Hitting the Jack-Pot

I didn't mean too. Had no interest in doing it...but my daughter - she is so persuasive. But so was his tail, his pretty dark eyes and his great desire to be held in my arms. He is five years old and is some kind of terrier mix. He comes to us, after several homes - and all he wants is a mommy to devote his life to. His name is Jack.

The whole family got involved - my eldest son was ready to volunteer his time at the SPCA. My youngest son was coaching me on what to say so they would not say NO to my adoption. Bringing him home was quite natural. He fit right in. No worries from Buster or Ebbie.

But the day was about our budding artist. Miss Emma had her fancifuls displayed in colorful medium. She even had at least one autograph request. (Thank you Great Grandma!). Just so her art is fully appreciated, it is displayed here in full view. She is proud. I asked her why her art was chosen for display. She told me that you had cover most of the page with some kind of color and that is why.

We later took the kids to Parrish, Florida to ride an honest-to-goodness steam engine train. The call of the choo-choo sounded as excting as resurrected extinct creature from years gone by. The steam billowed and the coal growled under the blaze...We were off at the blazing speed of 10 miles an hour.

What a lovely day - overcast, cool and breezy. We saw falcons and buzzards, horses and birdnests. No wild boar - but just the idea that we might was enough to keep our eyes on the look out. We had a grand supper at Bob Evans and watched some animated movie about a rat who can cook. What a great day indeed. More photos below.

The caboose shot

Grampy and Andrew examing the mechanics and stuff

Emma watching the world at 10 MPH

Grandma and Emma in jail at the end of the RR line

Airport Games

Something odd about an airport. I am sitting in my favorite one - Charlotte. Full of self-importance racing from one end of the terminal to the next. Men in particular. I used to be impressed with busy men in dark suits carrying briefcases and talking business as they rushed. Now I realize that most of them are posers each trying to impress the other. I love to "play their game". It's like truth or dare. We share stories back and forth - none or few of them real. Maybe they are less stories and more dreams.

"Yeah, my wife and I just bought a cottage on Myrtle Beach." Then I ask him where is home - it is usually some benign place like Lincoln, NE. Now, you and I both know he did not buy a cottage on the beach- 1500 miles from home - especially if he is flying coach and rolling a computer bag that says, M.E.G. Valves and Hoses.

But the game is basically sharing random pieces about your life and seeing who can get the biggest , "Oh yeah!" from the other. It has to be the right kind of "Oh, Yeah!" Can't be the kind that says "I don't believe that!", or "Ho-Hum - I am only half-listening." It has to be the "Oh Yeah" that says "I'm a wee bit jealous of you." or "I'm impressed. Keep talking." It doesn't matter if what you share is true or not - as long as the other person veiws it as believable. Now those of you who know me - know I am REALLY good at this game!

My other favorite airport activity is watching folks. Charlotte is lined with white rockers in the terminal hub and down some of the concourses - as though you have time between flights to sit and ponder life in the fastlane! They are usually filled though. Folks with delayed flights, missed flights, long layovers from poor scheduling. Rockers are suppose to reduce stress and make you thing of the "good ole days" or reflect on happy things like why butterflies are beautiful and what you are cooking for supper. But I enjoy examining folks in the rockers. I make up stories about who they are and where they are going. I wonder why they chose the rocker instead of a table and chairs near the piano bar in the terminal hub.

So that is the end of my evening. Can't wait to go home. I still don't want to travel for my work. That was a tough two years.

Sharp Knives

I am sitting in the office with tax stuff all around me. I wouldn't choose to be here - on a Friday night. But - it is after supper and my hubby is in the kitchen cleaning up. I cooked - he cleaned. Doesn't stop there.... you see Bill doesn't clean. He CLEANS.....so... I am suffering excrutiating pain in my teeth because he is sharpening the knives. Every scrape makes my teeth feel like they are going to fall out - like my nerve endings are being toyed with by a torturist.

I thought about putting on my Ipod...but it is in the car. I thought about putting ear plugs in my ears but they are in the night stand by my bed. Then I thought about going La-La-La-La...but he would stop and come ask me what's the matter probably with the kinve and the sharpener in his hand. I could pull my teeth out - but I am not that brave. So I am writing about it...to relieve.....oh- there he goes. IT's over.

Now I can go to the Living Room. Bye!