Sounds of Spring...

The birds are singing, the chickens are making sweet coo-ing noises, and the cows on the other side of the hill are crying and moaning. Those sounds are painful to hear. The other night, just before it got dark, two trailers went down the road across from the neighbor's field.

The trucks pulling the trailers were going very slow, so I knew that they had livestock in the back. I tried not to look too closely, which was easy... that road is at the base of our hill so unless you're looking through the binoculars, you really can't tell what they're hauling in those trailers.

By yesterday morning, however, we knew what was in the trailers that left the night before-- calves. For most of yesterday and today, we heard the mama cows calling for their calves. Such a low and mournful moo-ing moaning sound... it just breaks your heart. The moaning sounds went from one side of the hill to the other as the cows searched all corners of the pastures for their babies. My husband said that if you listen to that enough times, you may want to reconsider eating hamburgers. I don't have to reconsider anything... I don't eat meat.

The quail are still walking around our yard. They must have a nest somewhere, and so far, the cats haven't found it-- or they have found it but have chosen not to bother the quail. The chickens don't seem to mind sharing the property with the quail, either, because I've seen both the quail and the chickens walking around the same parts of the yard at the same time.

I haven't seen the neighbor with the goats...... and I haven't seen the brown goat with the white spots-- the one that kept getting stuck in the fence. My guess is that goat is already history. Enough said.

My cousin F eMailed me a photo of the little Pomeranian puppy that her daughter C is buying from a New Jersey breeder. I've seen countless puppy photos along the way, but this little one is absolutely the cutest dog. He looks like a little teddy-bear, with such a happy expression on his face in the pictures. Almost makes me want to go out and get a puppy. Almost. Almost.

The puppy-phase is not my most favorite part of having a dog. The puppy-crate, the house-training, the puppy-chewing. And no matter how much a dog is trained, their little doggy-brains are the equivalent of a two-year-old child. So you've got a two year old in the house, for as long as you have that dog. Granted, a very well-trained two-yr-old, but a two-yr-old nonetheless.

Oh well, I will get my puppy-fix from looking at the photos of C's little dog. My cousin F asked me and my friends for name suggestions........ so far, we've come up with a very 'southern' list of names: Precious, Beau Brummel, Butterscotch. I also suggested Barry Manilow, but my cousin said that name wouldn't make the short list. Well, if they want a New York sort of name, how more New York-ish can you get than Manilow?!

The neighbor's goats.

One of the neighbors has goats, as well as horses, cows, chickens, and dogs. He has a lot of property with separated pastures, so they all have ample land to roam. We knew from the beginning that he raises goats for the meat, and he slaughters them himself. Ditto for the chickens, I'm guessing.

When we hear the baby goats crying for their mothers, I try and tune it out because I'm sure that the mother is no longer in the field over there but either on their dinner table or in their freezer.

This particular neighbor is old enough for a 'senior citizen discount' at stores but looks like a 1960s hippie. He owns a lot of land in these hills, he's been here for decades, and he pretty much keeps to himself, his wife, and a few friends that visit from time to time.

If there's anything I've learned since moving to Texas, it's the simple fact that what you do on your own property is your own business unless you're putting someone else in fear of their lives or making a mockery of the Bill of Rights. With people's pets and/or animals, the state requires one to provide food and water, and shelter... this last depending on the animal-- a dog, yes; a cow or goat, no. There is nothing in the state legislature that says Thou shalt love and/or respect thy pets and livestock. And once you get outside of city limits, the rules of the countryside seem to take over... and it also seems to me that everyone writes their own rules on their own property.

So there I was yesterday, sweeping purple wisteria petals from the porch..... at this time of the year, the wisteria blooms into a huge round purple-blossomed canopy, then quickly sprinkles the ground with the petals and bursts out with green leaves that last till the first cold snap of December. I don't know what's more pleasing to the eye... the cluster-shaped blossoms or the mounds of purple 'snow' on the courtyard stones.

As I swept the petals, I was watching the neighbor's goats. One of his fields is across the road from our front field. When the neighbor puts his goats or cows or horses in that particular pasture, we can see them from our porches and watch as they graze and play. And the baby goats do indeed play, just like puppies.

A car happened to come down the road and the sight and sound of that scattered the goats away from the road towards the middle of the field. One goat didn't move, it just stayed right up close to the fence. I knew why, but I was hoping I was wrong. On my way into the kitchen, I said out loud Please don't be stuck in the fence, please don't be stuck in the fence. I came back out with the binoculars and aimed them towards the fence..... and there was the goat, with its head and horns stuck in one of the squares of the wire fencing. This has happened so many times before, and it makes me wonder why the neighbor didn't put up a different sort of fence so the goats couldn't get their heads through in the first place. The goats will squeeze their heads into the fence squares to get the sweet green grass on the other side. Once they eat all the grass in that particular spot, it's not so easy to pull their heads back out because their horns get caught.

Back into the house I went, to get my car keys and a pair of thick oven mitts that I keep for just that sort of thing-- getting the goats out of that fence. Down the road I drove.... all the while hoping that the sound of my car would make that goat give an extra pull to get his head out of that blasted fence. The goat didn't even try... he just watched me getting out of my car. I tried and tried..... just couldn't get the goat's horns to get back through the fence. My oven mitts kept getting caught on the barbed wire and I figured I was either going to cut myself or the goat, or get bitten by the goat. I don't even know if goats bite, but I didn't want to find out.

I got back into my car and drove down my hill and up the neighbor's hill. I pulled in front of his house and honked the horn, hoping he would just come outside so I wouldn't have to get out and maneuver around the various dogs and chickens inside his gate. No signs of life, so I got out of the car, was greeted by three adult dogs and two puppies as I went into the little yard and found his wife folding laundry in the outside porch. Didn't she see my car? Didn't she hear the horn honking? I told her about the goat, explained that I tried to get him out of the fence, asked her to please tell her husband that the goat needed to get free of the fencing. Thank you, thank you... I will tell him.

I didn't know if he was home or not, so on my way up my own hill, I tried again to get that goat out of the fence. Just couldn't do it. The goat was so nervous about being caught that he wouldn't stand still and I couldn't even grab hold of its horns this time. I was getting into my car when the neighbor drove down to the fence... I showed him the oven mitts and told him that I tried to get the goat out and just couldn't manage to do it. The neighbor looked at me and said "You don't have to worry 'bout that one anymore.... she's the next to go 'cause she's been stickin' her head where it don't belong since she growed up." (That phrase 'to go' meant the next one to be turned into goat stew or steaks, I'm sure.)

That comment from the neighbor made me want to leave, plus now that he was there, he could release his own goat...... I tossed the oven mitts into the car and as I was getting into the car, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the neighbor's method of releasing that goat. He took his heavy-booted foot and slammed it right into the goat's face, which stunned the goat.

I was sitting in my car at that point, completely stunned myself. It was like I could feel the neighbor's boot on my own face. In my rear view mirror, the neighbor grabbed hold of the goat's head and bent it backwards a bit so its horns could get through the square of the fence. I had started to drive at that point, saying 'oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god' along with a few exceptional curses aimed at the neighbor and his lack of humanity.

By the time I got to my driveway, the goat was out of the fence and walking slowly back to the other side of the field. In the split-second when the neighbor's boot flew into the air towards that goat, I knew not to say a word to him. That is his property, his fence, his goat. Even if some sort of agency person were called out here, by the time paperwork was filed and accusations were checked out, that particular goat would have already been slaughtered, cooked and eaten, with its leftovers ensconsced in a green Tupperware bowl. And there was no one out there by that fence except me and the neighbor and the goat. His goat. My word against the neighbor's.

This is Texas. This is the country. That neighbor isn't the only one raising livestock for an eventual trip to the kitchen table. I'm hoping that this neighbor's inhumane treatment of his livestock is an exception to the normal way of dealing with curious goats who get their heads stuck in fences.

I told my husband that I will never, never, never go onto that particular neighbor's property again. Since we've lived in this house, one or another of his goats have gotten stuck in the fencing over there. The next time, I will do my best to release the goat myself. Hopefully, the next time, my husband will be home to help. And if not, my husband suggested that I call one of the other neighbors, rather than going up to that neighbor.

Another day on the blessed ranch.

Baby possums, baby quail.

It must indeed be Spring, even though the temperatures are more like Summer. The bluebirds and barn swallows have already laid eggs in their nests and the wildlife mothers are taking their young ones for tours of the fields.

When I went for my walk yesterday, one of the neighbors was outside and gave me a pamphlet on wildlife rescue. She got the pamphlets a few days ago when she brought two baby possums to the rescue location. The mama possum was run over by a car near her property and there were the babies, staying right close to their lifeless mother while the vultures were just a couple of feet away. Our neighbor scooped up the babies and let the vultures take care of the mama.

So what was she going to do with the babies? When wildlife creatures are that small, they almost never survive without their mothers unless you truly know what to feed them and how to take care of them, which she didn't. She checked the Internet and found the wildlife rescue organization in the next town, and brought the possum babies over there. Her other alternative, she said, would have been to drown the babies, which she thought would have been less horrible than having them eaten by the vultures or a snake. She was happy to have found that particular organization and was handing out their pamphlets to everyone she sees. (I was happy to know that not all of the neighbors resort to their rifles and use wildlife for target practice. Bad karma, that.)

The quail..... for the past week or so, we've been seeing young quail around the yard. One at first, then two, and there were four out there just this morning. Sweet Pea was outside and saw the quail as well, and I saw that he was stalking them so I ran outside and called him. Sweet Pea stopped and turned to look at me when he heard his name, and I could swear the expression on his face seemed to say "You're kidding me, right?!"

Sweet Pea didn't move to come towards me, but he didn't move towards the quail, either, so he gets special Brownie points for that one. I went down the porch steps while I had his attention and I just scooped him up and carried him into the house so the quail could go on their way. I never realized how pretty those birds are.... all shades of brown, with little white spots here and there, and they make teeny little coo-ing sounds. The quail here seem to just follow our chickens around the yard. Maybe they know that where the chickens are, food is sure to be.

Just another excuse to keep Sweet Pea and Mickey in the house: I don't want them to capture the quail. I will have to remember that the next time my husband says It's a beautiful day... why are Sweet Pea and Mickey inside? My answer will be that I'm protecting the wildlife so we don't screw up the wildlife exemption on our property. Makes purr-fect sense to me.

What's moo with you?

Lesson #1 for today: Just because you have no cows on your property, don't take it for granted that you have no cows on your property.

My husband was in the backyard pulling up these crazy pointed star-shaped weeds that will grow three feet tall with thorny points up and down their leaves.... the cats were all outside... and I was in the kitchen taking dishes out of the dishwasher.

And what did I hear all at once? My husband dropping the shovel and the bucket on the walkway in the courtyard and all three cats running across the porch. The sounds were just so loud that I went right out the kitchen door and stood near the steps leading down from the porch. Each of the three cats had tails as big as brushes, and Mickey especially had eyes as big as saucers. All three cats and my husband were looking towards the front of the house. My husband said to me "Turn around and look behind you."

Silly me. I did just that. My husband said I screamed out OH MY GOD!!!!! Right there near the side porch was a cow. A huge brown cow, looking straight at me. Thankfully, the cow was on the lawn and not on the porch. I started moving towards the cats, my husband started moving towards the cow. The cats ran underneath the back porch steps, the cow sort of sauntered around the gazebo, through the flowers around the pecan trees, and just meandered around the side yard as if he lived here. (Please refer to today's lesson #1.)

As my husband got closer to the cow, the cow walked closer to the road... and then the cow started walking quickly down the hill, which gave my husband time to get into his car and follow the cow down the road, hoping to get it back into the neighbor's field. I ran into the garage and got a length of rope, in case my husband needed it to lead the cow back where it belonged.

While all of that was going on, our neighbors J & J were out in their front field and saw the cow in our yard, so they drove down in their car. By that time, my husband had pulled his car to the side of the road and was walking behind that cow again-- the cow had left the road and went into our front pasture, walking past our pond and towards the neighbor's field in back of our pasture behind our barn. So there's my husband, walking behind the cow, and there's our neighbor J, walking towards the cow from the other side of our pasture. Between them both, they cornered the cow right up near the gate leading to its own pasture near the furthest part of our property.

While I was watching them get the cow into the corner, Mickey and Sweet Pea came out from their hiding places and seemed to be watching the cow-show out in the pasture. Our outside cat Gatsby was up on the back porch, fast asleep again. (Been there, seen that.) Mickey got up close to my foot and started to meow (his signal for me to pick him up). So there was Mickey, cuddled up in my arms, watching my husband and the neighbor try to trick the cow into walking into the corner.

I brought both Mickey and Sweet Pea into the house and they slept for three hours. Neither one of them has gone to the back door and meowed to go out. I think, especially for Mickey, that cow was just too close for kitty-comfort. And, judging by my scream (which my husband said was priceless, and he's been repeating all day long) I would guess that the cow was also too close for my own comfort. And there I was, standing in the backyard with a bright yellow rope in my hand, expecting my husband to lasso that cow and lead it back to its own field. (Isn't that what they did on Bonanza?)

The cows always look so slow and peaceful when we watch them from a distance. But right up close by our porch, with its head not that far away from you, and the cow seemed to be as huge as an elephant.

Country living... Peaceful. Serene. Quiet. Uneventful. You must be kidding.

Wildlife babies......

I think I know what will 'do me in' out here in the country.... it will be the cries of the young livestock and the capture of itty-bitty baby animals.

Two things yesterday that nearly brought me to tears: a baby goat that got separated from its mother, and a tiny baby bunny that was left by our back door by our mostly-outside cat Gatsby.

Yesterday afternoon, I was in the kitchen and my husband was out in the yard taking photos of the blooming wisteria by the garage. Not only is the wisteria covered with huge purple blooms, but the entire bush is now inhabited by hundreds of huge bumble-bees. If you walk quickly past the wisteria, the colony of bees will fly out of the bush and hover around it, waiting till you get onto the porch until they settle down into the purple blossoms. (And quickly is the only way to walk past the wisteria when it's in bloom-- you only slow up and admire the flowers when you get to the safety of the porch.)

The baby goat...... I heard it loud and clear from inside the house, and when a baby goat cries, it sounds like a baby A baby. And it was so loud that I thought it was right in the front yard. Out onto the porch I went, and there was the baby goat, standing in the road and trying to get to its mother who was on the other side of the neighbor's fence. The baby goat was too little to have jumped over the fence, so it must have gotten out on the other side of the field and walked down the hill.

So there was the baby goat, crying its heart out on one side of the fence, and there was the mother goat, calling for her baby and trying to get to it from inside the fence. My husband started walking down our hill, hoping to get the baby goat to run down the hill, make a left at the end of the road, then run up the hill and make a left at the end of that road, and get back into the field. In my mind, I thought that would just never happen. But that's exactly how it worked out, and the baby goat got back to its mama and the crying sounds stopped on both sides of the fence. The cries from the baby goat were heart-breaking, absolutely heart-breaking.

And then the baby bunny....... Gatsby was outside last night, as he has been since the weather turned from Spring to Summer when we weren't paying attention. When Gatsby wants to come inside, he will bang his paw on the screen door, and that's what he did. I let him inside and he ran into the TV room and banged his paw on that screen door, wanting to go back out again. 'Crazy cat,' is what I told him, and I let him outside again. And that's when I saw the baby bunny on the door-mat, and Gatsby was trying to pick it up and bring it in the house.

I don't know what I screamed out, but within two seconds, my husband was at the door and out on the porch, picking up Gatsby and getting him back into the house before he got to the little bunny again. By that time, both Mickey and Sweet Pea were trying to get a look at Gatsby's prize, so I was trying to keep all three cats away from the door.

My husband picked up the tiny bunny..... it wasn't moving, didn't seem to be breathing. This beautiful, perfectly furry, adorable tiny bunny baby, stolen from its bunny-family by our cat. And this isn't the first time.... Gatsby brought us a baby bunny last year and I can still hear its screams as Gatsby had it cornered out on the porch. Heaven only knows how many baby bunnies Gatsby has caught that we don't even know about.

We left the baby bunny out on the steps last night.... just in case it was indeed breathing after all. I kept Gatsby inside all night so he wouldn't go bunny-hunting again. Gatsby came into the TV room with us, jumped on my lap, stretched himself out with his back paws on my legs and his front paws on my chest, and then he buried his head in my neck. I wanted to be so mad at him, but he is what he is, and he did what a cat does...... he was just being a cat. "I am a cat and that's that."

This morning, I asked my husband if the baby bunny was still outside. He told me He hopped away during the night so I'm sure he's just fine. I heard that inflection in his voice..... the baby bunny did not hop away. Translation: my husband put the baby bunny into the trash can this morning before I got up.

Life in the country. It's peaceful and it's beautiful and next month our fields will be carpeted with 37 varieties of wildflowers. There are no traffic jams and no over-built neighborhoods teeming with shopping centers and parking lots. We have no six-foot wooden fences separating us from our neighbors.

What we do have, however, are critters and creatures and crawling things of every size and description. Mama cows moaning for their calves who have been taken to market, baby goats crying when they get separated from their mothers, tiny bunnies who get rabbit-napped by an outside cat. People abandon cats and dogs in the hills, wild hogs get shot and left to die on country roads, hawks fly in endless circles looking for chickens, coyotes hunt after dark for any small animal they can kill and eat.

This serene and peaceful country life is going to break my heart right in half.

Another week ending....

... another week beginning. March is going to be over in a heart-beat.

We saw a young quail out on the lawn today. It wasn't a baby-baby, but it didn't look full grown, either. Our across-the-road neighbor told us last night that she had seen a whole family of quail in her yard last week, so I'm wondering if the quail in our yard got separated from its group. I've never seen just one quail by itself...... and the only time I've ever seen quail at all was out in Arizona at my uncle's house.

We played cards last night at J & J's...... didn't keep score, just a friendly game. Aren't they all? I think keeping score is a must, though. When you know your score is going to be counted up at the end of the hand, you're less apt to keep the higher cards and the wild cards. J is hooked on the game 'Shanghai' and will play it any time, any where, whether the score is kept or not. So J supplied the cards, I brought chocolate brownies. J was in Shanghai/chocolate heaven.

Today was grocery-shopping day. I don't usually do that on a Sunday, but I just kept putting it off all week, and today was just the day to go-- not a piece of fruit in the house, not a leaf of lettuce for a salad. So off we went for groceries, after having lunch at the little airport out in the middle of no-where. During the drive there, we saw little patches of bluebonnets and wild daisies....... within a few weeks, everything should be bursting into bloom here. Blues and reds, yellows and pink, and purples tossed into the mix as well. At last count, we have 37 varieties of wildflowers on our property. Maybe I'll find some new ones this year.... time to get out the Texas wildflower book.

My husband and I walked around to the bluebird houses on our property yesterday-- he keeps track of the number of nests and eggs in each box. So far this season, there are 25 tiny bluebird eggs in the boxes (ten boxes in all). If all those eggs hatch successfully, we'll have scores of tiny bluebirds learning how to fly in our fields. When the baby birds start coming out to test their wings, I will keep the cats inside to give the babies one less thing to worry about. My husband has the bluebird houses all rigged up so snakes can't get into the boxes and eat the eggs and/or fledglings.

We haven't seen a snake in the longest time, but that doesn't mean they're not out there hiding in the fields. Along with every other creature and critter that the Nature gods have scattered in these hills.

Dog-sitting...

... and bird sitting. While our friends J & J were off visiting with their grandchildren and Mickey Mouse, I was taking care of their little dog and their cockateil. J gave me their feeding instructions and showed me where the most important things in the house were kept-- the doggie-treats.

As soon as I pulled up into the driveway each time, I could hear Margaret Hatcher (the cockateil) screeching out from her cage in one of the front rooms. She had a companion (Winston Chirphill) but he is now nesting in that big birdcage in the sky. Margaret isn't the friendliest of birds.... J told me if I put my fingers too close to her, she would bite. I didn't feel like testing Margaret on that, so I kept my finger-tips at a safe distance when I gave her more birdseed and water. I talked to her each time I went in the house, and she just sat there on her perch looking at me with that tilted-head thing that all birds do.

Poor Sam (the little Yorkie) didn't know what to think that first day when I came into the house. He ran to the back door when he heard me come in, but when he saw me, he just stopped running and stood there looking at me. I'm sure he knew who I was, but I'm also sure that he didn't expect to see me. Well, why the heck are you here and what have you done with my momma?!

By the second day, Sam just accepted the fact that it was me at the door and not his 'real people.' He would run up and greet me, giving me that tooth-full doggie-smile of his, and wait to be fed. I also got Sam to follow me around the backyard every time I went up there, to make sure he was getting enough exercise. He has his own little doggie-door and he lets himself in and out when he has to, but I wanted to make sure he got a nice little walk three times each day. The first time around the yard, I had to keep calling him to make sure he would follow me. By the second or third time, Sam was walking in front of me instead of six feet behind me, so I think he liked those little excursions around the pool.

Taking care of Sam was a nice little doggie-fix, and of course it made me think of Gracie. I kept calling Sam "Sammy-Girl' because I'd been saying 'Gracie-Girl' for over 14 years. I don't think Sam minded being called a girl as long as I had a little doggie-treat in my hand for him.

We don't talk about getting another dog anymore, which is fine. Having another dog would be having something else to take care of, and with the three cats and the five chickens, that's quite enough for the time being. As it is, we've made pet-sitting arrangements with friends J & J-- we'll take care of Sam and Margaret when they go away, and they'll take care of our furred and feathered 'kids' when we go away. It's a wonderful arrangement, but I don't want to be adding a dog into the mix here because our 'kid total' is already higher than J & J's.

I just ran all of the above through the spell-checker thing. Apparently, the words cockateil and doggie are not words. I can't swear by 'cockateil' but there's an old song that goes "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window....."

Happiness and horrors......

Today is my friend V's 60th birthday...... I sent her a card and she eMailed me back, wondering how on earth I remembered after all these years. I don't think there had been a March 11th in all the un-connected years that I didn't remember. She and I always did something special for one another's birthdays... and by 'special,' I mean just a little something-- either buying a favorite record (a 45) as a gift, or going out for a slice of pizza on the Avenue. And V remembered my birthday-date as well, so we were both thinking of one another even though we'd lost touch. (Kids today probably don't know what a '45' is.)

Speaking of The Avenue, now that was a special place. If you couldn't find what you were looking for on or near Jamaica Avenue in Queens, then you either didn't need it or it didn't exist. Everyone would walk from one end of that avenue to another, staying in your own neighborhood for the most part, and there were department stores (Macy's, Gertz, Lerner's, May's, Robert Hall) and hundreds of speciality shops (small individual stores selling just shoes, or just gloves, or just hats). I cannot even count how many times V and I walked up and down Jamaica Avenue from 171st Street to Parsons Blvd., and then back again. (And who ever heard of a 'Shopping Mall' back in the 1960s?)


More happiness.... my husband was asked to give the Keynote Commencement Address at the university for the Spring graduation in May. Public speaking is his forte, and he can probably do this extremely well with very little notice. As it is, he's been thinking of all sorts of topics and ideas, bouncing them off me to see what I think. As with everything, he'll think it all through carefully and come up with an inspirational speech that will have everyone on their feet when he's done.


And horrors...... while I was up late last night watching the news on CNN about the 8.9 earthquake in Japan, my cousin F was also wide awake because she couldn't sleep at 2:00 in the morning...... and she was watching the same CNN videos that I was watching. Horrible, just horrible. So many homes and vehicles and boats and buildings, and heaven only knows how many people, just churning and swirling in a whirlpool of the tsunami waves that crashed into Japan after the earthquake struck. Children in schools on one side of the bridges, parents at work on the other side...... neither one able to get to the other. All I could think about last night as I tried to fall asleep were the little kids crying for their parents. As I type this, it's the middle of the night in Japan. I hope, if they're even able to get some sleep, that they wake up to a better day.

Acceptance.

On my little every-day-a-cat calendar, there is a serious-looking cat sitting on a statue. Underneath the photograph are the words Accept that some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue. The cat in the photo looks something like Sweet Pea, but our Sweet Pea has a more gentle and kind face.

Getting back to the words, that just about sums up each and every day of each and every year. Some days you're the pigeon. Some days you're the statue. It's been a good long while since I've been the statue. Life is good. And because there is no love or kindness or satisfaction in being the pigeon, I do my best to keep my feet on the ground. Life is good.

Today is Miss C's 20th birthday. I spoke to her yesterday, and asked her if being 20 felt any different than being 19. She said it didn't, except that she was a little sad to see the 'teens' go away. I told C not to worry... that everything gets better in her 20s, still better in her 30s, and so on. I didn't mention that the 40s will make her sit up straight and pay attention, and that the 50s will have her looking back on her teens, her 20s, and her 30s. And I also didn't mention that as she approaches her 60s, she's going to sit there at times and wonder how all those decades could have just disappeared right before her eyes.

This coming June will be my Aunt Dolly's 98th birthday. She is still as sharp, as alert, and as active as ever. Now that she lives in Florida with my cousin S, I'm sure all the NY stress is gone from her life, which will give her an extra nudge towards her 100th year, and beyond. I've asked Aunt Dolly time and again if she's gone to DisneyWorld with S and his kids, but she always tells me the same thing: I haven't seen it yet. If you and your husband come here, I will go there with you. We just may test her on that.

I watched a new episode of "The Cake Boss" last night..... Buddy's wife Lisa had a baby boy, their fourth child. They named the baby Carlo, after Buddy's father who opened up that Hoboken bakery in the early 1900s. I have no idea why, but that episode made me cry. I think the tears started when Buddy was holding the camera as the baby was making his entrance.... Buddy was crying, his wife was crying, and the baby was just born and just perfect. This little bundle of hope and joy and promise. That's the key-- the promise. There is such promise in a new baby. And then when Buddy announced to the family that the baby would be given his father's name, that made me cry also.

I told my husband that if we ever go to New Jersey, I would like to stop by Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken and say hello to everyone there. They're such a big Italian family... and they remind me of my own family back in the 1950s.

The 1950s. That decade was filled with hope and joy and promise also.

Another birthday, not my own...

We had friends J & J here for dinner last night, to celebrate J's birthday. They had taken us to one of the local restaurants in January for my birthday, so we returned the favor, and I guess a new tradition has begun.

We decided to have dinner here, being that (in my opinion) I can cook better than the local restaurants in town. (Not so with the Houston restaurants, but we're not in Houston anymore, Dorothy.)

I made shrimp scampi for dinner, using the "Kitchen Boss" recipe that was on the TLC channel a couple of weeks ago. Buddy, The Cake Boss, now has his own cooking show, and it's a wonderful half-hour filled with his Italian family's recipes. I've tried a few of them now-- each delicious, easy to do, and (proof positive) my husband said the scampi was first-rate (that's coming from a man who's had shrimp scampi in some of the best Houston and New York restaurants).

Instead of making a from-scratch side-dish to go with the scampi, we surprised J with Hancock's Lobster Mac & Cheese (ordered from Maine, FedEx-ed frozen). I'm not a fan of macaroni and cheese, but I saw that dish made on the Food Channel (Bobby Flay's Throwdown) and it looked so good that I ordered some for my husband's birthday back in December. How can you go wrong with fresh Maine lobster mixed into a thick and creamy and decadent macaroni and cheese casserole? Two words: you can't. It is, as everyone says, to die for. (Horrible expression, but it is.)

So besides my own tossed salad and focaccia garlic bread, we splurged on the shrimp scampi and lobster mac & cheese, and I made a carrot cake for dessert. The dining room is all decked out with the St. Patrick's Day decorations, so everything looked very green and very festive last night. A birthday party for the four of us. The next birthday for this fab-four comes in September. Between now and then, we'll have to find out J's favorite foods. I think anything she doesn't have to cook herself would be J's favorite-- she doesn't do the cooking, her husband does.


The days have turned quickly to summer..... very warm, nearly hot during the day, just a bit cool at night...... blue sky, pretty clouds, the birds are singing, the hens are laying, the cats are catching butterflies. I wish they wouldn't do that, but cats are going to be cats when they're outside. This afternoon, Sweet Pea caught a beautiful lime green butterfly with splayed wings. I'm guessing it was a young monarch that hadn't come to full color yet. I tried to get it away from Sweet Pea, but he wasn't giving up his prize. My apologies to the monarchs.

Speaking of apologies, I'm sorry to say that the dead wild pig is still on the side of the road. Some kind soul moved him over some so he's closer to the ditch. Before that, his body was right on the side of the gravel-scattered cement (or whatever the road is made of). That pig is huge, so moving him couldn't have been an easy task. I'm guessing that someone took a tractor with a front-end shovel-thing and scooped up the pig and moved him over about three feet to the ditch. Everyone is hoping that the county will send a truck out to take the pig away. In a few days, that pig's body is going to be getting ripe and the aroma isn't going to be pretty. Thankfully, the body is far enough away from everyone's home, except for the man at the beginning of the road who raises horses and cows. But with his own livestock and their own smells there, I'm sure he won't be noticing the 'perfume' of the decaying pig.