Category: short story

Could it Be?

Dare I say the words?  I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t even think it.   I’m not a superstitious person, not usually anyway, but sometimes it just seems that from my mouth to Mother Nature’s ear.  Last year everyone called it the “Winter that didn’t Happen” and this year it’s been the “Winter that won’t go Away”.  It’s now May 5th, Cinco de Mayo, and we’ve been beset with snow and cold miserable weather across a fair amount of the country since February.

I wanted to plant radishes and lettuce while the weather was still cool, that didn’t happen.  No cool weather, but lots of cold wet icky weather.  So no fresh radishes or lettuce this year.  Last week my son had to cover his beds with a cold frame to protect the young plant shoots of his onions, potatoes, lettuce, etc.  Next weekend is Mother’s Day, the official day to plant tomatoes and other warm weather plants.  But I don’t know, the highs have been only in the forties and fifties, so the ground hasn’t had a chance to warm up much.

Today, though the sky is brighter, there is still cloud cover but the temperatures are warmer.  The high today is supposed to get up in the sixties, woo hoo.  The forecast for the week is looking optimistic, highs in the seventies, okay I can live with that.  One of our fears is that we will go from winter to summer, boom with no transition.  Just one day it will go from cold to blazing hot.

Back to my original question, dare I say the words?  I guess I’ll take a chance, here goes, “Maybe it is finally Spring”.  There I said it, cross your fingers.

Migrating Birds and Summer Residents

Every summer we have a couple of resident Blue Herons that stay until it gets too cold.  I was able to get a shot of one of them in flight.  He looks pretty cool in flight.

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For the last three years we have had Crested Cormorants stop here on their annual Spring migration North, maybe heading to Minnesota.  I was so surprised the first time I saw these water birds that look similar to ducks roost in trees.  They are black with a crest on top of their heads with an orangish red shade on their lower bills.  They swim very low in the water and have long necks.

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These shots were taken with my Canon Rebel using a 55 – 250mm lens.

 

 

 

Spring is Trying to Make Its’ Annual Appearance

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Forsythia blooms

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Redbud

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Snowdrops

Photos taken with my Canon

The Calm Before the Storm

It’s too quiet here.  It’s been almost two months since Mitch finished installing the dishwasher.  He has been busy with work and local city demands and hasn’t had a chance to cut the cabinet that will install next to the dishwasher filling the gaping hole left when we removed the existing cabinet to install the dishwasher.  I have not bugged him about filling the space because I know how busy he has been

I think part of his reticence to start the project is that there will be multiple “Mitch Fit” watches that can quickly go to “Mitch Fit” warnings and even “Mitch Fit” imminent crises.   Cutting down a thirty-six inch cabinet to a twelve inch cabinet is probably a bit of a challenge, especially shrinking the cabinet door, but I have faith that Mitch will figure it out.  (If not, I know where I can buy a twelve inch cabinet brand new in the box.)  That’s what scares him the most.  If I buy a new cabinet, I will have to re-stain or paint all of the cabinets so all will match and look the same.   Painting wood is sacrilege to him.  Wood only comes in stained colors if you ask him.

Finally this afternoon after a consultation with a seasoned cabinetmaker Mitch is finally de-constructing the cabinet and preparing it to become a third of its’ original size.  WooHoo.  What’s the worst that can happen?  It looks really sad and we go buy a new one.  Mitch doesn’t look at it that way, though.  He thinks it has to be perfect.

The de-constructing is the easy part; it’s the reconstructing part that will be tricky.  But it’s okay, I have my ear plugs.  I am definitely a glutton for punishment.

Call 911 Are You Kidding Me?

Real men don’t call 911.  Lacerations, contusions or amputations are only emergencies for mere mortals.  Men will refuse to call or seek help for any illness, accident or even heart attack unless forced to do so by an outside party, such as a spouse or partner.    The only reason a man will willingly seek out emergency help or call 911 is if he needs help finding a missing appendage in case of an amputation.  Then he will try to shake off any help by the paramedics except to maybe reattach the amputated limb.

Believe me I know this from experience.  Mitch has refused to seek medical attention even under threat of physical force to drag him to the hospital.  I came home from work one day and no one was waiting at the door to greet me, which was very odd.  I walked into the house and still no dog or man came to say hi, getting weirder.  As I walked into the bedroom there was Mitch laying on the bed, his right thumb and forefinger wrapped in blood soaked bandages.  I asked what happened and he just pointed skyward.  I looked at the ceiling and saw a hole about the size of a silver dollar with more pellets imbedded around the main hole.

There were bloodstains on his jeans and my first thought was that those are not going to come out.  There were bits of ceiling and insulation on the floor next to the bed.  Again I asked what happened.

His explanation so plausible to another man was just as ludicrous to a woman.  He was working on one of his shotguns by cycling a single shotgun shell in the chamber when the gun went off.  Of course the shell had to be live.  What was I thinking?  Obviously a stupid question.  His thumb and forefinger were wrapped around the end of the barrel of the gun holding it steady.  Once he realized that he had not blown off his thumb and forefinger, then it became just another cut, no big deal.   The shot caused a nickel sized laceration on his thumb and forefinger that looked like someone had taken a grapefruit spoon and scooped out a section of flesh.  Needless to say both fingers bled profusely.

I told him that I wanted to look at the wounds and he said, “No the blood would be too much for you.”  That I couldn’t take it.  Me – who has raised two boys through broken bones, broken noses and visits to the ER for stitches.  After examining the wounds and re-dressing them, I asked why he didn’t call 911.

“Call 911 are you kidding me?  It’s just a small cut almost a scratch.

Living with a Serial Killer

I live with a serial killer.  Although I’m not afraid for myself, others should be terrified.  I’ve watched enough episodes of Criminal Minds to know how to profile this serial killer.  Serial killers torture and kill small animals.  That fits him to a tee. He is remorseless.  He lives for the kill.  He loves to stalk, capture and murder squirrels, rabbits and moles, killing them with a viciousness only a true murderer can master.  This killer especially loves to hunt and kill lizards and snakes.  Charlie will stand motionless for minutes listening and staring intently at one spot waiting for some slight noise or movement.  As soon as the victim makes any sound or movement Charlie strikes with lightning speed and deadly accuracy, snatching the hapless reptile up, shaking the life out of the snake then slamming it to the ground for good measure.  How he does that always surprises me, those lizards are fast.  Who would think a dog would enjoy catching and killing snakes? Most snakes move pretty fast and disappear in the rocks.  His speed of execution is poetry in motion.  Deadly fluid poetry none the less.

Charlie will run down squirrels and rabbits, snatching them up on the fly, shaking and slamming the animal to the ground.  He will do this repeatedly until the poor creature is dead or wishes he was.  The mark of a true killer.  Moles are a particularly favorite victim of his.  I’m not sure if he hears the moles in the ground or smells them, but he will stand stock still for a moment, then start digging and without fail pull a mole out of the ground to torture and kill.  Charlie feels that it’s his purpose in life to rid the world of moles, snakes and lizards.  The moles I don’t care about, because of the damage done to our yard.  We even have friends that want us to rent him out to them.

I can see the ads now, “Serial Killer for Rent” “Mole Assassin for Hire” or “You Got Varmints – We Got Charlie, The Serial Killer”.

Early Spring Morning Hike

We disturbed a very large bird from its’ perch on top of a power line.

  I didn’t get a good look at before it flew off, but it was big.

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Charlie was busy hunting in a dead cattail marsh.

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The creeks are still very low.  Pretty but we need more rain.

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Orso coudn’t get enough running around.

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It was a beautiful morning just after sunshine.  The dogs didn’t

stop running the whole time.  They had so much fun, they didn’t really

even mind getting a bath when we got home.

Now I have tired happy and clean babies.

A great start for an early Spring Sunday morning.

These photos were taken with my Canon using a 55-250mm lens.

April Fool

This is probably the one day of the year I hate.  This is the day that glorifies all infantile people.   I don’t like pranksters and people that can only have fun at the expense of others.  Pranksters either have never had a prank pulled on them or feel that they have to continually one up the previous “joke”.  They don’t understand how humiliating and hurtful practical jokes can and are to the recipient of the practical joke.

I love to have fun as much as the next person, but mostly I only poke fun at myself.  Mitch and the dogs get a small dose of poking, but I would never intentionally hurt someone’s feelings for my pleasure.  I know too many people that have no sense of humor and the consequences of being the butt of the joke could be quote dire to the protagonist.  Now that might be funny.

I am holding out hope that I don’t get caught in an April Fool’s joke today, but I probably will.  Thank goodness it’s only one day long.

April Fool jokesters don’t realize that the biggest Fool is them.

Coming of Age

I think I’m finally becoming comfortable in my own skin.  It took me long enough.  In my younger days I wanted to be someone else.  I wanted to be what I wasn’t.  In school, I wanted to be liked and popular.  I wasn’t.  When my children were growing up, I tried to be the perfect mother.  I failed.  I always felt that I wasn’t enough.  Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not savvy enough.  I was always chasing windmills in my mind.  Always playing catch up and never getting even let alone ahead.  I watched everyone else and wished that I could be like them and inherit the innate gifts they possessed.  I didn’t realize that I had value and talent. 

The road to self-confidence and self-love has been long and arduous with serious setbacks along the way.  Growing up and growing wiser are not mutually synonymous.  There’s proof of that in the news every day.  There are moments I wish I could go back in time just to slap myself upside the head and tell me that I had so much potential and to not waste it.  But alas, there is no going back, just the road ahead to be the person I want to be.  I found that I am less afraid of the future and what it holds.  I meet each day with excitement for each new discovery.  There is so much I want to do and see.  My biggest fear is not what the future holds but if I will get to do all the things I want to do. 

As I’ve gotten older, maybe not wiser, I’ve gotten more and less tolerant.  More tolerant of different lifestyles and political views, I don’t care who lives with whom and what you want to do behind closed doors.  (As long as it’s not hurtful to others.)  Less tolerant of stupidity and cruelty, I will never understand or accept the cruel nature of some people and the need to inflict pain whether physical or mental upon another living being.  I’m harder on criminal actions now.  I believe in the death penalty.  I believe that anyone committing a crime with a weapon deserves the death penalty.  If you have a weapon in the commission of a crime, you obviously have no regard for human life, so you should get the same consideration in kind.  (Some may think that is an oxymoron, oh well.)

I have discovered that self-doubt in small doses is not a bad thing, listen to that little voice in the back of my head, but put it in perspective.  Jumping off a cliff is stupid, but not taking a chance on a relationship or a new experience because of fear that the outcome will not meet my expectation is far worse.  Fear of failure is normal, no one wants to fail, but trying is not failing, it’s just not succeeding.  This time.  Next time may be a huge success.  Never give up.

Today is my birthday and this is my birthday wish to everyone.  Never give up.  Always reach for the stars, you never know when you’ll reach one.

Daylight Savings Time

Daylight Savings Time is going to be the death of me.  This is a government plot to totally screw up everybody’s body clock and thus take over the world.  I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Friday night, the night before this madness took over.  The dogs are all out of sync, they don’t know whether it’s time to eat, go for a walk or bedtime. 

Mitch’s work schedule mandates that we go to bed very early in the evening in order to be up and bright eyed at 2:30 in the morning.  Now with Daylight Savings Time, I feel like I’m going to bed in the middle of the afternoon and by the time I finally fall asleep, it’s time to get up and start all over again, sans bright eyed.  I know, I’m whining, sorry.

Daylight Savings Time started in World War I in order to conserve energy, but in adding more light to end of the day we sacrifice the early morning light.  In fact most farmers are against Daylight Savings Time and I’m with them.  I get up very early every day, albeit our schedule demands it, but I’m also an early riser naturally.  I figure that if someone wants more daylight hours, get up an hour earlier.  Why can’t the world change just for me?  Now I’m really whining, sorry.  But I’m the one here suffering from massive fatigue and sleep deprivation, so I get to complain.  Mitch is not the least bit out of sync; he can sleep through a nuclear blast.  Notice that now I’m getting cranky on top of the fatigue.

I see a trip to Walmart for some over the counter sleeping pills in my future.