Mickey will soon find them. My smallest cat, and he has no fear whatsoever.

The kicker to this story...... when my husband got back to the house after re-locating the snake, he started to walk into the kitchen with that plastic container. "You are kidding me, right?!" I told him to toss that cup into the trash can, that it wasn't ever going to see the inside of my kitchen again. "Perfectly good container," he said. Not in my book, not after a baby snake was curled up inside of it. My husband put the container in the garage. He said he'll save it for the next snake. (How could I ever make this stuff up?)

"The Big House"

That's the title of the book I'm reading... bought from the one-dollar clearance shelf at Half-Price Books (love that store!)......... "The Big House : A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home," by George Howe Colt. (Definitely a keeper... another book to add to my own bookshelves.)

You can't help but fall in love with the big old house in this true story, and I'm wondering what will happen at the end, because the author (a member of this house's family) has already wrote that the house must be sold because no one in the family can afford to keep it much longer. He tells you that very early on in the book, and all the while you're getting to know this home and the family members, you're hoping that a miracle happens so they don't have to sell.

My Aunt Dolly always says that a family makes a house a home, but the house takes on a life of its own and becomes part of the family as well. Knowing my grandparents' house as well as I do, and spending as much time there as I did in our own houses when I was a kid, I can truly understand that.

There wasn't a corner of grandma's house that didn't feel warm and cozy, and whether you were sleeping there over-night in one of the bedrooms on the third floor, or curling up with an old book in the hallway near grandpa's wine cellar, that big old house just wrapped its arms around you. And the kitchen...... always something cooking or baking in the kitchen on the main floor. During the holidays, the kitchen in the basement would be filled with cooking and baking as well, my aunts running up and down the stairs between the refrigerators and ovens. Grandma had a plate on her wall in the kitchen which said "No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best." I wonder what happened to that plate... did Aunt Dolly remember to take it off the wall when she moved to Florida? I've thought of that plate from time to time, but haven't had the heart to ask her.

My grandmother's house was built, by grandpa, in 1922. Until the day my Aunt Dolly moved to Florida with my cousin S, no one but our family had ever lived in that house. Because it was so old, and not much was kept up to the new codes, it was impossible to sell it, so they rented it out. I don't know if anyone is in it at the moment. (Another question I don't want to ask Aunt Dolly.) In one way, I'm hoping that a family is indeed in that house and enjoying it, and in another way, I wish that it's standing empty, so the spirits of passed on family members can just stay there as if they had never left. That all sounds so crazy, I know. This book, The Big House, is just oozing through every inch of me and not letting go.

Our home in the hills here was built in 1907. It has a history of its own, beginning with the very first family who moved in right after it was built. Sometimes I would like to know more of its beginnings, and other times I just concentrate on the history we're making now. Unlike grandma's house, this home has been renovated and up to code, and the previous owners were careful to keep the integrity of the house intact. The sun shines through its original stained glass windows, our feet walk on its original wood flooring. We look out of windows that have been here since the house was built. Original stained glass transoms are above the second floor bathroom doors.

There are days when I imagine a full-skirted lady-of-the-house walking down the main staircase of this home, and maybe there was a bride or two along the years who entered the parlor after pausing near the curved banisters at the bottom of the front stairs. I'm sure the original man of this house never once walked down the back staircase that goes into the kitchen. The third floor of this house is an attic space that can easily be turned into a huge library..... all it needs is a nice wood floor, and book shelves all around the perimeter of the room. There are two stained glass windows on the third floor, and I am already imagining the sun filtering through those in the early mornings. I keep seeing that third floor library in my mind's eye. As it says in "The Art of Racing in The Rain:" ...that which you manifest is before you. I'm hoping the top floor library can soon be on our to-do list.

But I'm getting far away from the point....... or maybe not. The older a house is, the more of a life it enjoys. The people in it, taking care of it, visiting it.... I don't believe this all goes un-noticed by the house itself. You can actually see a certain sadness in homes that are neglected and untidy, and I'm guessing that the people living inside the untidy outsides are sad as well on their own insides. Everything is all connected, whether it's spiritually or emotionally or psychologically..... you are what you eat, you are how you live, you are what you believe.

I believe that we were meant to find this big old historic house on this property in the hills. We are its caretakers for now, and I hope for a good many years to come, until our last breaths. "What will we do when this house becomes too big for us?" my practical husband asked me once. I told him that we could move into the guest cottage and have someone else living here in the big house. "And who would that be?" he wanted to know. Take your pick.... we have lots of choices... cousins, and children of cousins, friends and children of friends.... anyone who understands Texas will understand and love this house.

My husband gave me that look...... the one that says I've gone beyond the edge of reason. I totally disagree.

That which you manifest is before you.

The "Time Out" chair.

I grew up in the 1950's, and there were days in my grandmother's house that would find me sitting in a chair in the middle of the kitchen. Most often, I would have to sit in that chair if my cousin T and I were playing too loudly in the house, or being too messy. T and I were four months apart, and we were always together as little kids. I was the quiet one, she was the trouble-maker (her own words), and those descriptions are still applicable to this day.

When either my Aunt Dolly or Grandma had had enough of us not behaving the way they thought we should behave, we were told to Sit in that chair and don't get up until I tell you to. Me being me, I would sit in the kitchen chair and not move. Usually, the "time out" was ten minutes or less, and then my Aunt Dolly would ask me if I was ready to "behave right," then she'd give me a hug and let me get out of the chair. With my cousin T, her time in the chair usually lasted three times as long, because she wouldn't sit still in the chair for more than three seconds at a time, and I distinctly remember one day when she told Aunt Dolly "You're not my mother so I don't have to listen to you." Aunt Dolly promptly got on the phone to her sister Jaye and told her to drive over right away and pick up her child. Then my aunt used one of her aprons and literally tied my cousin T to that chair and that's where her mother found her twenty minutes later.

In the 1950's, sitting in a chair like that wasn't called "time out," it was just what you did when an adult told you to sit down until you're ready to behave. For the most part, children of the 1950s just did what they were told, when they were told..... my cousin T was way ahead of her time.

So there I was in the resale shop yesterday morning, and right near the main counter was this cute little child-sized chair, painted in purple and green and yellow, all stripes and polka-dots and curlicues, and the words "Time Out" painted across the back of the chair, underneath a little cut-out of a crown. Totally cute.... and of course (not having kids) I thought of my cats, all of whom are used to having cat-sized furniture. The practically new chair was marked just $5 because it was missing a couple of screws and was a bit wobbly. When I got it home, all I had to do was tighten up the screws in the legs, and add two more from the screws that we accumulate in a glass jar. I didn't tell the lady behind the counter that I was buying that chair for my cats, by the way.

Into the TV room the chair went..... if AngelBoy were still around, I know that blue-eyed cat would have claimed that chair as his own. Mickey Kitty was the first to inspect the chair, putting his paw through the little cut-out of the crown. Sweet Pea sniffed all around the chair but didn't jump up on it. Gatsby didn't seem to be interested at all-- he was napping in the big recliner. Mickey has already taken a nap on that little chair, and he seems to like the spot where the chair is because it gives him a good view of everything going on in the TV room. A cat's-eye view from a green & purple & yellow chair. And my cats can't read, so they probably think the words Time Out mean "The Cat Throne."

Up in the barn......

That's where our young Miss C was for the past three days and two nights... in the guest rooms over the barn. She prefers the barn rooms to the cottage, and that doesn't surprise us. She is an animal lover of the highest order, with a special place in her heart for horses and cows, and dolphins. The barn rooms are decorated with Texas everything, and there's not a dolphin in sight, unless you look into one of the closets where dolphin prints are stored, left-over decor from our old house near the Gulf. (Too near the Gulf for comfort, which is why we are now here.)

C goes back to college next week, so this was her last visit with us until she gets a long weekend or a holiday from her class schedule. Rather than having a dorm room this term, she and four friends will be renting a small house near the college in Galveston. Her only regret about the house-- the landlord doesn't allow pets of any kind.

We spent some time this weekend learning a new card game-- "Shanghai." The instructions are on the Internet, but we first heard of the game from our neighbors J & J. It's a game of concentration and luck, as with all card games, but it's a lot of fun, and I thought C would like to learn it and then play with her friends. By the end of the second game, she beat me by too many points than I care to mention. Lowest score wins in Shanghai, and the object is to get rid of the cards in your hand, not get stuck with them, which is what was happening to me today and yesterday. Oh well... we'll keep practicing here, and when C comes back, we'll have a re-match.

Today for lunch, we all drove to the little airport out in the countryside. Or should I say further out in the countryside.... There is an airport out there with private planes flying in and out all day long, and the diner/cafe at the airport is pure 1950s, with black and white tiles on the floor, chrome and red booths and tables, and the waitresses all wear poodle skirts, bobby-socks and saddle shoes. Very classic retro-looking place, with those little juke-box-three-tunes-for-a-quarter machines where you press the numbers and your songs play out. It was so busy and noisy in there today that we could barely hear the music playing after C put a quarter in and picked out some songs. The energy in that place is always at the highest level.... fun place, good food, and you can sit there and eat your lunch while watching the planes taking off and landing.

It's been pretty hot this last couple of weeks..... temperatures over 100 degrees, 112 on one day last week when there wasn't a breeze to speak of. There was a nice wind yesterday morning, and it seemed cooler than usual, so my husband took C out in the sailboat. The wind was fine, the waves were high, and at one point, they were taking on a little bit of water as it splashed over the sides. (I am so glad that I know enough not to go sailing. Know your limitations: rule #1.) But they both had a good time, even though they came back exhausted from the joys of being out on the lake.

Our youngest cat Mickey remembers C from the old house, and each time she comes to visit, Mickey knows who she is and goes right to her. This time, both Sweet Pea and Gatsby didn't remember C from her last visit. Sweet Pea just stood and looked at her for a while, but then eventually got closer to C so she could pet him. Gatsby, on the other hand, stared at C with wide saucer-shaped eyes, then walked so close to the perimeter of the kitchen that he was practically hugging the walls. Gatsby wouldn't go near C, and kept giving her questioning looks.... Just who are you and what are you doing in my house?! We all basically told Gatsby to "Snap out of it and get over it." Which he will, in his own good cat-time.

C left for home this afternoon, and has already called me to say she got back to Clear Lake just fine. She is packing up some of her stuff tonight, to bring to the house in Galveston. Her school term begins in a week and she wants to be all settled in before the day of the first class. And tomorrow is "Hell Week" at the school..... lots of pre-semester parties and gatherings. C says it sounds worse than what it really is.

My answer to that: Then why call it Hell Week?

With C gone, we're back to our quiet house. I haven't heard a door slamming in at least four hours. Yikes. Sure is quiet in here...

Family charms.

For my cousin F's birthday last year, I sent her an Italian charm bracelet. F isn't really a jewelry person, but an Italian charm bracelet is perfect for someone who isn't into fancy-dancy dangly jewelry but who likes things that are commemorative. With the Italian charms, you can pick out the sterling silver links which have zillions of designs on them, making the bracelets intensely personal.

F loved the bracelet and quickly got into the Italian charm bracelet craze, big-time. She found all the web-sites on her computer and she was adding more charms to the starter-bracelet that I sent to her, plus she made one for her daughter C's birthday. When her daughter's bracelet was done, F got an idea to make a "family bracelet," with charms for my grandparents and their children. I thought it was such a great idea that we both did it, then compared the charms we picked out for each person in the family.

On my family bracelet, I spelled out the family name in block letters. I learned long ago never to forget who you are and where you came from, so the family name on that bracelet has a special meaning for me. Next to the family name is an Italian flag, simply because my grandparents were immensely proud of their heritage even though they worked so hard to be American. My grandfather's charm is a deck of cards.... he loved playing cards with my uncles (his sons) and every afternoon, Grandpa sat at the kitchen table and played Solitaire while my grandmother had a cup of tea. For Grandma's charm, there is a skein of yarn and a crochet hook... she loved, loved, loved to crochet and made countless doilies and tablecloths and shawls over the years for all her daughters and the wives of her sons. Next to Grandpa's charm is a German Shepard dog.... for Major, my grandfather's dog who never left his side, who protected all the kids, and was probably the best-fed dog in the neighborhood.

I picked out individual charms for my grandparents' children....... for my Uncle L, whom I was named after and who died before I was born, there is a ballroom dancing charm. L was an award-winning dancer, the best dancer in a family that knew their way around a ballroom dance floor and hardly ever sat out a dance. The charm for my Uncle J is a picture-charm of Pearl Harbor.... he was killed there on Dec. 7, 1941, along with thousands of others. Uncle J died before I was born also, but his wife was part of the family always, never getting married again after J was killed.

There is a cardinal charm for my Aunt Dolly... she has always loved those birds and would watch for them out in the yard at my grandparent's house in Queens. Aunt Dolly saved every crumb of bread for the birds and would bring the crumbs out to the grass around the birdbath, then watch the birds eating and splashing... she could see them from the kitchen window. Whenever I see a bright red cardinal, I think of my Aunt Dolly... who (at 97 years of age) is still saving crumbs for the birds.

Next on the bracelet is an Oriental charm, with the symbol for happiness.... that charm is for my Aunt E, who died about four years ago. Aunt E loved everything and anything Oriental, and I think my own interest in Oriental furnishings comes from her. Aunt E's home was filled with exotic black lacquer and painted wood... so different from anything that the rest of the family had in their houses.

The next charm is for my dad..... it's a Jackie Gleason charm, the logo for the old "Honeymooners" television show...... Gleason's face is in a full moon. My dad loved that show, and we used to watch it together all the time when I was a kid, and we watched re-runs years later. My dad knew some of the dialogue by heart. Gleason was a NYC bus driver in that show, and that's what daddy did for a living, one reason he probably loved that show.

Next on the bracelet is a charm with a diamond on it... flat top, pointed bottom... looks like a gem fell out of an engagement ring and dropped onto the charm. That's for my Aunt Jaye, the Jewelry Queen of the family. She loves, loves, loves all kinds of pearls and diamonds and gold.... doesn't go anywhere without her jewelry on, to this day.

For my Uncle M, who passed away about six years ago, there is a miniature penny on a charm. Uncle M loved to collect coins, and he did that for more years than I can remember. He would buy our Halloween pennies and nickels from us, paying us twice what they were worth. All the kids in the family would look at the pile of pennies and nickels he was taking, then look at the paper money he gave us in return..... I don't think any of us thought we were getting a good deal. Somehow, the heavy pile of coins looked like it would buy more at the corner candy store than those thin dollar bills.

For my Uncle T, there is a bowling charm.... black bowling ball hitting a few pins. Uncle T lives in Arizona now, and he was a championship-winning bowler for years and years, both in NY and out in Arizona. His bowling days are over now... he quit bowling on his own, when he realized that he couldn't bowl well enough anymore to help his team win a championship. Uncle T said "No matter what you're doing in this world, you always have to know when you've had enough."

The last family charm is a little powder compact and lipstick tube, for my Aunt A. She was the youngest of my grandmother's children, a change-of-life baby, and much-spoiled by all of her older brothers and sisters. Aunt A loved lipstick and powder, and she was always experimenting with different lipstick colors. All of my other aunts had their "signature" colors, which never seemed to change, ever. With Aunt A, you never knew what color lipstick she would be wearing from week to week.

My grandparents passed away in the 1970s. Uncles Larry and Jimmy died before I was born. Within the last half a dozen years, Uncle Mino and Aunt Edie died. Daddy passed away two years ago now. Aunt Dolly is living in Florida with one of my cousins, Aunt Jaye still lives in the same home not far from the house my grandfather built, and Uncle Tony is in Arizona. And then there is Aunt A, who is now in Virginia, at the very end of her life. The youngest of the aunts and uncles, and the doctors don't know if she will live another day or another week.

Aunt Dolly is in Virginia now..... my cousin that she lives with drove her there just the other day. She is staying close to A's bedside, just holding her hand and telling her that she will soon be "with Mama and Papa." Aunt Dolly can't understand why she, at 97, is "still going strong even though I have wrinkles like an old lady." When we remind her that she really is an old lady, she tells us to "watch your mouth."

I told my cousin F that her idea of making a family bracelet was such a great thing to do. No matter what kind of family you have, it's still your family. It's where you came from, it's who you are, and what you have become, and none of that is subject for judgment. It is what it is. I look at this family bracelet and remember countless dinners and birthdays and parties and holidays, cousins and second cousins and third cousins...... There are six generations in this family. And it all started with my grandparents coming from Italy on a ship that landed them on Ellis Island, with nothing to their names except a tiny satchel and the clothes on their backs. They lived the American dream, sprinkled with Italian seasoning.

That big white box in the kitchen.

Wonder of wonders, the refrigerator in the kitchen is working again. The local repairman got the parts from the Samsung company (finally) and installed them this afternoon. By the time he was done with the installation, the interior temperature of the fridge had gone up to 80 degrees, according to the handy-dandy digital thermometer right inside the fridge door. Within a few hours after the fridge doors were closed again, that 80 degrees turned into 38 degrees, which is where the numbers should be.

One important note about the new parts--- the little plugs that were on the new parts weren't the same plugs on the old parts, so the repairman couldn't just plug the new parts into the fridge. He had to cut the old plugs off of the old parts, cut the new plugs off of the new parts, then splice the old plugs onto the wires of the new parts. Only then was he able to attach the new parts to the fridge. This Samsung refrigerator is just ten months old. In that ten months time, some fridge-scientist at the Samsung company decided to change the plugs..... which makes all the new replacement parts incompatible with the older refrigerators.... thereby making a ten-month-old fridge an "older model." Give me a blessed break.

But on the bright side. The fridge fixed, the food is back in it and everything is nice and cold and I don't have to walk from the kitchen out to the garage every time I wanted a glass of orange juice. To all the Samsung people: I will never ever buy anything with your name on it.

To all repairmen: while you're working on someone's appliances, it is not necessary to tell them the entire life history of your ex-wife, your children, your sister and brother, your dog. I don't know your ex-wife so I don't need to know her habits, both good and bad. I never met your children, so I don't have to know how much money they spend at the tanning salon and in the mall. I will probably never meet your sister and your brother, so their jobs and their health aren't of much interest to me. And while it was nice to hear about the dog you had years ago that had to be put down, and the two dogs you have now, it wasn't exactly pleasant to hear that you think cats are too independent to be anyone's pets. Had I not wanted to extend an already too-long conversation, I would have told you that when you treat cats the same way you treat puppies, cats will learn their names and come running to you when you call them and follow you around the house from morning till night. Unless they're napping... then they remember they're cats and don't wake up till they're darn good and ready.

Aside from all of the above, thank you very much for fixing the fridge.

Girls and refrigerators gone sort of wild...

Our friend V was here this weekend with her friend K... they played tourist around the little towns during the day and stayed in our guest cottage at night. I think Mickey Kitty remembers V from the old house. When my cats were on our screen-porch there, their little ears would perk up when V sang out to her own cats next door. Only my blue-eyed AngelBoy cat would scrunch up his little cat-face when he heard V singing. AngelBoy didn't like a disturbance of any kind, and he even scrunched-up his face when I put a Barry Manilow CD on the player. I guess he didn't care who was doing the singing-- Barry or V -- he just didn't like the music disturbing his little blue-eyed cat life.

V and K went to a local winery on Saturday, to stomp grapes and taste the wines. (Or maybe they did the tasting before the stomping.) One of the wine-makers used K's phone to take pictures of the two of them ankle-deep in a bucket of grapes.... V said they felt like Lucy and Ethel during the entire process.

We all had a nice visit...... lots of talking, laughing, catching-up. At one point, I saw my husband's eyes glazing over while we were having dessert in the dining room. There he was, poor guy, sitting with three women, all of whom were talking at once-- and we all knew exactly what was being said, but it was hard for him to follow the conversation. When we all just had to take a breath, my husband said we sounded like the panel of women from the TV show called "The View."

Being that V and I had enjoyed the cherry cobbler at "Martha's Bloomers Cafe" a couple of weeks ago, I made two square pans of that for dessert--- more than enough for the whole weekend. If I do say so myself, my cobbler was nearly as good as Martha's. I didn't make the fresh whipped cream, figuring to save some on the calorie count.

The worst part of the weekend...... my fridge, this brand new, not even a year-old fridge, decided to just quit. The noise it had been making since the repairman was here and ordered the parts it needed-- finally quit, and the fridge was as quiet as it had been before. Sure it was quiet-- the darn thing wasn't working. I was on the phone for most of Saturday morning, with the people at Samsung (the manufacturer) and the people at Lowe's (where we bought it). No one agreed with me-- that they should just bring me a "new unit" (as they called it) and take this pretty white box out of my kitchen. The parts are on order..... the repairman will be back as soon as he has the parts in his hands.... la dee dah.... And what am I supposed to do with the food in this useless white box standing in my kitchen that is no longer keeping anything cold?

At one point during the endless phone calls, I asked the Samsung people if there was a manager or supervisor there to speak to. They put me on hold, hoping to connect me with the "executive customer service department." After a few minutes, the girl got back on the phone and very nicely told me they were unavailable. And what does that mean? Are they out to lunch? Did they all quit? Do they not work on the weekends? None of the above-- she said their computers were down. I couldn't resist. I said to the girl: "Are those computers made by Samsung?"

Thankfully, we have an extra fridge in the garage...... so at nearly midnight on Friday night, my husband and I were moving everything from the white box in the kitchen to the refrigerator in the garage. There's a lot of steps between my kitchen counter and the fridge in the garage..... none of the trips were happy ones (grumble, grumble), but I did try to keep it all in perspective. At least we have the extra fridge.... we aren't throwing food away because it's going bad.... it's not that much of an inconvenience....

Needless to say, I was not in the mood for going with V and K to stomp grapes this weekend. However, I should have given that big white box to the wine-making people.... it would have held more grapes than a wooden bucket. V and K would have been covered in purple up to their necks, rather than just up to their ankles. Try explaining that to the husbands.

New vs. Old.

In my Aunt Dolly's kitchen in my grandmother's 1922 house, there is a refrigerator that has been standing in the pantry since I was a little girl. I remember when the new fridge was delivered, and they took the smaller, older one that was there and carried it down the stairs to the kitchen in the basement. During the hot summer months, my grandmother and Aunt Dolly would turn on the oven in the basement kitchen, so the upstairs kitchen would be cool enough to eat in.

Cool enough is a relative term, because that house did not have central air-conditioning, or even a window air-conditioner, and only on the hottest of the hot summer days would a fan be put into a window. During the summer, Aunt Dolly would leave all the blinds closed, and even the curtains closed, only opening them up as the sun moved away from each room. I don't remember ever sitting in that house and feeling like there was no air to breathe.... somehow, her method worked. But then, when you get older and your body gets used to (and spoiled with) central air-conditioning, you start to wonder how we managed to get through a summer day back then in that big old house.

But..... the refrigerator. That old fridge had a few repairs over the years, but nothing that made my grandmother say it wasn't worth keeping. The repairman would order the part, install it, and everything would be good as new, except the ice cream would have melted and there never seemed to be enough people there at just that moment to eat it up so it wouldn't go to waste. ("Mangia! Mangia! So I no have to throw out!" my grandmother would be saying.) That old fridge, I have no doubt, is still working in that kitchen of my grandmother's house, which is now rented out to people who are probably wishing they had a brand new fancy-dancy refrigerator.

Be careful what you wish for. When we moved into this house, the fridge that was here was the kind with the freezer on the top, fridge on the bottom. In order to get a carton of juice or milk, you had to bend down and reach below the freezer, which really got to be a royal pain very quickly. We were used to having a double-door fridge in the other house, and we left that there when we moved, knowing we had a newer model in this kitchen. After two months of trying to get used to the freezer-up-fridge-down model, we gave in and went to Lowe's to get a double-door fridge for this house.

We found all sorts of new refrigerators, with all kinds of gadgets in the doors--- who in the world needs a television built into the door of a fridge? I finally found one with double doors on the top, and the freezer on the bottom. No water thing in the door, no TV in the door, just a plain old door, which is what I wanted. The brand was Samsung. Rated high in the consumer magazines. Fine. Lowe's delivered it, and carried out the fridge that was here into the garage for me...... we turned it on for the holidays, to store extra bottled water and it was perfect for defrosting the turkey.

The other day, we had to call a repairman to the house because the highly-rated new fridge was making funny noises. After just one year? Are you kidding me?! The repairman ordered the parts (two of them) and told me he'd be back as soon as they got the parts in the shop. While he was working and looking and thinking and writing, I told him about the old GE fridge that's been in my grandmother's kitchen for nearly fifty (50!) years. "Sure 'nough. You know why? 'Cause used to be everythin' was made right here in the US of A. Now'days, you don't know where anythin' comes from..... and it's all plastic and cheap metal that a two-year-old could bend up like a straw... that's why."

He told me that Samsung was indeed highly rated, but that's compared to the junk they're making today, not comparing them to the "real good stuff they made years ago." So what we have here is just a highly rated piece of junk, rather than the lowest of the low pieces of junk. The worst appliances on the planet now, according to this repairman, are the LG brands. (LG standing for Lots of Garbage.)

The fridge in my kitchen is still working. But it's also still making noises. When the repairman comes, I will have to empty it all out again and scatter all the food around the counter-tops once again. He will tell me that his job used to be an easy one... take out a real honest-to-goodness part and replace it with another honest-to-goodness part. "Now'days, I'm flyin' by the seat of my pants...... everythin' in there is a computer-board.... looks more like the workins' of a space ship than the inside of a refrigerator."

Which may be a good thing. Because after listening to those noises for three days now, I'm about ready to send that Samsung right to the blessed moon.

Banana-spiders.

That's what W calls those large yellow spiders that I've been seeing all over the place: banana-spiders. Sounds like such a funny name, till you look closely at the spider, which I've done. The body of this spider is long and yellow, and it curls down a bit at the end, sort of like a banana. The webs they weave are very strong, and they stand up to a good wind, and even a blast from the garden hose. (Guilty as charged.)

As long as I know where the webs are, and if they're not in the middle of a path that we (I) have to walk on day in and day out, then I will just leave the web alone. One good thing about this particular spider-- they're so huge that you can't miss them, and you'd have to be just about legally blind to walk into one.

This morning as I watered the flowers around the fountain, I checked to make sure the yellow spiders were still in their webs along the fence. Four of them have made enormous webs there, and three of the four now have huge sacks attached to the webbing. I put the hose down and walked up for a closer look. One of the spiders saw me and twitched its legs a little bit. I told her to relax, I wasn't going to bother her, I just wanted a look-see. (I've tacked a female pronoun to the spiders, because of E.B. White's book "Charlotte's Web.")

There in the web was a neatly tied bundle, about the size of a very large green grape. If you turned this sack upside-down, it would look like a balloon, just waiting for a string to be tied to its bottom, which comes down to a point... nearly egg-shaped, these sacks. I am guessing that the sack is filled with eggs. Oh goodie. I can only imagine how many eggs a spider can lay at one time. One thousand? Eight thousand? Will I have all those baby banana-spiders making nests around our property after they hatch?

I have seen our chickens eat spiders... they have plucked them right from their webs, if the webs were close enough to the ground, like underneath the rose bushes. But these banana-spiders tend to built their nests up high--- the better to catch crickets and grasshoppers, which I have seen caught in those giant webs. I was outside near the coop when a green and yellow cricket landed in the banana-spider's web at the side of the garage. One mighty leap from the cricket (who was trying to get out of my way) and he landed about three inches below the spider as it waited in his web. (Talk about room service. Web service?)

That spider wasted no time..... two seconds later, he was on top of that cricket and its long legs were hugging that cricket as if it were a long-lost cousin. I didn't wait around to watch the rest of the festivities, but I did make a point to look at that web later on in the day. There was precious little left of that cricket... just enough for a late-night snack in case the spider's web didn't catch anything else till morning.

Nature: The Great Educator. It has been a lesson every day, for all the days we have been here. Granted, some of these lessons I could have done without, but when all is said and done, this property has given me a new-found respect for all creatures and critters, great and small, flying and crawling, pouncing and devouring.

Little chores, big jobs.

Living in a house that's over one hundred years old teaches you a lot of things. Patience comes to mind at the top of that list. The little chores that you think won't take much time at all turn into major jobs that last for a day or two. Or three.

Thankfully, we have W, the wonderful handyman. He does the high-up-on-the-ladder things for my husband, as well as the lie-flat-on-the-roof trick so the underside of the cottage trim can be painted. W doesn't seem to mind the heat. The temperature today will be between 105 and 109, and as long as he has iced tea or cold water, W doesn't seem to mind. He's young, and he's a Texas boy, so nothing seems to matter.

The garage is filling up with all sorts of tools. Saws and wrenches, spray-bottles, scrapers, and ladders of all sizes, brushes and screw-drivers, hammers, strange metal things, and work-gloves. My husband wears a pair of torn shorts and a Clorox-spattered shirt when they're cleaning the siding. The employees at both Home Depot and Lowe's know my husband by name.

All of the above tools, and then some, for a man who hardly picked up a pair of pliers in the other house unless his computer modem needed attention. I mentioned that to our young Miss C one day, as I told her about the summer chores we've been doing these last couple of months. C had an answer in a heartbeat, as to why Mr. G had immersed himself in all of this work: "Well, this house is different. It's not all brand new and it doesn't look like any other house in Texas. It's old. It's special, and it's history."

History. Indeed, it is. This house had been moved to this hill from a larger town about forty minutes away from here. In this house's infancy, it stood on a street across from the local church, and we think this was the home of the church's minister. That might be the reason for the intricate wood floors downstairs, and the two fireplaces, and the staircase tucked into the corner of the kitchen. The church was impressive, for a town that size, so the minister's home would have been just as note-worthy, back in the day.

I like to think that this house knows that it's being taken care of in a thoughtful way. Each piece of furniture was placed in the spot where it would look like it had stood for a good many years. Nothing brand new has been added to this house... there isn't an item in these rooms that came from a furniture store which churns out hundreds, if not thousands, of cookie-cutter creations. Years of collecting estate-sale treasures, put together with furniture from my husband's parents and from my grandmother's house.... everything has come together in this house and has magically been transformed into exactly what it should look like, and probably did look like, back in the day.

C is right. This house is special. This property itself is special. We aren't just living in it, we're taking care of a little bit of the history of this state. When little chores grow into big jobs, I still look around the corners and see if Hop Sing (from Bonanza) is anywhere in sight.

Hop Sing isn't here. But we carry on anyway, with the help of W, and a to-do list that grew from a small piece of scrap paper, to a page in a notebook, to a file in my husband's computer.

"Uncle Tom's Cabin"

How in the world did I not read this book till now?

I've known about this classic book since summer reading lists were handed out in 9th grade English class. I had read lots of books on those reading lists, but somehow just never got around to reading this particular story. Story? This book was based on the life of Josiah Henson-- something I didn't realize till just this week. Josiah was an escaped slave.... he fled to Canada with his family in the 1830s. Josiah. He wouldn't have been called Mr. Henson in the 1830s.

I found this hardcover copy (price: one dollar!) of Uncle Tom's Cabin in the local thrift shop, which has become my yard sale for books. It's a beautiful copy, and brand new... looks as if I'm the first reader of this volume. Did someone else buy it for their private bookshelf and never read it? Well, if that's the case-- how lucky for me.

This is a beautifully written book, with such wonderfully constructed sentences and paragraphs that I'm already re-reading them two and three times before I turn the page. And I've put little metal page-clips at the beginning of a few chapters-- the easier to find them for re-reading later on.

Such rich characters........ Tom, and Evangeline, Topsy and Prue, Dinah and Augustine....... the list is endless. I couldn't sleep last night, and I was sitting up in bed with this book, holding a flash light on the page and trying to be quiet with the page-turning so I wouldn't wake up my husband. I don't know why I just didn't go into another room, but the book was right there by the bed, along with the flash light.

It is with books such as these that I find myself reading too fast. I want to get to the next page, and the next, the next chapter, the next character.... and then when I'm at the very end, I'm wishing I were just beginning. I am purposely slowing down now. I am at the chapter where Evangeline is not going to be part of a happy ending.

A friend of ours recently told me that she only reads books with happy endings. "I must have a happy ending," she told me. I didn't know how to reply to that at the time, but I know what to say now: The best books in the world simply do not have happy endings.

One of the paragraphs that I marked, in Chapter XXII--

"Life passes, with us all, a day at a time; so it passed with our friend Tom, till two years were gone. Though parted from all his soul held dear, and though often yearning for what lay beyond, still was he never positively and consciously miserable; for, so well is the harp of human feeling strung, that nothing but a crash that breaks every string can wholly mar its harmony; and, on looking back to seasons which in review appear to us as those of deprivation and trial, we can remember that each hour, as it glided, brought its diversions and alleviations, so that, though not happy wholly, we were not, either, wholly miserable."


Thank you, Harriet Beecher Stowe. Thank you for the most heart-rending book. It may have taken me this long to finally get around to reading it, but I've been re-reading paragraphs as I turn each and every page.

New neighbors/three dogs.

We met the newest neighbors this week. A thirty-ish couple with two young girls and three little dogs. Very nice family, and they're thrilled to have their little house at the bottom of our hill. "Our hill." We all say that up here.... the few families that live on top of the hill each call it "our hill," the families living further down call it "up the hill." Somehow, it works.... we all know just what we mean.

Three little dogs down there at the new neighbors..... all very cute, very friendly, all running around their property and walking back and forth in the road. Does the new neighbor know about the coyotes? Does she know she can't leave those cat-sized dogs out during the night? They'd be gone by morning, if a coyote came along looking for a moon-lit midnight snack. We'll have to mention that the next time we see them.

I brought them some chocolate brownies when we stopped by to say hello yesterday afternoon. A new recipe, made with a German Chocolate cake mix..... came out more like cake than brownies, but they were delicious. I cut them into squares, frosted them, put little plastic flower pics into each one because I thought the kids would like the decorations.... and called them cake squares instead of brownie squares. I gave mostly all of them to the new neighbors, gave two to the handyman when he left yesterday, and saved just two for us. Easy way to cut down on calories-- bake what you want, then give 95% of it away.

Those little dogs down there...... so cute, except for their summer haircuts. If you're going to have a long-haired dog, then deal with it. Brush them every day to keep their hair clean and un-matted. I doubt very much that a long-haired dog is going to want to be shaved for the summer. The long hair keeps their skin cool..... shave it off, and their skin is going to be burning in the sun. I wouldn't say that to the neighbors, of course, but that's the first thing I thought of when I saw those buzz-cut little dogs playing in the 102-degree sun.

Dogs. We're still talking about Gracie here. Still expecting to see her first thing in the morning when we walk into the kitchen. Still expecting her to be sitting next to us in the TV room at night. I am, however, getting used to not having to get her outside before we go out, after we get home, and rushing back from wherever we've been if she's been in the house too long. Gracie was an old dog.... going out two times a day just wasn't enough for her, as it had been for so many of her years with us.

The house is dog-less. We are dog-less. After 14 years of having that smiling doggie-face looking up at us, this dog-less living takes some getting used to. I keep telling myself that it will get better, get easier, as time passes. I wonder about people who have never had pets in their house. Is it because they're just not pet-people? Do they not want the extra work? The extra responsibility? Don't they need those little doggie-smiles and kitty-purrs?

And who knows..... maybe the no-pets people are better off. Their hearts don't get broken when that last day comes and you have to make a decision to put an end to what was once a life that was so much a part of you and your home. Maybe it was so hard with Gracie because it was all so unexpected. Up till the day before we took her to the vet, she seemed to be just fine. Who would have known that all of that horrible stuff was growing inside of her?

I need to stay away from the pet shelter. Stay away from the pet shelter. Stay away. I haven't been back there since I donated all of Gracie's food and treats, but that doesn't keep my mind from going back there at all hours of the blessed day and night. I wonder what happened to that pretty white dog...

Stay away from the pet shelter. Stay away.

Cats and chickens........ and Snow White.

Mickey had a "time out" this morning-- in the house. He was outside while the chickens were walking around the front yard, and that tiny cat (half the size of the full-grown hens) decided he was going to play "Tag" with the chickens. Mickey hasn't chased the chickens in the longest time now, so I don't know what possessed him to run after them in this morning's heat.

But..... there was Mickey, running towards all four hens, each hen scattering in a different direction. I was out near the garage and Mickey was so intent on catching a chicken that he didn't even see me out there. Before I had a chance to yell out MICKEY!! (which usually stops him in his tracks), he had cornered the oldest hen near the picket fence gate. This all happened in just a few seconds.... Mickey chasing all the hens, Audrey running towards the gate, Mickey running towards Audrey, Audrey trying to get away from Mickey by squeezing herself through the wooden pickets...... (not a chance--Audrey is wider than the width of space between those pickets)..... so there's Audrey, trying to squeeze through the gate, and Mickey was running so fast that he rammed into the back of Audrey, pushing her further into that space, and now she was really stuck in the space between the pickets. I'm sure Mickey was seeing stars after that collision.

By that time, I had yelled MICKEY!!!....... he turned around to look at me, and then sat down in the dirt because I think he was stunned that he rammed into the back of that hen...... I picked up Mickey and put him in the house.... then went back to the gate, and there's Audrey, still stuck inbetween the slats of the gate. She wasn't making a sound, just standing there with her head and neck on one side of the gate, her legs and body on the other side of the gate. (Don't chickens know how to walk backwards?)

I got down in the dirt (not even thinking about bugs and spiders) and eased Audrey out of the gate. As soon as I had her out of there, she relaxed in my hands and started making little coo-ing sounds.... they sound almost like pigeons when they do that. I stood there and held Audrey for a few minutes--- something she has never let me do.... and when I thought she had calmed down enough, I put her in the grass. While all of that was going on, Mickey was in the kitchen and meowing so loudly that I heard him from outside. Let me out of here!! I amost had her!! You spoiled it!!!!! I didn't let him back out for another half hour, and then he ignored the chickens when he went into the yard. We'll see how long his good behavior lasts.


Yesterday after dinner, as I was walking to the coop to lock the gate for the night, I was in the courtyard behind the garage and there came Scarlett..... she was walking from the coop (had she already been in there?).... she walked right towards me, then plopped herself by my feet so I could pick her up. Into my arms she went, and she settled down with her little coo-coo-ing noises, and I carried her to the coop. She didn't seem to be in a hurry to get down, so I stood in the coop and just held her for a little while. The other three hens were on the roosting bar, watching what was going on but not making a sound. Scarlett's coo-ing was the only sound in the coop, except for some strange woman who keeps talking to the hens every night.


And today........ I went to the local animal shelter, to give them all the dog food and treats that we had left after we had to put Gracie to sleep. I held onto the food and all for a couple of weeks, just in case, mind you, we happened to want another dog. And there was one day that we did go to the shelter "just to have a look around." On that particular afternoon, we found a black and white Border Collie mix that looked enough like Gracie to be her brother. No, no, no. I had told my husband a long while back that a Border Collie wouldn't be my first choice for another dog... way too much energy.... and I'd be worrying about the cats and the chickens. Gracie was fine with each..... she and the cats all grew up together, and by the time we found "new" cats, Gracie was already accustomed to sharing her house with felines. And the chickens-- Gracie chased the hens just once, we told her they were our hens, our pets, and she left them alone after that. She was such a smart dog. My husband didn't think he wanted a look-alike dog to replace Gracie, so we left without a dog being in the back seat of our car.

But today.... when I walked into the animal shelter with the dog food, the first thing I saw was a long-haired white dog with beautiful dark eyes.... and she was walking right towards me, with that big old doggie-smile on her face..... came right up to me to say hello. The girls in the office told me that she was 12 years old, and had been abandoned by her owner. Who in their right mind abandons a dog after they've been together for a dozen years?!

This was such a sweet dog..... and she seemed to be very content with me as I petted her and told her how pretty she was. White as snow, long hair, such a happy face...... gorgeous dog, a little smaller than Gracie was, and about ten pounds lighter.

But..... we decided not to get another dog. We're getting used to not having a dog now.... and as much as we miss Gracie, I don't miss the work of having a dog in the house. So I donated all of the food and dog biscuits that I had in my car this morning.... told them we just weren't ready to have another dog yet, and I said goodbye to that pretty long-haired white dog in the office at the shelter. She's beautiful....... I'm sure she will find a home. Until she does, the two girls who work at the shelter are taking turns bringing her to their homes because they don't want to put her into one of the kennels there. I would have taken that dog home in a heart-beat if I had seen her that day my husband and I went to the shelter....... I would have wanted to name her Snow White.

I need to stay away from the animal shelter. They now have all the dog food that we had left from Gracie. I don't have a drop of dog food in this house. I don't have any rawhide treats or Milk Bones. And I don't have to sweep the kitchen floor three times a day to keep the dog hair at bay. And I don't have to take a dog outside after dark and worry about snakes in the yard.

Stay away from the animal shelter. Stay away from the animal shelter. Stay away from the animal shelter.