If you have learned anything at all about me in the past three years, dear friends, it is that I have no ability to rein it in.  None.  I couldn’t find the definition of moderation if you shoved the dictionary under my nose.

Give me a bag of chocolate, you end up with an empty bag.

Ask me to clean a bench, you end up with a sandblasted, primed, and painted polka dot piece of furniture.

Ask me to save a feral kitten, you end up saving a boatload of them.

Give me an auger drill bit to plant a tulip bulb in the fall….

and you end up with a thousand (yes, that’s accurate…a full 1,000) tulips blooming in the spring.

No, seriously.  A Thousand.  Several trips to Lowes, several re-budgeting for this years’ landscaping, several husband eye-rolls later, you’ve got yourself a thousand freaking tulips.

Why?!  Why, you ask?

Is it because I relish the idea of publicly prancing around in my 3X unapologetically purple Schmidt Work Overalls from The Tractor Supply Company?

Do I have a fetish of waving my ample arse in the air to passing cars while drilling over 1,000 holes in the tough Maryland clay?

Am I hell bent on embarrassing my family with my weird antics?

Look, I’m not going to straight out deny any of those things, but to be honest, I actually DO have an honorable reason!

You see, my father taught me that beauty matters.  What we are surrounded with matters. It all affects us.  I know how different I feel when the kitchen is full of dirty dishes, and when it’s clean and orderly.  The place we live gives us a sense of stress, or well-being, depending on how it is set up.

I don’t know about you guys, but I can control very little in this world.  And since all this required was an auger drill bit, some bags of tulip bulbs, and a decent chiropractor (Thank you, Dr. Spiro Theodore!) I figured I could have an impact here.  Few things in life can we impact with such obvious results!“You have too much time on your hands,” quipped one rather pessimistic friend of mine.

My response?  Well, I don’t watch television.  Not like, a little bit…I mean I don’t watch television.  I haven’t had cable television in nearly 20 years!  So since I’m not drooling passively on the couch in front of the boob tube, I have time to paint benches, and blog, and plant tulips!  It’s all about choices and priorities, I guess.  And from what I’ve heard about Honey Boo Boo, and vampire or zombie series, I’m okay with my choices!Besides, when you have no ability to moderate your chocolate intake, it’s a good thing to be outside digging and mulching!

Does My Captain mind that I spent the time and money on these flowers?

Heck, I think he was counting on it.  I mean, when a man spends money on an auger drill bit for you, it SCREAMS love.

Almost as loudly as if he had bought you a bag of Lindt Chocolate Truffles.

Don’t judge!

Goggy and Papa have spent the past 42 years in Dickerson, Maryland, and are leaving this week to spend their remaining years in North Carolina.  This past Sunday was their final worship at the tiny little Dickerson Methodist Church they’ve attended here in the country all that time.

Goggy has even been a Lay Minister there for several years.  It’s more than a church, it’s a family to them.

I can’t begin to imagine all of the milestones in their lives they’ve celebrated here.

This little country church has been their home as much as, well,  their actual home!  Goggy has given sermons, and Papa has done all kinds of work on the building and grounds all of these years.  They’ve been a huge part of the support system for this church.

Why, My Captain and I were married at this very alter by none other than Goggy herself!

Believe me when I say that there is nothing sweeter than marrying your best friend in his parent’s country church, by his own MOM!

So when I say that Goggy and Papa leaving is a big deal, I’m not just whistling Dixie.   The church family got them gifts, and threw a good old-fashioned church pot-luck to send them off right.

Now, you and I, we keep things real, don’t we?  So I can be honest with you, and you won’t judge me when I tell you that even though I totally GET that this was about saying goodbye.

And I understand that this was about fellowship, and love, and closure.

And I KNOW it was absolutely NOT about ME.

When you look at this picture, and see me standing there (long brown duster, cowboy boots, and bedhead on the right) looking for all the world like I’m intensely listening, you won’t love me any less when I confess that I was actually…..

…guarding the homemade fudge. (You’d be amazed how much fudge you can hide in a full length duster.)

Because you and I know that there ain’t NOTHIN’ more beautiful than a church Pot-Luck to say ‘Hello,’ ‘Good-bye,’ ‘Congratulations,’ or ‘With Sympathy.’

And the more food, the greater the love.

It’s safe to say that Goggy and Papa are well loved!!!

“Burp!”

Sit back and enjoy a story of intrigue and suspense.  A mechanical crisis hit the Ladder Truck of 31-C shift, and I was on hand to witness the drama.  But since I couldn’t 1) hear or 2) understand their lingo, I’ve had to ad-lib a bit.  The following is my understanding of what went down…….

Something in the Engine Bay didn’t smell right.  An acrid stench of hot rubber and grease filled the air like a sleazy carnival on a sweltering August day.   With his super-human strength, Gravy heaved the cab off the axle and engine so the shift could better sleuth the problem.

Capt: You’re right. This doesn’t smell good.  Something is burning.

Capt:  Something is hot.  Very hot.  Hotter than a two-peckered alley cat.  Let’s get this cooled down.

Connor (to himself): How does the Capt. know how hot a two-peckered alley cat is?????

Capt:  And let’s get as many eyes as possible on this, so we look like we’re fixing it.  We’re County workers, for God’s sake.  We need numbers, men!  Get everyone out here.

Capt:  And Craig, go ahead and send a prayer up.  Between that and Simple Green, we should be able to handle this.

Capt:  Oh good, more people.  Let’s gather around here and hem and haw, and feel generally testosteronie.

Capt:  And scratch a lot. Scratch something.  You know that always helps.  Well done, Caleb.

Craig:  Connor, I don’t know what you’re sniffing, but stop it.  It’s weird.  Unless by sniffing you actually diagnose the problem, in which case it’s cool.

Gravy:  Hmmm.  This water hose can cool off many things…..a hot engine, a hot pump, a hot-headed Captain….

Capt:  What the heck just hit my head?  Was that water?  Gravy?!  Did you just spray me??

Gravy:  Er, what do you mean?

Craig: Capt., is that thing over there supposed to be dangling like that?

Caleb:  You’re kidding me, right Craig?  It’s called a Dingle-Dangle Transmogrifier for a reason.  Of course it is supposed to dangle.

Connor:  I think the Dingle-Dangle Transmogrifier needs more Simple Green.  Ain’t nothin’ worse than a dirty Dingle-Dangle.

Craig:  And what the heck would YOU know about dirty Dingle-Dangles, Connor?

Connor (under his breath.) : Enough to know that they like to be clean.

Lt. Tom:  I’m going to go check in the bunk room, under my bunk, to see if we have any spare Dingle-Dangles.  I might be a while….say, 8 hours or so.

Capt:  Hey!  What’s this!

Connor: It’s not something I’ve ever seen before, sir.

Capt:  I haven’t seen one in a long time.  Sure makes sense, though.

Capt:  Damn. Never thought I’d see one again.

Capt:  Gravy, pretend I can see you, and try to show  – even if you have to fake it – a modicum of repsect for me.  Or if not for  me, how about my pate?  And Gentleman, what you are looking at here, is none other than a two-peckered alley cat. Which, of course, explains why it smells so damn hot.

Caleb: Should it be dangling like that?

Gravy: l think we need to spray it with more water.

Craig:  I wonder if I could sell that on E-bay.

Connor: Do you think we ought to clean it with Simple Green?  Do two-peckered alley cats like Simple Green?

Craig:  Son, I’m about done with you and your Simple Green. If you’re so hell-bent on cleaning, I’ve got a job for you.

Connor (Under his breath): At least I know a dirty Dingle-Dangle Transmogrifier when I see one.

Gravy:  Hey…Capt., is your wife going to put us in that crazy blog again?

Me:  Ah…um…er….Exit! Stage Left!

THE END

***Author’s note:  Any likeness of these characters to any real person is purely coincidental.  The views expressed herein are solely those of the author.  No two-peckered alley cats were harmed in the writing of this drivel.

I don’t ask for much in the way of affirmation.   As Mama, one of the many responsibilities expected of me is exhortation of the clan.  I am the ‘Jack Handy’ of our home and family.  Feeling low?  I’ve got a lap and a hug for you.  Achieve something noteworthy?  I’ve got a high five and a celebratory dinner for you.  Angry at your sibling?  I’ve got an admonition of patience for you.   Have an aspiration or dream?  I’ve got the push to keep you trying.  I’m all about support.

And in return, all I ask is a little grace.

Like, when I attempt to make a low-sugar version of homemade cranberry sauce to go with a fantastic chicken and stuffing dinner, and it is maybe a little on the sour side, that you don’t have to turn it into a dare at the table.

I’m not saying that you have to fall over with untruthful flattery about it.  And heck, you don’t even have to eat it.  But I don’t think it is necessary for each person at the table to challenge the person next to them to see if they can ‘man up and eat a bigger spoonful’ than the person before them.  And no, the extra credit for seeing if you could hold it in your mouth longer before you swallow it was not cute.

And I don’t think it’s necessary to compare my culinary attempt to Warhead Candy (the one with the triple ‘X’ on the wrapper).

And the jokes about burning ulcers in your esophagus are unwarranted.

And the selfie you took with your cranberry-puckered duck face is not attractive.

I’m not asking for much, you don’t need to ask for the recipe, as if you want to make it too.  And you don’t have to lie to me that you are allergic to Cranberries.  But the crack about your urinary tract never having been healthier was uncalled for.

And no, I won’t make a batch for you to take to the firehouse as a prank.

But I know some people who, when opening their lunchboxes at school and at work tomorrow, will find NOTHING BUT jars of homemade, low-sugar Cranberry Sauce from Hell.

With love, your favorite Sour Puss.

My Captain’s parents, lovingly known as Goggy and Papa, are moving away to North Carolina.  They’ve lived here on Peach Tree Road for over forty years, just four doors down from The Little Cottage.   My Captain grew up in the house that they are selling.  In  a couple of months, he will have to pass his childhood home nearly every day, and know that their comforting presence is not there.  He insists that he is fine; and I’m sure he is, being a big boy and all.

Still, if we could have swung buying that house, we would have.  But for now at least, The Little Cottage is our home.   And to be honest, even though Critter and Varmint often lament how tightly we are packed here, they would not leave this little Sears Craftsman house for all the tea in China.

My Captain, feeling more than a little bit sentimental, took Critter out for a lap around Goggy and Papa’s acres last week.   It was a cold and snowy day, and Papa’s little red Gator had to traverse some nasty ice.

Of course, it was beautiful, as it always has been.  My Captain never takes it for granted, even though he has been here since he was so little.

Critter could not fathom what it is like for My Captain, who has always been so close to his parents, to suddenly not have them just four houses away.  It’s hard for Critter to imagine not having his parents at his beck and call.

“It’s a little different,” explained My Captain.  “I’ve had nearly fifty years with them.  I’m ready to strike out on my own,” he chuckled.

“How would you know?” challenged a boy far wiser than his 12 years.

It bothered him.  Critter didn’t like to think about such a time ever happening in his own life.  A time when his ‘safety net’ was not immediately under him.

And he seriously doubted if My Captain had any real understanding of what was about to happen.

“I’ll be okay,” My Captain reassured him, and winked.  “I’ll still have your mom, Varmint, and you with me.”

“Won’t be the same.” Critter shook his head.

“No.  And that’s okay,” My Captain reached over and corrected Critter’s steering wheel. “You don’t always want me holding on to your steering wheel, do you?”

“I guess we’ll know the answer to that if we get stuck in the snow,” mumbled my little pessimist.

What Critter has yet to understand is that Goggy and Papa leaving is in some ways a good thing….because they will be entering a new and exciting time in their lives, because change is healthy for all of us….

…and because you can’t learn how to steer on your own without getting stuck in the snow every now and again.