My Day

Yesterday Blue-the-cat, Gabe-the-schnauzer, and I (Donna-the-human) went on our usual walk to the edge of the woods.  When I turned around and started back to the house, Blue didn't seem interested in joining us, even when I called him.  I don't think it's more than a quarter-mile back there, so I figured the silly cat would come home on his own.  He surely knows the way, since he's made the trip several times. 

Three hours later he still hadn't come back, so I put Gabe on the leash and we went north through the pasture again.  When we got near the turnaround place, I began calling Blue; he came right out of the brush and was ready to follow us home... finally.  I should have left him back there, because I'm almost positive he'd have come home by 4:30; that's when I feed the cats their canned food.  Food is mighty important to Blue.  But any time he's missing, I picture coyotes or foxes feasting on him, or an eagle flying off with the cat in his claws.  Since Blue is an outside cat, I see that gruesome picture in my mind quite often.  Old Mama Kitty is at least 13 years old, and she's still around.  Surely Blue will make it as long.  But I worry.

Because I took two walks yesterday, I'm paying today with sore knees.  No walk today, and I only spent 15 minutes on the exercise bike.  I have had a productive day, though.  I had a tiny roast in the freezer:  one pound, six ounces.  I told Cliff it was a two-person roast, although it was a wee bit too much for us at one meal.  I made mashed potatoes and gravy and heated up green beans.  While the roast was in the Insta-Pot, I made rice pudding.  Cliff was pleasantly surprised.

This morning I wrote my sister a much better left-hand letter than the one I was going to send.  I needed the practice, right?  I thought I did my best job yet on her letter, so later when I was getting ready to send a payment in the mail, I thought it was time to try writing a check left-handed.  First, though, I used my left hand to write my return address on the envelope.  I used a pen writing the return address first.  But I'm not as proficient with a pen; it's as if they have a mind of their own.  After seeing my poor attempt at writing a return address, I realized I'm not ready for prime-time yet and used my right hand for the check.   

What's Cliff doing on these beautiful days?  Well, he got everything done he intended to do with the "parts tractor"he turned into a working one, so he parked it and got the other 880 Oliver out; this is the tractor he bought with intentions to fix up.  Everything seems to be working on it, except that it needs a rear end.  The man who sold him the tractor told him he had no idea what was wrong with it, but it makes a loud noise when it's put in reverse.

I don't know where he'll get another parts tractor.  He saw a cheap one Monday on Facebook Marketplace, but it sold before he had a chance at it.

That thing between the hose on the left and the stool on the right is a power takeoff (PTO).   I'm sure my readers will find this fascinating.  

I guess we are still looking for a used Kubota 7040.  And now, to find another 880 parts tractor and hope my husband resists the urge to get it running.

The two cats are at the door demanding their supper, and it's almost that time.

And that's what's happening today at Woodhaven Acres.

I'm just rambling today

I'm still practicing my left-handed writing.  And now I'm also printing left-handed.  I didn't intend to do that, since I was never, ever taught how to print.  Of course I taught myself at some point, but that's easy after you've learned "cursive".  Who started calling it cursive anyway?  It was called longhand when I was going to school.  

I've found many helps along the way, like this site.  There are books, too; lots of them.  I bought one for five and six-year-olds.  And yes, it is very helpful.  I'm doing a page or two daily.

Why?  It's all because I was born left-handed like my dad, but was switched in school because the teacher asked my mom whether she wanted me to write left-handed or right-handed.  Mother told Mrs. Eighmy she'd prefer right-handed because it's an awkward world for lefties. 

I don't send Christmas cards any more, but I got one for my sister.  I'll write another note on the inside of her card, but I wrote a very sloppy note to put in the card so she could see my poor attempt at writing with my left hand.  Then I wrote some lines at the top of that note with my right hand that were sloppier than my left-hand writing!  Cliff's been telling me my left hand writing looks better than my right, but that may be because I take my time.  Below is my note:  I am embarrassed to show any of my hand-writing, but I may as well keep things real.

 

Maybe Maxine will get a laugh out of it, if nothing else.  I don't believe any silly thing I decide to do surprises people.  I march to the beat of a strange and unique drummer.

Blue, the cat, has been seen with a dead mole in his mouth a few times, so he's sure to be a good mouser.  I let him inside earlier; Gabe was scuffling with him roughly, as he always does, and evidently Blue decided he was tired of it:  I don't know whether he bit Gabe or scratched him, but in the middle of the confrontation, Gabe yipped and quickly put some distance between himself and the cat.  He needed that lesson, so I don't feel sorry for him.  He plays far too roughly, partly out of jealousy, no doubt.  He is a very spoiled dog.

We are having some of the best autumn weather I've seen.  October and November gave us some cold, cloudy weather, but we had more sunny days that cloudy, with pleasant temperatures much of the time.   

Next week it's time to get Gabe groomed; he's also due for his yearly appointment at the vet.  There goes any extra money we might have had, but he's worth it as long as we have it.  It's all because I can't tolerate, or keep up with, hair in the house.  The only non-shedders seem to be dogs that must go to a groomer.  I've had folks tell me there's nothing to grooming a dog, that I should do it myself:  Well, look at my handwriting!  You can imagine what sort of haircut I'd give a dog, if I can't even write legibly.  

We let my parents have a poodle of ours one time.  After a year or two of my Mom cutting Meliah's hair, and both parents feeding her anything she asked for, the classy little poodle we gave them turned into a fat, ugly mutt.  She lived to be 17 or 18 years old, but the last few years of her life she had a terrible odor and scratched a lot.  I'm fairly certain she had developed allergies that could have been corrected if they'd checked with a vet, but my mom hated to spend that much money on an animal.  Now that I think of it, Meliah may have been allergic to Avon:  Mother was an Avon lady for several years, and she used Avon soaps to bathe the dog.  When Meliah developed that stink, Mother would spray her with Avon cologne, which blended with the dog's stink and only made it worse.

Yesterday I put a different picture on my blog header.  I use Safari browser most of the time.  I had no problem putting the picture on, but I couldn't find how to change the font color on the picture.  I googled for help, I tried one thing and another; none of the directions worked for me.  Then it occurred to me to use the Chrome browser, since Google owns Chrome as well as the Blogger platform.  Bingo!  There were aspects needed to work with fonts that didn't show up on Safari.  I guess I should just go back to Google for all my browsing.  I've put it off because Google doesn't like some of my Safari passwords and I don't want to mess around change them.  

I believe Gabe, Blue, and I will go on a short jaunt across the pasture.  Have a great day, wherever you are!