Here's your letter from Donna (random)

Yes, a letter.  When I have no specific topic, it's a letter.  Pretend you just pulled this letter out of your mailbox.  Except I'm not going to start with "dear readers".  That would just get tiresome.

Let's talk about the weather again.  This is about the driest year I think I've witnessed, except for maybe 1954 when I was ten.  We have both become pessimists this summer, because even when people 50 miles away are getting several inches, we get from nothing at all to 1/2 inch.  The only thing left in our yard is weeds, and they're sparse.  So trust me, when any source of weather forecasting mentions possibility of rain, we laugh.  Oh, there was a period of time when they'd say chance of rain and one of us would yell LIAR! (or worse).  Then it got so hopeless, we'd just mutter to ourselves, knowing it wasn't going to happen.  Last night I was debating whether to close the windows or not, so I checked my weather app.  Everything was zero chance of rain except for a 10% chance from 10 to 11 this morning.  I mentioned this to Cliff and we laughed and laughed.  I mean, when inches are forecast and we get nothing,  do they really think they can forecast a 10% chance that lasts an hour?  So this morning when Cliff stepped out the door at 9:45, he said, "It's sprinkling", I replied, "Oh, of course it is.  Because obviously all the forecasts only include us when we're getting a very light mist.  We're the 10% that got it.  Yes, I'm bitter.  

Every year our son visits us around the fourth of July.  I only see him once a year, so I try to cook stuff he likes, which means a lot of starch and sugar and fats.  He only stays for four or five days, but by the time he leaves, I've gained six pounds and Cliff shows up to a 10-pound gain, because we're eating more of the stuff we don't allow ourselves often.  Admittedly, two days after Jim's gone, we've both dropped a couple or three pounds, but the rest takes longer.  This year I was afraid I wasn't going to shed it.  My clothes weren't too snug, so it wasn't a big problem except that I know my past history; it seems once I gain four pounds and keep carrying it around for two months, I start gradually gaining weight until I'm pushing 180 pounds.  Yesterday I felt a little "off"; not sick, but not particularly wanting to eat a lot, either.  This morning I got up, got on the scales, and voila! was finally down to my fighting weight, 151.  That was worth feeling a little peaked (does anybody use that word any more?) for a day.

Definition of Peaked (or Peakèd)  It means "to look sick or sickly", or, if you want to be similarly archaic, it means to look "wan". ... It's spoken as two syllables.

I can't write a letter without mentioning Gabe, my dog.  Here's a rather interesting and irritating thing he does:  He's pretty good now about coming to the house when I call him, but as he gets almost to the bottom step, he'll put his nose to the ground and circle, searching for a treasure to bring inside.  Unfortunately, they are not treasures to me.  Since there are a lot of horses next door for a farrier to trim, Gabe can sneak under a fence, grab a trimmed-off hunk of hoof, and carry it home.  He has these scattered in the grass in the front yard, and sometimes that's his treasure of the day.  He likes to chew them, and I'm sure there is a danger of his choking on a piece like my Sadie-dog choked and died on a piece of pork bone.  However, by the time he brings them in the house they're usually pretty clean, so I let him chew one for awhile and toss it when he abandons it.  Living where we do, there's no way to stop his bringing horse-hooves home.  We live in farm country, so that's how it is.  

Ah, but the other stuff he's surprised me with.  Because of his beard, I often don't realize there's anything in his mouth until he gets inside and either drops it on the floor or starts crunching on something.  If I see him pick something up outside, I pry his mouth open before he comes in and get rid of the treasure.  So far I've relieved him of many, many twigs, a caterpillar he had his tongue curled around as if cradling it, a dead mouse (again, with his tongue cradling it), and today, some furry little thing I first thought was a stick, but then realized it was a very slender bone from some tiny creature.  Yuck.

And then there's my great-granddaughter.  We watch her for short periods of time once or twice a week, which is nice.  She was here today when I heard Cliff start the tractor; right then I remembered how our first great-granddaughter was scared of the tractor for a long, long time.  We didn't put her on it until she was past a year old.  We started Cora riding it almost as soon as we began babysitting her, so she has always loved tractors.  Anyway, I took the baby out and told Cliff he had better take her for a short ride once in a while so she'd be comfortable with tractors.  

I'm so thankful for our cooler weather.   

Sincerely yours, Donna