My mother and I headed out late Sunday night from my cousin’s house in Cleveland, Ohio. We’d been to Mom’s younger sister’s wedding that afternoon. I was driving and we were making good time. We were only about 20 minutes from my parents’ house and had just gotten off the I-71 expressway onto I-275. We were going 70 mph, which was, I thought, only 5 miles over the legal limit of 65 mph. Well, to our surprise, within about 30 seconds, we saw flashing lights behind us. Oh great! We’re getting pulled over, I thought to myself. Little did I know the unbelievable events that would transpire in the next 40 minutes as we waited on the side of I-275.

The policeman got out of his cruiser and went to the passenger side window and asked to see my driver’s license. He also asked to see my mother’s, which I thought was odd since she wasn’t driving. But, no big deal—she gladly obliged. He then asked if I was aware that I was doing 71 mph in a 60 mph zone. Well, I informed him that I honestly thought the speed limit was 65 mph. He proceeded to inform me, in his stern, authoritative tone, that the speed limit was, in fact, 60 mph and that “it was posted.” Well, up in the distance ahead of us, I vaguely saw a speed limit sign and definitely could make out the “6” located on it, but the next number was a little fuzzy. But, I thought, let’s just deal with this and get on our way.

Then, he asked for proof of insurance. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Unfortunately, I’d been pulled over before in my lifetime and knew the drill. After looking over our licenses, he asked me to get out of the car and come with him. I thought, now this is strange. I’ve never been asked to get out of my car. I thought he may have thought I was driving drunk or something and that he’d have me walk a straight line. All this was beginning to make me very uneasy. Nothing, however, compared to being asked to sit inside the police cruiser. Not just on the edge of the seat where he could see me from outside, mind you, but totally inside with the door closed! This made me extremely uncomfortable, as it would any normal human being not accustomed to seeing the inside of police cars. I asked if I was being taken in for something. He said no, that he just didn’t want to get killed on the side of the road. Well, I can certainly understand his concern. We did, after all look like the stereotypical dangerous criminal on the loose late at night. My five-foot, white-haired, 75-year-old mother was dressed in a gray sweat suit that had colorful birds on the front and I was wearing a flannel-type, pink-checkered shirt that zipped down the front. We were in my mother’s Mercury Sable (the getaway car of choice for most criminals), and she had a “Bird on board” sign hanging from her rear window. Definite signs of lurking danger on the highway!  He probably thought Mom was just a decoy to throw him off the trail of the real dangerous criminal—me.  After all, the bird sign alone screams convicted felon!

Still, I thought to myself, this will pass. Once he finds out I’m not a criminal with outstanding warrants I’ll be freed from this police car and we’d again be on our way. Well, he got in the front seat of the cruiser and proceeded to check my “record.” I could see very clearly his little computer as he entered my driver’s license number. It responded, “No record” and I could see my name on it. Well, he didn’t seem satisfied with this outcome. Surely, I must have some kind of record looking as dangerous as I did that night. So, he entered the number again. The same response was received. No record. He apparently had little faith in his little computer and called into the station to have my license checked yet again! They, too, said, “No record, no warrants.” Now, I mean, come on! I can understand entering the number twice just in case you transposed a number, but this was going too far. Anyway, I thought, I don’t have a record. I don’t have outstanding warrants. So, we should be able to go home soon. Nope.  Wrong again!! He then gets on the CB radio and asks his fellow police officer to come join him with his “partner.”  

I thought this guy must be a new cop or something. Or, I must surely look like a criminal—recently featured on an episode of America’s Most Wanted, perhaps. I’ve been accused of having a twin several times, but never a criminal twin. Knowing I had no criminal record, I waited patiently for him to realize it, too.  The douchebag!

A few more minutes pass by and I see yet more flashing lights behind us. At this point, my mother is wondering what the heck is happening and what they were doing to her daughter. She opened the car door and was about to stand up when the officer jumped out of the cruiser and asked what she was doing.  Obviously, she must’ve been coming out to shoot him in the head with a high-powered rifle. You just can’t be too careful these days! Anyway, he told my mother that this was just a “routine” thing. He then asked her, “What do you have in this car, anyway?” She told him, “Go ahead and look for yourself” and that there were some leftover “biscuits in the trunk” from our brunch earlier that day. He didn’t seem intent on pursuing the matter. He must’ve felt confident that the real criminal was securely locked in his cruiser.

But, then his fellow cop and his “partner” got out of the newly arrived police car and approached my mother’s car. This team consisted of one cop and one German Shepherd. Yes.  You read that right.  A German Shepherd!

Now, this is getting ridiculous, I’m thinking to myself with a few other choice words racing through my mind when I muttered “Prick” in that cruiser. Surely, I must be dreaming or something! But, this was really happening! I watched in total disbelief as the fellow cop and his “partner” circled my mother’s car not once, but twice, apparently searching for the drugs that we were so obviously harboring. Now, I knew we didn’t have drugs, but for a moment I thought I saw the dog’s tail wag at the prospect of finding food in the trunk and was sure that the cop would ask to see inside to find out for himself that we were actually law-abiding citizens. I mean, for the most part anyway. I was driving very dangerously fast and looked very guilty. I even acted “nervous” as he told my mother. Gee, I wonder why, you egotistical douchebag!  Nonetheless, he seemed satisfied that the dog didn’t find any signs of illegal drugs and finally decided to let me out of the cruiser. He was, however, very polite at this point and told me, “Thank you for your time, and slow down.”

Now, I can understand that the police probably need to do regular practice runs to make sure their equipment is all working properly. But, if I was to be part of that exercise, I would’ve liked to at least been compensated for my time. I mean, a coupon for a free value meal at McDonald’s or perhaps a dozen donuts would have been more than sufficient. But, instead, this event sucked 40 minutes out of our lives and, on top of that, I received a lovely ticket with a $60 fine attached. Now, this wouldn’t be a big deal if it were a ticket to the policeman’s ball or something. I did, however, have the option of appearing in court to fight the alleged offense. But, after much consideration, I decided to just pay the $60 and be done with it. After all, if I’d appeared in court, who knows what other exercises I would’ve been a part of—the SWAT team or a bomb squad may have been there to perform their regular preparedness exercises.  Or, even worse, a strip search crew!!!

As unbelievable as this experience was to us, something good did come out of the evening. After all, I personally feel much safer knowing that on my future trips to Ohio, the community will be efficiently protected by these fierce police officers, from dangerous criminals lurking in the night!

But, wait!  There’s more to the story!  

Four months later, on December 22, 2000, I sent this email to my parents:

Remember that ticket I got from the butt-sniffing cop?! And remember you couldn’t find your insurance card?  Well, I got a notice in the mail that if it’s not proven that your car was insured at that time, they’re gonna come repossess your license plates!! If you could, just call them and tell them it was your car and see if you can just mail them a copy of your insurance card. That’s all they need. The number is: 745-8554 in Blue Ash. And, in case they need it, the citation number is 04-81680-5. Let me know what happens.

Love ya, 

Vonda

It started out to be a great April 1st.  You know, with it being April Fool’s Day and all.  But, first, let’s back up just a little bit to Easter Sunday.

After our Easter dinner of spaghetti (so very traditional) and egg-hunting fun, Hunter helped me get down all the trash from the man cave attic.  He also helped me put some boxes and totes up there for storage.  Taking advantage of the fact that I was taking a load to the dump, hubby decided to add a few more items to the trailer.  He threw in a bag full of weeds that he’d dug up in the landscaping, and three 5-gallon buckets that he didn’t want to put out with our weekly trash pickup.

The trailer was loaded about as full as it could be loaded and hubby hooked it up to his truck and pulled it out into the driveway.  But, not before he warned us that one of the buckets was leaking.  What’s leaking?  Tar!  Liquid, blacker than black, sticky, gooey, fume-smelling tar.  Okay, no big deal.  We’ll watch out for it.  As hubby pulled the trailer out of the garage, I could see a few small puddles of the black goo on the garage floor.  I’ll have to be sure not to step in that mess!

The big truck and fully loaded trailer were parked in the yard beside our machine shed, ready for heading out to the dump come Monday.  Yay!  It feels so good to get rid of unnecessary/unwanted junk and make space! 

The plan for Monday was to haul the trash to the dump where Hunter would help me unload it, and we’d go to where his Mom works and drop him off, along with three dozen eggs I’d gathered for her.  That was the plan.

We hadn’t gone a mile down the road when a bag of trash fell out of the trailer.  I asked Hunter if he could run back and get it and throw it on the trailer because I don’t know how to back up a trailer and had never done it!  Then, I saw that we were near an incline and realized that cars coming behind us may not see him in the road.  Frantic, I yelled, “Never mind!  I’ll pick it up on my way back home!”  Too late.  Hunter already had the bag in his hands.  That boy can RUN!  He had a funny look on his face and was trying to handle the bag carefully?  I thought maybe it had a sharp object protruding from it or something.  Nope!  Turns out, the leaky tar bucket really did leak and the one bag that fell out of the trailer was covered in it.  Hunter tossed the bag back on the trailer with some oomph and irritation and was standing inside the passenger door showing me his hands.  His black, tar-dripping hands!  Of course he couldn’t touch anything with that mess, so I got out of the truck and walked around to close the passenger side door once he was seated.  

On the road again!

Hunter held his hands up, careful not to touch anything.  He put his hands together and pulled them apart, watching how the tar reacted.  I was only driving 30 mph and we had several miles to get to the dump.  But, what about his hands??  I said, “I know.  I’ll go to the Dollar General and get some goo-gone!”  We arrived at the DG about 15 minutes later and I surveyed the parking lot to determine if I could enter and exit it with this big rig without issue.  I was not 100% sure it could be done without any use of the reverse gear, so I parked on the little side street between the DG and the police station (where I could strategically turn around in their huge lot).  In the DG we go.  Good thing they have automatic doors.

Hunter walked through the store like a surgeon who’d just had his hand sterilized.  We headed directly to the cold drink aisle so he could choose an energy drink, and I grabbed a water.  Then off to the cleaning section!  There was no goo-gone.  Okay, we’ll check the hardware/automotive section.  No goo-gone.  Great!  So, I asked the only store clerk I could find if they carried Goo-gone and she walked us back to the cleaning section and said that if it wasn’t there, we could check the hardware section (where we’d already searched).  She added, “If it’s not there, we likely don’t have any.”  Smart.  So, I thought I’d look one more time in that hardware/auto section.  I scoured the shelves, reading all the labels, looking for that yellow liquid in the clear bottle labeled Goo-gone.  Nope.  Not there.  But, what else do they have here?  A kind gentleman that I’d questioned near the cleaning aisle where I picked up a couple rolls of paper towels said to “use gasoline.”  Gasoline?  He said it always worked for him.  Okay.  I thought of that, while back in the auto section.  Well, they don’t sell gasoline in the Dollar General and I wasn’t about to go to a gas station and spray Hunter’s hands with it from the pump.  What’s this?  Carburetor cleaner!  Well, if it’s strong enough to clean a carburetor, surely it can clean off some tar.  We make our purchase of carb cleaner, paper towels, an energy drink and water then off toward the truck we go.

I had Hunter squat down near the curb so the wind wouldn’t spray the cleaner in his face, and proceeded to soak his hands with Carb-out.  It immediately began to break down the tar which Hunter smeared all over his hands.  I spray some more and give him a clean paper towel.  He scrubs.  In about five minutes’ time, his hands were at least clean enough to open the truck door, use his phone and drink his energy drink.  Yay.  Victory!

On we go, through the police station parking lot to turn this rig around.  You really do need 40 acres, just like the song says!

At last, we arrived at the dump.  There is only one lane to enter and exit and there were three trucks lined up waiting to be weighed, pay their bill, and leave. We sat there for several minutes patiently (well, as patient as I can be anyway) awaiting our turn to enter.  Nope, another truck joins the others who are leaving.  Dammit!  After 5 or so exiting trucks get the frack out of my way, we are able to drive upon the scale and head to the dump zone.  At last!

Remember, I can’t/never have backed up a trailer, right?  I was about to park and ask one of the other dumper dudes if they could back it up for me, when I saw that I could semi-turn around by the end of the giant dump container and we’d only have to walk a little ways between it and the trailer. And, I would still be able to get out of there without using the reverse gear.  Score!  I helped Hunter all I could, with my weak, non-manly arms.  It was going quite well and I enjoyed flinging the lighter bags/boxes into that hopper with victorious gusto!  

I even climbed up in the trailer and maneuvered bags and boxes to the edge so Hunter would have easier access, all while strategically avoiding the tar puddles and smears on the trailer bed.  Then, it happened.  I took one step and then – try as I might – when I tried to take another, my foot felt awfully heavy.  Like, did it gain weight?  Just now?  Nope.  I’d successfully planted my foot in a tar puddle.  When I lifted my foot out of it, I nearly lost my Croc!  My mind flashed back to that scene in Home Alone when Marv is going up the tar-covered basement steps in bare feet then he steps on that 9-inch nail.  OUCH!  Scratch that vision!  Delete. Delete! Great. You know what happens when the bottom of your shoe is covered with tar and you step in gravel?  It picks up every grain of gravel that it possibly can.  Then, your Croc is really heavy.  Fun times. Bright side, it gave my right calf a bit of a workout.  

But we were there to complete a mission, and I was determined that said mission would be completed!  I continued to help Hunter all I could and before we knew it, the trailer was empty!  Yay!  I was thanking him for all of his hard work when I noticed that he had tar on his black U.K. hoodie sleeve.  I rolled it up so as to prevent it from spreading elsewhere.  Then, I saw that he had tar on his nice camouflage pants.  “Oh, no!” I said.  While Hunter assured me that the clothes he was wearing were not good clothes and that he didn’t care, I noticed there was tar on his Nike shoes, too!  Again he said that the shoes were not his good ones.  Geesh!  I felt terrible.

With our mission completed, we piled back into the truck and headed out.  But, not until I gave Hunter all the cash I had on me, which I think was $37, and Air pods for his iPhone.  He said, “That wasn’t even two hours of work.”  I said, “You earned every bit of that money,” as I thanked him very appreciatively.  

Now we were ready to go to Hunter’s Mom’s work so he could hang there until she was done.  But, wait.  He was covered in tar!  Hunter said that his brother was likely at home and that I could drop him off there.  I said that sounded good, but added I wouldn’t be able to drive up their driveway (and get back out).  He said that wouldn’t be a problem, he could walk up from the road.  Hunter called his brother and asked, “Are you home?” to which I heard Conner say, “No, we’re driving.”  Where were they driving to?  The Redi Mart, just 5 minutes from where we were!  Perfect timing!  I said, “We’ll be there in 5 minutes!” and we headed that way.  We are really making progress now! 

Hunter hadn’t eaten anything since he stayed the night with us and I wanted to get him some food.  There’s a DQ directly across from the Redi Mart and I asked if he’d like anything from there.  He said, “Like what?”  I said, “Like food.  You need to eat.”  He opted for a 3-piece chicken strip basket.  Yay!  He was going to eat!  

We left DQ and pulled into the Redi Mart lot.  Hunter’s dad and brother were getting gas, so I pulled around the lot to stay out of the way.  Hunter got a sundae with his DQ meal and didn’t want it and said Conner would like it.  So, I pulled up beside their truck to exchange the goods while Hunter gathered his belongings.  I was between the store entrance and their truck, just having a lil chat with the boys and making sure Hunter got all of his belongings out of the truck.  It was time to go, head home, because a new refrigerator was being delivered that afternoon.  Yay!  So many exciting adventures are happening today!  This April 1st!

Not so fast, Vonda!!!

As I hit the gas and started to pull away from the store entrance, I heard an awful screeching sound!  What the…?!  Apparently, the fender of the trailer tire hit Redi Mart’s 5-inch diameter iron guardrail from hell!  Hunter tried to guide me to back up and get away from it.  No good.  His dad tried to guide me as well.  No good.  Then, he said, “Let me get up in there,” and I said, “I thought you’d never ask!”  He was able to get the fender away from the guardrail.  However…the iron guardrail’s mighty kiss left the fender bent inward and it was pressed against the tire—tightly.  Well, I’m not going anywhere now!   GREAT!!  

The boys’ dad got his 4-way lug nut wrench (if that’s what it’s even called) and was trying as best he could to pry the fender out away from the tire.  No luck.  I asked if he needed a crowbar and he said, “Yeah, do you have one?”  I said, “No, but I can ask someone.”  I went inside the store and asked the store clerk.  No crowbar.  I asked a woman standing outside the door on the other side of the store.  No crowbar.  I asked a construction guy who’d just pulled up in his truck.  No crowbar.  Well, shit!  

There’s got to be a crowbar around here somewhere!  I stood there and surveyed the neighboring establishments.  Hey, there’s a quick lube place!  That’s automotive.  They should have a crowbar, right?  Oh wait, look!  They sell tires, too!  Yeah, that’s my best option, I thought as I speed walked/semi-jogged toward it.  I went into the bay area because no one was at the desk and I shout, “Hello?”  A nice young man with the majority of the upper part of his body inside an engine exclaimed, “Yeah, come on in!”  While he was pouring oil into the vehicle I asked if he had a crowbar.  He didn’t know so asked the guy working on a car in the next stall, also full-body inside it.  He said something I didn’t hear, but the first guy did and he went into their lil office and came out with a crowbar!  SALVATION!  

As quickly as I could move, I got back to Redi Mart and handed the jaws of life to the boys’ dad who was still trying feverishly to get the fender loosed from the tire. It took quite a bit of prying and pulling with the crowbar, but the fender’s grip of the tire had been released enough that I could at least drive the big rig safely home.  As the boys’ dad pulled the trailer away from the Redi Mart entrance for me (which took quite a bit of drive forward a lil bit, and then drive in reverse a little bit), I saw the tar that bled from the trailer and onto their lot.  Haha!  You’ll always remember the white-haired lady that got a trailer stuck, won’t you?!

Alright!  Let’s get this big rig back home—where it’s safe for Vonda.  

But, wait.  There’s more!

At that point, our new refrigerator delivery was in Frankfort and just five stops away.  Since Frankfort is 30 minutes from our house, and five more stops would surely take them at least a couple more hours, I went to Wendy’s to get myself some lunch and get something for Amber, too.  Even though I wasn’t dropping Hunter off with her, I’d planned on taking her something to eat, so I wanted to complete that good deed.  I didn’t even attempt to use the drive-thru window.  Nope!  I parked in their lot beside another big truck pulling a trailer, making sure I had a clear, straight exit strategy.

I asked Amber to text me her work address and the GPS led me to her building.  She said she was “on the side,” whatever that meant.  Not being sure that their entrance went all the way around their building, I parked in a large gravel lot across the street where several tractor trailers were parked.  Seemed safe and I knew I’d have plenty of room to turn around.  

I start eating my lunch while I wait for Amber to come out and within a couple minutes a big, red semi-truck pulls up behind me.  I didn’t know what he was doing and sure didn’t want to be in his way so I drove out of the lot.  But, where can I turn around now?  Oh, look!  There’s the high school.  They have a large parking lot and plenty of space to turn this rig around (not quite 40 acres though—or, maybe it was). So that’s what I did—while Amber was looking for me where I’d told her I would be—in the gravel lot full of tractor trailers.

It took me a couple minutes to get back to her building and while I was getting closer, I noticed a car pull in and it appeared to drive around the back of the building.  Voila!  I can drive all the way around!  And, that’s what I was doing when I realized I missed the place where I should’ve turned left (heading out of the lot to main road) and ended up in the dead end of the parking lot.  Yeah.  This is my life!!  SHIT!  

By this point, Amber had walked around the entire building and finally spotted where I was while we talked on the phone, “Is that you in that big…” she asked. “YEAH!  That’s me,” I said. 

I had no choice this time.  It was up to me to maneuver this big rig out of its latest predicament.  Slowly, and very very carefully, I backed up a little bit using all the mirrors at my disposal.  The trailer did not go the direction I needed to free myself from this situation.  Let’s turn the steering wheel the opposite direction, press gas, okay, that’s better.  Nope, too far!  I’m getting too close to those parked cars.  Turn the steering wheel the other way.  Give it just a little bit of gas.  Okay, that’s better.  Keep going straight.  Trailer turns.  Not that way!  Turn the steering wheel the other direction. Lil bit of gas.  Okay, we’re closer!  I did this for 75-100 more times, with about 15 onlookers enjoying the lovely weather on their lunch break taking in all the excitement!  Finally, I got to the point where I knew I could drive out of the parking lot.  Even though I might have to run over a parking brick thingy.  Screw it!  This is a 4-wheel drive!  But, I made it out of there without hitting the brick thingy.  Free at last!

I parked my rig, shut off the engine and visited with Amber for a few minutes, regaling her with the leaking tar saga with her.  She gets it.  Nothing is easy for either of us!  We want to do one thing and it ends up requiring that 57 other things be done or remedied just to get that one blessed thing done!  

I hugged Amber, told her I loved her and expressed how much I appreciated Hunter’s help, then headed home.  She texted, “Let me know when you’re home,” and I responded with a heart.

At long last, I pulled into our driveway.  Home sweet home.  

I went into the house and…WHAT?!  Wait!  I texted Amber, “Dammit!!  I forgot to give you your eggs!  Son of a…!!!”  Amber responded, “I left my water bottle in the bathroom.”  She’s definitely my kid!

Par for the course.  Why do things have to be so hard?! 

***Read at your own risk!***

PSA: Your brain is connected to your colon!!

Hear me out on this one.

For the past few days I have had zero energy, no motivation to do anything, and felt like my brain was in a constant fog. I had difficulty counting the cookies I baked, for goodness sake!

I thought it was dehydration, so yesterday I purposely drank a lot more water. Sadly, it did not help. I woke up today again in a fog and feeling as tired as I did before I went to bed. But, soon after waking, I had a very healthy, rather large, bowel movement. That’s good, right? Sure. I tried to go about my day, but I was still very lethargic. Listless. I just wanted to lounge on the loveseat.

But then…later this afternoon, I had to go again! What? Two bowel movements in the same day? And VERY large ones, too?! I was very surprised and delighted.

But, what really surprised me was that immediately after the second great movement, my energy returned, my brain woke up, and I was a dynamo getting my projects done around the house!

So for those few days, I literally had shit for brains—pardon my French.
Ergo, your backside is connected directly to your brain!!

I recently ordered three rolls of laundry-themed wallpaper border from eBay and retrieved the package from our mailbox this morning. I’m thrilled! It is so lovely and I know it’ll go so very perfectly with the curtains I made several years ago. I’m so excited to give our laundry room a new look!

Search for the curtains ensues…

I can see them in my mind. They’re a lovely sage green and will compliment the wallpaper border.

I emptied the linen closet with dogged determination and a deep knowing that the curtains would surely be found in there.

Didn’t find the sumbitches!

Meanwhile, the linen closet…

I go back to my computer to share this saga with my good friend, Linda, and…

Well, son of a bitch!!!!

After searching through dresser drawers and nooks and crannies, along with attempting to retrace/retrieve my organizational thoughts from years ago, not to mention destroying our living room, I discovered that the green curtains were right behind my desk in the computer room THE WHOLE F’ING TIME!

Well, dammit…!

There was only one piece in the laundry basket! I have several more pieces to find now. Ugh!

But, just look! Look how pretty it’ll be when I find all the pieces and hang the border!

Now, who wants to help me clean the sumbitching living room?!

On a warm Tuesday in July—Cassandra and I had a fun time together.  First, I picked her up and took her to the Danville Aldi where I exclusively buy many items and needed to restock our supply.  Butter was $3.19 per pound!  I don’t think the price has been that low since pre-COVID!  So, I bought 12 of them.  I had a very good shopping/stocking-up spree.  There were lots of good buys!  Like boneless, skinless chicken breast for $2.28 per pound.  It’s been $2.99 for “84 years” (Titanic movie flashback).  We finished our shopping and it was time to take her home so I could go to my dentist appointment.

But, then, as I was about to turn on the bypass to take her home, I asked, “Wanna go to the dentist with me?”  “Sure!” she said.  Surprised me, but I kept driving straight and off to the dentist we went.  The hygienist, Jennifer, is so very gentle and a very good conversationalist.  We talked about Cassandra receiving a free trip to Europe (it’s next month) and Jennifer shared her knowledge of traveling abroad.  Lots of good tips, stories, and conversation.  Every trip to the dentist should be like that.  She also mentioned the locals in other countries being very helpful and friendly to Americans, sharing where is best to eat, what to eat, etc.  Then, she told us of a “local” restaurant in Harrodsburg which she and her co-worker frequent for lunch.  Well, when we left the dentist we had to go there for lunch.  It’s called “The Local.”  A very quaint lil ice cream parlor that also serves wraps, chili dogs, nachos, and such.  We both had the bacon chicken wrap and it was delicious.  Also, got a lil ice cream for dessert.  And, guess what?!  Jennifer and her co-worker showed up there for lunch, too.  

After that, I needed to go do my Rover job and asked Cassandra if she wanted to come along.  “Sure!” she said.  We drove to her apartment so she could get her car and leave it at the Anderson Dean Park.  That way, I wouldn’t have to take her all the way back home afterwards.  Off we went to the Rover job!  

On the way, we passed a very large corn field and Cassandra said she’d really been wanting some corn.  I said, “Well, go up there and tear some off!”  She almost didn’t take me seriously—until—I stopped the car in the middle of the road.  Surprised, but willing (she’s so adventurous), she darted out of the car and trekked up a steep bank, dropping her phone twice as she climbed.  LOL!  Such grace—no idea where she gets that!  As quickly as she could manage, she broke off a couple ears of corn and made her way back to the car where she exclaimed, “I swear I get the stealing from you and Grandpa.”  I recently confessed to my girls that I “lifted” a few items during my rebellious teens and, if you’ve read my first book, you know that my parents were office supply hoarders (via theft) during their teaching careers.

I had told Cassandra that her corn booty may be “field corn” which is used for feeding cattle.  Though, based on the look of the ears, it would surely be ripe and ready to eat if meant for human consumption and that the kernels would be somewhat soft/squishy.  After inspecting the cobs, she found that the kernels were hard, not squishy at all.  “It’s field corn.”  Oh, well.

The country road is several miles deep, keeps getting more narrow, and the Rover cats’ home has a long gravel driveway.  Many parts of the drive resemble “The Farm” my parents had in Brookville, Indiana.  We have such wonderful memories of spending time there.  The likeness is very uncanny, and comforting at the same time.

We make our way through the very rough, rocky and curvy driveway and pull up to the house where we see all four of the barn cats.  Up to this point, I’d only seen two of them.  Cassandra looks around outside and spotted the big barn and said, “I wanna go look through it.”  I said, “Go ahead!  She said I could bring the family out here.”  Off she went to explore the barn while I tended to the kitties.  She was back to the house by the time I was done and wanted to show me the barn.  Off we went!  She convinced me to climb the straight-up ladder into the loft—which she scaled like Spiderman.  It made me quite nervous—you know, being a senior citizen who’s none too coordinated or graceful—but I did it—with vice-grip holds on each rung as I climbed.  Thankfully, I made it back down the same way.  It’s an amazing place to take portrait photos and I took several of Cassandra.  It was nearing time for the kids to get out of school, so we piled back into the car and headed out.  

On that gravel lane, there is a round house that’s picturesque and looks like something from England.  Cassandra loves that kind of thing, so she wanted to get out of the car and take a picture.  Just as she was getting back in the car, a very large, seemingly “stinging” type of bug was in the car between the windshield and steering wheel.  She flipped out, opened the car door and fell out onto the ground.  As I’m laughing hysterically, while trying to swat the vermin bug out of my car, Cassandra said, “That’s a dangerous stinging thing—IT KILLS!!!”  And, I’m still laughing!  “I can’t believe you’re that close to it!!” I opened all the windows of and exited the car, but by the time I did, the bug had made its escape to freedom.  My laughter continued as we drove out of there and headed back to the park.  But, not before we stopped at the Bread Basket to check out their deals.  I found another bag of chocolate-flavored coffee for my hubby for $3.99.  Score! 

Cassandra told me she’d been looking for the blackberry jam from Cracker Barrel.  Well, if it’s Cracker Barrel’s brand, you won’t likely find that in any store but Cracker Barrel.  Nevertheless, I was determined that we’d find her some blackberry jam.

The Bread Basket had nothing to offer in the jam department, so we got back in the car and headed toward the park.  But, wait.  “You wanna look for jam at Kountry Kupboard?”  “Sure!” she said.  They had two brands of blackberry jam!  One was a “Grandma” somebody’s and the other had the word “Amish” in the brand name.  Cassandra was indecisive if she wanted to try either one, afraid she’d be disappointed if it wasn’t as good as Cracker Barrel’s jam.  So, I just grabbed a jar of the Amish one and bought it for her.  I mean, you cannot go wrong with anything made by the Amish.  They really know what they’re doing!  On the way back to the car, she said determinedly, “I’m going to make biscuits for it!”  

After having dropped her back at her car, and gotten myself home, and all my Aldi goods put away, I see a text in our group chat from Cassandra that read:

“There was a hornet I almost died and I climbed up a barn and I have blackberry jam!!!!”

I responded, “Our day in a nutshell!!”

The day our nation set aside

A time to honor all who’ve died

They gave their all for you and me

Home of the brave, land of the free

Countless battles and many wars

Their bodies sent home by the scores

Flag-draped coffins brought heroes home

Yet some of them remain unknown

Let us give thanks to each and all

Those who answered our nation’s call

For each conflict heroes fought in

May they never be forgotten

A dear friend, I have lost
And, no, she did not die
Alive, but now she hates me 
Can’t get her back, though I try

It happened all at once
Twas nothing to resent
She simply stopped responding
Chat message no longer sent

I was left to wonder
What could I have done wrong
But, I could think of nothing
That’d force her to say, So long

Our friendship, it’s over
It must have run its course
The evil bitch who stole it
Will never perceive remorse

Can’t get my friend back now
Though I’ve tried one last time
But, it was met with anger
Like I’d committed a crime

Dementia does not care
Who’s heart it may destroy
There’s no reasoning with it
They’re no tactics to deploy

Gone as if she had died
Our friendship is no more
Dementia, I quite loathe you
You vile disgusting whore!

The good times we had together
So abruptly they did end
My heart, it’s very heavy
I’ll miss you, my dear sweet friend