All-Of-A-Kind Families

Last week, my sister asked me if I remembered reading 'All-Of-A-Kind Family' by Sidney Taylor.  Of course. Thinking about that book and the following one 'More All-Of-A-Kind Family' brought back memories of visiting the Carnegie Library in our small Nebraska town.  The front doors creaked when you pulled them open and the Children's Department in the basement was filled with treasures, worlds to be explored. We visited frequently, while our mother selected her books upstairs.

Sidney Taylor, whose given name was Sarah Brenner, was the daughter of Jewish immigrants and
lived from 1904 to 1978. She was the fulfillment of the promise made to all those who come here for a better life. Your daughter can grow up to be a published writer, even if you arrive poor or unable to speak the language or without an education yourself.

I re-read 'All-Of-A-Kind Family' about a year ago and what struck me, reading as an adult, was the vivid portrait of life on New York City's lower east side. These children were 'city kids' and their lives followed the Jewish calendar. What I remember from my childhood reading was just that this big, happy family was different, and yet the same, as my own.

I recently read '97 Orchard, An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families In One New York Tenement' by Jane Ziegelman.  It's a little like a non-fiction version of the book I loved as a child.  What it shows us is that each group of immigrants to the United States brings their own customs, foods and traditions. As they settle here, their ways combine with those who came before.  Children of immigrants marry partners whose heritage and religion is often different than their own.

Today, I read so much about people in power who somehow manage to ignore this great thread that winds through our history. They feel justified in excluding immigrants they do now know from our country out of fear of the unknown.  When they do this, they waste one of our greatest resources. Most immigrants come to this country hungry for new life, for success and for a better life for their children.

Maybe we should assign 'The All-Of-A-Kind Family' to the power brokers in Washington. It might remind them that we are all immigrants, some of us have just been here a little longer.

The Tricky Business of Spring

Everyone has different markers for spring.   The rhubarb is up in the the yard so I say it's official: spring is here.  Of course, in Nebraska,  it could still freeze or snow for a few more weeks.  There has been a lot of talk about this in the neighborhood.  I figure we should just enjoy each day and not worry about what may come.  There are plenty of things to worry about if you feel the need to fret.

Spring really doesn't care much about the calendar anyway.  Like most important things in life, it arrives in it's own time.  There was a great Mary Oliver poem on the Writer's Almanac this week titled Spring.  It began "Somewhere a black bear has just risen from sleep and is staring down the mountain..."
What a great beginning for a poem.  You feel that moment of possibility.

Our two-year-old great nephew was at a family dinner here last night and he is the walking (or running) definition of possibility. He always has a huge smile on his face and he is happiest when he is discovering something new.  Toddlers, with their beautiful soft skin, duck fuzz hair and goofy first words are all about beginnings and possibilities.  You look at them and wonder what joys away them.

The poem continues later with a line that says "There is only one question: how to love this world." It's easier to love a world filled with happy children, spring sunshine and the rhubarb.

A Change of Scenery

A week ago Saturday we left Omaha and six hours later we stepped out of the airport in Libera, Costa Rica, where it was 90 degrees and everyone in our immediate area was a surfer dude.
We slathered ourselves with sun block, put on hats and T-shirts and stayed in the shade while enjoying the glorious warmth.

We traveled with a group of six friends and friends-to-be.  Mark is always happy in a crowd but I tend to be a bit of a lone wolf so it's good for me to mingle a little.  I have more moments when I would be happy to hide behind a book.  One morning I gathered my coffee and toast and prepared to sit quietly and enjoy the sun on the deck only to find, after about 2 minutes, that someone wanted to join me and talk about everything planned for the day.

There were other moments when I was out of my comfort zone as we call it these days.  I went zip-lining for the first time although I did pass on white-water rafting later that same day.  I wasn't sure my heart could take it.  On a boat ride down the river I had a monkey crawl across my shoulders.  While everyone else was saying how cute he was, I was holding my breath.  All the birds were wonderful and I was fine watching them from the river but wasn't really ready to get close-up and personal with the wildlife.

All in all it was a great experience and I would go back there any time.  Now I'm back to knitting and reading  but that little bit of warmth and daring will hold me through the rest of the winter.

Perfect Snowy Day

Well, it finally snowed.  We have been waiting all winter.  Not that I am complaining about all the balmy days we have had.  The sun has been wonderful but somehow, you need a few beautifully snowy days to remind you that you live in the Midwest.

When we woke Saturday, the world was covered in a blanket of white and we had no power.  Mark thought we needed to shovel.  I thought we needed to figure out how to get a cup of coffee.   Let me just say right here that Mark loves to do things that begin with bundling up and end with rosy cheeks.  I, on the other hand, am happiest staying warm.

When he came in from a little work on the driveway to find me already in my coat and hat, he knew it was time for a trip to the coffee shop.  We took the papers and headed over for coffee and a scone.  Lots of folks had the same idea so it was a sociable outing.  We ran into a book club friend who said he and his wife were headed out to cross country ski later and invited us to join them.  Mark got that look again: the bundling up, rosy cheek look. I on the other hand, planned to knit and read the day away.  So that's what we did.  Mark skied and I hung out here.

This morning after church Mark suggested that I really needed to try going cross country skiing with him.  I had planned on another afternoon of serious knitting but he looked so excited by the prospect, I said yes.  I haven't been on skis for about 30 years so I didn't hold high hopes for a great outing but we took it slow and Elmwood Park is fairly flat.  On the way home, Mark asked if I needed another cup of coffee.  I'm not sure I'm ever going to be a great outdoor gal but it's good to share interests.

 Tonight we will watch the Superbowl for an hour or so and then switch to Downton Abby.  A little of both is OK. 

Out To Coffee With The Girls

I was sitting in the coffee shop with four of my friends last week.  A man we all know, a business man and husband of another friend, stopped by the table for a minute.  "How are all you girls?" he asked politely.
I'm pretty sure if it had been Mark, he would have said 'ladies' and honestly, I'm not sure anyone else even noticed or cared.  Does it matter?
Mark's brother, who now lives in the South and has developed an accent to match, always talks about how he couldn't get along without the 'girl' who runs his office.  Every time he uses the word, my toes curl a little inside my shoes.  I want to ask how old she is, but I don't think he would get it and Mark would probably rather I just kept my mouth shut.
I suppose I could take it as a compliment to be called a girl but somehow it always feels a little demeaning. If we are girls, we must not be doing anything too important.  When we see a group of men, we don't call them boys, maybe guys but not boys.
Of course I wouldn't have said anything at the coffee shop.  That's the heck of it.  Who wants to be the crank that makes everyone uneasy over something as trivial as that?  I do write the script later in my mind.  It would be a great start to a short story.  I'll think about that for a while.

Thanksgiving Day Plus Two

We had a great Thanksgiving Day.  Drew and Em were here and although it sometimes seems like there should be a crowd around the table, we were OK this year with just the four of us.  Mark and I were just home for a short, lovely trip to New York City so we had plenty of hustle and bustle and were ready for a few quiet days.

While we were in NYC, we decided to visit the new Ground Zero Memorial.  It was kind of a whim.  On Monday, the museums are closed so we wandered down to the tip of Manhattan.  It turned out you needed a timed ticket, something we would have known if we had planned ahead but it was all improvised.  We walked over to the temporary headquarters and got a ticket without much trouble.  The 'Occupy Wallstreet' protester had been removed from a block right there the day before and the police were out in full force waiting for them to return.  Part of me wanted to hang around and watch the drama unfold but we didn't have time to get arrested so instead we spent the hour before we could enter the memorial in St Paul's Chapel, which has been continuously open since 1766.  We walked through the doors that George Washington walked through on the day of his inauguration, which seemed like a very American thing to do.

Once inside the Ground Zero Memorial we were struck by the beauty of the day and the fountains.  There really is a sense of shared grief and peace.  As we watched, a young woman, accompanied by an older couple, make a rubbing of a name. All of the 2,819 deaths are memorialized on the fountains.  We were glad to have made the time to visit.

Back home, it feels like a long way off and yet, a part of all our lives.  We ate our turkey and counted our blessings.  It's best not to be afraid of joy as the holidays begin.  Embrace it, I say, or maybe the theme this year should be 'Occupy Happiness.'

Knitting As Therapy

This week a dear friend of mine started chemotherapy for breast cancer.  It's a tough path to start down and those of us who have known her for a long time are trying to walk it with her, to offer what support we can, both practical and emotional.

She has scheduled an appointment to have her head shaved in the next few days.  We will go with her and then join our husbands for dinner to 'celebrate.'  It's a gutsy move but I think I might do the same.  It seems less depressing than watching your hair fall swirl down the drain one clump at a time.

It's probably in response to that thought, but I have been knitting hats like crazy in the past few weeks.  In general, I'm more of a mitten person.  My hands are always cold and I love all the beautiful color work in the mittens.  However, all of the hat patterns have been calling to me so I am knitting hats and giving them to my friend.  I just finished a soft cotton cap she can wear around the house or to bed if she needs something to keep her head cozy. One of the things I hadn't thought of until a nurse mentioned it while I was with her at the clinic is that her head might get cold at night.

When someone you love is sick or facing tough times, you look for just the right thing to do.  Mostly that is for them, but a little bit of it is, selfishly, for yourself.  It's easy to worry and fret.  The truth is that you can't make someone better.  You can only offer them your love and support.  You can walk with them, cry and laugh, and somehow, get through it together.

Just The Ordinary Days

We packed up and drove home yesterday.  Our lake year came to an end.  The last day is always a busy one.  There are lots of chores to do. Some of these can't be done until the very end and a few you put off or remember at the last minute, like Mark's act of 'eco-terrorism' as he called his harvesting of a small birch tree that he plans to use for a new frame-making endeavor next year.

I made time for a walk down to the point which is as close as you can get on foot to the little bay where I love to kayak.  I was hoping I might see a trumpeter swan.  On Monday we drove to Bemidji and along the way we saw some swans feeding in small ponds along the road.  I read up on them when we got back to the cabin.  After almost facing extinction, their numbers are now up and they often travel through Minnesota on their way to winter feeding grounds.  Some lake friends said they have been spotted on Ponto in the past several years.

I crossed my fingers and pulled on my rubber boots.  Along the way I snapped a few photos.  Just the little bits of color left and the patterns found along a path I walk almost every day when I am in Minnesota.  Small changes happen everywhere.

There were no swans in our bay on Tuesday but that is OK.  Maybe they will come later.  Maybe we will see them next year.   In the meantime, we finished our chores while loons called to each other on the lake.

My thoughts are already turning toward my family and friends back in Omaha.  The holidays are ahead and there will be gatherings filled with laughter and talk.  Lots of knitting to do and books to read.  It reminds me of a favorite poem by William Stafford.

Notes For The Program

Just the ordinary days, please,
I wouldn't want them any better

About the pace of life, it seems best to have
slow, if-I-can-stand-them revelations.

And take this message about the inevitable,
I've decided it's all right if it comes.

It's So Nice To Have a Man Around the House

When I was growing up we 'hired it done' once we got past changing the light bulbs.  Imagine my surprise when Mark entered my life and I realized that people could fix things themselves.  I should have known.  My grandparents certainly had that type of household, but that's another story.
Mark's moto is that 'no job is too hard if you have the right tool.'  Of course it took me a while to realize that was a justification to keep buying tools but that's another story as well.

This story is about a project that Mark made, start to finish for our cabin.  When we had to take down a dead tree, he remarked on the size of it and one of the fellows said he could take it to someone who would saw it into boards.  They did that two years ago and then Mark and Em stacked the boards so they could age.  Early this year, Mark picked out a board, took it to another fellow he met and had it trimmed to the size he wanted for a small shelf.

He and Drew selected birch twigs and, after Mark figured out how to cut them, the they stained them.
During our September trip up, Mark finished staining the shelf and secured it (with my help!) to the kitchen wall.

I am always amazed when these projects work.  It's not that I don't have faith in Mark because I do.  It's just that I didn't grow up with anyone who planned or measured or took the time to do things thoughtfully.
I have had to learn, from painful experience with my knitting for example, that a little forethought is a very important thing.

Anyway, Mark has ideas for lots of projects which is a good thing.  It bodes well for retirement.  Always nice for a husband to stay busy.  It's worth the price of a few tools.

November

We drove to the lake yesterday under ever-changing skies.  We arrived after dark and found the gate to our lane, not unexpectedly, padlocked. While this discourages intruders during these quiet months, it also lends to the feeling of entering the set of a horror movie.  Opening a creaking gate and driving down a dark lane was a little eerie.

This morning all seemed well and instead of feeling lonely, the lake seemed peaceful.  Some sun helped and a yard filled with birds felt like enough company.

Mark and I took the dogs for a walk and found all sorts of marvels.  When we were here a month ago, the trees were bursting with color.  Now, most are bare of leaves.  What that reveals are the quiet treasures.  Mark spotted a paper wasp nest suspended by a slender branch.  A white tailed deer later streaked by me as I drove to town for a few groceries.  I almost missed her because she blended into the woods so completely.

You have to look harder now to find each bit of beauty but it is there.  The few remaining bits of red and yellow seem almost out of place among these subdued landscapes.  I understand why the kids love the bright oranges of Halloween but the soft tones of the world right now remind me to slow down and pay attention.  I'm trying.

One Wacky Bird

We hang bird feeders here in Omaha and at the lake.  Most days it is soothing to watch the finches, wrens and cardinal dart and swoop in between visits for seeds. But for the past three days, I have been visited by a Red-bellied woodpecker who seems intent on bashing his brains out against my window.
It's not unusual for a bird to bump the window once in a great while.  That is an unfortunate side effect of having a feeder close enough to really watch the birds.  But this guy is on a suicide mission.

The first few times I thought it was slightly amusing, in that odd sort of way.  Then I started to feel bad.  Yesterday, I finally took down the feeder, hoping he would go somewhere else.  He hung out in the tree right behind the house and kept flying along the window on the same endless loop. I have a window covered with bird poop to prove it.

It reminded me of how my mind loops back and back over something that is bothering me. I can't quite leave it alone, even when I know it is not doing me any good.  I become the Red-bellied woodpecker.  There is a look my husband and kids give me that says 'let it go' when I have been talking about whatever subject is worrying me, but more often than not, the loop just keeps playing in my head.

I thought he was gone so I re-hung the feeder this morning and he turned back up.  At least he is eating. And he seems to be hitting the window a few less times.  Either he is wearing out or he is slowly learning to find another way to cope.   Maybe if I watch him for a few more days, I will learn something.

Preparing for the Winter Ahead

Autumn is coming here on the shores of the lake.  Early morning fog rolls off slowly to show water banded by trees that no longer reflect only the greens we saw all summer.  Fewer birds call and there is a sense everywhere of preparation.  On the days when the sky is blue, the contrast is remarkable.

I took a break to drive down to Minneapolis and spend a few days at the trade show for independent booksellers.  I have gone to this show several times and so I have gotten to know some of the booksellers and publishing 'reps' who come.  It's always great to see these amazing book lovers get together and talk about their business.  Most are still doing OK, despite all the competition they face.  They discuss ways to help connect folks of all ages with great books. I got to hear from some authors.  Christopher Moore was a surprise to me and I think it's time to read some of his books.  On the YA side, Scott Westerfeld gave a great talk on how illustration has disappeared from adult books, why he added it to his new series and how he thinks 'fan art' has replaced some illustration and blossomed on the internet.  

Of course I came home with a stack of books. In my defense (if I need one) I left way more untouched than I took.  However, who could resist the newest book from Jeffery Eugenides, which won't even be out until October, or a new book by Ron Rash, when I've read everything he's written.  And after laughing until I cried at Chris Moore, I have to read Sacre Bleu.....  So you see the dilemma.
Anyway, I have at least another week up here to put a dent in my pile.  Cool days and a warm cabin suggest reading. I'll just get started so I can pass some of these on to other book lovers in my life.

Cold Toes

My toes are cold.  This means fall has arrived.  With apologies to my sister, who could do without the really hot days, I love summer.  Any day where I can get up, put on my flip-flops and wear them until I put on pj's at night, is a perfect day in my mind.  Red toe nails and sandals are a match made in heaven.

For the past few days, the sky has been glorious, the air crisp and clear  and the temps reasonable enough to have the windows open, so there are many reasons to be happy.  I have noticed.  We had a wonderful family gathering Saturday and spent the afternoon being entertained by a darling almost-one year old.  I loved every minute, even if my toes were getting colder as the day went on.

I'm trying not to let my cold toes get me down.  I also know that in my sock drawer are several pairs of hand-knit socks.  They almost make sock weather worth while.  When my sister gave me my first pair of homemade socks, I was thrilled.  Nothing is warmer and prettier but I never planned on making any.  They looked like way too much work.  Janie convinced me I could do it.  Now I love knitting socks although I still stick to the easy ones.  Turning a heal is a time-honored tradition among sock knitters. Just saying it makes you feel warmer.

So I will try to enjoy every day, warm or cold.  I guess you can have red toe nails, even under beautiful socks.  And sandal weather will always come again.

Minnesota Seashells

Last evening one of my lake neighbors showed me some rocks he had 'tumbled' for his grandchildren.  He's a gentleman of many interests and abilities.  He's also a great grandpa. He let each child pick a few rocks from the lake.  After he polishes them in the tumbler, he will give them back.  Minnesota seashells, I call them. Before he has finished, he will teach the kids a little geology and heaven knows what else.

Since he offered to polish a few for me, I took some time to go lay, belly down, on the dock next to the shallow water.  The rocky bottom on our side of the lake makes it a good idea to learn to jump off the end of the dock at an early age.  It also makes it fun to walk (carefully) along the edge and pick up whatever rock catches your eye.  For years, our kids would bring rocks up to the cabin to be displayed during our vacation.  By the next year, they usually dumped the pile back because they had found 'better' ones.  When the water is so clear that you can see all the rocks or take a photograph through it, you know you have found a great spot.

Funny though, I think one of our vacation treasures are our good lake neighbors.  We always make time for dinner together and our kids have grown up enjoying the conversation of several generations of folks.  It replaces those Sunday dinners no one has anymore.  The ones where you both squirmed to leave but also listened to the family stories that were repeated over and over.  Those stories are a little like the rocks that get polished until they become small treasures you can put in your pocket and carry around to remind you of your summers long ago.

Life On The Edges

We made a trip to the back woods dump today.  Although my lake neighbor said we now all it the 'compost recycling station.'  It's just a spot on some land jointly owned by the residents along our shore line.  We put pine needles and small sticks back there.  Since Mark had done all the work, I rode along.  It's actually a wonderful, private place to hike on a cool fall day.

While Mark used a pitch fork to unload all the brush, I wandered at the edge of a nearby meadow.  Just in the few minutes we were there, I saw an amazing variety of little insects, butterflies and plants.  It occurred to me that so much of the good stuff happens around the edges of life.

We are taught to face things 'straight on'.  It's a very American quality to barge right in, full speed ahead, take no prisoners.  But sometimes, if you just pause a moment and look at life from a slightly different angle, look at the edges of things, it all takes on a different appearance.   Poets know that. "Tell The Truth but Tell It Slant" says Dickinson.

I think Emily D. would have loved the meadow and the 'compost recycling station.'  I plan to walk back there this fall and sit, all alone on the edge of that meadow.  I'll bet it will be an experience worth remembering.

Folding Towels

This morning, as I folded and stacked beach towels in the cupboard, I thought of my mom.  I remember her sitting in the living room, folding towels fresh from the laundry. She was not a precise folder.  The corners seldom matched.  I think she just wanted to get the job done and get on to something more interesting like reading a book or walking her dog.  She tossed them in the drawer and got on with life.

Mark's mom was more of a corner-matcher.  When I first came to the lake I was amazed and slightly intimidated by the standing casket case that contained all the linens, very neatly folded and stacked.  Each shelf was labeled so you knew exactly where to put the hand towels and pillow cases.

The coffin case became the stuff of legends as the kids were growing up.  It's still with us, in the old garage.  Now we have lovely cabinets for all our towels and sheets.  Mark has once or twice mentioned the word 'label'.

I understand the logic behind it.  Different people tend to use a cabin and things don't always get put back in the same place.  I kind of like that little bit of 'travel' that happens.  It's like your sheets and towels have a little vacation from their drawer or shelf as well.  Mark doesn't always share my sense of whimsy in this department but we have reached a compromise.  His things definitely stay where he puts them.

In the meantime, he had the cabinet maker use the windows from the old cabin, complete with the oak pulls, for doors on the mud room cabinets and suggested putting the beach towels in one.  I guess that's enough whimsy for now.

Drew Was Here!

We had a fun few days with the younger generation, although it felt at times like being held captive in a pinball game.  Mark and I start our day in a meditative, early morning way.  By that I mean he knows to leave me alone until I have a cup or so of coffee and a chance to read the paper, even if I do it on line.  But then we are ready to get the day going.

Em and Danny did get up by mid-morning and kayak or head out on the bikes. Drew is not a morning person.  His idea of vacation is to sleep most of the day, get up late and eat as much as he can and then think about what he wants to do.

By evening, when Mark and I are winding down, the young adults were suggesting Cranium or Scrabble, rooting around for pop and snacks and, in general, yukking it up.  We had to adjust our schedule slightly to take advantage of their presence. It did make for some fun moments with Cranium.  I got to act out 'mud wrestling' and Drew did 'riding shot gun.'  I'm proud to say that I did just as well.

One night we all took turns choosing music from the computer and created a very eclectic play list.  Kind of fun to see what everyone picked.

After Em and Danny left, Drew and Mark worked on a little project Mark has in mind for the cabin.  Nothing like a power saw to bring guys together.  I had to stay far away from that but today when we sent Drew back to Chicago he still had all his fingers and toes.  So I guess it was a successful vacation.

Dream Catcher

One summer when she was little,  Em and I made a dream catcher at the lake.  I had a free kit from the bookstore and we picked up feathers and stones from around the cabin.  She worked carefully to assemble it with the brown paper and small metal hoop provided.  She hung it over the small bed she called her own when we came north.  That dream catcher always made me smile.  It reminded me of Em: her perseverance, the little bit of her that believed in magic.

Suddenly, it seems, Em is all grown up and this summer she brought her friend Danny along to the lake.  He's a great young man and it's clear that the two of them care very much about each other.  We are enjoying this chance to get to know him.  They both begin their senior year in college this year and the world is opening up to them.  It's a new chapter in all of our lives.

You have lots of dreams for your kids when they are little but dreams are hard to catch.  I think in the end it all gets pretty simple.  You want them to be healthy, find happiness and be good citizens of the earth.  So far, Em has been a dream child.   We will see what lies ahead.

A Day For the Birds

I am all alone at the lake today, except for my dogs and a yard filled with birds.  I came up three days ago to spend some time with a friend.  We knit and read and chatted away the days.  Mark arrives later today with Em and a friend of hers.   The beds are made and the groceries are bought and the cabin is as clean as it's going to be.

In the meantime, here I sit, happily drinking coffee and watching the birds fill our yard with swoops of motion. There isn't a human sound anywhere so the birds think they are alone.  I've noticed that poets love birds.  I found this Jane Kenyon poem on the Poetry Foundation web site this morning and was reminded of what a wonderful poet she was. It's just the first of the 'Three Songs'.  The other two are available at the web site.

Three Songs at the End of Summer

BY JANE KENYON

A second crop of hay lies cut   

and turned. Five gleaming crows   

search and peck between the rows.

They make a low, companionable squawk,   

and like midwives and undertakers   

possess a weird authority.

Crickets leap from the stubble,   

parting before me like the Red Sea.   

The garden sprawls and spoils.

Across the lake the campers have learned   

to water ski. They have, or they haven’t.   

Sounds of the instructor’s megaphone   

suffuse the hazy air. “Relax! Relax!”

Cloud shadows rush over drying hay,   

fences, dusty lane, and railroad ravine.   

The first yellowing fronds of goldenrod   

brighten the margins of the woods.

Schoolbooks, carpools, pleated skirts;   

water, silver-still, and a vee of geese.

Summer may be drawing to a close but I plan to celebrate these last days with the birds, the sun sparkling off the lake and the quiet.   

Once Again

I've found myself.  Actually I just found my password and was able to log back in to my blog.  I have a mental list that begins "I feel old when...." and one of the items high on the list is how incredibly ancient I feel when I can't make my computer do what I want it to do.

Yesterday, I finally caved in and asked the server to help me out and they cheerfully email a new password to my Yahoo account which would be dandy except that I have a gmail account.  I went to bed frustrated but finally remembered that little icon up in the corner of the screen that I can click on to search for items lost in the computer.  So this morning I typed in 'password' and magically it appeared.  Where was it, I wonder? Anyway, I'm back.

That makes two of us at our house.  Mark says Pretzel is the Lazarus of dogs.  She is now back to her normal, slightly daffy self.  I know this for sure because yesterday, in the heat of the afternoon, she somehow snuck into the garage and managed to tip over the food bin.  I found the hot little dachshund trying to eat her weight in dog food.  Really, she has no self control and, obviously, no memory of how sick she was just days ago.

After all the heat, rain blew in this morning and I think all of Omaha heaved a sigh of relief.  I don't mind the heat as much as some but tempers were growing a little short and everything needed a good drink.  Maybe we all feel a little revived. Em has been helping us out with the weeds and went out to work in the rain.  She said it was better than weeding in the heat.