Uni-Brow Bushy and Hairless

Uni-brow Bushy

Hairless

No relation

I assume

I found
 this spooky grape
on the vine
in the cluster of grapes
And didn't know
what to do with it

I didn't want to eat it
Bury it?
I sealed it in a bag
froze it
and

eventually

threw it out

Problem solved

I think

Still spooky

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

Answered Prayer

We live on a dead end street. Three huge gum trees are clumped together on the north side of our fence, as if they think they are cypress trees. Their branches spread out over our lot and house. It is their life's mission to flood us with their spiky balls that make walking difficult, mowing a hazard, and the possibility of the balls sprouting on our roof. We'd appreciate someone climbing a ladder and "gently" sweeping them off the roof. Offers?

There was a lot of bend over time involved picking up six large bags full and hauling them to the curb. And I'm not done! It was suggested we spray paint them gold or silver.Not! Help yourself!

I shook my fist at the trees and shouted, "Lord, could you PLEASE drop those balls on the north side of the fence where no one lives? In Jesus's name, Amen!"

A couple of days later, Johnny said, "That was some storm you slept through last night. That south wind blew something awful."

I jumped up and ran out. All the old and new balls were stripped off the tree and on the north side of the fence. Praise the Lord!!!!!

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

Blueberry, Mango and Peach Juice Plus Shake

Blueberries, Mango, peach
Juice Plus Shake
good any time 

A wee bit

of blueberry love

left behind

My spatula captured it
and put it on my tongue

Yum!

mjasa.juiceplus.com

for Vanilla or Chocolate Shakes

and

Juice Plus Garden, Orchard and Vineyard 

whole food based 

naturally occurring phytonutrients

of fruits and veggies

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

Get Away From That Rail!

Get back!

But we want to see!

WOW! That's way cool!

If that rail breaks

you'll fall out.

We can't help you down there

It's not going anywhere.

Kids!

Old farts!

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

River Monster?

Happy

whatever it is

Found it

in my empty bathtub

In the beginning
the mat
was bumpy

How this creature

got there

I have no clue

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

Cellar doors and sewers

Nebraska snow on the cellar door was entertainment for the cat, and the cat was entertainment for us. Late one moonlit night, we caught him slip sliding down it. He was having so much fun, he did it again and again. It was a winter of lots of snow, and he did lots of cellar door skiing.

We lived there a year, and I didn't go to the basement unless I absolutely had to. No one entered the house through the cellar door, that I'm aware of, but every time we planned to go to Omaha, which wasn't often, the sewer backed up. Was it afraid to be home alone? Trips were cancelled waiting for plumbers and cleaning up. Tree roots were blamed. Were they planning to climb the stairs, find us in our beds and strangle us? I'd best continue this in the daylight.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Nature's Surprises, Life in Picctures

Best friends Madchen and Schatzie riding high!

Is it a seal pup or a puppy?

 Madchen's summer address.

The silent pet - all that's left of Buckshot's blanket.

fat mice? 

Beside the MS River, a tree and it's happy.

I see a happy turtle. Aja sees a dragon. JB sees a bathmat - no imagination.

What a runaway drop of tea made on the kitchen table. Is it a what or a who?

A drop of coffee making love.

                                               The town of Alligator, MS.                                                                                      

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Pinocchio

A Mexican woven decoration to the left. My handmade one to the right.

I bought Pinocchio in Italy where the author of Pinocchio, Carlo Collodi was inspired in 1880.

His first movie was 1940. Easily led astray by con-men, Pinocchio has a problem with right and wrong. Jiminy Cricket is his "official" conscience. He must be brave . Only when he proves himself deserving of the Blue Fairy's trust, and his father's love, will he become a real boy.

Mediterranean Chiavari Hotel so quiet Dali & I called it the "Dead Zone". We later learned Archaeologists were meeting there.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Nature Creates

 A drop of ice water made a bear climbing the grain in our table.

 Love is everywhere.

A drop of coffee made a heart.

These pictures were NOT altered. I caught love and creativity in the act.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Umbrella art

Ryker creates. Another day he ran into the wind shouting, "How many umbrella's would it take to fly?" Aja was sure she could. No lift off happened, the wind turned my Monet inside out.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ladybug Bushouse

In our absence ladybugs moved in to stay, play and propagate in our rarely visited Mississippi motorhome. They don't leave an odor; they are just everywhere and inside things, as if they studied building ships in bottles. I'd sweep up a few and more would drop. They're stuck to the ceiling, in drawers, on everything, and between screens I can't vacuum. We think they're responsible for the clogging the sink.

I found three vacuums to cleanup the deceased. The handheld dirt devil inhaled and exhaled through the cloth bag rearranging the dust. No collecting bag inside. One upright electric broom wasn't worth a push, the other sounds pneumatic, asthmatic. There isn't one good suck between them. In my trunk is the mother of all suckers, my Kirby, and I can't get to it. It has rained nonstop since Wed.

We adjust. Madchen and Schatze have new scenery and spaces to explore. They lie on the foot of the bed watching the space heater turn red and fade out. JB reads "Ripley's Believe It Or Not." I'm into a mystery. We are soothed by the rain on the roof and nap. No TV. Simple snack meals of sliced veggies, apples and leftover KFC. A pair of beagle coon dogs whoop mournfully. Peaceful. This is country.

I suspect 99.9% of the ladybugs are deceased. The few remaining tickle my neck walking the rim of my collar, light on the cat's noses, and crawl up JB's fingers encouraging us to be light hearted.

If ladybugs are good luck, we ought to have bushels.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

THANKS GIVING 2008

I hope you have a pleasant Thanksgiving. Making a list of what I am thankful for would take days. I'll just pick one something to expound upon: grapenuts in a box.

In my "experimental" days, I made soap, not out of necessity, out of novelty. Squatting on the ground, stirring an enamel dishpan of lye soap with a leg bone, I felt very pioneerish/Indianish. Bring on the drums.

Corncob jelly was another venture. The recipe: start with clean corncobs. Did they think I'd use any other kind? Where were they getting theirs? Boil them down and add sugar. It was clear, red and tasteless. I filled two half-pint jars and set them on the shelf for decoration. No one ever asked for a taste.

In 1898 Charles Post developed a natural cereal he called grapenuts. I love them. When I came across a recipe, I had to make some. Graham flour mixed with brown sugar, buttermilk, salt and soda was spread on a cookie sheet and baked at 375 degrees for 15 minutes, then cooled. I mounted the meat grinder on the picnic table--it was a nice day. I couldn't bend or break up the baked grapenuts. I found a mallet in the garage, wrapped a tea towel around it and whacked away. Sharp-edged pieces flew. The stubborn remainders made my hands sore trying to keep them in the grinder. My effort netted about half a cup. Disgusted, I nibbled a few and ditched the rest. And that, my friends, is why I am thankful for grapenuts in a box.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

A walk with Lincoln

We were far from his home and mine when we strolled the asphalt parkway along the Mississippi River northwest of the Twin Cities. Born at Lake Itasca, the River was still and in its adolescent stage. When it takes on the big boys, like the St. Crois, locks are needed to keep it and its gang in check.

Abraham Lincoln, our 16th President, will be 200 in 2009. At 6' 4" and 180 pounds in his early life, he looked like a pencil in a big hat. He has improved with age, is better looking, better fed, still chivalrous. A gentleman. Gentle man.

Never have I walked so with living history. The only sound the scuff of our shoes. Even the trees were silent, listening, eager to know. I had to ask, "So, Abe, tell me something about your childhood."

Anguished, he replied, "My mother died from milk disease when I was nine. The cows ate a weed that was poisonous and passed it through their milk. Others died too. I stood at her cold grave crying; I couldn't leave her there." We walked a spell in silence, mulling his predicament.

The River is outlined by woods on either side. Excited I asked, "Abe, could you help me build a raft? I could surprise JB. Can I get to Louisiana in a week?"

Recollecting his river memories, he frowned, "I think it's too many twist and turns for a week's journey." A foolish hope. A brief imagining of a long pole, a sack lunch, and adventure dissipated.

Eager to extract all I could from his memory bank, I proceeded, "Tell me something funny from back then."
In a grownup, tired voice he replied, "Well, I was walking down a dusty road one hot August day on my way to a trial, when a fellow driving a buggy happened along. I sure needed to get off my feet. I waved."
"Need a lift?" he asked with a smile.
"Could you take my coat to the next town, Sir?" I asked politely.
He took his hat off and scratched his head, "Yes, but how would you get it?"
"Why, I intend to be in it."

The walk ended too soon. But I must tell you, I met his wife. She is beautiful, kind, capable, accomplished, mentally sound. And the children are fine.

Lee Williams is an offical Abraham Lincoln presenter. The first time I saw him I noticed the natural resemblance. He speaks at schools and reenactments, and has presented in Dubai. You can contact him at abelincoln.org

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

There has to be a triple nine in here.

Schatzie dreamed of spring and butterflies, woke up, and it was still winter. Bored, he played triominoes - with himself. Madchen, the obnoxious kitten, was too busy making mischief with the petals of the miniature rose plant. She would rather ski through the triominoes and see how many she could scatter. I call her a push-button cat. Touch her and she purrs.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

When my mind travels without the rest of me

Toadstools: small thoughts rest

Picnic table: medium thoughts rest with green tea and chocolate pastry

High Plains of the Midwest: large thoughts move about in the continual breeze

Mountain tops: up reaching thoughts stand on end

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Knees Worth Noticing

Cedar trees hold branches close
Willow trees hang loose
Cypress trees stand, observe
showing off their knees

At a dead lake outside of Pascagoula, Mississippi, we fished for crappie. Sitting on the bank and looking across, the "knees" took on personalities. (I swear I was sober.) "In medieval garb a mother stood between two short ones. The girl had curls of Spanish moss. A woman with a scalloped cape held a child. The tall one in back had a large cross on its chest - High Priestess? A dozen nondescript ones stood in the middle, foot soldiers, or wet-foot soldiers. Up out of the water you'd think their complexion would improve. It hasn't.

A jerk on my line revealed I'd caught a two-pound crappie on a dead minnow. There's no accounting for some tastes.

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series

Before Mike Could Write 5/12/05

Mike, our neighbor's young grandson, was a frequent visitor. He'd knock at our backdoor and ask if I could go for a walk. We'd work our way the two blocks to the Saunders County Museum. On the parked caboose we traveled the world. Our adventures were grand: crossing the prairie, mountains, sea and flying. Bison cooked on an open fire was just okay. He said, "It needed ketchup."

When we weren't walking, or picking up sticks and discarded cans at the Museum, we'd sit in my swing. He'd tell stories he thought should be written. His mother listened and wrote them down for him before he could write. I asked, "Where were you before you were born?" Without hesitation, four-year old Mike replied, "I was with God and He was so good to me."

This weekend he graduates from High School. He's still writing. In the fall he will go off to college to write some more. He still wants to travel the world. I suspect he'll write his own adventures his mother and I will enjoy reading.

©2005 Red Convertible Travel Series