Work - October 6, 2026

My recall to work went better than expected.  The Old Boss and I slipped right back into our groove.  The borrowed laptop didn't give me any trouble, nor did the trigger finger on my left hand.  We knocked out the document in a couple of hours.  It was good to see some former co-workers I hadn't seen since retirement.

After work, I went to the class reunion committee meeting that I'd thought I would have to miss.  The reunion is this weekend.  Saturday morning, a few of us will meet at the venue to set up tables and decorate.  I'm kind of excited.  This morning I ordered some bell bottom jeans and a retro t-shirt.  I hope they will fit.

The thought of making jewelry has scarcely crossed my mind since before we left on our trip.  When we came home, all the craft stuff that I'd taken on the trip (and scarcely used) got dumped on the craft room worktable, and there it still lies in disarray.  It would probably help to rekindle my motivation if I'd go in there and clean up, but I'm in no hurry to reorganize.  Maybe after the reunion is over I'll find my mojo.

Home - October 5, 2026

We're back from our trip to Gatlinburg.

All that stuff I took with me to do?

Hardly touched it.

On our first full day there, we drove up to the artisans community and looked around the shops.  I bought some beads.  Oh, and a little chunk of fudge, which slowly disappeared as the week progressed.  

That night, The Grandson called.

"Grandmama!  There are two armadillos in the yard, digging in your flower bed.  Can I shoot them?"

Before I finished the word "NO!" he hung up.

An hour later, he called back.  It seems his phone had died.  (Yeah, right.)  In the interim, he'd shot at one of the armadillos but only nicked its shoulder.  It's probably still alive, somewhere.

The rest of the week was uneventful.

One evening, The Old Boss called.  She has some work to do on an old case that was left over from before we both retired.  She's rusty and wants me to help her finish up the paperwork.

I'm rusty, too.  Back in the day, I was a pretty fast typist, fast enough to type as The Old Boss dictated (she had trouble working the machine).  But now, with this trigger finger problem . . . .  

It's a bad week for going back to work.  Our 50-year class reunion is this weekend, and the reunion committee is meeting today to finalize the plans.  I can't be there but will abandon the work project for long enough to call in to the meeting.

Packing - September 27, 2026

We leave on our road trip across the state tomorrow morning.  Gotta pack today.

I still haven't decided what craft(s) to take with me.  I'll need something to do in the truck; crochet will work.  But what about the three days in the hotel room?

You might think that I'd get out and explore, but we've been to this town dozens of times, and I know from experience that getting out to explore is a nerve-wracking experience.  Traffic is a nightmare.  Bumper-to-bumper.  Pedestrians.  The occasional bear.  Restaurants are crowded.  Anyway , . . .

This past week, the hobby store had 4" x 6" watercolor pads on sale, so I grabbed one.  The size is perfect for greeting cards.  I should inventory my travel paint bag to make sure everything I'll need is there.  I haven't painted in ages.  

For the past few weeks, I've been kind of fascinated with amulet bags.  I went through the scrap bin this week and picked out a few pieces of fabric on which to try some "slow stitching."  It won't take up much room in the schlepping bag.

I should go out today.  We've a trip next week; I need to lay in some supplies to feed The Grandson while we're gone and replenish my mobile craft workshop.  

While I was sitting here on the porch, pondering today's post, I heard a flutter and looked out to see a HUGE bird - probably a hawk - jumping at something on the ground.  It almost seemed to be digging.  My fingers were crossed that it would yank up a mole.  Alas, it flew up to a limb and eventually flew away, empty-footed.  

Which reminds me . . . I still haven't put out the poison mole pills.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, the mobile workshop.

I can't decide what to take.

I've a crochet project in progress, almost finished.  I've another hat pattern that I want to try.  Crochet would be good work for the road.  But I'm about to spend several days in a hotel room while The Husband is in meetings, and I will go crazy without something to do.  

Maybe I'll just take my watercolor stuff and paint some Christmas cards.  

To be honest, I'd really rather stay home and twist wire and roll clay.

A few days ago, I bought an online Helen Breil workshop about texturing clay.  Watched it yesterday.  It was a good buy.  It sparked a lot of ideas.  I had to stop the video several times to go try something she demonstrated.  

Y'all.

Yesterday, the first day of fall, the temperature dropped like a stone.  

It is 65 degrees on the back porch this morning.  

After almost a month of near-100-degree weather, a light jacket sounds good.

It is bliss.

* * * * * * * *

Kudos to me for not forgetting to pick up the Little Rotten Baby from school yesterday.  

School pickup is a ballet, of sorts.  A well-oiled machine.  Get in the right lane, and it's smooth sailing.  I got there early to claim a place in the front of the line so that the LRB wouldn't have to search too hard for my car.  When the kids started pouring out the door, I stepped out onto the sidewalk so she could see me.  

She came a-runnin' when she saw me.  We hugged and got in the car.

She talked ALL.  THE.  WAY.  HOME.

The music teacher gave the class some eggs - not chicken eggs like you eat - but COLORED eggs - to roll on the floor and it made noise and we shook them . . . .

I remember my very first music lesson in school.  First grade.  30 kids.  We sat at our desks while an old, fat lady (she was probably 50) drew five lines across the chalkboard, all at once, with a chalk holder that held FIVE PIECES OF CHALK.  This is all I remember of the lesson.

Anyway . . . . 

The first thing the LRB said when we walked in the door was, "Let's do something."

She rolled some clay through the pasta machine a few times, then pointed at the sewing machine and said, "I really want to do THAT."

She's been wanting to do THAT for some time now.  All three of her sisters have done THAT.  

She had it all worked out in her head; she would sit in my lap while I ran the pedal.  But guiding the fabric was her job.  

I told her the story about the time I sewed ALL THE WAY THROUGH my pinkie finger.  

She picked her fabric from the scrap bin.  She picked out her thread.  She raised the presser foot.  We put a piece of practice fabric under the needle.

When the first few stitches happened, the child absolutely giggled with delight.  I showed her the "pretty" stitches (she picked "hearts"), but she liked the straight stitches best.  

It didn't take long for her to make me get up so SHE could run the pedal.  She had to stand up to do it.  Her face was about level with the machine.  She wanted to sew two pieces together.  Then three.  Then four.  

She's got this.

She did not want to stop when it was time to go home.  

She took her creation with her.  

I know what she'll want to do the next time she comes over.

Granddaughter #3 came in while we were in the sewing room.  Her science teacher belches out loud, and the whole room stinks, and she doesn't know if it's because of the burps, but they all think she's pregnant.

Girls have a lot of information.

To Do List - September 22, 2026

I am supposed to pick The Little Rotten Baby up from school today.  

My phone is set to alarm 30 minutes before it's time to leave my house and again 5 minutes before it's time to leave.  I'd set a third alarm for the exact time to leave if the phone would let me.  

I've had "five more minutes" turn into 20 minutes, more than once.

I've been playing with jewelry today.  Made a pair of earrings.  Re-examined some of the earrings I hope to sell.  When the LRB gets here, we'll probably paint.  Or roll clay through the pasta machine.  Stuff like that.

Yesterday I went to a meeting of the class reunion committee.  50 years.  It's unfathomable.  We finally have a list of who's coming.  I, who can scarcely add or subtract, spent a good part of the weekend trying to reconcile the bank balance with the list of attendees.  It turned out that the last deposit just hadn't gone through until yesterday.  Good grief.

I'm sitting here on the porch looking at a phenomenally large boneset plant growing in the flower bed by the bird feeder.  No doubt it came from something in the feeder.  It is about 6 feet tall, white and fluffy with blooms.  I should get rid of it before it goes to seed, but I have enjoyed watching it.  

One more day, maybe.  

The moles are at it again in the yard.  Traps all over the place, and they dig elsewhere.  Over the weekend, I bought poison gummies but have not used them yet.  Tomorrow, maybe.  ;)

Oh, you can't rollerskate in a . . . - September 21, 2026

Saturday morning, my daughter-in-law texted me a picture of a herd of buffalo walking down our road.

That's right.  A herd of buffalo.

Just a small herd.

Still . . . . the stuff that goes on around here.  🤣

None of us knew, for sure, whose buffalo they were, but we had a pretty good idea.  

As the morning progressed, details began to emerge.  The herd - 5, I think, belonged to a dude up the road.  The Redneck Nephew (who lives with Nanny when he's not working on a riverboat) had been called to help.   

I texted the daughter-in-law.  "Tell him not to wear his rollerskates."  Sent her the song, figuring she was too young to get the joke, thinking the little girls might enjoy it.  That song has been my brainworm ever since.  It's probably yours, now.  🤣

Anyway . . . . 

By the time The Nephew became involved, part of the herd had abandoned the road in favor of the woods.  The Nephew was told to saddle a horse; the round-up would occur on horseback.  

I heard that they managed to get three into a trailer and tranquilized one.  Don't know how they got the tranquilized one from where they dropped him and onto a trailer.  I expect some farm equipment was involved.  

To my way of thinking, this situation must have been The Redneck Nephew's - any redneck nephew's - wet dream come true.  

Roundin' up some buffalo.  On horseback.  Might have to shoot some if they can't be herded into a trailer.  Hell, yeah.

He'll get some mileage out of that story.