I'm a retired elementary teacher who enjoys dogs, golf, crossword puzzles, and, like Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, watches her garden grow.

I'm close to Lake Michigan in the U.S. and wonder why I put up with snow in the winter.





My Pets - Click Here
Strange Thing, The Brain - Click Here
Lady! Lady! - Click Here





No  Fleas  On  Me

            My first dog as a youngster was a nondescript little white thing named Wimpy (after a newspaper cartoon character.)  My mother nursed him through distemper by clothing him in a wool sweater to keep him warm and feed him liberally with whiskey.  Poor Wimpy disappeared after he bit the milk man.  I was told he was sent to live on a farm but I discovered many years later what happened to animals long ago so they could be checked for possible rabies.

            It was cats for me from then on until I married and had step children.
ďOh, please, please, can we have this puppy?Ē  Of course!  (Moms know they will end up house breaking and caring for pets but this mom was delighted to do so.) 

            In the past 55 years, Iíve loved Sandy, Brandy, Brandy 2, Sissie, Missie, Buddy, Penny, and now Ouisie (Weesie.)

            My husband and I shared our bed with pedigreed cocker spaniels for years and I continued to allow assorted canines to crowd me when I could have luxuriated in a whole double bed to myself!

            When I ventured into the chat world long ago and had to come up with a user name, I looked at my dog sleeping by my computer. I became ďPooch.Ē

            Hereís Weesie!



          My brain has confused me lately.  Iím not sure which hemisphere is guilty and at this point, I really donít care!

            Recently I worried about the first man to run a recorded 4-min. mile.  Who really cares?  Obviously, I must have!  Roger, Roger, Roger pulsed in my brain.  A week later, the last name clicked in Ė Bannister!  That record happened in 1954, if youíre curious.

            I make grocery shopping lists.  All well and good until I forget to bring the list and find myself wondering why Iím at the supermarket! Ah, well, I just pick up things that I will need if a tornado strikes and the power goes out.  Iím covered!

            Can one forget past grievances?  I donít think so.  Why does a brain retain such hurtful thoughts?  Weíd be better off without them but the brain wonít let go.

            Why canít the human brain retain good memory like muscles are supposed to do?  Pro golfers rely on so-called muscle memory to execute shots just as they did in the past.  So why is my golf game so bad?  My muscles must be retaining negative memories!

            With all due respect to Shakespeare, I do not believe that ďSleep knits up the raveled sleeves of care.Ē  My brain can produce dreams so vivid that I suddenly awake in terror with eyes puffy from having wept.  I can have vague memories of pleasant dreams that drift away in morningís light.  Brain, donít do this to me!

            Find yourself in a room and wonder what you came after?  Welcome to the club!  Put something away for safe-keeping and forget where you put it?  No problem.  Itís safe until you donít need it again and voila!  There it is!

            Iím not sure that exercising the brain doing crossword puzzles and jigsaw puzzles will stave off my mindís eventual decline.  In the meantime, Iíll just keep on posting my thoughts.



by Pooch

 Do you see that lady with the heaped-to-overflowing shopping cart heading to the checkout lanes at the supermarket?  Be forewarned:  Do NOT follow her.  I can guarantee that she will head for the express lane because, after all, it IS the shortest!

 I know from a whispered conversation with a cashier that employees are not allowed to roll their eyes or ask a customer to use a regular checkout lane.  The groceries stacked on the conveyor belt would take too long to put back into the grocery cart and, besides, a customer is always right.

 After the groceries have been checked through and stashed in many bags, the customer is told her total bill.  Surprise!  Lady, you knew going in that you would be paying for your groceries!

 Weíll wait patiently while you rummage through the duffel bag you call a purse in hopes that your check book has magically floated to the top of the clutter.  Ah, there it is Ė at the very bottom, of course.  Madam, you could have dredged it out long ago, written in the date, payee, signed it, and waited a moment to simply write in the amount!

 Iíll skip over doting mothers who allow little tykes to control a shopping cart.  Iím still waiting for my Achilleís tendons to heal after being smashed into by an underage driver!

 Donít you just love the ladies who open large frozen-food doors to have a leisurely look inside?  Youíve got the window all steamed up by the time youíre finished and now I canít see whatís inside.  Look through the glass! 

 Iíll not forget men-who-act-like-boys.  Handicapped parking places are so painted and marked for a purpose.  The men who park their jacked up toys in such places really are handicapped by a total lack of consideration.  That is, of course, unless they provide a step ladder and a steadying hand for passengers who are wobbly on their feet!  Acrophobia sufferers should never be allowed in those vehicles because they may die of fright.

 Happy shopping!