This Is What Courage Looks Like - Owen

Okay, I confess it.  I always thought Shriners were a little goofy with the Fez hat and riding around in parades on tiny little motorbikes.

However, Shriners Hospitals (in cooperation with God Almighty, Commander-in-Chief of the Universe or as we military families call him "CINC-U") make everyday miracles happen for kids like Owen.  Owen was burned by boiling water over 98% of his body and was given ZERO per cent chance of survival.

This is Owen Mahan with the University of Indianapolis Baseball Team management signing a contract in a special program which pairs up college athletes with special needs kids.

This is Owen and his foster Mom turned forever Mom.

And if Owen can face life with a smile, then surely we can, too.  The next time we wake up with aches in places we didn't know we had because of too much yard work and think to complain like I did this morning, keep Owen in mind.

This is what courage looks like, people.

Owen's Story

Did You Ever Notice?

Did you ever notice that the more verbiage on an envelope about how important the contents are, the less important it is?  If the printing reads "important" and "time sensitive" and some of it is in bold face, then I can assure you that the contents are completely worthless.

To show how totally without merit this little envelope from Ditech was, we have the requisite bolding, important notation, time sensitive verbiage, AND a tracking number.

And yes, I do miss Andy Rooney from 60 Minutes.  I can't quite make my voice sound as crabby and peeved as his.

Just Because I Am So Odd...err Unique

We drove over to the little communities of Rescue and Battery Park, Virginia on Saturday.  I know there must be a story about the name "Rescue" but I haven't discovered it yet.  Both neighborhoods are in Isle of Wight County...perhaps 20 minutes from our house.  However, they are light years away...sleepy, bucolic, peaceful non-suburbia.

Back in this area is a surprising place called Oak Crest Farm.  It is so surprising that the LA Times wrote a story it.

Zebra Farm

I'll never forgot how odd the zebras seemed the first time we saw them grazing.  It was as if a narwhal was sunning himself in Virginia Beach or a polar bear was sitting at a bus stop in Los Angeles.

The zebra are the farthest away from the road and hard to catch in a pic. The donkeys were frolicking right next to the fence, so I took some shots.

Okay, maybe it is just me, but I think this donkey needs to see a dentist.  He reminds me of a shipmate of my husband's who always used to say, "I'm an awful handsome fella, but my teeth are screwed up."  Actually, he said something else other than screwed up, but you get the idea.

I've been laughing at this pic ever since I took it.  I know.  I'm unusual.  It is what I do.  It is who I am.

Police Week

I’ve held my silence and stayed in contemplation since Ferguson and the war on police began in earnest.  This week is Police Week, instituted by President John F. Kennedy. I will remain silent no longer.

I’ve read all kinds of hateful stuff from bloggers who usually know better.  I’ve watched the mainstream media provide biased and unfair reporting.  I’ve watched thugs loot, burn, and steal under the coverage of what is called “peaceful protest.”  I’ve listened to the hypocrisy of the Justice Department, Al Sharpton, and the NAACP.  

For all of you out there who complain about police response time to routine incidents when you don’t bother to call the police – shut up.  If you complain about being asked nicely to follow the same parking rules as everyone else – too bad for you!  You got a ticket because you were unlawfully speeding?  Too bad, so sad.  You don’t like how the police responded to your domestic situation?  Keep a lid on your family arguments.  Here’s a news flash:

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Romans 13:1

Over the three years that I have worked for my law enforcement agency, I have had three colleagues killed in the line of duty.  Think about that – who works in a place where three people get killed in three years, just for doing their jobs?

One co-worker, Jim, narrowly avoided death in November and only just returned to work last week.  Why?  Two bank robbing thugs in body armor had parked a getaway car in his neighborhood and tried to kill him while he was running the tags on his way to work.  Another Sgt. I work with was rammed by an evading driver going over 70 miles per hour and he is not yet back at work following the injuries.  This is just in one office alone.

Master Trooper Junius Walker (pictured above) stopped to assist a motorist whom he thought was broken down on the highway.  Russell Brown was actually lying in wait for Trooper Walker and shot him in the face so he could see “what it felt like to kill someone.”  This father, husband, and grandfather was close to retirement and was one of the longest serving troopers in our organization.  Trooper Walker was beloved by his family, organization, and the community he served.  We didn’t hear a peep from Al Sharpton, the Justice Department or the NAACP when he died.

Here is a cold, but true fact:  It is the African American community itself that is killing young black men, not police departments.   Where are the protests about that?  Inner-city criminals have been killing each other for years and not a word from the community or Al. 

For those who have been killed by law enforcement officers, the vast majority have long arrest histories.  The chance of anyone who is reading this or me being killed by law enforcement is zero.

I don’t know what went on in Baltimore, but I suspect that this “victim,” (who was actually a drug dealer well known to local police) may have swallowed some of his product before he ran.  This, in turn, may have contributed to whatever was going on in the van.  You have to dig pretty deep in the reporting to find out about his criminal history.  He preyed upon the folks in his community, those same folks who preyed upon local businesses which the neighborhood depended on, like CVS. 

That CVS is now closed and the neighborhood residents have lost their jobs there, as well as a place to pick up prescriptions.  All the looting did was hurt the community and get the “peaceful protesters” free liquor.  Of course, once your mayor states that you should have space to “destroy,” I guess you do.  I wonder how the owners of those destroyed business feel about that?

Do you want to know how it is that people are killed by law enforcement?  They break the law.  They flee from the police.  They move when they are commanded to stand still.  They resist arrest. They illegally carry weapons.  They try to hurt police officers.  They kick, punch, and spit at officers.  They try to grab officers’ weapons.  In Ferguson, they think they are entitled to steal cigars, strong arm the owner, punch a police officer in the face, and then try to grab his weapon…proven by DNA.

They are brought up in single-parent households and are not held to accountability nor taught respect for any type of authority. Teachers are afraid of them. Remember what would happen if a teacher ever called your parents about bad behavior?   In public schools these days, the parents come in and yell at teachers who try to discipline children.

Many kids are raised with no honor and that there is an excuse for anything.  They are not taught how to control impulses and often have no example within their families of people who work to advance themselves. 

The best thing that Al Sharpton and the NAACP, Urban League, etc. can do for African Americans is to advocate for better education for them.  They can teach kids ethics starting in pre-school.  How about citizenship classes?  What about parenting support and classes? 

How about telling young black men and women not to have children they can’t afford?  How about if Al and the NAACP address the fact that 80% of all black children are born out of wedlock, one the strongest indicators of childhood poverty. 

Two officers were gunned down in cold blood in Hattiesburg this weekend.  What was one local response?  Some subhuman Subway worker cheering about it on Facebook, Good for Subway for firing her, even as she lied and said her phone was “stolen.”  

A rising young officer killed in New York City and Officers Liu and Ramos before him.  So far this year, 40 officers have been killed nationwide in the line of duty.  Where is the Justice Department about that?  Where is justice for the Fallen in my profession?

So during this Police Week, I ask you to pray for the families, co-workers, and agencies of the Fallen. Let your police know that you support them.  Please pray for your own local law enforcement agency.  How many people are willing to go to work each day knowing that there are people waiting to kill them?  Pray for the wives, husbands, parents, and children of these officers.  Pray for their safety.

And if you don’t want to do that…try calling Al Sharpton or the NAACP next time instead of 911. 

Please note that these opinions are mine and mine alone.  They do not reflect my organization, which I have not named.

The Harder They Fall

I had a two-hour later start Friday morning following a full snow day on Thursday. At 7 a.m. I had a call from Bruce advising of the following:

He left for work at 0545, but fell down the front, concrete steps. It hurt a lot, but he didn't want me to fall down on the same black ice, so he went to Walgreens to get cat litter to put on the stairs. He came home and spread it out.  I found that humbling, to say the least.

Then he left for work again, but once that he had been on the road for a while, he wasn't feeling so great.  He wanted to come back and go to the emergency room. Could I meet him at the Naval Hospital?

He passed out and started shaking at the ER, so they hooked him up to a heart monitor and tried to figure out what was going on.  After spending the whole day with these wonderful corpsman, doctors and nurses, seems that he had lost nearly a pint of blood internally due to how hard he fell.  A cat scan and blood tests followed to ensure that he wasn't continuing to bleed.  He was not and was allowed to return home with plenty of pain pills.

The pic shows about 2/3 of the injury.  The rest is on the right side and on his bum.

Goodbye, Mr. Spock

I don't think that most people who know me would believe that I am a die-hard fan of the original Star Trek.  Isn't it amazing that a show that only broadcast for three years would have such a profound influence on our culture 50 years later?

My favorite character was Leonard Nimoy as the unflappable Mr. Spock.  I think I appreciated him so much because he always had control over his emotions.  I'm not always so good at that.

The Vulcan salute of "Live Long and Prosper" was Leonard Nimoy's idea.  He first saw it as a little boy in an Orthodox Jewish setting, as he saw watched Rabbis raising their hands over the congregation in blessing using that familiar gesture.

He talks about this here:

Live Long and Prosper

White As Snow

So sorry to those of you who hate snow, but I love it!  Here's the tree outside my front door, all frosted and beautiful. You can hardly see the old Shea Terrace Elementary School behind all the fluff.

All this lovely whiteness reminds me of the comforting words God share's with us in Isaiah 1:18:

"Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.

War and Peace

Yesterday started off with a jolt. 

I spend a lot of time in my take-home police vehicle, for which I am very thankful.  The radio squawks all day long.  I don’t typically need to use it, unless I am going to see someone I don’t know well.  I then check in with the dispatchers notifying them of my location, so someone looks for me in case I don’t check back out. 

Some of what you hear can be shocking. I frequently view this as an opportunity to pray.

Yesterday morning, the radio traffic was nothing less than life or death.  A pursuit started not too long after 8 a.m. with a driver who doing 76 in a 45 mph zone and would not pull over.  Soon he was clocked at 106 mph with several troopers trying to catch up.

He purposely rammed one trooper twice. The second time he rammed into the trooper, the driver lost control of his car, drove it into a tree.  The car looks as if split in half on impact.  The next thing I heard was a trooper saying that the car was engulfed in flames. The driver died, obviously.  I’m not stating anything that hasn’t been on the news.

VSP Chase

One minute I was praying for the safety of the troopers and the next, I was praying for the driver’s family.  What has gotten into people?  What on earth was so important that he drove 30 mph over the speed limit to begin with?  What could the driver have done which was so terrible that he couldn’t just pull over to deal with it?  Some warrants?  A stolen car?

Now his body will have to be identified with dental records.  I was shaken. I can’t imagine how was for the troopers who were there.

It started snowing at 2:30 and by 3:15, it wasn’t safe to drive.  We don’t use snow tires here in southeastern Virginia.  I drove home, did some paperwork and started dinner.  I tried a new recipe for Genovese pasta I saw in the NY Times magazine on Sunday.   It was fabulous.  http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1017238-pasta-alla-genovese

We walked in the snow after dinner.  We bundled up with hats, scarves, gloves and boots and put Lulu into her little orange coat.

All the city sounds were mostly muffled, with most people wisely inside and not driving.  It was so quiet that we could hear individual snowflakes hitting the snow already on the ground.  Peace washed over me as I finally let go of the tension from the morning.

We headed down to the partially-frozen Scotts Creek.  It is the prettiest spot in any season, with all kinds of wildlife; foxes, green herons, egrets, and Cooper’s Hawks.  The Creek didn’t disappoint tonight.  My pinkies were getting numb as we stamped our feet up the porch stairs and went inside.

My world is all peace tonight and another family’s world has fallen apart, as they surely must know by now that someone made a terrible decision.  And I pray that the God of all comfort will sustain the troopers and the family members this driver left behind.

Tiny House

I am entranced with tiny houses.  Every time I see one, I wonder if it was a perfect little spot for an aging mother-in-law. Or was it a workshop of some sort?  Here in the south, before air conditioning, folks had what were called "summer kitchens" which they used in the warm months.  The heat was kept away from the main home, although  the cook must have roasted along with the chicken and cornbread!

This particular little place has a fireplace and it looks as though there's some furniture inside. Yesterday, we stopped at a little Mom-and-Pop Italian place in Smithfield, VA and then noodled around north on Route 10.  We so enjoy the back roads, off the beaten path, which are so much more interesting than anything you might see on the highway.

We were somewhere between Surry and Hopewell when we turned around to take this shot.  There's a 1950's ranch house to the left, which doesn't fit the age or the style of this tiny house.  We were speculating that the house might have once belonged to the empty lot on the right, to a house that disappeared a long time ago.

If I owned this charming little place, I'd paint the door bright red, put black shutters up,and hang some Goodwill lace curtains in the windows.   Then in the Spring, I'd put up two window boxes planted with red geraniums and trailing greenery, like ivy, perhaps.

We'll need a grapevine wreath, simple, just spray painted white with one silk geranium on the door. I'd put a big, vintage watering can to the left side of the door and a wooden chair with the bottom out of it to the right, fitted with an old red handled pail and planted with red, trailing petunias. I think a red or black vintage bike with no gears should be leaning up against the side.

It could be precious at Christmas with a fresh, evergreen wreath on the door and little white lights around the windows.  Two vintage wicker chairs are needed about April 1, pulled out to just where the snow is right now. A black cat should be snoozing in the sun nearby from time to time.

Wouldn't it be just swell?  It makes me think of a sentimental old adage that hung in my grandmother's breakfast nook, "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man."

You know, I was just thinking that in My Father's House,there are many mansions.  I hope there are a few fixer uppers.  It may not be biblical, but I do so love expressing creativity this way.

McFarland, USA

We saw a wonderful movie yesterday:  McFarland, USA with Kevin Costner.  No foul language, no gratuitous sex or violence...just a straightforward, heartwarming story of a down-and-out coach who assembles a team of migrant workers and inspired them to become the top cross-country team in California.

At the same time, it is the story of how Coach White, in turn, was changed by his encounter with the team members, who work before and after school in California's fields, picking the food we eat.   He takes the grit and determination they use to survive every day and translates it into a hunger for success which allows each team member to do well, despite inferior uniforms, the pressures of having to work in the fields every day, and lack of funding to support their team.

It is also a lovely portrayal of the best of Hispanic culture, from the special birthday girls celebrate at age 15 (quinceanera), to the incredible work ethic these folks demonstrate, to their love for family and friends which is perhaps demonstrated more visibly than in many other cultures.

Finally, one scene depicts the runners getting on their knees to thank God after winning the big race. I can't remember the last time I saw that in a movie.

As I watched them picking cabbages, I couldn't help but think of my late sister-in-law, a migrant worker, who met Eric, my brother-in-law, when she was hoeing beets in Jim Shekal's fields close to his own family farm.

Margaret was stunning, as Bruce would say, she was a south-of-the-border Farrah Fawcett-Majors. Their daughter, Heather, is just as stunning and runs a business as a personal trainer. Margaret died, tragically, in a single car accident more than a dozen years ago.  Any stereotype you might have about migrant workers would be shattered if you had known Margaret, one of the most dignified women I ever met.

Go see this movie and support Hollywood when they produce righteous family films!  And the next time you make a salad, cook fresh spinach, or eat beets, please remember these extremely hardworking folks who picked that food, like my late sister-in-law and her family or the kids who ran for victory in McFarland, USA.

Muslims in Oslo Norway Protect Synagogue

 I haven't seen too much media coverage of a wonderful story from Oslo in Norway.

The Times of Israel reports that 30 Muslims plan to form a protective ring around a synagogue to show solidarity after the Copenhagen Islamo-facist attacks.

Muslims protect Jews at worship

They probably realize that ISIS and other Muslim extremist groups kill other Muslims in their terror attacks, as much as they kill Jews and Christians.

Isn't This Where Jane Eyre Lived with Mr. Rochester?

No, this is actually "Virginia House"in Richmond  owned by the Virginia Historical Society.  We love to explore off beaten paths and found this beauty after lunching in Richmond's Carytown section, the closest thing to New York's Greenwich Village that I can find in the area.

This building was purchased in England and shipped, in part, to Virginia to be re-assembled. Originally a priory which was dissolved when Henry VIII declared himself head of the Church of England.  Henry being, of course, the Christlike model of moral rectitude for which we all know him - NOT.  The priory was originally built in 1100.  Fancy that being here in the United States!
Virginia House

Financier J. P. Morgan did the same thing when he bought a medieval cloister and re-assembled it at the northern tip of New York City, establishing The Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  BTW I refer to him as "financier" because "noted rich guy" sounds common. The Cloisters is one of my favorite spots in the City.

The Cloisters

Kernels From the Cobb (County) - Occasional Quotes from my Sister

Anne, I'm totally listening to everything you are telling me, but I think Mom is burning down the house, so hold on, I need to check on something...

Marshmallow World

It's a marshmallow world in the winter,
When the snow comes to cover the ground,
It's the time for play, it's a whipped cream day,
I wait for it all year round.

The river is frozen out past the docks, very unusual.

While I know that everyone north of the Mason Dixon line is thoroughly sick of snow at this point, I am so happy to see it here in Virginia.  No work for either of us today and no school for this bunch.

The pleasant little canals in the park are frozen.

Today was the perfect day to try Starbucks brand new Tiramisu Latte. Just as the song says,after all, its IS a whipped cream day!

Gabby Giffords - This is What Courage Looks Like

Mark Twain once joked that the "reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."   Gabby can say the same thing.  When a madman opened fire on her Arizona constituent meeting, NBC News sadly reported her death.  

But, you see, they didn't know much about about the heart and spirit of this truly valiant woman. Look at this face, because it is the face of true courage under fire.

Gabby continues to face recovery from a traumatic brain injury four years after that terrible day with courage, style, and a sense of humor.  Here she is with a music therapist.  Researchers have discovered that when speech is affected due to a stroke or other causes, the part of the brain that can sing or remember lyrics remains unaffected. As the Bible says, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/gabby-giffords-sings-annie-houston-music-therapist-article-1.2117827

The sun will come out tomorrow, Gabby, bet your bottom dollar.  May God constantly bless you, Jewish daughter of the King, apple of His eye.  Thou  o Lord, are a shield about her, You're her glory and the Lifter of her head.  You go, girl!

Truth Being Stranger Than Fiction...

Everyone should have a friend like my friend, Rebecca.  She is a lot of fun.  Rebecca is also a Proverbs 31 woman whose faith I really look up to.  My own sister, Kerry, is such a blessing that I can’t even adequately express it.  Rebecca is just a bonus sister, that’s all. The really wonderful thing is that her husband, Mark, and Bruce are just as friendly with each other as she and I are.  That, in my experience, is a rarity.

My friend, Barb New, first inspired me to research my genealogy.  Rebecca further spurred me on and gave me a lot of good tips on how to research and record information.  Rebecca is from a Virginia-based family.  Her research has been extensive, with many trips to the mountains to research documents, graves, or homesteads.  My family is from the North.

Years ago, my grandmother, Helen, told me that “Mrs. Galvin” (her mother-in-law) came from “old Connecticut Yankee stock.”  However, all of the family that I knew details about were Irish Catholics on both my mother and father’s sides.  Being Irish Catholic, in addition to being a religious background, also speaks to my heritage and culture.  It has been how I thought about myself until very recently, although I do not worship as a Catholic.

I’ve been looking into that old, Connecticut Yankee family of Mrs. Galvin’s, born Ella Bella McCullough.  On an aside, she is not the only member of my family with a rhyming name.  My mother has a cousin named Sally O’Mally.  Seriously?

Great Grandma Ella’s “old Connecticut Yankee” family were the Brainards, also spelled Brainerd as you research further and further back.  I have traced them to my 10th great grandfather back in Braintree, Essex in England in the 1580’s.

My family, at least the Brainerd/Brainard  branch, were Puritans not Catholics. They came to the United States to worship Jesus as THEY saw fit.  They settled in an area called 30-mile Plantation in Haddam, Connecticut in the 1600’s.  A note about them in a genealogy book at the Connecticut Historical Society states, “This family was known for its talents, wit, and piety.”   A wonderful legacy which I hope I can emulate.

One of my forebears was David Brainerd who ministered to the Native Americans in New Je
rsey in the early 1700’s.  He was part of the “Great Awakening” revival of that era.  The notes of his Indian ministry indicate that he bought land for them when their own ancient property was threatened and established a school and an infirmary.  He was my seventh great grand uncle.

David died of tuberculosis when he was 29 in the Massachusetts home of Jonathan Edwards.  Mr. Edwards was the most famous of the Great Awakening preachers.  David was in love with Jonathan’s daughter, Jerusha, and her father was his mentor.  They would have been married, but for David’s terminal illness.

David left diaries of his struggles and triumphs in the Christian life which Mr. Edwards thought would be of benefit to other Christians.  He published them in a book (still in print) called, “The Life and Diary of David Brainerd.”

http://www.revival-library.org/catalogues/1725ff/edwardsbrainerd.html

And this brings me back to my dear Rebecca…who is the great some odd great niece of, wait for it, Jonathan Edwards.

Christmas Craft

About 7 years ago or so, my church renovated and the workers threw an old Sunday School bulletin board on the trash heap.  It must have weighed 40 pounds at least, being solid wood with no cork board in the middle.  Across the top is some lovely carved molding.

The bulletin board was pitted and scarred from hundreds of staples and push pins holding announcements of the Youth Shrove Tuesday pancake and sausage dinner, Christmas pageants during the Second World War, Easter Egg hunts in the garden, and Lenten soup lunches during the Depression.

I couldn't bear to leave it in the dumpster, so I pulled it out.  The venerable bulletin board then sat in my detached garage for 7 years.  Then I had an idea.

First, I painted it bright red:

I wanted to do some type of stenciling or lettering on it and came up with the shortest number of letters to convey Christmas:  Noel.  I though simply "Joy" was just a little TOO economical on letters.

While at Lowes shopping for something else, I came across this cool nylon rope which reminded me of candy canes:

I got the quilt on the table from Goodwill for $3.00.  I love it.

I wrote out "Noel" in chalk and Bruce used the rope to trace the letters.  He had the lighter for our gas grill and melted the ends of the nylon rope so they wouldn't fray.

The letters are attached by these little nails which have white "hoops" on them.  Bruce found them in a drawer and tells me that they are designed to run cabling to the the TV along the baseboards.  We had EXACTLY enough to finish the project.

Bruce attached very sturdy hooks to the top and hung the bulletin board out front:

I bought that skinny little tree from a garage sale.  I used it inside last year, but thought it would be fun to put it out in the old tin pail with another Goodwill quilt around it.  It is decorated with red lights and vintage cookie cutters.  The gingerbread man cutter is the the topper, instead of a star.

That's my front hall you see leading to the living room on the left, stairs to the right, dining room to the left, then the bathroom to the right, and the kitchen straight ahead, where you can see the back door.

It took me quite some time to find the right setting for the old bulletin board, but I am so happy that it turned out like this.

Colors of the Season

My niece, Piper gave me the idea for photographing cranberries.  I think hers were a little better. This series of pics are all from Fresh Market, my favorite grocery store in the whole, wide world.  There's a new Fresh Market only 3.5 miles from my house, which I consider to be quite neighborly of them.

Happy Veteran's Day to the Best Generation!

Yesterday afternoon, I headed up to Portsmouth Naval Medical Center to clear up a mistake I had made with one of my prescriptions.  I detest bureaucracy in any form and have to mentally "gird my loins" so to speak to deal with it.  

I do believe that your attitude controls a good deal of your outcome, so I prayed for grace before I drove the short distance from home. I gathered my stuff and stopped off at the hospital's Subway for a diet Minute Maid lemonade,, my favorite.  

I settled down to wait with my Kindle after pulling number 668.  I was the next number called...go figure.  I am so grateful for my Navy benefits which include free prescriptions and fantastic medical care at a state-of-the-art facility a mile from my house. Even though I had made the mistake, pharmacy staff members were gracious, helpful, and polite, quickly resolving the situation.

In the short time I waited, I met this man, Chief James J. Gordon, who told me he served on three different WW 2 ships which sank. When I asked him how he survived he simply said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "backstroke."  Chief Gordon ended up on the USS Shangri-La, which survived the war.

It seemed fitting this morning to celebrate an American hero of the Best Generation.  Happy Veteran's Day Chief Gordon.

Thank you to all who have served, especially a dear 93-year-old in a wheelchair.

What's That Smell?

This is a little island I set up in my long, narrow kitchen.  I like to change it out seasonally.  Down below is a place for rolling pins and vintage bowls that I collect here and there when they are not ridiculously expensive.  This was a microwave cart in another life left out for garbage collection.  I love red spray paint, what can I say?

And there is my morning cup of Joe as is said in the Navy, in my dear Starbucks mug with the NY skyline and the yellow taxi in the lower left near the corn husks. One of the small luxuries of my life, which I'd find difficult to part with, is the cup of coffee, laced with cinnamon, which Bruce leaves for me every morning, in that cup.. On the weekends, we get all fancy and froth it up with a cool device my sister got me for my birthday.  It also froths eggs for amazingly fluffy omelets.

The last couple of mornings have been marred by THE SMELL (cue in the music from Jaws).  Ever have one of those phantom smells, unpleasant ones, of course, that waft from some unknown spot in your home?  You look in the fridge and the freezer.  Yesterday, we pulled out the stove and cleaned behind it.  Didn't help.

Lulu, a former stray who used to survive from garbage cans and road, kill now literally turns her nose up at plain ole kibble.  We rig up all manner of human food to put on top of the dreaded Kibbles and Bits to entice her.  Lately, her snack de jour has been stinky canned salmon.  She loves it...the stinkier, the better.  The smell first thing in the morning makes me want to barf.

I pulled everything off the counter and cleaned with diluted bleach.  I thought I might have spilled some stinky salmon juice on the curtains I have under my sink.  Nope, but they might have needed a wash and an iron, though, so I did that.  

I boiled an apple and put cinnamon and vanilla extract in the water,  The downstairs was suffused with cinnamony goodness, but that smell about mid-kitchen was still there, getting grosser and grosser.

That smell was starting to take on epic proportions for me. Ugh...was it a dead mouse?  We don't have mice, but it is an old house and it was possible that one could have happened in during this cold snap.

See that cleverly eclectic Indian corn and all on the kitchen island?  I used to have a cool glass pumpkin filled with little gourds.  Gourds, which were liquidizing and rotting inside.  Not too cleverly eclectic.  The word ooze comes to mind.  Actually, if you get right down to it, it was a totally disgusting science experiment.

I really wonder about myself when I realize how many times I walked past it but didn't actually see it.