That big white box in the kitchen........

...... is still working, thank goodness. I haven't called Lowe's yet to arrange pick-up of the Samsung fridge because we haven't chosen the new fridge yet. When the repairman was here last time, he melted all the ice that had stopped-up the cooling unit of that fridge, so I'm guessing it's good for another month or two before it builds up again. I told my husband I'd like to get this fridge thing settled before Thanksgiving-- way before Thanksgiving, not the very day before the holiday.

We went to the local appliance store this afternoon.... looked at their GE models..... opened up the one that we thought we wanted and the inside of that was identical to the Samsung that's now in my kitchen. Everything was the same-- the shelves, the drawers, the thermostat..... everything except the brand name on the door. I told the lady in the store that I was afraid of ordering that model because I'm having problems with the same thing that's in my kitchen now. But this is different... this one is made by GE, she said. If you put those two refrigerators side by side and covered up the logos, you couldn't tell them apart. And neither could she, I'm betting.

So we'll look at some other stores over the weekend. What a big disappointment. I thought it would take less than half an hour to look at all the models and write up an order. Within the first three minutes, we knew we were in trouble there. And the insides of those refrigerators--- the cheapest plastic imaginable. For nearly $1800, you would think they'd at least use a higher-grade plastic for the little drawers and pull-outs. I've seen thicker plastic on children's toys. Give me a blessed break. General Electric, you are breaking my heart.

To add insult to injury...... we decided to go out for dinner... we were right in the middle of town, dressed up in going-to-town clothes.... so why go home and mess with pots and pans? We drove around the streets in town. The little cafes were all closed.... they close at either 2:00 or 3:00, according to the signs on the doors. (No wonder our neighbors J & J always go out for lunch and stay home for dinner!) One particular cafe that is open for dinner was all dark inside when we pulled up in front. As we were looking at the dark windows, two of that cafe's employees came up and unlocked the door and turned the lights on. It was 5:00 when they were doing that. I looked at my husband and say No way are we going in there. I figured it would take them at least an hour to get everything settled and somewhat ready in the kitchen, and that place is slow on their service as it is. And their menu isn't the greatest anyway.... soups and sandwiches and (if you're lucky) the German items on their menu are actually in the kitchen the night you ask for them. We have walked out of that place before when they were out of three of the menu items.

We could have driven to one of the other little towns for dinner, but neither one of us felt like that kind of a drive after having a busy day here since the morning. (And who knows what's open and what's closed anyway?!) My husband said something like Click your heels... there's no place like home. And that's where we headed. Oh well..... I got some things out of the pantry, some things out of the fridge, and I made some quick but fancy little french-toast-dipped sandwiches for an appetizer.

I truly miss all the great restaurants we had at our fingertips in Clear Lake. Any kind of food you could wish for, right there, just minutes away. "Minutes away" as long as you weren't driving during the lunch rush-hour or the dinner rush-hour down Bay Area Blvd, that is.

We have no rush-hour here in this town. I guess the only time there is any rush at all is when people are going home to their own kitchens at dinner time because there's no place to eat out in this town after five o'clock.......

Beverley Nichols

Move over, Barry Manilow, there's a new man in my life...... the author Beverley Nichols.

I have been happily buried in the trilogy of Allways, the little village in England where Mr. Nichols had his cozy thatched-roof cottage. His first country cottage, judging by the other memoirs that I have here waiting for me to read.

This trilogy--- "Down The Garden Path," "A Thatched Roof," and "A Village In a Valley"--- three of the most wonderful books I've read this year. The village itself is so quaint, so quiet, so English.... there is just no wonder that Mr. Nichols began writing about it all. And the writing..... each sentence is perfectly written, each paragraph is just beautiful. There were pages that I had to immediately re-read when I got down to the bottom.

Finding these mostly out-of-print hardcover books has been a treasure hunt. I could have bought all new paperback re-prints on eBay, but I tried to find vintage volumes, and for less money than the newer re-prints would have cost me, I bought some First Editions from the 1930s and 1940s, which makes the books even more special. A few of them were sent to me by a bookshop in England (Any Old Books), the last three I ordered are on their way from a shop in Wales (Dusty Books). Just the names of the bookshops make me want to travel to those countries so I can spend an afternoon in each, just browsing up and down the aisles to see what other treasures they have on their shelves.

Mr. Nichols was born in 1898, passed away in 1983. In his writing life-time, he wrote 6 novels, 5 detective mysteries, 4 children's books, 6 autobiographies, 6 plays, 2 books on cats, and of course, 8 (that I'm aware of) memoirs about living and gardening and cottage-keeping in the English countryside. He also wrote books on religion and politics, his travels and his gardens. I have bought his memoirs (including two trilogies), his autobiographies, his books on cats, and a book about his life written by his long-time close friend. When I have finished reading all of these, I will consider reading the volumes on his travels, and his opinions about the various religions and politics of the world.

As I read Beverley Nichols' books, I am lining them up between bookends on my writing desk. I know I will be re-reading these volumes over the years, just as I do with my collection of books by Edith Wharton. Their writing styles are somewhat similar, in that they can both construct beautiful sentences without robbing the words of their personal flair. Mr. Nichols, however, has a subtle sense of sarcasm and humor, when the occasion calls for it, and that makes his books just terribly delicious, as he would have said.

I told my husband that we need to plan a trip to England. I would like to drive along the tiny roads of the English countryside to see small villages dotted with cottages built in the 1500s, with thatched roofs that last three hundred years, surrounded by well-planned gardens that are bursting with blooms every month of the year. (Even in winter, Mr. Nichols had flowers peeking out from underneath the scattered leaves and the occasional snows.)

I walked around the house and cottage this morning, picking pecans and being careful not to fall over the chickens and the cats as they followed me. (It looked like a little parade out there.) Beverley Nichols would have loved the rose arbors here, and the little boxed-in vegetable gardens (which became outdoor buffets for all the raccoons and skunks in the woods). Mr. Nichols, however, would have made better use of all the flowerbeds surrounding the porches and decks. Rather than just green things growing up towards the sky, Mr. Nichols would have carefully planted bulbs that would burst into bloom, giving us colorful surprises for each season.

I'm tempted to try that. But I have a feeling that the bulbs I plant would just be dug up by the raccoons and the skunks, and either carried off into the woods or nibbled right there in the flowerbed and then tossed aside after a few bites. I wonder if Mr. Nichols wrote books on keeping wildlife out of vegetable gardens and flowerbeds....

Sunday stuff......

It has been threatening to rain for the past two days, but there's not a raindrop in sight up there. I can't even remember the last time we had a good hard rain.

I can, however, remember the last time I had a good hard fall. Just yesterday.

My knee seems to be fine, as are my wrists and the palms of my hands. My right arm had been hurting right up to my shoulder, but that's okay too. I went out to look in that flowerbed this morning. It was indeed a root that I tripped over. There's a small wooden doll-bed in that flowerbed, under the rose arbor. The bed was handmade with a picket-fence headboard... I found it in a thrift shop and thought it would look cute in the flower garden. Young Miss C painted it white for me, then I penciled in "Welcome to The Flowerbed" on it, and she painted the letters red and then added red lady-bugs to it.

Into the flowerbed it went, and she was proud of her artwork and I was proud of my imagination for knowing what to do with that one-dollar thrift-shop treasure. Yesterday, however, as I fell across the flowerbed trying to get Mickey Kitty into the house before dark, there must have been an angel looking down from above because I was nearly impaled on the sharp little pickets of that garden ornament. Explain that to the doctors at the emergency room--- walking in with the pickets of a miniature bed stuck into your torso.

Mickey Kitty has been quiet this morning, and very attentive. I was sitting on the back porch with my book after breakfast and he came running up the porch steps to sit by my feet. Appropriately, I am reading another book by Beverley Nichols, titled "Cats' X.Y.Z." Mr. Nichols had a black cat, very small in size like Mickey, with the same face shape and eyes like Mickey. Mickey and his cat could have been twins.

I had eMailed my cousin last night, telling her about Mickey's adventure and my misadventure in the flowerbed. She asked me if I yelled at Mickey when I finally got him into the house. Absolutely not. I don't yell at the cats, unless it's some sort of horrible emergency. Cats don't like loud yells and noises, and my cats are used to a very quiet house, period. If I yell at them at all, which I've done when Mickey has gotten too close to the road, they will turn and bolt and run towards the house looking for a hiding place.

Cats are cats, period. Last night, Mickey was just being a cat. He found a comfy spot underneath that palm tree, he knew it was getting dark (a cat's favorite time for hunting) and he was prepared to sit there and catch crickets or look for field mice-- anything except come into the house when I called him. In no way did he cause me to fall over, but in every way did he try and comfort me after I had fallen, just by walking out from the flowerbed and sitting down by my legs as I made sure that I hadn't any broken bones.

One is either a cat person or not. And only a cat person understands all of the above.

Oops.....

The cats are going to kill me. One of these days, my husband will find me out in the back courtyard after tripping over Gatsby, or falling down the stairs as I rush up to the second floor to rescue Sweet Pea from one of the upper balconies, or I will be flat out on the path under the rose arbor after tripping over a plant root trying to get Mickey Kitty into the house before it gets dark.

That last one..... about Mickey Kitty.... that was this evening's adventure. And I'm lucky I didn't break one or both wrists, or break my left knee, or smash my chin onto the concrete path. Or all of the above.

I don't usually let Mickey and Sweet Pea outside after they have their dinner. Their bellies are full then and they tend to find a spot to take a nap at that time. However.... they were in the house all the while we were in Flatonia today, as my husband tasted BBQ-ed meats and I nibbled my way through half of a Fabulous Funnel Cake. The cats wanted to go out in the yard...... to run after crickets and chase a chicken or two. So out they went.... what was I thinking?!

Now that we're getting close to the day when the time gets changed back an hour, it's getting dark here before 7:30 in the evening. I like to have the cats inside the house before the sun goes down and before the hens make their way back to the coop-- simply because Mickey likes to chase the hens when they're in the back courtyard on their way towards the coop. He doesn't understand that the hens need to be inside the coop before dark so they're safe from coyotes and bobcats and raccoons.

Speaking of the local wildlife-- just this morning, one of the neighbors told my husband that the coyote population has increased so rapidly this season that the local county wildlife officers are telling property owners to shoot coyotes on sight, no matter how young or old they are. Ditto for bobcats, which one of the nearby neighbors have recently seen on their property. When my husband told me that this morning, I said that I wouldn't leave Gatsby out at night anymore... that he could come into the house with Sweet Pea and Mickey. (The raccoons, bobcats and coyotes are night-hunters.)

So there I was earlier this evening...... calling Sweet Pea..... who came walking from the front yard by the barn. Across the driveway he came, walked right up to me, and followed me into the house. One down. Gatsby was sleeping on the porch. He was fine right where he was for the moment. Two down. Last one... Mickey Kitty. I started to call him. Not a sign of that little black cat. Usually, he comes up on the porch when I call him, or he'll sit on the back porch steps and wait for me to walk over to him and pick him up so he can be carried into the house like the Little Prince that he is.

Tonight, however... not a sign of him. I looked in all of his favorite napping places. Nothing. I walked to the barn and looked inside-- no Mickey. Well, I was tired of having so much fun all by myself... I went into the house and asked my husband to please come outside and help me find "his cat." Mickey is always his cat when I can't find him. So there we both were, calling Mickey and not finding him.

My husband went to look in the barn. I started looking in his favorite sleeping spots again. And there he was..... underneath the little palm tree in the flowerbed in front of the garage. Just curled up there as comfy as could be, staring out at me with big wide eyes. I called my husband over from the barn...... he called Mickey to come out from under the palm (this particular palm is short and squat, with needle-sharp pointed leaves that fan out close to the ground). Mickey just sat there looking at us. My husband told me to just leave him where he was and he'd come in when he was hungry. I reminded him that it would be dark in half an hour, and then I reminded him what the neighbor said about the plethora of coyotes in the hills.

So we tried to get Mickey out from under the palm..... me going into one side of the flowerbed, my husband going into the other..... and that little black cat ran out the back, right through the picket fence by the rose arbor, and ran underneath the cottage. My husband and I came into the house. We both knew that neither one of us could get him out from under the cottage.

My husband went back to his work. I put dinner in the oven which I'd prepared yesterday (thank goodness, because I wasn't in the mood for cooking at that particular moment). Then I put my red walking-around-the-property boots on and went back outside. And there was Mickey, back underneath the palm in the flowerbed. And there went I.... with my boots on to protect me from spiders, scorpions, snakes and heaven only knows what else.... into the flowerbed I went to get Mickey once and for all out from under that blessed palm.

My right hand was three inches away from Mickey and then he darted out towards the rose arbor..... and there I was, right behind him...... except one of my boots got caught in a root or something and down I went....... so quickly that I screamed (but of course there was no one out there to hear me).

In the space of two seconds, my left knee smashed down into the flowerbed, both of my wrists smashed down onto the path under the rose arbor, and there I was, with my chin about three inches from the birdseed-speckled path. Just three more inches and my chin would have been split open and sprinkled with the birdseed.

I was so stunned that the breath was knocked out of me. My legs were in the flowerbed, and the top half of me was sprawled under the rose arbor. I couldn't get up because my wrists were hurting, so I crawled out like a silly frog and then sat down under the arbor. I looked at the left knee of the capris I was wearing-- a big green grass stain was all across the knee...... underneath the fabric, my knee was all red but not bleeding. Then I looked at my wrists....... I could move them, turn them, so nothing was broken, but the palms of my hands were hurting, and my right arm was hurting right up to the shoulder.

I sat down under the arbor, with my head on my knees, just trying to catch my breath and thanking my lucky stars that I didn't break anything. And as I was sitting there, out came Mickey from the yard by the chicken coop.... walking slowly towards me, and he walked right underneath my raised-up knees and sat down just as nice as you please and he just looked at me.

I didn't say a word. Not a whisper. He looked at me, I looked at him. The only thought in my mind: You are my cat. You are coming in the house with me. I will not leave you out here in the blessed dark. I got to my feet, Mickey watching my every move, then I scooped Mickey up into my arms and he buried his head near my left elbow. I limped across the driveway, down the stone path, up the porch steps and put Mickey into the house. Then I sat on the chair near the back door and took off the red boots. I looked at my left knee again... still hurting but not bleeding. The knee was about as red as my boots, though.

I came into the kitchen and there was Mickey, just sitting on the floor in the kitchen and looking up at me. I looked back and didn't say a word. I went upstairs and told my husband everything he missed. "You always miss all the fun," I said.

It has been five hours since that little episode. I sat in the TV room for a while after dinner and kept a bag of ice on my left knee. It seems to have helped some. The knee is still red but the throbbing is gone. While I was picking at my dinner, Mickey came over to me and put his two front paws up on my leg and gave me his best poor-lost-little-kitten look. We had Greek spinach pie for dinner, which Mickey doesn't like, so I didn't give him a taste. I did, however, stare back at him with my best I-could-have-broken-a-leg look.

Czech Festival in Flatonia

That's where we drove today..... to the small town (aren't they all small up here in the hills?) of Flatonia. They were having their annual Czech Festival, complete with two cook-off contests... chili and barbeque. As the contestants were getting their foods ready for the judges, they were offering samples to anyone who asked. I didn't ask. (Meat is not my thing.) My husband asked. He loves chili, loves meat, especially BBQ-ed meat. And living in Texas has taught us one thing (among a zillion others)-- no one does BBQ like Texans.

I don't know what the fascination is for men who would never be caught dead behind a four-burner kitchen stove, but just give them a smoker in the shape of a steer (seriously-- my husband took a photo of one today) and they will cook red meat and baste it tenderly with a hundred secret spices after they have soaked that beef or pork in their favorite beer. And the finished product-- slabs of fork-tender meat (steaks, ribs, whatever) that is cooked to perfection and the chef is standing there with his just-sharpened knife and he's saying Now come to papa! as he does the ceremonial carving.

So there we were..... walking around the closed-off-to-traffic Main Street of Flatonia, my husband tasting chili in little cups and BBQ ribs wrapped in paper towels. He was in meat heaven. I was trying to stay out of the way of the knife-wielding chefs, and their assistants running towards the judges' tent with a dozen of their cookbook-photo-worthy just-sliced beef or pork ribs.

They also had a pie auction....... apparently, the best bakers in town had baked up fruit pies and they were being sold off for unheard of prices ($75 and up).... we were guessing that the money went to a local church or charity, or maybe they save it up to pay for all the propane tanks that were lined up along Main Street for the BBQ and chili chefs. (A bad connection in just one of those propane tanks would have blown us all to California.)

Even though I don't eat meat, the aroma of all that cooking got me to searching for something that I could eat. Food vendors selling corn dogs and hot dogs and hamburgers were lined up at the end of Main Street. I didn't want (nor do I eat) any of those. I looked for a Kettle Corn vendor, but didn't see one. (How can there be a Texas festival without kettle corn?) I found a vendor selling "Fabulous Funnel Cakes." I love funnel cakes, but I don't usually eat them because it's just fried dough that's sprinkled with powdered sugar. Totally delicious, of course, but totally loaded with calories. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I bought a Fabulous Funnel Cake. And it was fabulous. I brought some of it home for the chickens-- they thought it was fabulous also.

We have no idea what made today's festival a celebration of the Czech community of Flatonia. There was nothing Czech about it, unless you count the chili chefs who tweaked the spelling of their recipes to read "Come Get Our Czechili."

Each of the chefs were working under their own tent today, each had a BBQ-cooker or a smoker or wooden kitchen all decked out in their own personal style. The sidewalk kitchens alone were worth the drive. One particular chili chef had a very elaborate outdoor kitchen set up, all made of old wood and wrought iron, with shotguns hanging behind the stove and vintage kitchen stools set up in front of the bar. Right in front of the stools was this sign: "This ain't Burger King. You're not goin' to get MY food YOUR way. What you WILL get is MY food MY way. If you don't like it, then you ain't gettin' a damn thing to eat."

And that just about sums up the difference between Texas BBQ chefs and the BBQ chefs in the rest of the country.

The hills are alive.....

..... with the sounds of moaning.........

Every morning for the past couple of weeks, we have heard the most heart-wrenching moans coming from one of the properties along the back roads of these hills. There are less than a handful of roads here in our little community, and the property at the very end is huge, seemingly hundreds of acres, filled with all kinds of livestock and wildlife-- cows, horses, elk, deer. They are all contained, and taken care of by that particular property owner. We have walked along that road back there from time to time, and we never know what kind of animal will be grazing in his pastures.

That particular land-owner trucks in countless bales of hay to supplement his own hay which is grown and baled on his acreage. With all those animals, I imagine it's hard to keep them all fed with just the hay from his own fields. Every few months or so, I will see a long trailer coming down from his side of the hills, driving slowly along the road down by our pond, and going out along that road up towards the main highway. When animals are being transported that way, they're not being taken for a Sunday drive to enjoy the scenery. They are either being sold to someone else with different pastures, or they're being taken to market for slaughtering.

Good grief. Just the thought. I could never never have an animal slaughtered once it has been living on this property. I haven't even cooked a store-bought chicken since we've had our own hens, for goodness sakes.

We kept wondering why we were hearing those sad and mournful moans coming from the cows over in those back hills....... we mentioned that the other day to W, our handyman. He said that the moaning sounds are from the adult cows who are looking for their calves. Looking for their calves? Do they get lost on the acreage over there?

Not exactly..... that property owner sells the calves from time to time..... they're taken away from their mothers at a young age so they can get introduced to their new pastures. The mama cows are moaning every morning because they can't find their babies.... so they will spend an hour or more every day just walking in the fields and searching for their young.

Good grief. As if I needed any other excuse not to eat meat....... Who would have thought that cows (who are called dumb animals) would be so positively human?!

As I type, I can hear the moans as they echo from across the hills. The sounds are so filled with pity and longing, I cannot even describe them. The cows sound broken, wounded, bewildered. In my mind's eye, I can see those mama cows walking slowly from one side of the pasture to the other, looking for their calves and calling out to them with those low and heart-felt moans.

When W first told us about the calves being sold and the mother cows looking for them, the first thing that flashed through my mind was a picture of a baby calf on a milk carton, with the caption "Have you seen me?" printed under the photo. I didn't say that out loud to W..... he sounded sad as he was telling us about the sale and relocation of that neighbor's livestock.

And now, after so many mornings of hearing those moans, and now knowing why the mama cows are calling out to babies who are no longer there, I can understand the sadness.

Birthday lunch on the porch.

We surprised our handyman W today with a birthday lunch... fresh steamed shrimp and zucchini pie, with homemade brownies for dessert. It was the perfect day for an outside lunch... just a little breeze, very warm but not too hot, and it was as quiet as a church out there today. (The mowers have already cut, raked and baled all the hay in the fields-- ours and the others around us.)

Every morning, W gives my husband his lunch to put into the fridge so it won't get cooked out in his truck. When W came up on the porch to ask for his lunch bag today, we walked him around to the side porch where I had the table all set up for his birthday.... tablecloth, Halloween decorations, and small pumpkins by each plate, stuck with little Halloween flags with our names on them. My husband knew that one of W's favorite foods is shrimp, so he brought some home from the Clear Lake waterfront markets last week and I froze them till this morning.

W was more than surprised when he saw the table all decked out, and his surprise went over the top when he saw the big bowl of steamed shrimp I carried out there. I also made a zucchini pie, since W has been here working on the outside of the house from time to time when I've had that pie baking in the oven. So now he knows "what smells so good in there..."

I wrapped up some of the brownies so W can take them home with him when he leaves this afternoon. He has already put his personalized pumpkin into his truck and it's sitting on his dashboard like a hood ornament. It isn't broiling hot today, so the pumpkin will be just fine out there, and won't turn into pumpkin pie by the time he's ready to leave for the day.

While we were outside having lunch, another handyman that we know drove by in his truck. He lives just down the road, has known W for years, and also does home repairs in the area. That particular handyman had been in this house last year, giving me an estimate on some small jobs that we needed done. He didn't seem to be happy about those little jobs, and he kept giving me excuses why they shouldn't be done, didn't need to be done, or could wait to be done. The last thing he said to me when he left that day was "Now I won't be taking offence if you find someone else to do those jobs for you."

And, of course, we certainly did. W has been here two or three days a week, every week, since May. He's reliable, dependable, always on time, works well, follows directions, and seems happy to be doing the small jobs as well as the big jobs. He has worked on this property as carefully as if it were his own. So as that other handyman drove down our road at noon-time today, I have to wonder what he was thinking as he saw the three of us having lunch out on the porch and enjoying the festive table and the beautiful day.

Two more words for Samsung appliances...

Thank you.

The repairman was here this morning..... the same problem we had in August with this refrigerator-- it happened again. Ice formed on the fan and cooling system, which is why the fridge couldn't keep a low temperature. The repairman filled out the forms to order the parts-- same parts as in August. Before he called Samsung to place the parts order, he suggested that I call them, explain the problem, and request either an exchange or a refund on the refrigerator. He said he would also call Samsung and tell them it wasn't worth the time to do the repairs on this unit.

He called Samsung. I called Samsung. Finally... finally... the people at Samsung came to the conclusion that this particular fridge not only can hold lemons in its humidity-free fruit drawer, but this fridge is indeed a lemon. Capital L on that-- Lemon!

They took down all the information over the phone... where did you buy it..... the date.... model and serial number.... the reason why you're not happy with this product? How much time do you have so I can give you my list.....?

Samsung is calling Lowe's....... they will tell them to arrange pick-up of this fridge, bring it back to the store, and give me either an exchange of another Samsung fridge (not going to happen) or give us a store credit for the sale price of the fridge (we'll ask for a refund, but they'll probably give the credit). My husband said the store credit is fine..... he can just use it for all the tools and repair stuff that he's been buying for the work being done on the outside of the house. I intend to see the manager at Lowe's and see about getting a refund, though. What if Lowe's goes out of business before we use up the store credit? Then the credit is meaningless. And with today's economy, with all the Lowe's stores going up in nearly every town-- who's to say they're not over-extending themselves? We've gone into Lowe's quite a few times and those huge caverns of aisles are filled with merchandise but not-so-filled with customers. So who's to say how long they'll be around?

Either way....... at least I know this fridge won't be in my kitchen for too much longer. The guy at Samsung said it would take between two to nine days for the paperwork to get from his computer to corporate to Lowe's, then back to me.

I've already looked in the local phone book....... we found the privately-owned appliance store that sells General Electric. GE-- stands for Generally Excellent.

Samsung-- stands for Sam sung blue 'cause his fridge didn't work.... (But thank you anyway for taking back this big white box in my kitchen.)

Two words for Samsung Appliances....

DON'T BUY. Don't buy them. Ever. EVER. (As in never. AS IN NEVER.)

The pretty white box in my kitchen, which is supposed to be a refrigerator, is on the fritz once again. The repairman was just here in August, when the temperature was over 100 degrees and the fridge decided NOT to be a fridge. That fridge is barely a year old. In fact, tomorrow will be the year-to-the-day purchase date of that blessed thing.

This afternoon, I heard the same noises from that fridge as I heard in August and the first thing I did was take out the booklet and call the Samsung people-- they were so happy to hear from me, I'm sure. They called the local repair shop, and the guy will be here tomorrow morning.

The Samsung girl said it would be a good idea for me to get on their web-site, register my fridge, and that would entitle me to three months extra coverage on the warranty. Really? Do they expect me to have three more months of the same problems with this stupid refrigerator?

Even though I hated to do it, I got on the computer. And I hated doing it because I'm having problems with their product and I have to do their work for them?! Why couldn't they just do all of that over the phone?! I was slapping the side of my laptop because it was doing ridiculous things once I got on their web-site..... my husband heard me carrying on and came in to take care of the laptop and the registration. While I was still sitting at my laptop, though, the web-site asked me for a password to my wonderful new world of Samsung--- the password I chose was afreakingbadrefrigerator.

Once again, over the phone, I asked the people at Samsung for my money back. I'm sorry, but we can't do that.

Does that mean I'm stuck with this fridge for the rest of my (or its) natural life? Not if you have three major repairs done and the technician decides that it can no longer be fixed.

Would the technician take a bribe? Does he like fresh-picked pecans?

When we bought this fridge, we didn't know that a local private appliance store carried General Electric appliances. Had we known that, we wouldn't have gone looking at Lowe's and Home Depot for the other brands. All my life, everyone in my family has had GE appliances..... they last for years....... the fridge in the basement kitchen of my grandmother's house has been there since I was a little girl, and I'm 58 now! What more of an endorsement would you want?!

I told the Samsung girl that they couldn't give me another Samsung anything, no way, no how, for any reason whatsoever. I'm sorry you feel that way, ma'am. (They're so polite that it kills me.)

So right now, the fridge part of that pretty white box in the kitchen has turned itself back on. There's nothing wrong with the bottom-drawer freezer (it still works fine, just like the last time). Thankfully, I didn't go grocery shopping today, but I had planned on doing just that tomorrow.

We'll see what the repairman has to say when he gets here. I'm sorry, ma'am, but you may have to bury this here fridge in the back pasture...... (If he says that, I will be more than happy to toss the first shovel-full of dirt on top of that blessed thing.)

"Greater Tuna"

We went into town this afternoon with friends J & J, to see a play in the community theatre which holds all of 150 people. With such a small audience, all of the seats are "good" seats.

"Greater Tuna" (a pun on the phrase Greater New York) was written by Jaston Williams and Joe Sears, and we have seen those two men perform their "Tuna, Texas" plays at the 1894 Opera House in Galveston. Tuna is the mythical teeny-tiny Texas town where the characters live.... and all the characters are played by the two men (Jaston and Joe) with a series of quick-changes and clever dialogue.

After seeing Jaston Williams and Joe Sears perform, the play tonight was a bit disappointing-- for us, but probably not for anyone who hasn't seen the original duo. The southern Texas humor was there tonight, but the voices of certain characters (like Petey Fisk and Didi Snavely)... the guys tonight just didn't have those voices down with the same oooomph that Jaston and Joe uses to carry them off.

However...... the funniest part of the play was when one of the characters (Pearl) comes out to feed her chickens, and talk to them....... both my husband and I and J & J just cracked up laughing so loudly because I go out into my own yard countless times during the day to check up on the chickens, talk to them, bring them bits of food.... it was just so funny. (I guess you really had to be there.)

We had planned to go out for dinner after the play, but when I called the local cafes to see who was open--- no one was open past three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. The play started at 4:00. We decided the best thing to do was to have a nice lunch here....... J & J brought baked salmon and salad, I made zucchini pie and glazed carrots. The dining room is all decked out for Halloween (and has been since the first of September) so we turned it into a festive lunch.

This is such a pretty little town....... but if you're looking for a dinner out on a Sunday evening, you'd better plan ahead..... and start calling up all the small towns around here to see who's open and who's closed. Mostly, anyone who is open on a Sunday has gone home by 3:00 in the afternoon: our own little version of Tuna, Texas.

Books by Beverley Nichols

Our dream of a third-floor library can't come soon enough. Actually, it's a dream of mine, and a to-do list item of my husband's. We both have different priority lists when we talk about things that need to be done, things that would be nice to have done, and things that probably won't get done anytime soon. Such as making our backyard and side yard look like an English garden that Beverley Nichols would have approved of. I don't think Mr. Nichols would have been digging a garden here in the Hill Country, what with the scorpions, spiders, fire ants, and heaven only knows what else is under all that dirt.

I discovered this British author a few weeks ago when I found a copy of "Down The Garden Path" in the local thrift shop. I've found wonderful books in that store.... and I bought that one because of the beautiful illustrations on the dust-jacket and the end-papers of the book. The story was a chronicle of his English countryside cottage and its gardens, the first of a trilogy. (I have since ordered the other two volumes on-line.)

Beverley Nichols was born in 1898, and wrote his first book at the age of seventeen. (Even he admits that there's something "rather strange" about a 17-yr-old novelist.) But write he did, and he was very prolific during his lifetime...... nearly 60 books in all (on gardens, cottages, homes, cats, autobiographies, children's books, plays).

I started his "Cats' A.B.C." this morning, and finished it tonight. Mr. Nichols had cats for nearly all of his life-- some had names, some had numbers (such as Four, Five.... Six just didn't work, he said because after calling out "Six! Six!" over and over in his garden, he thought it sounded ridiculous.)

Towards the end of this book, the "Z" chapter, Mr. Nichols wrote about zoos........ he hated them. Cruel establishments, not worthy of the animals that were caged there. I was reading in bed when I got to that chapter, and I sat up from my pillow and said out loud-- Absolutely! I have long been a non-believer in zoos. I've gone to quite a few of them over the years, always expecting something different, but they're all the same. No matter how much space is given to each particular animal, it's never enough, and it's never really like their natural habitat -- if it were, the animals would still be in their natural habitat, not in a zoo!!

I clearly remember going to a small zoo up in the Catskill Mountains of NY...... the feeding tins for the animals were filled with hot dog buns, packaged cookies, chocolate cupcakes, potato chips--- every sort of junk-food and fast-food that must have come from their vending machines and snack bars. I wanted to complain to the people in charge there, but the person I was with all those years ago didn't want me to "make a fuss." So I didn't, but I should have.

I will have to make room for the other books by Beverley Nichols that I have ordered.... books are on the way from "Any Old Books," the bookshop in Britain where I found (on-line) the abridged volume of the Samuel Pepys Diaries. I also found one of Nichols' trilogies on the Half.com site. If I keep looking, I'm sure I will find all of his volumes.

I have not started on the Pepys Diary yet..... I've been busy with Beverley Nichols, Hemingway (beautiful un-read hardcovers from the thrift shop), and Steinbeck novels (vintage hardcovers found at Half-Price books-- the few volumes of his that I didn't already have). I've said this many times...... it bears repeating: There is a certain truth about books... one can purchase them much faster than one can read them. (That sounds very British. Very Beverley.)

Time for pecans......

....... and it's pronounced pa-cahns down here. The other day when my two NY cousins were still here, we were out in the yard showing them the pecan trees. Neither of them had ever seen pecans (or any other nuts) growing directly on a tree branch before, so they were taking photos and picking pecans to bring home with them.

The pecans are early this year...... the few green and brown pods that were opening up the other day are now on Long Island with my cousins. Yesterday and today, I was out in the yard picking pecans from our trees. Both days, the tips of my fingers were a little brown, from the outside pods and the actual shells. How nice that the pecans you buy at the supermarket are not only washed but polished up so the shells are clean and shining. They don't come that way when you pick them from a tree. I will have to remember to wear thin latex gloves when I pick nuts.... otherwise, the skin on my finger-tips will be stained from now till Christmas.

As I picked the pecans this morning, all three cats were sitting by the garden boxes, watching me try to pick nuts and stay away from spider webs. The chickens decided to join me under the trees, and I had to be extra-careful with Scarlett, who tends to get as close to my feet as she possibly can. As I pulled the pecans from the thick pods, Scarlett was picking up each of the pods as they fell to the grass. It took her quite some time to realize those pods weren't good enough to eat, and then she lost interest and went back to catching crickets. (I'm surprised we still have crickets in the yard, with all the cricket-chasing from both the hens and the cats.)

For the past two days now, we've had hawks circling above our back and front yards..... very low in the sky--- so low yesterday that I could clearly see one hawk's eyes. Isn't this what happened last year? Low-flying hawks hen-napped four of our chickens, never to be seen again. I got the chickens to follow me into the coop yesterday (and also just after lunch-time today). I closed the wood fence of the small yard outside the coop, pulled down the bedsheets that I have tented up along that picket fence, and the hens are inside the gate and underneath the tent. They can still peck around in the grass, but the hawks can't see them. I am determined not to lose my chickens to the hawks this year. The chickens aren't happy to be confined, but at least they're safe.

As I type, my husband and W the handyman are outside on the roof of the house.... they have been scraping and sanding and filling in the wood siding.... just the bad sides of the house, where the sun has mercilessly scorched some of the paint. They will start the priming today, the painting tomorrow. It was supposed to be a rather small job, just doing the few parts where the paint was peeling. Of course, little jobs turn into big ones........ with caulking of windows, replacement of trim, plus all the sanding and priming.

My husband no longer wants to paint just the portions of the second floor where they have scraped and sanded...... he wants to do the entire second floor, so it all looks even, so it all looks nice. I have no doubt that it will all look nice (translation: perfect) when they're done. The new paint job on the garage is so nice that you can barely see any seams in the wood siding.

The temperatures have cooled down some, and it's positively cool and comfy in the shade. We have cool mornings, cooler nights... but from 11:00 in the morning till after dinner-time, we are enjoying warm Spring days. Most of the rose bushes are now in their second bloom, and the leaves on the trees are green and lush, not drooping from 100+ degrees.

Perfect weather for painting, or for picking pa-cahns.

Last day with the cousins....

A weekend visit is over way too quickly. How much better to stay a week than a weekend..... but a four-day trip was all my cousins L and A could manage this time, so we just made the best of it. Today was the last day..... we spent the morning with a leisurely breakfast, then went out to the yard to pick some of the first pecans from the trees. My cousin L couldn't believe how the nuts grow inside of green pods which turn brown from the sun and then fall to the ground. She picked up two handfuls of them within thirty seconds. We put them into a plastic bag and she held onto them as if they were made of gold. "Real Texas pecans," she said, pronoucing the nut's name as pee-can, rather than pa-cahn, as we say in the south.

On the way to the airport (nearly a two-hour drive) we stopped at a produce stand and my cousin A bought four Texas-sized sweet potatoes. We told her they'd bake up sweet, and taste like brown sugar had been sprinkled on them. She tried to pick sweet potatoes that weren't as big as footballs. Into her suitcase those went, along with a bag of homemade dried mango slices.

Closer to the airport, we stopped at Hank's Ice Cream.... a special treat for my cousin A, who is an ice cream junkie of the first order. No matter that we live in the Hill Country, home of BlueBell ice cream, my husband and I think Hank's is the best ice cream in the world. (We don't say that out loud here in the Hill Country.) Hank is a one-man operation, steadfastly refusing to turn his small ice cream shop into a mega-vat factory. He has been making ice cream for "too many years to count," using his grandmother's recipes. Hank says that once you go into factory-made ice cream, you lose some of the richness, a lot of the quality, and a good deal of the control. "Just not the same as making small batches at a time," says Hank. We have to believe him, because his ice cream tastes like none other in the world. Hank has always said he's not making ice cream to get rich.... he's making ice cream just because he loves making ice cream for the folks.

Then it was time for the airport. All during the ride, both of my cousins were looking at the countryside farmlands, the huge puffy clouds in the prettyblue sky that we had today, and they said their goodbyes to the small-scale Houston skyline as we crossed over into the city limits. My cousin A has vowed to come back with her husband and their youngest daughter. L said she would have wanted to stay longer if she didn't have two cats at home waiting for her.

After four days of having family here, the house now seems empty. We didn't do anything so special.... we had country days, country festivals, country calm. We tried to show them what life out here is like, and how its peacefulness allows me to not want to pay attention to the six o'clock news. "Living in a bubble," my cousin L has been telling me for the longest time now. But now that she spent four days here, L has come to appreciate this little bubble in the Hill Country. She didn't watch TV all the time she was here, nor did she miss it..... she didn't read a newspaper, nor did she ask for one. She did, however, listen to the goats, feed the chickens, watch the horses, and she held a just-laid egg that we found in the nesting box this morning.

As I type, their plane has already landed at JFK Airport in New York.... A's husband has met them at the gate and they're on their way home to Suffolk Country.... they should get there within the next half-hour or so. Our guest cottage looks as if no one had been there all weekend long.... they made the beds, brought the wet towels to the laundry room here in the house, shut the windows, closed the blinds. They did all the things that our 97-yr-old Aunt Dolly has always taught us all---- keep everything clean and neat and nice, especially if it all belongs to someone else.

Tomorrow will be laundry day.... washing all the towels, un-making the beds and washing the sheets, then making up the beds again. By tomorrow afternoon, the guest cottage will look just as it does now--- as if no one had been there.

Sure is quiet here........

Scarecrow Festival.

We drove into Chappell Hill this morning with my cousins...... the town was celebrating their annual Scarecrow Festival. Decorated and dressed-up scarecrows all over the town, pumpkins and Indian corn everywhere you looked.... even though the temperature was touching 90 degrees before noon. The four of us looked at all of the vendors' booths on the main road of the town..... we by-passed mostly all of the booths on the grassy side roads just because the walking was a little bit harder there.

Very crowded...... between the ladies with shopping bags, young mothers with strollers and little kids, older couples with their dogs..... you had to watch every step you took. As crowded at that little town was, everyone was happy and smiling and just enjoying the beautiful day. My cousin A bought herself handmade earrings, and found gifts for her children. Wherever we take them here, her first thought is always "My husband and kids need to see all of this!"

We walked around Chappell Hill for a little less than two hours... the temperature was rising, the crowds were getting thicker, and we were all crafted-out with everything that we had seen. (After a while, everything begins to look the same.) Off we went to Round Top..... my cousin A took a picture of the sign that says "Welcome to Round Top, population 77." We had lunch at Royer's Cafe...... the best (and just about only) place to eat in that teeny town. The cafe itself is filled with all sorts of pictures and posters and tee-shirts and holiday ornaments....... Bud's customers have papered his ceilings and walls with notes of thanks and photographs of their food-filled tables. Wonderful lunch of grilled salmon..... and home-made apple pie for dessert.

My husband decided he'd had enough shopping for one day, so we dropped him off at home, and the three of us drove into the center of our own little town and walked around a couple of the little shops here. Again, both of my cousins kept saying that the rest of the family needed to see everything they had seen during their visit with us. Before we had dinner tonight, my husband drove A to the nearby lakefront area, so she could see all the water-sports that were available on the lake. (Available if you have your own boat, that is.) But it's a beautiful lake, eleven-thousand acres in size, with plenty of spots for boating, sailing, fishing, relaxing. A kept saying "I'm coming back here.... I'm coming back here." We hope she does.

We played Scrabble after dinner..... my husband won (no surprise there). Tomorrow is our last breakfast together here, and then tomorrow afternoon is their flight back to NY. My cousin L wanted to take us all out for brunch, but we told her it would be better to have a nice breakfast here because most of the cafes and restaurants aren't open on Sunday mornings.

This has been such a great weekend...... it went much too fast, but fun weekends always do just that. We're hoping that A will come back..... we're hoping her sister F will come for a visit...... we're hoping everyone up north will come and stay in the cottage and enjoy this beautiful piece of heaven.

Miniature horses... 1950s diner... BlueBell ice cream.

We had a leisurely breakfast in the dining room this morning with my two cousins--- fresh eggs from my chickens, and fresh bagels from NY. They both said the guest cottage is a special retreat and a special treat...... they slept so well that they never heard the coyotes howling in the middle of the night after the sound of the train whistle echoed through the hills.

We brought my cousins to the BlueBell ice cream factory... took the tour to see what flavors of ice cream were being made early this afternoon (strawberry, vanilla, birthday cake swirl, and vanilla ice cream sandwiches). Of course, after you finish the tour, you get a scoop of whatever flavor you like in their old fashioned ice cream parlour.

After that, we went to the Monastery of St. Clare-- the nuns there have been raising miniature horses for years. So very cute.... and my cousin L reminded me that I have plenty of room on the property for such a little horse (she must have been talking to either our friend V or our Miss C, both of whom are practically begging us to get a miniature horse). But the only things we walked away with were postcards of the chapel and the monastery property, and tiny ceramic angels made and painted by the nuns.

For a late lunch, we went to the Southern Flyer Diner..... the 1950s-style diner that's next to a small airport for private planes. My husband and I have been there before..... cute little juke-boxes on each table... three 1950s/1960s songs for a quarter..... and there's always planes taking off and landing while you're sitting there as the waitresses are scurrying back and forth in their poodle skirts and saddle shoes.

By that time, we were all walked-out..... so back we came to the house and I gave my cousins our own little tour of the guest rooms above the barn, which they hadn't seen yesterday. We spent the afternoon sitting on the porch and talking...... then we came inside for tea.... and spent the rest of the night sitting in the dining room and talking. After the late lunch, no one was really in the mood for a big dinner, so we just picked on left-overs and had tea and fruit and the Italian cookies that A picked up on her way to the airport in NY yesterday.

Sitting in the dining room and talking for all that time reminded us of being in my grandparents' house...... everyone either sat around the kitchen table or around the dining room table, talking for hours and hours, while all the furniture in the living room stood there empty. We all knew that moving from one room to another would break up the conversation..... disrupt the flow. The kitchen or the dining room was the place to be for any and all lengthy discussions.

These last two days have gone by so quickly..... the next two days will disappear in a heartbeat. My cousin A has been reading the travel brochure on our town, picking out things that her husband and children would like to see........ she will be back soon, she says, and I believe her. My cousin L doesn't travel very often these days, and the older she gets, the less she wants to be away from home. But while she's here, she is sleeping well, not stressing out, not worrying about anything at all, not even the political news that she follows religiously. She hasn't even watched five minutes of TV since she's been here, nor has she listened to the radio. (She has barely even looked at a clock.) L has, however, looked up at the zillions of stars, she watched the horses in the field across the road, she has smiled at my chickens and laughed as they come running across the yard when I call them.

And now L understands why I enjoy this "life in a bubble," as she calls it. And I'm betting that when it comes time to leave for the airport, L is going to be very sad to be leaving this happy little bubble.

Off to the airport.....

My husband and I had to switch cars for today..... my cousins L and A left NY this morning and arrived in Houston in mid-afternoon. Couldn't pick both of them up in my two-seater car, plus the trunk on my car doesn't hold much luggage. So there I was, driving towards the airport in my husband's two-door sedan. No Barry Manilow CDs in his car.... no little stuffed black cat peeking out of the window. I had the radio on for part of the drive to the airport-- such horrible music is on the radio these days, I swear.

I left here super-early, giving myself plenty of time to get to the airport in case I hit traffic when I got near the downtown area. (Certainly no traffic at all on the country roads before you get into the city limits.) I wanted to have time to drive around and around the airport parking lot so I could get a spot closest to the doors, which I was able to do. I brought a book along so I could sit in the lobby and read.... but then I called up one of my other cousins and talked for a bit..... and then my cousin A called me to say their plane landed half an hour early-- she called right after the plane landed on the runway, thinking I might still be en route to the airport.

It's been so many years since anyone in the family has flown to Texas that it was almost surreal to see both L and A walking down the ramp from the arrival gate. So nice to see them, after all this time chatting with one another over the phone or via eMails. They both made the proper ooohs and aaahs as we drove past Houston's skyscrapers..... our downtown skyline is maybe one-tenth the size of NYC's...... so there's no comparison. We also drove past the AstroDome (old baseball stadium) and the Reliant Center (new football stadium). As we got away from the city, we started to drive past endless fields of green....... then as we got into the Hill Country, we drove by farmlands and ranches, cows and horses and donkeys... such pretty views all around. More ooohs and aaahs from my NY cousins.

They both loved the property here...... they fell in love with the guest cottage the minute they walked in the door-- and then they saw grandma's sofa in there (which we had shipped from NY three years ago).... and they said that the sofa looked very much at home here. ("But what happened to the plastic covers?" I took them off, of course. This is Texas-- no plastic sofa covers allowed.... it's a law.) Before we had dinner, I showed them all around the house....... L kept saying she couldn't get over how wonderful it all looked, even better than the photos we had sent her. She understands how we were able to say goodbye to the house we truly loved back in Clear Lake. We never thought we'd move from our "old" house..... and then we found this really old house and it was just love at first sight. For me, anyway....... I think my husband took a little bit longer. Not much, but a bit.

My cousin A brought us fresh bagels from NY.... and cookies from an Italian bakery in her neighborhood. No one has bagels like NY, and no one has bakeries like NY. My cousin A has already been on the phone to her husband, telling him that she got here safely with her mother, and that she will be planning another trip really soon so he and their youngest daughter can come back with her.

Tomorrow morning's breakfast will be fresh eggs from my chickens, and fresh bagels from NY. Life is good.

Dogs gone....

Oh well. Both of the small dogs that we found last night are now in the local shelter. Being that they're less than a year old, and seemingly healthy, they have more than a good chance of being adopted. The shelter doesn't charge money for taking in stray dogs, but I gave them $20 anyway, towards food for the dogs.

Our handyman W got them into Gracie's old puppy crate for me, put the crate into the back of his truck, and then followed me into town to the shelter. The dogs were quiet, and went into the crate willingly.... but also came out of the crate quickly once we got there.

I knew we had to bring them to the shelter as quickly as possible, because it doesn't take long to get attached to a dog or a cat that's quite content to follow you around the yard and sleep on your back porch. That's where the dogs slept last night, on the porch near the kitchen door. They were both curled up in tight little comma-shapes, and seemed to be happy there when I turned out the porch lights late last night.

However..... I wasn't in bed for more than five minutes when I decided they might like to sleep on a soft blanket, rather than the wood boards of that porch. So downstairs I went, into the laundry room, and I took out one of Gracie's old blankets. Surely big enough for two smaller dogs.... and they seemed to know what I was doing with it out on the porch. Both of them curled up on it and went to sleep, and that's where I found them this morning.

I fed them some dry cat food again this morning, and they didn't seem to mind. Hungry dogs can't be too picky, and I had long ago given away all of Gracie's food that we had left when she died. Off to the shelter we went as soon as I got myself ready early this morning. I told both dogs that I was sorry to be giving them away. I sincerely hope they end up with good families who take care of them and don't let them run wild. I gave the doggie-blanket to the girl at the shelter, asking her to let the dogs sleep on it while they're in the kennel.

My husband and I talked about this whole dog-thing last night..... do we? don't we? No, we don't. Not ready for another dog, no matter how cute that little black one was last night. I swear, she followed my husband all around, just like Gracie used to do. And she would have been a good dog, I'm sure. But.... would she have been okay with the cats? With the chickens?

Not the right time.... just not the right time. Two of my cousins from NY will be here tomorrow..... definitely not the right time for a new puppy. Puppy..... I don't even want to go through all of the puppy-training again. If we were going to get a dog, I think we'd get an older dog who's already been through the house-training stage. Much easier than a puppy...... and it's the older dogs who stay at the shelters..... the puppies always seem to get adopted.

I can still see that little black puppy face looking at me this morning. But...... just not the right time for another dog.

Neighborhood Potluck.......

Tonight was the annual potluck dinner for the neighbors in the hills here. We saw the nearby neighbors that we see all the time, and also the farther-away-in-the-hills neighbors that we haven't seen since last year's potluck dinner. There were paper name-tags at the door...... I didn't take one.... those paper things just bother me. I did introduce myself to everyone that I could, except the local police and firemen. Those two groups stuck to themselves, all at the largest table, and when their meal was done, they were gone. They are invited as a courtesy, by any community participating in this annual Night Out event.

A couple of the neighbors asked us if we were planning to host next year's Night Out Potluck..... my response was that I'd rather host a Halloween party. I said it with a smile on my face, but the translation could have been Over my dead body. Pardon my sarcasm, but this type of party, given for people who don't see each other all year long, just isn't my cup of tea.

On the way back down the road from J & J's home, what did we see in the road by our barn? Two small dogs. Bigger than puppies, but certainly not a year old yet. We stopped the car..... I gave my husband what was left of the cornbread that I had brought to the party. The dogs ate that up in two bites, then (of course) followed our car down the road and into our driveway. I was holding what was left of the pasta in cream sauce that I had brought to the party--- I gave that to the dogs, along with a bowl of water. They were still hungry after that..... I went in the house and brought out some dry cat food and gave them a little bit of Meow Mix. (My cats don't eat that, but I keep it just for the stray cats that we always seem to find.)

By that time, my husband was sitting in the driveway, and the dogs were just all over him, licking his face and wagging their tails, and just happy to be there. We guessed that they're about six to eight months old, some kind of Black Lab mix. The smaller of the two was just making eyes at my husband, the way Gracie always did. She was the sweetest of the pair, but they were both pretty tame and sweet, but she will be the smaller of the two because her paws are smaller. They look like they came from the same litter.

However...... we do not (DO NOT) want another dog. (Translation: DO NOT WANT.) We don't want to be tied down that way for another 14 years, like we were with Gracie. We loved Gracie, and we still miss her, but we just don't want another dog. In the morning, either my husband will bring these two dogs to the shelter, or he'll ask W the handyman to do it for us. I know the dogs will still be here in the morning, because right now, both of them are curled up on our porch, sound asleep.

I will have to keep the cats in the house tomorrow morning, and I won't be able to let the chickens out of the coop till those dogs are gone. They're very tame and sweet with us, but heaven only knows what would happen with the cats and the hens...... and I certainly don't want to find out.

Why is it that WE are the ones always finding the stray cats and dogs?????? And WHY can't people bring their unwanted pets to the shelter????? Or better yet, WHY can't they just have their pets spayed or neutered if they don't want kittens and puppies?????

Buzz is the word......

As I type, and as I've done everything else these last couple of days, all I can hear is the sound of two electric sanders. My husband and W (the handyman) are out on the roof, sanding their little hearts away as they smooth out the parts of the siding where the paint has chipped away. They don't have to do the entire second floor, just the places where the summer sun relentlessly scorched the paint.

They seem to be having a grand time with their sanding tools. Every once in a while, I can hear the blur of words from one to the other, then their laughs, then back to the sanding. I have the cats inside the house, sequestered in the TV room because all this blessed noise will have them finding new hiding places around the property. As it is, all three cats are underneath the sofa in the TV room. Three cats, who can fight over one particular chair in that room (It's mine! I was here first!) are now content to share the under-sofa space, to escape the sounds of the electric tools.

The chickens have not been happy either with these last two days of sanding noise. Prissy sat in her nesting box for two hours this morning, but didn't leave an egg. One of the hens also laid an egg while sitting on the roosting bar yesterday, and of course it broke when it fell to the floor of the coop. Only Scarlett has been vigilant in her egg-laying.... one brown egg every day, no matter what noises the guys are making with those electric tools of theirs.

From inside my sitting room as I type, it sounds as if I'm in a giant bee hive, with zillions of worker bees buzzing and buzzing and buzzing. Had this been the case, I would have already drowned three times in honey. I will be hearing this sound in my sleep.

The Queen's English.

One of the books I found a while back in the thrift shop was a brand new re-issue copy of "Down the Garden Path," by Beverley Nichols. I had never heard of that author before, and had never seen the book, but the dust-jacket is what caught my eye. In this case, it was indeed a judgment of the book by its cover. I've come to learn that Mr. Nichols' books, the ones written in the 1930s, have almost never been out of print.

The illustration on this dust-jacket is of a small cottage surrounded by lush gardens, with each separate garden set out for a different purpose (kitchen herbs, fruit orchard, contemplation, etc.) Turns out that "Down the Garden Path" is the first book of a trilogy written by Mr. Nichols.... and the little cottage pictured on that cover is his own English cottage in the British countryside.

I looked up Beverley Nichols on the Internet.... he was quite a prolific writer, and besides the books on his cottage and its gardens, he wrote about his cats, his friends, his lifestyle, his life. He was sort of a Gatsby-esque character who knew a lot of famous people in the arts (music and literature).

I started reading Down The Garden Path yesterday, and it's a beautiful book, full of useful gardening information and sprinkled with his wonderful sense of whimsy and humor. (Not really a gardening book, but a life book, a diary of sorts, about his property and his English village.) This isn't the first time I've been surprised by an English author. I've decided that British books are so appealing because their use of the English language is exact, precise, charming, and (most of all) correct. This book is a joy to read, and there are beautiful illustrations here and there. I've already searched out the other two volumes in his "cottage" trilogy, and I also ordered one of his cat books (how could I resist, especially since one of the cats on the dust-jacket looks like Mickey Kitty).

Some of the best books that I own have come from the most surprising places...... thrift stores, antique shops, yard sales and the for-sale shelves in libraries. And the best of the best books I have on my shelves-- the vintage books, written anywhere from 1900 through 1950. For some reason or other, the older a book is, and the more it's been read over the years, the better it feels in your hands as you read it and make it your own.

Surprise visit.

Just as we were finishing up lunch today, our friends C & L called to tell us they were about 30 miles north of us, on their way back to Clear Lake. Could they stop by? Of course. They were driving with their daughter, son-in-law, and their three teen-aged daughters..... was that still okay? Of course!

C & L used to come to all of our parties when we lived in Clear Lake...... for the Halloween parties in particular, C would search the Internet sites for truly spooktacular dishes to bring for the pot-luck dinners. For one of the Halloween parties, she brought a life-sized plastic skull covered with thin slices of baked ham..... the honey-baked ham looked like slices of skin, and with each layer that was taken from the skull, the overall effect became more and more grotesque.

And this daughter of C & L's this afternoon.... she was the one who painted the tattoos on her dad's arms for the Halloween when he came as Paul Sr. (from the Orange County Choppers show)-- between his resemblance to Paul Sr., and his outfit that night (black jeans, black sleeveless tee-shirt), and his own mustache (especially grown long to look like that of Paul Sr.), L truly looked like the man he was trying to impersonate that night.

So there they were this afternoon, C & L, their daughter and her family.... they wanted to see all of the house, plus the cottage and the barn guest rooms, and they even peeked into the chicken coop (The Coopacabana-- they got the joke), and then the three girls had ice cream and thoroughly examined (and approved of) all the Halloween decorations around the house. They especially liked the black and purple Halloween tree and the black crows in the living room.

C's daughter asked me if we missed having our big Halloween party every year, and before I could answer, C said "Well, we surely miss going to them!" C asked if we ever tried to host a Charades party up here for the neighbors, and I told her that only four of the neighbors right now would possibly be interested in that type of party, and the other two who would be Charades-worthy are only here for a little while in the summer.

This subject comes up time and again....... our parties. I'm willing to give it a try, but my husband truly believes that it's just not going to work up here in the hills. "These people are into hay raising and farming, and horses and cows...... no way, no how are they going to dress up in costume and play Charades." Oh well.

Anyway..... we had a nice visit with C & L.... they've been here twice before already, and it was nice to meet their grandchildren and one of their daughters. It was a nice surprise on a quiet Sunday afternoon.... that seemed really way too quiet after everyone had left.

It's only a bunny. (Not.)

When we first moved to this house, our friends K and B came to see the property even before we had moved all our furniture into the house. As we were showing them the back courtyards and the fields behind the house and the barn, we heard a quick movement in the low shrubs around the back deck. In reply to my own What was that?!?-- K replied "Don't worry... it's only a bunny."

A bunny? Well, where did it go? And how come we didn't see the cute little white cottontail puff as it ran away? Do bunnies really run that fast? Of course they do, said K. I just took her word for it at the time.

I have since learned...... when you hear a cute little bunny in the leaves, you can actually hear their jump and pounce and running sound. And if you look quick enough, you can truly see the white puff of their tail as they hop away. However.... when there's a snake in the leaves or under the shrubs, all you can hear is the quick-quick-quick slithering sounds as they're racing away. I know what that sounds like now, and that day last year with K & B-- that wasn't a bunny, it was indeed a snake. K, knowing how I am about the insect and wildlife world (I only like the cute things) thought she was doing me a favor by telling me it was just a bunny.

I thought of that day with K as I was walking yesterday. Our house is about two miles in from the main road. Two miles of a winding, twisting, turning road that goes uphill and downhill, depending on whose property you're walking by. I've been walking from our house to the main road and back, every day that I can. It's a pretty walk, passing by the other properties, and there are two little creekbeds and small waterfalls along the way-- the waterfalls are only waterfalls after a good solid rain. When the wildflowers were all in bloom this past Spring, the walk was absolutely magical.

My husband and I did quite a bit of walking last year. As we walked, we picked up bottles and cans that had been tossed out by careless drivers. I doubt very much that the people who live here tossed out the trash.... we thought that workmen could have tossed out their trash before getting up to the main road. (What happened to the slogan "Don't Mess With Texas?") I still walk with a small trash bag in my hand, but I don't have to pick much up anymore. Just about all of our neighbors had seen us picking up the trash, all of them thanked us, and I think they have passed the word along to anyone they know who could have been littering that pretty road.

As I was walking yesterday, I saw a baby snake at the very side of the road down near our pond.... he was quite dead... a car wheel must have gotten him as he was trying to get from one side of the woods to the other. As I got further up towards the end of the road, just about the point where I turn around and walk back, I heard the distinct sound of a snake racing through the leaves. This wasn't a small snake... it was loud enough to have been a large one. I know that sound by now, and whenever I hear it, I can also hear our friend K saying "Don't worry... it's only a bunny."

Our neighbors tell us that a snake will get out of your way quicker than you can get out of his way. The snakes don't want to be bothered, and they don't want to bother you. They will only attack if you sneak up on them, and their bite is their only defence. That's one reason I won't walk through our fields when the grasses get too high.... you never know what's in that tall grass, and what happens if I step on a snake that hasn't heard us walking and has not gotten away from us?

Neighbor J had told us that as he and his wife were driving down that same road, a snake fell from one of the trees and landed on his car. Right on my vehicle! is what he actually said. I think of that also when I'm walking, and I tend to walk extra fast as I pass under the spots where the trees are so thick that they form a green canopy across the width of the road. Between looking down at the side of the road for snakes who may be hidden in the leaves, and looking up at the tree branches to make sure a snake isn't hanging down, my exercise-walk turns into an Indiana Jones adventure.

After J told us about the snake falling onto his vehicle, I didn't walk for a couple of months. I would have, if my husband had had the time to go with me, but he was working on the outside of the house with the handyman, and all of that work became his exercise. I had to settle for running up and down the stairs ten times a day, but that quickly turned into not being much fun at all.

So I am back to walking now. Not in the early morning, because during the night, spiders have constructed their webs and they're very hard to see if the sun is shining right on them. So I usually wait till after lunch-time to walk... by that time, enough cars have gone up and down that road and have dismantled any webs that might have been built during the night. I don't know if snakes are more active in the morning or the afternoon, but I can hear them moving in the leaves just about every day. I'm not fearless when I'm walking, by any means, but I am trying to be very aware of every sound that I hear along the way. I wonder if wearing a big cow-bell around my neck would help? The snakes would hear that and get away from me long before I was right close to them.

And just where are a snake's ears?

I have no idea what it is.....

..... but I bought it anyway. I kept hearing this little voice in my ear, which is usually my husband's mom, telling me Buy what you love, honey, and you'll find a place for it. She used to tell me that all the time..... I've done that with so many things, and they do find their place in our home.

But this.... I have no idea how this basket-shaped wrought-iron thing began its life. It stands about three feet high from top to bottom, and the base is much wider than the tippy-top of it, which comes to a point. There is a hook at the very top, so it must have been made to hang. It also looks as if it was a handmade, hand-forged hanging basket for a plant.

But then..... someone added red chandelier beads and prisms to it, along with curlicues of tiny silver beads. Every inch of the round wrought-iron is covered with the silver curls and the red beads..... so with its shape being what it is (wide at the bottom, pointed at the top) it looks like a good-sized table-top Christmas tree. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I am the Queen of the table-top Christmas trees. As soon as the Halloween decorations come down on November first or second, all my little holiday trees come out and find their way into each and every room. Some rooms have two or three trees, depending on the table-space.

For less than $20 at this resale shop, I bought that wrought-iron beaded and bedazzled and prismed art-deco-esque sculpture, and I plan to add some red blown-glass vintage ornaments to it, and cover the hook at the top with a huge red bow. I don't know exactly which room it will be in next month, but it will certainly find a place that's just perfect.

The lady at this resale shop knows me from other visits to her shop..... I tend to find things in there that do not fit into my two-seater car. I keep a length of rope in my trunk now, just in case I find things that will fit into the trunk without it being able to close. The woman's husband told me that I need to get a bigger car. I told him that I needed to quit buying such large items. I have left that shop with wicker chairs for the guest rooms, each of them bought one at a time and tucked into the trunk, then I had to tie the trunk closed with the bright yellow rope. It works..... I can get home that way as long as it isn't raining, and as long as I don't stop anywhere else between there and here.

Today's ride home was an adventure. The wrought-iron thing couldn't go into the trunk because I didn't want to mess up the silver beaded curls and the red prisms. I ended up putting an old towel on the passenger seat (also kept in the car for just such trips) and then I put the seat belt around the thing so it wouldn't tip over during the ride home.

I had intended to go grocery shopping today, but that idea went out the window because I need the front seat of my car to hold the bigger items that won't fit into the rather small trunk of the car. Groceries, smoceries..... shopping for unknown and unidentifiable treasures in the resale shops is much more fun.

I can hear my husband now: "What in the world is that?!"

He's not going to believe me when I tell him that his mother told me to buy it.