Garage door up, garage door down. Repeat.

And repeat, repeat, repeat.

Honestly, when my husband drives down the hill and heads to his office, this house takes a breath and then says:  "Okay, he's gone. What can we do to her this time?"

Right after my husband left for work today, I opened the garage door to get my car out and into the driveway so I could go into town to check my booth at the antique shop. Not a problem, one would think.  I drove my car out of the garage, but had to come back into the house to get my purse and basket of items for the shop.

That was the plan, but the garage door had other ideas. One press of the remote, and the door wouldn't move more than an inch. Another press on the remote and the door went back up and then down maybe two inches.  And the noise coming from the door was enough to wake the dead.

I thought maybe the inside remote was defective, so I took the remote out of my car and tried that... the door went down halfway, then went all the way back up, screeching and howling and straining all the way. I tried the remote at least half a dozen times with similar results, all ending with a half-open garage door. Well... that's fine for the daytime, but not acceptable at night when it's time for Mickey to go into the garage for the night.

Stupid damn door. No way was I going to wait for my husband to come home and try to fix whatever the problem was. I decided to do what I always did when we lived in Clear Lake--- get the phone book, pick out a name, and call someone to do the job. Period. And that's what I did. They got here early this afternoon, found disconnected wires on one of the little 'eye' things on the left side of the door, plus my remote was longer working, even with a new battery.

So now there's new wiring on the left side of the garage door, I have a new remote, everything has been oiled and checked, and the door goes up and down the way it's supposed to. Wonder of wonders.... I'm putting this garage door company on my to-call list because they got here right when they said they would and fixed the problem without breaking the bank.

Be kind. Please.

With the horrible news coming from Baltimore, and the ever-rising murder statistics coming out of Chicago............. please, people. Be kind. It takes less effort than you would think, just to be kind.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing good comes out of violence.

We are all sharing one planet, and it isn't as big as you think. People are destroying the hopes and dreams of the children in those two cities.  This is all so very sad.

Be kind. Be kind. Please be kind.

In the blink of an eye...

... life as you know it can change.  And just within this month, I've seen it happen not once, but twice, to two different families.  Two very different medical situations, but with similar results: life as it once was no longer exists. Everything has changed and forever will be different.  And usually, the biggest changes are for the caregivers, not the patients... for the simple reason that the patient's life is being overtaken by the whims of the body and the caregiver's life is no longer within their own realm of control.

I post a lot of petty complaints in this blog, and as I type them, I'm fully aware that these little hiccups of daily life are nothing but a raindrop in a bucket in comparison to what family and friends are dealing with on any given day. Not to mention what's being reported on CNN or The O'Reilly Factor every evening.  I've tried to keep this blog devoid of political, economic, and governmental issues. I do certainly know what's going on outside of this country bubble every day but I don't want to write about it and give my opinions because nothing ever seems to change. I am probably one of the most apolitical people on the planet. "Nothing ever changes but the nameplate on the desk in the Oval Office."  I read that line in a news magazine years and years ago and I still believe every word of that sentence.

So on this day, as I sit here and think of what has happened with good friends right here in Texas, and what is now happening with family up in New York... I can honestly say that the worst thing that happened to me this month was the return of that blasted orange cat.

And as I type this, that orange cat is sitting out on the porch, meowing pitifully because the bowl of cat food is probably only half-filled. And just like Gatsby, that orange cat prefers to eat from a full bowl of Meow Mix.

In my list of things to be thankful and grateful for on this day, good health is right up there on the list, along with the ability to get myself out of this chair and walk out on the porch and fill a cat's bowl up to the rim with fresh food.

Some people aren't able to get themselves up and out of a chair and walk to the porch, much less put thought processes together to fill up a bowl with cat food.

So my wish for you all today.... when life is good, count your blessings. And when life isn't so good, count your blessings anyway because things could always be worse.

Why did the turtle cross the road?

I have no idea, but he almost didn't make it.

We drove into town yesterday afternoon for groceries and other errands. As always, we had to shop at two different supermarkets to get everything on my list. Why is that? Will there ever be just one supermarket that has everything you need under one roof?  They keep making these stores larger, and the selections are off the charts, but still... it just seems that one store never carries every item on anyone's grocery list.

Anyway... on the way back home, driving along the main highway, my husband and I saw a turtle trying to cross the road. The highway going from town to country is four lanes, with a turning lane in the center, and a paved shoulder on either side of the highway. That's seven lanes for that turtle to maneuver, taking into consideration that the cars and trucks are driving at 70 mph and the turtle is barely moving at under one-half mph.  When we first saw the turtle, he was in the middle turning lane, with trucks behind us rumbling along at the posted speed limit, if not faster.

My husband pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and started slowing down, then made a U-turn when all the lanes were clear.  Back we went to see if the turtle was still moving or had been smashed into road-kill.  The turtle was in the middle of one of the south-bound lanes, with just his head sticking out of its shell.... most likely looking to see if any more vehicles were headed in his direction.

Another U-turn, and my husband pulled up onto the shoulder of the road near the turtle. Not a truck or car was coming down the south-bound lanes, so my husband got out of the car and walked over to the turtle, who quickly pulled his head back into his shell.  This wasn't exactly a little-bitty turtle... the shell was about the size of a dinner plate, so he was on the hefty side.  My husband picked him up, walked over to the shoulder of the road and put the turtle down into the wildflowers.  Within seconds, that turtle-head poked out of the shell, saw that he was on grass and not pavement, and off he went, in search of new horizons. Or female turtles.

"And how do you know it wasn't a female turtle trying to cross that highway?" my husband wanted to know.

Well, the answer to that is simple:  We don't have a SteinMart in this town, and the only reason a female of any species would be crossing a busy highway in the middle of the day would be to get to an all-day sale on shoes.

Patience, thy name is Cat.

Or maybe that should be "Patience, thy name is Orange Cat."

When I got up this morning, the orange cat was in his spot by the back door, curled up on the mat. He must have heard me walking towards the door because as soon as he saw me, he lifted up his head and was in the middle of a yawn when I looked out of the window.

He waits there for me nearly every morning, except for the two days each week when he's off gallivanting heaven-knows-where. Looking for female cats, I would bet.

I will admit that the orange cat is less nasty than he used to be. He no longer tries to scratch me as I put down the bowl of Meow Mix. Rather than scratch, he puts his head down towards my hand and rubs his nose against the back of my hand as I place the food dish on the porch. Then he looks up at me and meows just a tiny bit, watching me as I close the screen door. Only after that door is closed will he start munching on the dry food.

And I watch him eating for a minute or so... still wondering how in the world he found his way back here. And why on earth would he have wanted to come back in the first place?  I'm not being over-friendly with this cat... I don't try to pet him or pick him up (being that I value my life)... and Gatsby has not welcomed him back to the porch with open paws.

We are all just tolerating this orange cat.... feeding him because he's hungry.... making sure he has a comfortable place to sleep on the porch or underneath the stairs. And that's it. I can't catch him and get him to a vet for fixing or vaccinations.... I can't bring him to the shelter because they will immediately put him down after he scratches someone or shows them his ill-mannered side.  And I can't even just drive him to the Lake anymore because that orange cat knows his way back.

So there we have it.... that orange cat, who has no 'real' name.... who wants to be a part of this family but doesn't want to learn proper manners.... but for the time being, he is better behaved than his previous lengthy residence on our porch.

Every morning, I ask that orange cat why he came back. Not only why he came back, but how did he find his way back here.  That alone just boggles the mind.

Even though one of the neighbors suggested the perfect name for this cat (Boomerang) I still refuse to christen him with a real name.  He's still the orange cat.

And he's still here, nearly every day, giving me lessons in patience and tolerance.

Knock... knock....

We had a surprise visitor yesterday.... one of the handymen that we had contacted last Spring to give us a bid on re-roofing the gazebo showed up at our door.  Not only did he show up one year later than we expected, but he could clearly see that our gazebo had a brand new roof on it..... and when he knocked on our door, it was pouring rain. Had he planned to put up a huge umbrella and start to work yesterday?

When he knocked on our door, he was standing on the porch and staring at the gazebo when I got to the back door. "I see y'all got that gazebo roof fixed...."  (Those were his first words to me.)  I told him indeed we did..... without mentioning that we had waited over a month for the estimate from him and his partner.  He told me that the roof looked "right nice" and he asked me who did the work.  I resisted the urge to tell him that the new roof had been put on by someone who gave us an estimate within a week's time and showed up for work on the day and time he promised. (Silly things like that helped make our decision very easy.)

The year-late carpenter asked to speak to my husband. Fine.... I went upstairs to get him.  When I told my husband who was on the porch, he said "No way." (As if I would make up such a story in the middle of a rain-soaked afternoon?)

My husband went out on the porch and talked to the man, who told him an over-long tale of woe about his ex-partner not taking the work as seriously as he ought to... and then he told my husband that he was available for other work, any work, painting, carpentry, anything at all.

When my husband told him that he may be getting some estimates for painting the iron fence all around our pastures, the man told him that he would "beat anyone else's price by ten percent, no lie."

He gave my husband a business card.... my husband said he may call him in the near future.... they shook hands, and off the man went in the rain.

"Do you believe that?" said my husband.

Of course I do..... we've had such ridiculous experiences with handymen in the past... why on earth would I not expect this particular man to show up a year later, in the pouring rain, intending to get started on a gazebo roof that no longer needed to be replaced.

Give me a blessed break.

Thursday stuff...

As I type, there is a goat across the road with his head stuck in the neighbor's fence.  Seems that at least once a week, one of those goats get his head caught in that fence.... simply because the grass is always greener....

You would think that the neighbor would put up a different sort of fence, one that would prevent a goat's head from going through a six-inch-square of air space between the barbed wire and the wood posts.  I used to drive up the hill to let that neighbor know every time one of his goats got caught, but I stopped doing that a few years ago. Number one, the neighbor doesn't care. Number two, the neighbor's solution to the goat-stuck-in-the-fence problem is to use his booted foot to smack the goat on the nose so the poor animal will pull his head backwards and get himself out of the fence.  The neighbor doesn't worry about cuts and bruises to the goat's head and neck because all of those goats end up on his dinner plate at some point.  As a result of all of that, I just ignore the cries of the goat and hope he/she gets his neck out of the fence on his own. When I can no longer stand the goat's pleading, I just shut the door and go to a part of the house where I can't hear the noises from the neighbor's pasture.

I was out on the porch a little while ago to feed Mickey and Gatsby..... and what did I see?..... that blasted orange cat, sound asleep on a chair in the chicken-coop-turned-kitty-coop.  Since the orange cat's return, he has explored every inch of the inside of the garage and the coop, and has staked out his favorite sleeping spots in both places.  Yesterday, I went into the coop to close the gate for the night and there was the orange cat, sound asleep underneath the roosting boxes. I do not trust the questionable manners of that cat, so there was no way I could just pick him up and put his little orange and white cat self out of the coop.  I took the broom and tried to pry him out of the coop by gently sweeping him towards the gate...... and that cat just stretched and looked at me upside-down as he sprawled himself out on the broom.... almost as if he were saying "A little to the left, please...."

Honestly, that cat has tried my patience every day he's been here.... and this coming November, it will be two years. Two years with an orange and white stray cat who doesn't seem to realize that we don't want another cat..... and even when we take him away for a try at lake-side living, he finds his way back here.  Makes me wonder how many more months from now till November that it will take to catch that orange cat again...

Twenty years ago, I would have taken all of the above into consideration and come to the conclusion that the orange cat was just meant to be here and that's that.  This cat-lover has progressed beyond such selfless measures. I do not want that orange cat. Period. He's unpredictable at times, unreliable all of the time, unfriendly unless he wants something, and he's ill-mannered most of the time.

Another noise to add to the country cacophony at the moment... there is a frog somewhere in the back yard, and by the sound and decibel level of his croaks, you would think he'd be as big as an elephant and very easy to find out there. Not so. He's been croaking up a storm for hours now, and I have no idea where he is and I just hope he doesn't continue his singing after midnight.  I've gone out in the yard to try and find him and just see what he looks like, but as soon as my feet hit the wooden porch, that frog turns on the mute button.

I have no idea why the cats aren't searching for that frog..... three cats on this property and you would think that I'd have no other critters out there within five hundred feet of the house. Silly me..... as if I should expect Mickey and Gatsby and that blasted orange cat to earn their Meow Mix.

The goat has finally stopped its pleading... and now I hear hammering... I imagine the neighbor has freed the goat from the fence and now he's repairing the barbed wire between the wooden posts. I refuse to go and look.   I just try to ignore that particular neighbor most of the time. I just cannot come to grips with his strange habit of raising cute little baby goats until they're big enough to either get stuck in the fence or get stuck in a roasting pan.

Easter Sunday

If the Easter Bunny was hopping around our pastures this morning, no doubt his little paws got soggy and wet. It's been a drippy, cloudy, drizzly day here in this part of the Hill Country. Not a drop of sun today... very different than the glorious weather we've had this past week. Oh well... into the sunshine, a little rain must fall.

The wildflowers are getting wilder with each day. Lots of bluebonnets this year, and we also have a huge patch of red paintbrushes as well, right in the field in front of the house.  Truly a gift, because those flowers weren't there last year. (Those wildflowers used to be called Indian Paintbrushes, but that was before the Politically Correct Police started bopping people on the head for saying that.)

I spoke to my cousin R on the phone this morning... she and I were talking about the generation of cousins that are behind us on the family tree.  The children of the cousins of our own generation are getting married left and right these past couple of years, adding new spouses and babies to our grandparents' family legacy.  Amazing, when you think of it..... our grandparents left Italy and came to this country at the turn of the 20th century, with nothing much to their names except a small suitcase of clothing and a desire to find the American dream.

And find it they did.... from a tiny New York apartment in Little Italy, they bought a plot of land at the outskirts of Queens in 1922, which at that time was called "out in the country" because it was very rural and very un-city-ish.  My grandfather built that three-story house in Queens with his own hands, and it became the gathering place for all of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. To this day, even though no one in the family is living in it anymore, it's still "home" to all of us who grew up there.  My generation feels like we were the lucky ones, because the great-great-great grandchildren of our grandparents weren't around for the 'good old days' in that big old (and now empty) house.

Oh well. This happens on holidays. I start thinking back to the family home, family memories, and the family members who are no longer with us.  Pooh.

We had a very quiet Easter today, just my husband and myself.  After such a hectic week with the water heater repairmen, and the electrician, and the close-call we had with the bad wiring in the wall........ it was just nice today not to have to make a fuss with Easter eggs and baskets and company.

My husband spent the weekend working at his computer. I've been reading for most of the past two days.  Easter has come and gone, without so much as a whisper.

Where to begin...

It has been a ridiculous week, and I'm thrilled that we're not having company for the weekend. At this point, I don't feel like cooking Easter Sunday dinner for anyone other than my husband and myself.

We had an electrician out here yesterday afternoon to check the circuit breaker box... to see why one of the water heaters tripped the breaker.  Turns out that the wires to that circuit were crimped way too tightly, which had started to burn the white rubber insulation around the wiring. And of course, that particular water heater wasn't one of the easy-access heaters... it was underneath the back stairs, which is accessible through a little trap-door in the pantry, which meant having to take shelves out of the pantry to get to the door. (Is anything ever easy in a hundred-year old house? And did they have to put so many bathroom in here when they renovated?)

When the electrician saw the damage done to the wiring, he said "Oh wow. Oh wow."  No exclamation points there because he didn't sound enthused at all.  If I had to describe those words of his, I'd say he was in total disbelief. When he crawled back out of that little door, he showed me the burnt wires and insulation and told me that it was only a matter of time when a fire would have started under those stairs. And who knows how far it would have spread before we knew about it... and what if we hadn't been home? Worse still, what if we had been home?

So... if we hadn't recently had the water heater problems, had the circuit breaker not tripped, had the plumbers not been here to install new heaters and suggest that I get an electrician in here to "check out that there breaker box yonder," who knows what would have happened.  This should teach me not to stress out about little things like replacing water heaters.... we could have ended up having to replace the entire house. (As my friend Frankie would have said: "Let's not put that thought too far out into the universe.)

Give me a blessed break with this house. I love this big old Victorian doll house but if anyone walked up to the door tomorrow and told me it was the house of their dreams and offered to buy it, I think I'd start packing while they started with the paperwork.

And... the orange cat......  friend C was in the kitchen this morning when the orange cat walked up to the porch and sat down on a chair to take a nap. She happened to look out of the back door, the orange cat saw her, and he hissed at her, jumped down from the chair, and ran off into the backyard. C was the one who was able to close the little door on the cat-carrier that morning a few weeks ago when she and I brought that cat to the next town so he could try his paw at lakeside living.  That blasted cat found his way back here, and on the 12th morning after his re-location, he was meowing at my back door. So I guess the orange cat now associates C with the drive to the Lake... and I would think that anytime he sees her, he's going to run out into the yard and get as far away from her as possible.

I can see it now.... I will be living in this big old hundred-year old house till I myself am a hundred years old, and that blasted orange cat will still be on the back porch ready to scratch the heck out of my legs if I get too close to his ill-mannered self.

Give me a blessed break.