"He ain't just a playmate, he's my brother"

After much anticipation, I'm pleased to announce that Levi's long-awaited companion arrived from Texas this morning. Introducing (drumroll, please) GIMPY!

Gimpy (foreground) and Levi (rear)

As the title states, Gimpy is Levi's brother. As in full brother. As in littermate. They were together for the first five months of their lives. The picture below, taken by my niece days before I got Levi, shows the two of them back then:

I can't tell which dog is which.

My niece, who raised this litter, kept Gimpy for her own family. He was born with nerve damage in his right front leg, and they became especially attached to him as he bravely hobbled around doing everything all the other puppies did. They're still attached to him, but they gave him up for his benefit--and for mine and Levi's.

I knew back in December that I wanted to get another dog. Butch was very old, and I wanted to bring another dog into the pack so Levi wouldn't be left alone when Butch's days were done. Those plans fell through when Butch became very ill, and Levi, at the same time, developed a bad limp. I had all I could handle then, and I knew darned well that Butch did, too.

And so we waited. We waited until Levi's limp was healed and after that until nothing else could be done to prolong Butch's life. And then we waited some more. The niece who owned  Barkley, Levi's half-brother that I had planned to get, had second thoughts about giving him up, but my other niece, who owned Gimpy, said she might be willing to let me have him. They had five dogs, and she felt that Gimpy might be happier in a place where he could be an inside dog. I was thrilled at that idea.

Still we waited. I had a medical scare and didn't want to take on the care of another pet until cardiology tests proved nothing serious was going on. After that, we waited for my niece to break the news to her young son that Gimpy might be better off where he could live indoors, and then we waited for that brave little boy to reach the same conclusion.

Then it became a question of logistics. Between birthdays, Easter celebrations, and other obligations on each side of the Texas/Louisiana state line, we couldn't find a time to get together in the same place to put Gimpy into my hands. And then last week, suddenly, the niece who owns Barkley announced that she and her family were coming through here on their way to New Orleans, and they volunteered to bring Gimpy with them. I couldn't believe it was finally going to happen.

Gimpy was frightened when they dropped him off here this morning. He tried to climb back into the car as they were leaving, and, once we had him in the house, he looked around for a way to get back outside to the people he knew. He was extremely nervous for about three minutes. At about the four-minute mark, we took him out the backdoor where Levi waited in the yard. They busied themselves sniffing each other and getting reacquainted for about another minute.

Gimpy (left) and Levi, moving in for the sniff.

About five minutes into Gimpy's first day here, my daughter Kim threw a tennis ball, and in that instant a beautiful friendship was rekindled. Game on.

 Levi had the ball in this picture, but Gimpy reached it first

just as often as Levi did.

Gimpy is about three-fourths the size of Levi. Despite his gimpy leg, he can run like the wind. He and Levi have played a lot of ball today. They've also played chase through the house, taking turns being "it." And when I sat down at the computer to write this post, they both lay down, a few feet apart. They've been napping together ever since.

I think these two brothers will prove to be a match made in Heaven. I'm so happy--and so grateful to everyone who helped to get the two of them back together.

Easter 2012

I've had a good nap since my last post and am now ready to show you some photos from our Easter Sunday afternoon at my younger daughter's house. Since my adult children and grandchildren may or may not want me to post images of them in their bathing suits, I'll skip right to the great-grandchildren.

Here's Owen:

Scratching "carpentry" off his to-do list.

Happy in the pool.

Learning to kick.

And here's Olivia:

Focusing on something she wants--the visiting dog, I believe.

Dancing in her pretty pink swimsuit.

Here you can see what Livvy was seeing.

In addition to cute babies, we also had cute animals there. I didn't get pictures of the bluebirds or the hummingbirds, but I did get these:

The new baby chicks (my "grandchickens") . . .

. . . and Chi-Chi, the visiting dog, who was so small

that she had little "chicken legs" of her own.

The weather was wonderful. It was a day full of cool blues and greens . . .

. . . and warm love and sunshine.

And another week has flown by...

It came to my attention many years ago that the older we get, the faster time passes. But this week? Seems like the days have gone by at the speed of light. If time goes any faster than this, I'm gonna have to grab onto something solid and hold on tightly.

So, this week I've read some, cleaned house some, shopped a couple of times, walked some (though not every day like I'm supposed to), played ball with Levi for hours on end, and slept more than I should have. It's allergy season. Allergies make me dizzy, and antihistamines to control the dizziness make me drowsy. I'll choose sleeping over spinning every time.

The only day of the past week that stands out in my mind is Easter Sunday. In fact, I began writing this with the intention of showing you a few photos from that beautiful day. And maybe I'll do that this afternoon. Right now, though, I feel another nap coming on.  

What I'm Reading: Catching Fire and Mockingjay

The Hunger Games left me ravenously hungry for the other two books in the series, and I have happily devoured those this week. Such an imagination Suzanne Collins has!

For a description and reviews of either

of these books, click on its image above.

Birdwatchers

Cardinal

See that bird in the picture above? While I was watching him, he was watching me. Like a hawk.

House Finch

I'm refilling the feeders more frequently than ever before, trying to lure these beauties  close enough to take wonderful photos of them. But they're cautious, these birds. Oh, I hear their raucous, back-yard parties, and I can watch them through my window, but the instant I step outside with my camera, they're up and away in bright-feathered flashes.

Dove

The best way I've found to see the birds is to park my own self in a chair near the feeders. I see plenty of them that way. I see them swoop toward the cache of sunflower seeds, only to reverse course when they spot me sitting there, partially hidden by the privacy fence. They go to the trees and the rooftops then, where they sit and wait. And watch me. They cock their little heads from side to side to get a better look, and I know that if they had tiny wristwatches, they'd be checking them, wondering how much longer it would be before I go back inside where I belong.

Sparrow

So, I don't get sharp, clear, images of beautiful birds. Instead I get slightly fuzzy photos like the ones I'm posting here today, shot with a zoom lens and a bird-loving heart that yearns daily for a close-up.

What I'm Reading: The Hunger Games and Downtown

Despite all the hoopla about The Hunger Games, I resisted reading it for a long time. Of course, when I finally gave in this past weekend, I was hooked almost from the beginning. It isn't the best book I've ever read, but it's so different that I couldn't wait to turn each page and see what would happen next. Having finished it, I'm still just as curious, and the library has such a long waiting list for the second and third volumes of the trilogy that I've ordered them online.

For something to read while waiting for that order to be delivered, I dug around in my own bookshelves and was pleased when that search turned up a 1995 Anne Rivers Siddons book. I've read several of hers in the past few months and liked all but one of them so much I was surprised to have forgotten this one:

If you're too young to remember the vibrant atmosphere of the 1960s, Downtown will make you feel like you were there. It was an amazing time to be alive.

For a description and reviews of either

of these books, click on its image above.

Sepia Saturday: A Smooth Operator and Some Traveling Men

I was delighted to read that this week's Sepia Saturday theme is WORK, because it gives me the opportunity to post two of my all-time favorite photos. Both of them have been posted here before, but it's been nearly six years, and the clothes alone make them worth a repeat.

My maternal grandmother, Lola (a/k/a Mammaw), keeps popping up in these Sepia Saturday posts, and she's here again today. Lola worked as a telephone operator in Waynesville, Missouri, in 1917, two years before she met and married my grandfather.

In 1984 she wrote this to my daughter (spelling and punctuation are hers):  "I hope you and your boyfriend are doing fine go with him and get really acquianted. But that was not my case. I was going to bussiness college in another city from my home town a girl friend ask me to doubledate with a boy just home from the army (WWI) and we went to a show, that was on the 10th of July and the 1st of Oct. we were married 47 yrs. (or until death did we part) and it wasn't always a bed of roses, we had our ups and downs."

Switching to my father's side of the family, the other work-related photo I want to show you features my great-great-grandfather, Samuel (on the left below), and his son, my great-grandfather, Ernest. The photo doesn't show them on the job, but the tools of their trade make it obvious what kind of work they did.

These two were originally from upstate New York. Their work as carpenters kept them traveling to the mid-west, and the family eventually settled in Stone County, Missouri.

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The photo of Mammaw was the inspiration for this week's Saturday Song Selection. I can never hear this song without being mentally transported back to New York, where I heard it first when my own growing family lived there in the mid-1970s. Old photos and old songs. Nostalgia. It gets to me every time.

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The song is "Operator" by Jim Croce. 

(Click here to read the lyrics.) 

Thanks to maxstratos for posting this video on YouTube. 

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Now, get to WORK and see what other Sepia Saturday bloggers have posted this week. Just click on the image below to find them.

What I'm Reading Today: More Nora Roberts

Having read the first of Nora Roberts' Bride Quartet series a few weeks ago, I was delighted to find the other three books at my nearest library branch so I could read them consecutively. They've occupied my reading time for a week now. As I turn the pages of the fourth and final book, I'm already wishing for a fifth one. I like these characters, and I'll miss them when they're gone.

It's too bad fictional characters don't live on in Facebook pages.

For a description and reviews of any of these books,

click on its image above.

March Magic

Time Marches On
My older daughter turns 50 today. How could half a century pass by so quickly? And when did 50 get to be so young? Because she is young, that one, whether she realizes it or not. She's young enough to have hopes and dreams and aspirations, yet old enough to understand that many of life's blessings occur in the small moments, not just in the big, splashy ones. Fifty is a great place to be.

The azaleas started blooming in February this year, 

but it was in March that they became magnificent.

Marching to the Beat of a Different iPod Shuffle
The cardiologist I visited at the end of February told me, among other things, to walk half an hour a day. It's taken me a few weeks to get myself mentally geared up for that, but this morning I did it. It turns out that getting started was much harder than the walking itself.

Rather than using a watch to make sure I'm putting in enough time, I've decided to walk through ten songs on my iPod. The average song is around three minutes long, I think, so depending on which ones the shuffle feature chooses, I'll do thirty minutes, more or less, and I'll vary my pace to fit the music. (I only hope I can remember to control the volume when I get to the parts of the music that always make me bust out and sing along.)

Where Mother Nature tends the Louisiana
 land by herself, it is raw, lush, wild, and full of life.

Hopping, Jumping, Leaping, Flying...or Not
With the bird feeders freshly cleaned and filled, my patio is once again a hub of activity. Levi loves to catch lizards, and I was concerned that he'd turn those instincts toward the birds. So far, I needn't have worried. The other day I left him outside by himself for a while. When I went to let him in, I found him lying peacefully on the mat right outside the backdoor, watching half a dozen sparrows peck at seeds on the ground around him. I wonder how those birds knew they could trust him; they never get that close to me.

Where my son-in-law tends it, 

the land is pristine, plush, and tame--

and still full of life.

There's Nothing Sepia About This Saturday (except this post)

It is a glorious, technicolor day, warm but not hot, with a breeze that feels like a soft caress on my face and arms. Everything about this day shouts "SPRING!" Nevertheless, here I sit, indoors at the computer, because challenges intrigue me just that much.

This week's Sepia Saturday prompt is GOING OUT, and it almost stumped me. I have plenty of old photos of people who are dressed up but don't appear to be going anywhere. There are people lined up on stairsteps and people posing on the street, in a park, even two people dressed up in business clothes on a beach. Other folks are wearing their going-out clothes but are, in fact, merely posing formally in a photographer's studio.

I considered using one particular photo of a large group of family members gathered on the front steps because I'm pretty sure that all those relatives were in the same place at the same time because of a funeral. I thought that one could be twisted to fit the theme, but then I realized that the honoree of the occasion, the person who was actually "going out," wasn't in the shot.

Finally I found two photos I thought would do. The first one dates back to the 1940s and features my grandmother, Lola.

She was definitely out and about, but she doesn't look very happy about it. She was a very pleasant person and probably would have had a happier expression on her face if she'd been going to meet her lady friends for lunch or a movie, so I'm thinking there's nothing festive about this photo. She might have been going to work. Or to the dentist. Or maybe she was going someplace fabulous and was just annoyed that some mid-20th century paparazzo popped out and snapped her picture.

The only other photo I found that somewhat fits the theme is one I know I've posted here before, though I don't remember when or in what context. This one is from late 1944 or early 1945 and stars...moi.

I was clearly pretending that I was going out, just as I am pretending today that these two photos suit the theme. In this picture I was obviously discussing the feeding schedule of my child with her babysitter (my uncle Joe). I don't know where I thought I was going, but with those shoes and that killer hat, it must have been someplace fancy.

**********

We're going out for today's Saturday Song Selection, too. Where? Why, "Downtown," of course:

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The song (from 1964) is "Downtown" by Petula Clark.

(Click here to read the lyrics.) 

Thanks to nyrainbo2 for posting this video on YouTube.

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Click the image below

 to see a list of other bloggers who are GOING OUT this week:

Wiggles and Trievy: BFFs (another sappy dog story)

When my sister and I were little, our family dog was a small, black and white terrier named Wiggles. The name suited him well; he was rarely still.

(Left to right) Linda, Wiggles, Judy

Wiggles was nominally our uncle Joe's dog, but we didn't pay much attention to that technicality, and neither did Joe. Or Wiggles. Wiggles seemed to think of himself as his own dog. And, in a way, he was.

There were no leash laws in those days, and the few dogs in the neighborhood came and went as they pleased (except for Susie, the pampered Chihuahua four doors down). Wiggles showed up at our house most days, but it wasn't uncommon for him to go missing for a day or two. In fact, he made such a habit of wandering that we weren't the only people who thought we owned him.

One day, after Wiggles had been gone for a couple of days, I saw him sitting on the sidewalk halfway down the block. I called him by name, then realized there was a man at the end of the block who was also calling him--by a different name. Wiggles just sat there, his head swiveling slowly back and forth between me and the man, then lay down and rested his head on his paws right where he was.

Where he was was right in front of the Wheelises' house. The Wheelises lived three doors down from us, and Jimmy Wheelis was good friends with my uncle Joe.

Joe and Wiggles

Fittingly, Jimmy's dog, Trievy (pronounced TREE-vee, probably short for retriever, though I don't think he was one) was Wiggles' best friend. Nine times out of ten, where Wiggles was, Trievy was, too.

Trievy and Judy

Trievy was also black and white, but he was at least four times as big as Wiggles. Trievy had long, fluffy hair, while Wiggles' hair was short and flat, and Trievy's ears were big and floppy, while Wiggles' ears turned down only at the tips. 

They were quite a sight, those two in their matching colors, parading purposefully down the sidewalks or through the alley, always trotting along, side by side, as if they had an appointment and didn't want to be late. If Wiggles decided to lie on our front porch and soak up the afternoon sun, Trievy lay right there with him, and my sister and I contentedly scratched both bellies. We loved Trievy as much as we loved Wiggles.

One afternoon late, a neighbor came to our house carrying Wiggles in his arms. The neighbor had seen Wiggles and Trievy playing tug-of-war with an old rag earlier in the day. Later, the neighbor had noticed that Wiggles appeared to be injured and had gone outside to see what was wrong with him.

The rag that the dogs had played with had been full of fishhooks, and a number of those hooks were now imbedded in Wiggles' lips and on the inside of his mouth. Trievy stood at the neighbor's side as he handed Wiggles to my grandfather, and Trievy watched as both grandparents put Wiggles in the car and drove him away to the vet.

It was dusk when they came home. Wiggles had never been allowed in the house, but that evening Mammaw and Packy carried him inside, still unconscious from the anesthesia, and laid him on a folded blanket in a cardboard box next to the warm floor register in the living room.

By breakfast time the next morning, we were happy to see that Wiggles was up and around and still in the house (though that wouldn't last for long). As we ate our cereal and toast, my grandmother told us we'd had a visitor in the middle of the night. Well after midnight, she said, she'd heard a scratching noise at the front door. When she'd gotten out of bed to check on it, she'd discovered Trievy standing there. Now, if Wiggles had never been allowed in the house before, Trievy certainly hadn't been either, but that night Mammaw let him in. He walked straight to the box where Wiggles lay, still out cold, stood there a moment sniffing Wiggles from nose  to tail, then turned around and waited at the door to be let outside.

**********

Why am I telling this story now? Because that's the kind of faithful friend I want for Levi. And I think I know where that friend might be.

I'll keep you posted.

Odds and Ends

In the absence of anything meaty enough to fill a whole blog post, I'll just toss out these few bones:

Bad Weather
We had a couple of hours of thunderstorms this morning, along with a tornado that touched down and damaged several homes about five miles away. So far I haven't heard of any injuries, thank goodness.

It rained hard enough at my house that little waves

were forming at the edge of the carport.

On a lighter note, I must add that, after having lived so long with the severely storm-phobic Kadi and Butch, it was quite a change this morning to huddle on the sofa and watch televised weather alerts while Levi eagerly nudged me with his tennis ball.

The Garbage Incident

The raw-meat-filled garbage can I forgot to take out last week turned out to be a problem only in my mind. For some reason, the odor never got strong. There were no buzzards, no maggots. When I went out to push the can to the curb last night, there was one fly and one tiny green lizard on top of the can. I got lucky this time. 

Watchdog

A few days ago Levi woke me up in the middle of the night by standing tall next to my bed, his front paws on the mattress, and leaning down to lick my face. As soon as he knew I was awake, he walked over and put his nose on my purse, which was in a bedroom chair. After I lay there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the heck he was doing, I suddenly heard the very faint sequence of musical notes my cell phone makes when the battery is about to die. Wasn't that smart? I feel safer now that I know he stays on top of things.

Birthdays

March is a busy birthday month in our family. Both of my daughters were born in March, as was my great-grandson, Owen. We've already celebrated one daughter's birthday, and plans are underway for a small party for the other one toward the end of the month. The biggest event occurred this past weekend when Owen turned two. His mother is super creative and threw him a "planes, trains, and automobiles" party. I had the best time watching all the little kids, especially when they raced in colorfully painted cars made from cardboard boxes with paper-plate wheels. 

Here's an after-party photo of Owen with one of his favorite presents:

Photo by Kalyn Hoover

Also, it didn't skip by me that Butch would have been 14 years old on the 19th of this month. I miss that sweet old dog.

What I'm Reading Today: The Pact: A Love Story

This book explores the impact of a teenager's suicide on everyone who is touched by it. I wasn't sure I wanted to dive into such a dark subject on a beautiful weekend, but I find myself thinking about the story even when I'm not reading it, so I might as well pick up the book and see what happens next. Just have to remember to come up for air every now and then.

Click on the image above for a

description and reviews of this book.

Sepia Saturday: Switching Allegiances

In the second grade I had a choice between being a Bluebird (the junior version of a Camp Fire Girl) or a Brownie (the younger version of a Girl Scout). I don't remember why I decided on the Bluebirds, but I suspect it had something to do with the uniforms. Bluebirds wore red, white, and blue, and Brownies wore...well, brown.

In the photo below, taken in 1948, I am the first girl on the left. The girl next to me was wearing a Brownie uniform, and the girl on the far right of the photo was wearing her Bluebird uniform (see the tiny bluebird on her breast pocket?). It was clearly troop meeting day. Now, if you were to call attention to the fact that the expression on my face indicates that my mind was a million miles away, I could only respond by guessing what I was thinking then: "How the heck did I forget to wear my uniform today?" And then I would have figured out a way to blame it on my mother.

(Left to right) Donald Smith, me, Linda Edmonds, Jean Lee Benning

I have vivid memories of two things that happened while I was a Bluebird: One week we made Rice Krispie marshmallow treats. (My carb-free lifestyle doesn't allow them now,  but I can still taste them in my mind.) Another time we went on a field trip. It involved a short ride on a train, followed by the chance to run around on someone's pasture land. There was a large bull nearby, separated from us by a barbed wire fence, and I was firmly convinced that the bull was going to be attracted by my red sweater and charge me on the spot. I thought my death might be imminent (though I didn't yet know the word, "imminent"), but there I was, running around in little circles and figure-eights like a nitwit, holding the red sweater high in one upraised hand, waving it, simultaneously screaming and laughing for my friends' amusement. 

I stayed in the Bluebirds for only one year. Apparently, I wasn't much into commitments in those days. In the third, fourth, and fifth grades I didn't join any groups, but in sixth, when I was 11, I decided to give it another try. That time I joined the Girl Scouts, despite never having been a Brownie. Why the switch? Probably because my best friends were Girl Scouts instead of Camp Fire Girls. Possibly because the green uniform of the Girl Scouts would have emphasized the color of my eyes. As the following photo demonstrates, I was quite a fashion icon by then:

Can you believe I'm actually posting this photo on a public website? (Of course you can believe it; I just told you I waved a red sweater in front of a bull, so you already know I make dumb decisions sometimes.) And can you tell that I was doing my own pin curls by that time? I don't know if the Girl Scouts had a hairdressing badge, but I'm pretty sure I could have been a scout for years and never earned one.

I dropped out of Girl Scouts after a single year, too. The funny thing is that I know I was a Girl Scout, but I have no memory whatsoever of doing anything with my scout troop. Not a meeting, not cookie sales, not anything. Is it possible that one look at this picture just erased the entire Girl Scout experience from my mind?

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My older daughter, Kim, followed in my footsteps and became a Bluebird in 1969, when she was in second grade. I still remember the look of exasperation on her face when she returned home from her first candy-selling trip around our block, plopped her carton of candy boxes on the kitchen counter, and said, "Sheesh! Some people just close the door right in your face!"

Kim went on to sell more candy than anyone else in her troop that year. Her prize for her candy sales achievement was a week at sleepover camp, but I, her overprotective mother, thought she was too young. We traded it in for two weeks of day camp instead.

As for that banged-up, cardboard, Camp Fire candy carton, I've somehow managed to hold on to it. For nearly 43 years, through a number of local moves and half a dozen cross-country ones, it has held bits of ribbon and lace, zippers and threads, and lived in a closet next to my sewing machine. I'm careful with my kids and my cardboard boxes.

**********

The song I've chosen for this week's Saturday Song Selection is from 1963. Come to think of it, this song may have unduly influenced my decision not to let Kim go to sleepover camp.

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The song is "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" by Allan Sherman.

Thanks to bohemister for posting this video (complete with lyrics) on YouTube.

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Click the image below

 to find other bloggers who have posted

scout-related photos this week:

Curls

Here's a picture of Levi three weeks ago:

Here's a picture now:

And here's what happened in between, when I sat on the floor with Levi and a pair of scissors for three hours:

He was very good about it. Maybe we can make this home-grooming work.

What I'm Reading Today: Vision in White

It's interesting to me how much I still enjoy a good romance novel at the age of 69--even though I now skip right over the sex scenes. I like knowing that the characters have reached that stage of their relationship, but it's the story that appeals to me, not the play-by-play in the bedroom.

Nora Roberts' love stories are the literary equivalent of a candy bowl filled with M&Ms: there's nothing in there that will stick to your ribs, but once you've had a delicious taste, you'll keep dipping in until the bowl is empty. I'm enjoying this first book in her Bride Quartet and looking forward to getting my hands on the next three volumes.

Click the image above for a

description and reviews of this book.

I think I'm in trouble here

Yesterday I cleaned out my freezer. There was meat in there from as far back as 2010. I would have cleaned it long before this, but I wanted to do it no more than a day before garbage day, and I only ever thought of it right after garbage day.

The garbage goes out on Tuesday night for Wednesday morning pickup. Yesterday, putting groceries away after a trip to the store, it occurred to me that it was Tuesday. Such is the state of my life that I was actually excited by the realization that I could knock this project out and check it off my list. I threw stuff away until I had one and a half tall-kitchen-can bags of frozen meat and vegetables. I quickly discovered I couldn't lift the one full bag, so I repacked everything into three bags and lugged them to the can outside.

It was too early to take the can to the curb. In this neighborhood we all take our trash cans out after dark, so nobody has to look at the ugly blue hulks, lined up like sentries, in the light of day.

So. Yesterday afternoon I knew it was Tuesday. By nightfall, I had forgotten it was. I never fail  to take the garbage out; you might know I'd do it this time.

It was ten o'clock this morning before I remembered the three bags of meat that are  thawing rapidly no more than 25 feet from my front door. The temperature is supposed to reach into the 70s and 80s every day this week, warm enough that I'm pretty sure the meat will begin to rot by this afternoon and to smell at least by tomorrow.

I wonder how long it will take for the buzzards to get a whiff of it. I wonder how many buzzards it takes to lift the lid off a garbage can. Is that even in their skill set? I would estimate that there is at least six armadillos' worth of old ground beef, stew meat, chicken and fish inside that can. How many buzzards do you think that would feed? If they all show up at once, will we be able to back our cars out of the carport around them? Will we even dare to open our doors if that many food-frenzied buzzards are hanging around?

On the other hand, what if the buzzards don't come near the house? What if they just circle overhead, menacingly, and wait until next week, after I've held my breath, stifled my gag reflex, and pushed the reeking can all the way to the end of the driveway? Will the garbage truck driver not notice the flock of ghastly black birds and the cartoon-like, wavy lines of foul odor emanating from my trash can? Will he not see this as evidence of foul play? Will he not call his supervisor, who will then contact the authorities, so that traffic will be tied up on our busy, two-lane road for hours while white-suited, crime scene investigators rip apart my garbage bags in search of human body parts?

I'd haul it all away today by myself, but a) I have no idea where to take it, and b) I'm not about to put those by-now-nasty bags in my car.

This is not good, people.

What I'm Reading Today: Islands and Burnt Mountain

I've been reading a lot of Anne Rivers Siddons' books in the past few months and have enjoyed most of them tremendously. Right now I'm halfway through Islands and am quite fond of its characters.

Click on the image above for a

description and reviews of the book.

Over the weekend I read another of her books, Burnt Mountain. I liked it, too, in the beginning, but it all sort of fell to pieces near the end and left me feeling unsatisfied and unsettled.

Click on the image above for a

description and reviews of the book.

But that's okay. She has a good enough track record that I'll try to find more of her books next time I go to the library.