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ONE NEVER KNOWS, DEAR READER, what a day will bring. One can never know for certain.
Sometimes the arrival of a loved one, a miracle of new life. And sometimes...
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The Yard Man and I were expecting the Little Actor to come to our house for a few hours today. And it was a lovely day for us to be outside; after days of rain, we finally had sun! But as soon as the little guy arrived, I said to my yard man, "We must go and see your mother! We don't know how much time we have."

"Well," said The Yard Man," This little grandson of mine needs to go and visit the chickens and the horses, see the two baby foals in the barn. Then we can go."

"Please don't take long," I implored. "We really should go now."

Dear Reader, this mother-in-law of mine had been suffering pain since the not-so-happy birthday, since the eighty-ninth party that was quietly postponed. She was getting lots of medication to make her comfortable, but she didn't appear to be coming back to a place where we could sing happy birthday and she could eat cake. In fact, it seemed she might never eat much of anything else again. Hospice was called in. Everyone could see that she didn't have much longer to call this earth home. Various of her children were spending long periods of time at her side. But I myself had not seen this dear woman since the day of her birthday.

So The Yard Man put the Little Actor in the car, and the three of us took a forty-five minute trip through the bright morning countryside to the nursing home. Riding in the back seat beside the Little Actor, I was treated to a commentary of the signs of life he spotted along the way--several times we saw moo, moo; once we saw neigh. Stopped at a red light, we even saw a little bird hopping about in a bush.

And then we arrived at the nursing home. The Yard Man hoisted his mother's great-grandson out of his car seat and carried him in to her room to see her, where she lay in her bed beneath a bright pink blanket. As we entered, the five family members who were there, conversing, turned to greet us. "I saw you coming," said one of the yard man's sisters. "Mom opened her eyes when I told her you were here!"

Ah, but Dear Reader. Mom's eyes were no longer focused. And her breathing was ragged. When I put my hand on her cheek it was feverishly warm. The Little Actor gazed at his great-grandmother, her still form and unseeing eyes, her rasping breath. He was quiet, watching intently as the yard man and I spoke to her.

Who's to know--perhaps he had an understanding of what was to come, and when. It was hardly more than five minutes after our arrival that someone standing near my mother-in-law's bed said, "Oh, I think this might be it...I believe she's stopped breathing." Everyone gathered around and waited quietly. But she gasped for more life, and she was still with us.

Only for a few moments longer. Twice more there was no respiration. Only once more her breathing resumed.
Again, we waited quietly, not knowing for sure.
A nurse was called, and faintly...
oh, so faintly, her heart was
still dancing.
So, again, we watched and waited.
Gave our dear loved one another
goodbye.

She did not breathe again.

She was gone from us. Gone over. Gone beyond.
Gone to worlds unknown. She had gathered up her spirit and departed.


We hovered around her, touched her and spoke to her, as the warmth of a connection lingered on. "Say bye-bye," we instructed the Little Actor.



"Ba-bye," he said, and he waved his endearing farewell.
He seemed to understand that her spirit had flown.

For the next two hours he played happily by her bed as his elders waited for the undertaker to come and carry the body of his great-grandmother away.



Yes, sometimes a day brings the miraculous arrival of a loved one. And, then sometimes, it brings departure.






At the end of a very long life, with three generations of one's descendants represented around the deathbed, this has a touch of the miraculous, as well.

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VODKA FOR ANTS. IT WAS my quickly invented scheme to rid the house of throngs of pesky invaders. And I promised you, Reader Dear, that I'd let you know how that whole experiment turned out. (Out being the operative word here--as in: crawled out, stumbled out, scurried out, meandered out...one way or another, packed their bags and left my house! Or...[clearing my throat]...got drunk and died in the process!)



Well, I watched the little critters intently after providing that lake of vodka for them. At first they seemed to be clambering after the drink (I noticed a little side group; wondered if they might be setting up emergency AA headquarters, handing out pamphlets on alcohol poisoning). Soon it looked like some were weaving...except, hmm...I believe that's their typical way of walking. It was hard to determine if any were falling-down drunk...(body-build, number of legs, you know).
To tell you the truth, I couldn't tell if this experiment in pest control was being the least bit effective!

Regretfully (you don't know how much I drag my feet on telling you this, Reader Dear), I rummaged around in my all-purpose closet and finally found the equivalent of machine guns in the form of a spray can. I wiped out the whole horde of ants in less time than it takes to say, "Honey, I'm not into this vanilla-flavored vodka! Stay if you want, but I'm outta here!"

And that's the end of that.
R.I.P.
(Repugnant Instance of Pest control)


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FORTUNATELY FOR ME and my yard man, the unwanted visitors I was telling you about earlier have stopped their insidious inundation. Perhaps word got around about the boosted chances of ending up in Stinkbug heaven if they moved into our house.

(Which reminds me of a joke my dad used to tell: A preacher was evangelizing to a group of bums on the street corner--goin' on about heaven and hell. When he was about to wrap up his gospel appeal, he put the question to them, "How many of y'all wanna go to heaven?"
All of them reckoned as how they did wanna go there, except for one man.

Incredulous, the preacher asked him,"You really mean it, you don't wanna go to HEAVEN when you die?!"

"Oh!....," the man exclaimed. "When I DIE?! ......I thought you was gettin' a group together right now!")

At any rate, we've got fewer stinkbugs in the house. But (speaking of moving in and moving out), I went to meet yet another prospective tenant who's hoping to move into the apartment where you-ought-to-know-who, Reader Dear, just moved out. Lo and behold, I arrived back home to discover distant cousins of the stinkbugs had arrived en masse in my absence!

Unlike the stinkbugs, it looks like these cousins all use the very same travel agent--they flock in via the same identical route and head for the very same spot!



Truthfully, I had a clue the trash container was going to be a popular destination for them this spring when I noticed a few migrating there a couple days ago (okay, okay, its true...every year the trash can is like Fort Lauderdale at spring break!) I was not happy, and put little snacks of cayenne pepper along their route, hoping they'd reconsider and opt for some spot with better dining.

And it appeared to have worked! I thought they'd nixed their plans and chosen some other place to hang out. But, no. Here they are again in droves!

Hmm. What to do, what to do? Dear Reader, I've suddenly hit upon an experimental solution: Why not make their experience a bit too overwhelming?! Get them drunk! Goofy drunk, falling- down drunk! Get them so soused that they...well ...they...you know...(do I have to say it, Dear Reader? don't make me say it; I'm starting to feel sorry for them already)...they die.

I've already grabbed up my bottle of genuine Russian vodka and poured a big puddle right in their main thoroughfare. Ohh, this'll be a treat for them--it's 'vanilla,' a gift from a sister-in-law of mine, who stuffed the original bottle with genuine vanilla beans.*

To enhance their ushering-out, as it were, I have Enya on the CD player. Now I'm keeping a keen eye on these unwanted visitors. I should find out soon if they're losing their little spirits due to the spirits.



(Why of course, Reader Dear, of course! You can count on me to keep you posted...)

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HERE THEY ARE--TWO LITTLE TOTS whom I spotted yesterday.
I will tell you every single thing I know for certain about them.
They spent time in the very same thrift shop in which I
was browsing yesterday afternoon. (I dropped off some donated items;
then I told myself--that's only half the equation--one must shop at
these charitable organizations as well, in order for them to survive. I was doing my duty.)

These little boys left the store just ahead of me.
When their father (oops, there's no guarantee, but for sure the adults accompanying them looked to be their parents) gave permission, I snapped this photo.

"Can you smile for her?" the adult male inquired of them.

And they did.








Oh, and yes, one more thing I know for certain--
these two little Spidermen made a downright adorable duo!

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IF YOU WILL RECALL, DEAR READER, when last I was babbling away about current bumblings, a fuming tenant of mine was shaking her finger at me. I put down my car window and said sweetly, "I just thought maybe you forgot to give me the rent money before you left!"

With that, she whirled around, stomped back to the U-haul. She and her boyfriend climbed aboard, and the three of us continued on our way. A few minutes later we all arrived. At a storage facility! Hmm...this was not the scenario I had built in my head--the one in which we'd be pulling up to another apartment of some sort, preferably one with an outside entrance, a nice-sized door number prominently displayed.

I hung around though, for a little while, before driving away--foiled!

The downstairs tenant kept me posted, so I knew that my less-than-ideal tenant returned to her upstairs apartment for more gathering of possessions. But thanks to me and my rather less-than-surreptitious tracking procedure, when she ultimately left, it was in the dead of night!

And then, on yesterday's rainy morning, when I surmised this tenant had delivered her final provocation, I really hadn't studied things from every angle.
For instance, there was the angle of a disgruntled tenant to be considered; then, too, the angle at which screen in a sliding door will fall away after it's been slit with a knife! I think, Reader Dear, I shall throw out my detective's badge.

(Judging by the mounds of stuff in this vacated apartment, there's quite a bit more I'll be tossing, as well!)
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