https://www.flickr.com/photos/timmcmurdo/9543105962/player/
T’aint nuthin wrong with smokehouse bacon. Thas the truth. This‘d be a far worse a place witout it.
Sunday beans n cold biskits’d suffer mightily if’n we runned out.
Ah likes me some smokehouse bacon n so does my dawg n that mangy cat too.
Them hogs? Oh lordy, thas rich! Ah don’t magine they’s so keen bout smokehouse bacon.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/timmcmurdo/8587860790/player/
Today is our anniversary. On this day, sixty three years ago, I married you, Jessica Anne Hanaby.
Jess.
Jessie.
Laying here, I can see the setting sun light up the clothes that you wore on our wedding day. You had a fancy french word for that outfit, though I can’t remember it any more.
Funny how time plays with my memories. I can’t remember that word, but I can remember that blouse and that day clear as a bell. Now, they are all that I have left of you. Those clothes and those memories. The rest are gone. Some to the church clothes drive. Some to the long years in between.
I still love you Jess. I miss you and it hurts me something terrible. The evening is the worst. That's when the house is quiet and I have time to think about you.
Every day, I still get up,I make my meals, and I keep the house clean. Not that I care anymore, but because you would have wanted me to carry on.
You are still… my beloved.
“Tell me about princesses”, she demanded.
“I’ve never met a princess. I don’t think there are many princesses left any more.”
“You are not doing it right”, she chided. “Tell me about their dresses”
“Ah, yes, their dresses. I think princesses all wear dresses made from pink and purple silk. They wear pretty jewelry made from silver and they have lots of sparkling diamonds. They ride on big white horses…”
“No, they don’t! “ She gasped.
“They don’t?”
“No, they ride ponies”, she corrected. “You are not very good at princesses.”
“I’ll try to do better next time. I’m better with frogs”
Detroit. I can see the question forming on your face, long before it reaches your lips. I am going to Detroit. I will be on the 3:14 with a one way ticket in first class. I am going in grand style because this will be my final trip, my last adventure.
No, Detroit doesn’t sound very exciting. It’s a city that is slowly dying a cancerous death and that is appropriate because Detroit and I will reach that destination together. However, Detroit is not important, it’s the long ride over the rails that is the real adventure.
Yes, there is an interesting story behind my trip. I’d be happy to tell it to you. Meet me in the saloon car at 4:00 and I will buy you a whiskey. We’ll smoke a cigar, you can hear the tale and we can pass a few hours in good company.
Charlie was all in a huff as he walked up to me. "I can't find Clara" he sputtered. For those of you not in the know, Clara is Charlie's favorite chicken. He dotes on the bird, though I am not sure that Clara returns the favor, as she seems to regard Charlie as she would anybody else that fed her and snatched the eggs out from under her.
There in lies the crux of the problem between Charlie and Clara. You see, Clara is just a chicken and likes to do chicken things. While, Charlie seems to regard the bird as you and I would a cat or a dog. Call as he might, Charlie will never get Clara to come running when he looks for her. She is too busy looking for bugs and worms to worry about Charlie. I'm not sure that Clara even knows she is named Clara.
So, while Charlie looked and searched for Clara, she kept on scratching and pecking. It's a tough path to go down, having a chicken for a pet.
Related articles
Sixty three year old Betsy Thompson sat in the waiting room. The 11:20 bus from Indianapolis was due to pull up any time now and she was very excited to board. This was her first trip away. She'd spent her entire life in Gary, never venturing far from home. Until Rick had unexpectedly passed away last June, Gary had been enough. She and Rick were happy, had built a home and raised a family. Now, however, Betsy wanted more than anything to escape. The last year had been tough on her. Rick's death, the funeral, and even worse the pity she could see in the eyes of her friends and neighbors.
Soon that would all be behind her. As soon as the 11:20 arrived, Betsy could leave all of it behind. First was a week in Chicago with her brother Bill’s family. Then she would make her way by train and bus to San Jose. California! She could hardly imagine what California would be like. When her sister Ellie’s letter came, asking her to join come west, Betsy immediately pounced upon the invitation as the solution to all of her problems. California and Ellie. Would there be palm trees? Did you see movie stars in California? She supposed that they were probably so common, that nobody paid them much attention. Maybe she would get to see Gary Cooper? If only that bus would get here. Where was that 11:20 from Indianapolis? Betsy wanted to start living again.
The morning sun had done it's job well. The birds had slowly warmed themselves and were now ready to launch their bodies skyward with powerful thrusts of their wings. It was time to leave the safety of their roost in search of food to power them through yet another day. Tonight, they would return to huddle for warmth against the cold winter night. But for now, they would rise like smoke and scatter on the wind.
It's not easy living in a box. The lifestyle is certainly not for everyone.
It's a tight space. At times you feel as though you don't have the room to turn around. You had better not have any claustrophobia at all.
You always get the sense that you are on display and that all the world is looking down on you for your choices.
Still, on the plus side…there are those naps. Oh, the naps…..
It's been a while since I revisited the stories surrounding the death of little Ellie Clausen. That's the bad news. The good news is that I am working on the next installment. My outline is finished, I have the images in hand and I am working on the writing.
I found that two of the links on the Death of Ellie Clausen page did not work and I've fixed them. I also added a story link that was missing: Jeanne's New Hat.
Have a great weekend.
Feast your eyes upon one very lonely tree named Bryan. Didn't know that trees had names like Bryan? They do and, as I mentioned, they also can be lonely. Bryan has been standing here for many years and unfortunately, as you can see, he stands alone. It's not that he couldn't have friends and companions. Bryan is a very friendly and outgoing sort of tree. Unfortunately, nobody has ever seen fit to plant another tree nearby.
What Bryan needs is a girlfriend. A lady tree to keep him company. Perhaps one of you fine people reading this has a spring catalog of plants, bushes and trees sitting on your cofee table. Maybe you even feel sorry for Bryan's plight and are willing to help a good tree out of his predicament.
If you are of a mind to make a lonely tree happy, pick up that catalog and order Bryan a companion. Maybe a nice maple to see him through his years. If you think the maple might be a little too flashy, I suppose he might also like a kind, friendly poplar.
tim mcmurdo 