An Anniversary Toast

Today's blog is dedicated to my favorite person in the universe;  the love of my life, the ying to my yang, the ad to my lib, and by and large the most put-upon-guy in my world (or most any other world for that matter.)

It's the eve before our anniversary and just in case I don't get a chance to do this on our special day, I just want to take a moment to give him a 'high-five' in print.  

This man has endured 46 years of being beleaguered,  puzzled, stressed, confused,  frazzled, harassed, amused and possibly, sometimes frightened by.......who?  Me, of course!  All because in the final analysis (as though either of us ever needed any of that!), he knew nobody would ever love him more intensely than I would.  Lucky guy, eh?  If he hadn't married me, I'd probably been a stalker and frightened him silly all these years.

He has always been a hero not only to myself, but our children, our grandchildren....and probably if they were to admit it, even to his  son-in-laws because of his straight-up manner,  his honesty, his generosity,  his strength in the face of adversity and his noble sense of humanity to others. He's without question,  the fairest and most honorable person I've known.  Did I happen to mention he's really, really cute?

Babe, this is my little "toast" to you,  for being all I've needed and all I've ever wanted to bounce my love off of.   You really are the 'ring' to my 'ding-a-ling-ding!'

 

A FAVORITE PHOTO MOMENT

Marc, in little guy serious voice says to Hali:  "Hurry up you Dunderhead, finish your lunch so we can go watch the Turtle Racing Tournament!"

Hali in her best grown-up girl leer:" Dude, chill!  Seriously,  I can see the little flappy thingy at the back of your throat waving around."

Boasting about my granddchildren isn't really my bag (yeah, right!), but here is a recent picture of three of them:  Marc, 15 years old, Cassie - 2 yrs. and Brendan, 20 years old.

A Wee Nip of An Apology

This is Cheryl, a century or so back in time when she was very young.

Speaking of friends, which I have off and on,   I've caught a little heat from those in the know (and others that think they know but don't,) based on feelings I may have been a little too hard on my friend Cheryl; my oldest and longest lasting friend (more than half a century and counting.)  I blogged about her below and I've been accused of some people (but not her) about making her come across as cranky and/or nasty.

I sometimes forget my perverse humor doesn't always translate well on paper, or the cyberworld and even in person.  Fortunately, she totally gets me so she wasn't upset.  Believe me,  the cantankerous  little runt would've let me know if she'd felt even mildly ticked off. KIDDING!

 

As she knows, she's my sister in spirit which more than makes up for the  sister in blood I never had.  I love her more than most family members I have and I treasure our friendship beyond any measure.   She absolutely is one of the kindest, most caring people that has been in any one's life, let alone mine.   However, I'm never giving her the chance to get really snorked off  at me just to prove any theories on when the wrong button could be pushed on her.  Soo.....I'm sorry Cheryl.  There's nothing  snarky about you!

Cheryl and myself in recent years at some point

Knobby, wrinkly knees or new knees?

Today I toss that question out for consideration.  Something I dare say,  I've given quite a lot of thought to just recently as another old friend has had not one, but both knees replaced.  Ooooh, and I just posed another question to myself.  Why suddenly are all my old friends......old?  When did that happen?  Anyway, back to the knees.

Yesterday my friend, Diann (yeah, an old one) had her latest and hopefully last knee operated on.  I say hopefully, because it was her 2nd knee and unless she's going to pull out some sort of really weird body part....it should be the final one.    It seems she had just barely recuperated from her first knee being replaced just a few short months ago and even though the pain of healing was excruciating, she still elected to go through with the necessary operation on her 2nd (AND last) knee.  That's what constant and agonizing pain over heaven knows how many hears has cost her.  I put the blame of knee deterioration just too much housework.   Seriously, being a  super clean housekeeper is deadly to your well-being and health.  I might add;  I'm in great health and my knees are wonderful.  Thank you.  Well,  age may have caused them to be a bit knobby and more than a little wrinkled,   however, I have figured out what to do about the wrinkles.  At the rate I'm becoming fluffier, those wrinkles should smooth out and  all but vanish in another year or two.  The knobbliness (excuse me, not sure that's a word),  I think it may be up to the Supreme Being who decided knobby knees are okay.  I'm sure if we passed the word to Paris Hilton  that "knobby" is the newest and trendiest fad,  she'd be dialing her plastic surgeon in quick order.  All because of old kids like me

So, back to Diann.....that's her above.  I've discovered friends are VERY critical of pictures I flash around of them, so I've also added one of her with her husband Snow.  Snow's a guy, so I could probably tack a butt shot of him here and he wouldn't care.  He'd likely only growl if I posted a picture of his beloved motorcycle with a flake of dirt on it.

Where was this story going?  Oh yeah, would one prefer two brand new knees to finish out their live on or take chances with the ones you have, despite a creak or two when you get out of bed in the morning?  I think I'll wait on nature too smooth my wrinkly knees out.

Diann, if you read this......recover soon.   In the meantime, here's something to think about:

Aren't I good to you?

The Bride wore a sly look

Rhonda gets 'vampy' on her wedding day.

Mother, Son Connection

I forget how much Brendan looks like Colette until I trip over a picture,  like the one above, or see them in person.   Their dispositions are also very much alike.  Very sweet, quick to help others, wonderful humor and just a tad on the moody side.  But, hey....the key is learning when to duck!

Donuts to Doves

Sound intriguing?  It's not.  Just two things my mind locked on while drinking my morning coffee.  OOOhhhhh, my coffee!  So good!  Fresh Starbucks coffee beans provided by our Lori, a niece that takes care of our caffeine needs.    See photo of Lori......yes, she's a cutie-patootie and she will probably hate that I put her picture on here.  So between her providing the coffee beans and my roommate/favorite guy, preparing and brewing said coffee, my mornings are generally a delight!  I get up to a fresh cup of Starbucks, curl up in my favorite chair and wait for the brain cells to wake up and sprew out a couple of tentative waves.

Where was I?  Oh yes, my mind.  Anyhoooo......

normally, I just sip my coffee and listen to the chirping sounds in my head.  But, this morning I had two rather scrambled images.  Donuts!  Maybe I could make some.  Doves.......where did they go?  Wouldn't you just know, there is a story to follow both these images. (Sorry, but I did hint that my morning thinking processes may be a little .....uhhhhh.....off.)

I haven't actually made donuts since the kitchen fire of 1968.  Yes, I started that fire and wouldn't you know, donuts were the direct cause.   In a nutshell (remember.....this is MY nutshell),  I was having a quiet afternoon because Bob had taken out oldest daughter, Colette with him somewhere and Rhonda, a baby at that time was sleeping in her crib.  For whatever reason I decided homemade donuts would be just the ticket.  While the first batch was cooking away in the pan of hot grease, the phone rang.   I dashed from the kitchen to answer the phone before it woke the baby and just the act of being distracted for a moment was enough to make me forget I was cooking.  I chatted away with whoever was on the end of the line and after awhile noticed smoke creeping out of the kitchen.  I don't know if smoke actually creeps of if it's more of a slithering motion.....but, suddenly it was in the room where I was, and obviously that was NOT the kitchen.  I threw the phone receiver (belated apologies to whoever I was chattering with), ran in the kitchen and was faced with a flaming pot of grease.  The grease had apparently  splattered on the wall behind the stove and was started a fire there as well.  I can't began to express what it feels like when your whole body goes numb and terror soaks into core. OK, I guess I can express it since I just did.  Fortunately there was one part of my brain still thinking logically (I guess we can agree that it was a very small part considering the whole stopping to chat on the phone thing),  and remembered to grab something to smother the fire.   Luckily I had a large box of baking soda (baking soda was all I'd been taught in that type of emergency.  Heaven only knows what I'd been smothering it with if I had discovered baking soda, all gone.  I was young so I hadn't had a lot of crisis methods put into my learning chamber yet.) 

Bob returned with Colette just at the right time to view my meltdown.  I was standing in the middle of a kitchen covered in baking soda and smoke, while shaking and crying.  I could only blubber and stammer while he plied me with questions.  Thank goodness he was gentle about it because just one shout probably would've made me pass out.  He lead me into the living room, directed me to sit down and he proceeded to clean the mess in the kitchen.  Have I ever mentioned I'm crazy about this man?

Anyway, to make a long story, short........seriously, did you REALLY think it would be short?.......I have not made homemade donuts since that day, over 40 years ago.  So why am 

I thinking about it now?  Don't know.  Just sounded good.  If I do it, I just won't answer the phone if it rings, and I will make Bob sit in  the kitchen.

Ahhhhh, of course you're curious about the doves 

which I just happened to have a picture of.  But, you knew that, didn't you?  The story behind the doves is this, and yes....I really did have a reason for thinking of them.

One morning last summer we were prowling around the yard tending to the flower gardens when we noticed this poor, white dove hobbling into our yard.  She was injured and looked very pathetic.  She just collapsed under one of our trees.  I'm a soft touch for anything that's hurt, so I put a bowl of water near her along with some birdseed.  Of course, that's an invitation to most any critter to hang around.  She seemed to get worse every day despite our best efforts to help her.  Oh, let me mention we had called every association we could think of to see if someone would pick her up and give her some needed doctoring.  Nobody would!  So, it was left up to us.  

After a couple days, black birds started gathering in the tree above where she was  huddled,  rather like vultures.  They were aggressive and scaring her to death, so Bob went out with the  air rifle he uses to disband marauding wild turkey's and herds of deer, and shot into the tree, which made them leave and stay away.  

After a week or so, under our tender loving care, she mended enough that she would fly up on our roof and stay near the edge where she could see us come and go.  In the meantime,  I named her "Misty" since she had appeared on a very foggy, dewy morning.  It was my responsibility to do so since Mr. Bob didn't feel he was type of guy to name a bird.  That would change.

One morning we were once again doing our morning outdoor chores when Bob happened to look up into one of the trees when he heard a cooing sound and there was Misty with another dove!  This dove was white with dark marks on his chest, like tire tracks.  Bob.....who does name birds it seems.....shouted, "let's call him 'Master!"  Oh please!  Only a guy who doesn't name birds, would on his first effort, come up with "Master".  That didn't fly with me so I named it "Roadkill."  Get it? Dark marks....tire tracks....roadkill?   Oh, just look at the picture and you'll see what I mean. 

This pair stayed together all the time except for one brief dalliance Misty had with a mourning dove.  I told her she was a slut and ordered her  to stay with Roadkill,  so she did.  They became our pets and would coo below our kitchen window when they wanted food.  They wouldn't eat from the bird feeders like the other birds, nor would they eat food laid out by me.  It had to be placed in one spot on a step by Bob.  They were just cute in their strange little habits.  When we'd head for the driveway to get in the car they'd be perched on the roof eave cooing to us as we left.  

The last we saw of Misty and Roadkill was the morning  last fall when we loaded the car for a one month visit with our daughter Colette and family.  When we returned we hoped to see them but didn't think it was likely because the weather had turned cold.  We haven't seen them since that last day in October.  We had their company for about 5 months, and we'd often have our morning coffee on the deck and watch them interact with one another and with us.  We're hoping they'll return this Spring.  Who knows, maybe they'll return with a family. 

So, there you go,  donuts and doves.  Be glad I don't blog about ALL my morning thoughts.

Yes, apparentely I take blogging request!

Note the photo:  This is Cheryl, my oldest & crankiest friend.  Sometimes she gives me an order and I feel compelled to obey.  Not sure why.  She only stands about five -foot- nothing, and given her age.....I'm guessing the 'nothing' is fairly accurate.  She probably only pushes 100 pounds after a heavy meal.  She's a vegetarian, so I don't even know if there is such a thing as a heavy meal on her list of menu's, unless she eats 10 pounds of potatoes in one sitting.  Hmmmm, where was I?  Oh yeah, she's tiny and very mild-mannered so there isn't much about her that would intimidate most people, but  I know her well enough she scares the crap out of me.  

Let me toss out an example.  Several years ago Cheryl attended a town meeting in the little community she's lived in for practically a hundred years, and for reasons I've since forgotten,  she was extremely, EXTREMELY angry with the town board.  She did the only logical thing (to her) possible.  She made a FOR SALE sign and placed it on the front lawn of her home and proceeded to check out other options.  She was mad so options could have included the possibility of building a houseboat,  (Yes, she really does build things, but that's another story.) and living on a small lake.  Now, picture this.....the for sale sign is up and her poor unsuspecting husband arrives home from work.   We all know most men would have gone ballistic if their wives made an executive decision like that without being forewarned.  But, did her man, Richard?  No he did not!  (My hero!)  He takes the whole thing in stride.....I'm guessing because he's been well conditioned to her eccentric behavior over the years....and listened to the plans she was  already making of moving to a nearby town that didn't have a town board.  In fact, the town barely had any residents.  I'm guessing out of 10 buildings maybe two were actually inhabited.  The inhabitants wouldn't even had to be human.  She likes animals so 4 legged homeowners would've have caused her too even blink.   So, there they settled, happy as a couple of screwballs,  in their fine home surrounded by green fields and a few quirky neighbors.  Oh, the neighbors apparently are the two-legged type.  Whew!

Back to the reason I'm composing this blog.  I've gone several days since last writing one because I haven't had anything to say.  However, Cheryl likes to read comics and other nonsense while having her morning coffee and  I guess I fit her criteria for easy morning perusing so she basically ordered me to quit fooling around with the junk I've been putting on my blog page and write something.  

So Cheryl, my little buddy.......this is for you because I never like to disappoint you.  You are a great blogging character  and not near as scary as I made you sound.  No,  wrong.  You really are!

I love this cartoon!  It so represents my love of hats and frisky birds.  Plus, in my head, I'm a young blond like in the picture.