I could've sworn I heard a sheep

This evening I heard it again...the same sound of a sheep that I heard coming from our neighbor's yard about this time last year.

This time I did not do what I did last year. I didn't scrutinize surrounding neighbors yards for the sheep I just knew they were keeping as pets in their back yard. I didn't start picturing in my mind which neighbors might have children raising sheep for a 4-H project. I didn't start wondering what restrictions on livestock within the city limits The Small Town has. I didn't ask a neighbor who was out for a walk if he had heard or seen the sheep. I didn't narrow down the location of the bleating to our back yard. I didn't follow the sound of the bleating to a certain spot near our back yard pool.

This year I did not take any of the above actions because this time last year, I did a search on the internet and read about sheep frogs.

We get a few different types of frogs and toads in our back yard every spring. There's an occasional bullfrog, and of course thousands of tadpoles in the water on top of the pool cover, but thankfully they are eliminated when we open the pool for the season. I find the sheep frog to be most curious. It is one of a group of animals that can imitate other animals. I think also of catbirds, mockingbirds and parrots. I'd rather have the pretty birds, and save just a frog or two for the garden.

sign of spring #4

Wasps.

I'm quite sure there's more wasps around here than up in The Big City. Perhaps it's due to our more southerly location. Last summer, My Darling Husband advised me that he sprays the inside of the garage every year with wasp spray to keep them from building nests in there.

Wasps everywhere.

Ok, not plague proportions, but I've spotted at least three inside our house this last week. I never see them fly in when we're going in or out the door. I don't know how they get in, but they belong with their buddies outdoors. They meet their Maker instead.

Tonight I suddenly heard one buzzing (that's always how we spot them inside...suddenly buzzing out of thin air, as if poof! wasp abra cadabra!) two feet behind me in the office where I sit, innocently minding my own blog business. I cried for help, and My Darling Husband came to the rescue with fly swatter in hand, just in time for that wasp to fly to the next room.

That room happens to be our storage room that happens to have a lot of stuff in it, so I'll probably be looking for something in there one day soon and happen upon that wasp and poof! it'll come screaming at me at top speed, stinger first. Or hopefully it'll have met it's Maker by then due to natural causes.

anouncing Easter in a small town

My Darling Husband and I spent the Easter weekend with my family in The Big City. When we came home, I glanced at Sunday's edition of our local newspaper.My eyes immediately fell to the top of the front page and I was pleasantly surprised. You know you're in a small town when the local newspaper editor is unafraid to declare that He Is Risen!
I have an educated guess that the editor of The Big City's newspaper would never allow this.

CutieDog very truly likes going to his "grandparents" (my parents) house. He gets to play with his "Uncle Dog" (my parent's Jack Russell Terror)...

and he gets to be a spoiled "grandog". See, he's not allowed to put his paws on our furniture here at home. He soaks up the extra allowances there. The first time we visited my parents with CutieDog, he tried to get onto our furniture upon returning home. This second time, he surprised us by minding his manners when we got home.

Smart and cute. Good choice, My Darling Husband.

Christmas lingers on my blog

This is the official photographic essay of where My Darling Husband and I went for Christmas.

From the hills of Tennessee......to a place near Walhalla, SC.

Near, yet so far away.Tucked away in the woods.Is a cabin where one can peacefully and quietly enjoy visiting with family members after a long drive.And then, after a good night's sleep, awaken on Christmas morning to this view:An enclosed back deck invites one to sit in the great outdoors in warmer months.The deck beckons you down to a river. We hear that the fishing is good in this area.On the way out of town--

You know you're in the South when you spot a general store selling boiled peanuts.

Up here in Kansas and the rest of the great Midwest, we have snow-cone stands in the summer. Now that makes perfect sense to my always-lived-in-Kansas-mind: one needs a cool something to slurp in the sweltering heat and humidity. On our trip to South Carolina, I saw a snow-cone-and-boiled peanuts stand. I suppose that the snow-cone's purpose in Southern life is to wash down the peanuts.

we'll keep the light on for you

They'll keep a bed for you too, if needed. This is the sign at the police department of an even smaller town near our Small Town. I tried to get a better photograph of the neon sign, but haven't taken the time to figure out the camera. Hopefully you can distinguish the letters. If not: it simply states "Police Dept" in neon lighting. It's very quaint for a police department to still be using their neon sign from the mid 1900s. I like it. The town is saying "we're not too proud to use a working vintage item. We don't need to spend money we don't have on a new sign."

The neon light blasting a hole in the night darkness reminds me of paintings by the American artist Edward Hopper. He juxtaposed light and dark. Ripple Effect has an excellent review of his works.

every day, life is peaceful in a small town

sigh. faint. A celebrity read my blog! Well, a well-known local anyway. Mr. Wyckoff himself, whom I quoted here, saw that post and he promptly sent me this photograph of him and his bank staff dressed for Halloween. Even small-town bankers and accountants like to have fun.

It's a bird...it's a plane, no...it's SuperWitch! She flew smack-dab into the electric pole in the countryside. She almost made it to town. I've seen these witch dolls attached to chimneys, trees and other tall things in The Big City, but there was just something hilarious about driving home through farming country recently and suddenly spotting one fastened to an electric pole. As if the witch was flying cross-crountry and had a mishap almost in the middle of nowhere!

Friday football

One option for Friday night entertainment in The Small Town is the local high school football game. We went there last night.
The admission charge is just a dollar or two cheaper than the high school games in The Big City. The concession food prices are about the same also. 1 mystery meat hot dog + 1 bag of popcorn + 2 cardboard pizza slices= $7.00. Whether there or here, two people can watch the game for the price of one movie theatre ticket.
The half-time show brought to us of course by the high school marching band. Throughout the game I think of my niece who is a trumpeter in the marching band at her high school back in The Big City.

Boy oh boy was it cold! (to me. My Darling Husband thought it refreshing.) It's time to bring out the scarves and heavy gloves.

Go team! Ours are the fellows in orange and black.

Sigh. Football is one of those things I'll just never understand. My Darling Patient Husband--and others in the past--explains some of the rules and technicalities of the game to me, but they've gone out my other ear by the time we watch the next game. But knitting I understand and it's portable. I once took my knitting to my niece's high school's football game. Probably I was the only knitter in the stands. But no matter. It made the minutes fly by until my niece marched with her bandmates on to the field.Even though I am usually totally oblivious to the wheeling and dealing of the moment (Where's the ball??? Which way are they running???), I have the uncanny ability to follow along the game. All I have to do is watch what the crowd is doing. When other fans clap and cheer, I know it is time to clap and cheer.

Of course, that works best when the section I'm sitting in is occupied only by one team's fans. It doesn't work too well at an NFL game where fans from both teams are mixed up like cookie dough in the stands. When My Darling Husband and I were on our honeymoon last year, I surprised him with tickets to a Denver Broncos game. We cheered for the Broncos that day. I remember accidentally clapping for the opposing team then slinking back down into my seat in slight disconcertment upon the realization. The Broncos won that game and even I was excited. I do enjoy going to football games.

Watching it on television is another story. That's like listening to someone talk in a foreign language I don't understand. A foreign language that's not pretty to hear. Once in a million quarters I can follow the ball and then I know what is going on. For a few moments.

Think I'll knit up an orange scarf to match my black coat. Darling Husband requests a manly black scarf. At least I understand color theory.

are you making this deposit into your savings, checking, or just on our lawn?

This paragrah is so small-town life! (The complete article, written by Bill Wyckoff, can be read here.) Just nonchalantly ride your horse through town as if there's no such thing as a vehicle. You can do that in a really small town. In The Small Town you might receive a few surprised looks from motorists. In The Big City, a horseowner would have to drive over to the stables where the horse is boarded, and probably have to get a special permit for a one-time ride through town or participate with your horse in a parade.

"....I just received a cell call from Janet, a long time bank employee. She sounded distraught; I thought something was really wrong. She said a group of kids on horse back came by the bank when she was leaving the parking lot. I’m thinking one of the horses must have kicked her car, bucked off a young rider or something. I ask if she was OK, she said yes but one of the horses left a huge deposit of road apples right in the middle of our drive-in lane.
I broke out laughing, and she said, “I really didn’t expect that reaction from you."
So there you have it, the life of a banker in a small rural town. If the dogs aren’t leaving deposits on the front lawn then the horses are in the back. I must have had too much fun today so I’m headed out to check on my cows.
Hope you are having a great day also."

swimmin' with the frogs

This was my dream pool (no idea where the photo's from; have had it saved on my computer for a few years, along with other home idea pictures): flowers right up to the water's edge...chairs close by to sink into after a morning swim...clear, blue water.... When I started landscaping plans for our house last year, I envisioned swimming with the scents of roses and lavender wafting by. My Darling Husband had other thoughts--keep the plants as far away from the pool as possible. His reasoning for that makes logical sense, so I've compromised on the landscaping scheme.

Well, at least our chairs are close to the water's edge, and the water becoming clear and blue is not a dream, but reality. It's becoming reality. Cleaning out a (our) pool is arduous labor, especially when that pool is inhabited by the green reptilian set and is as gooey as the bottom of a muddy Midwestern lake. I'd almost rather pay a certain pool company the $1,800 they would charge to clean it. If we had the green monetary set, that is.

Instead we have started the cleaning process ourselves. I must commend My Darling Husband for donning some old clothes and venturing into the murky waters to scoop the goo. I was the one staying (mostly) dry by carting the goo in the wheelbarrow to the compost bin. Little black tadpoles and polliwogs in dark brown leafy goo, and marina stench x 100 = gag me with a spoon...and a fork and knife!

That was yesterday. A big, strong male friend with a stronger countenance than me has offered to help My Darling Husband turn our pond back into the pool it was meant to be. Whew, thank goodness for friends! He can have all the swim time he wants when the pool is ready for occupation by humans.

there's room in this inn

Have you seen this? A Jewish family was denied a hotel room because of the owner's racism. Amazing how it's happening again in Austria, the birthplace of that horrible man Adolph Hitler.

If you're ever in The Big City, a stay here would be nice (or this one is nice, but I've not stayed at this one. I went to this one to listen to jazz). The staff is welcoming and the location is superb...right in the heart of a scenic area. The original buildings in the neighborhood date from the 1920s.

the difference between a man and a woman

re: Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. My Darling Husband and I both are in need of new eye spectacles, says the optometrist.

We don't just get our eyes examined and choose our new eyeglass frames simultaneously on one appointment. Well, I don't. My Darling Husband does. He came out of the examining rooms and went straight for the frame boutique. A mere 15 minutes and 8 frames later, he is the proud owner of new eyeglasses.

Me on the other hand? Eye examination...check. Into the frame boutique, spend an hour, select 5 frames to borrow (an advantage of our small-town optometrist). Go home, have My Darling Husband take snapshots of me in various frames, email snaps to family and friends for their wisdom, mull over their replies and the frames for a week. Repeat process twice.

One month later I am still wearing my current prescription. My Darling Husband just doesn't understand...choose one already! But I can't just choose the 8th frame I pick up. This is a very important decision that affects every day of my life with those glasses. I want an exact copy of my current glasses. They're like a pair of well-fitting jeans--just have to stick with what fits and looks good.

So I'm off to a different frame boutique at a different optometrist's office tomorrow. Maybe the 20th pair will be the charm.

and now for dessert

Happy St. Patrick's Day! No parades here in The Small Town for this day, but individuals have decorated themselves and their houses in hopes of being Irish. Or to ward off pinching. When My Darling Husband was a wee lad, he tainted his family's new gallon of milk with green food coloring one St. Patrick's Day. Apparently, the sight of cereal swimming in green milk was unappetizing, so his mother went and bought a new gallon of milk. My Darling Husband was designated as the sole consumer of the green milk.

So, in honor of him and St. Patrick, here's some new green milk to go with the brownie and mint chocolate ice cream.

how fresh would you like your steak?

Country roadkill. We sped by this on the way to church and back. Sorry for the udderly bad picture. I was hoping to snap it with the cow still on the shoulder of the road, but the creature had been moved over to the ditch by the time I returned to the scene. I'm guessing it escaped from the pasture and got hit by a vehicle. What a loss for the farmer. I've seen all the skunks, racoons, dogs, cats, coyotes, wolves, armadillos, turtles, and opossums for roadkill. Those are roadkill both in town and country. Cows?--only in the country.

Calgon, take me away!

That's what I might be saying soon.

My sub-heading for this blog is "Take the girl out of the big city--can't take the big city out of the girl". I lived in The Big City for many years until last September, when I married a man whose only drawback (how I saw it back then) was that he lives in The Small Town. I thought, "Aaahhh! No popping into the local yarn shops or Hobby Lobby to check out the clearance crafts or the mall on any ol' day. Too much quiet. And less visiting with my family. What'll I do?????"

What I've done is what everybody should do when they move to a new place, whether it's a sprawling metropolis or a self-contained little town. I have become involved. There's new friends added to the old friends, church and church functions, work, knitting group at the local library each week, and various local small-town events. I've learned to live with fewer shops and that's been good because I am actually finishing projects instead of just salivating over yarn and pretty home goods at the shops. I can visit the shops when we travel. And...My Darling Husband has become my family.

Last week My Darling Husband came home from his work with the news that he's been laid off.

Whuh?!

Mental thud.

Where did that come from?

I practically just moved here!

...and I like it here now!!!

I've pleasantly discovered that you can take the big city out of this gal. We might have to move because My Darling Husband's line of work is specialized and there's only the one company around here that could hire him. There's no market here for him to start a company doing his line of work. If we do move to a large city, I'll miss the quiet, the three-car traffic jams, the general politeness, the easily formed friendships, the quick drive to the countryside. I'll need lots of bubble baths. At least for a time.

The blog sub-heading has got to be revised.

here, sample this

Did you see Alicia's? Here's my sampler. I'm going to cross-stitch it. I mean, I'll add it to the list of crafty things I want to do. But I will stitch it...perhaps embroider it. Living in a small town means I'm close to the country so I can drive quickly to the rural areas for country inspiration, or walk through town for city inspiration for the sampler. Samplers are so easy to personalize. You can add your initials and date you completed the project, the names of the recipients or images from the life you know.

oh what a beautiful day

Today's 70+ degree (Farenheit) weather...in winter...just begged for picnickers. We obliged.

It was the place to be, for folks of all ages.These tree seed balls reminded me of gum drops on a candy tree. Or glass balls on a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

There were lots of tykes on bikes. I would be more comfortable allowing children to ride off by themselves here than in The Big City. I know things happen everywhere, but there's less crime to deal with here.

A vintage pathway.

A vintage train.

End of the line for this black beauty.

We even have a small zoo. Very small. The concession prices are small too.

night lights

In The Big City and in The Small Town, Christmas lights are a sight not to be missed. After dinner, My Darling Husband and I drove around the countryside (Ah, peaceful serenity.)(A pretty country church, shining as a beacon in the dark.)(Something tells me Katy is getting a sparkly ring for Christmas and might need that church.)and The Small Town to see what our eyes would behold. This Small Town and the small town I grew up in both use the crossed wreaths to decorate the downtown. They're pretty. A lovely Victorian dwelling that I constantly admire from afar.