We believed everything she said to us, for example: a cold takes three days to come, three days to stay and three days to go. That was a mouthful!

However, I am now on my 11^th day since it struck and I’m still waiting for it to depart. Perhaps the medicine I’m taking is prolonging its stay, or perhaps the way to count the days is different now than it was when grandma was with us. No matter, I’m still coughing up a storm, my lungs are tired, my throat is red, my nose is in constant motion and my eyes are bulging.

The medical assistant (?) said I was negative for all those recently named maladies of the throat/ears/nose. Nothing came out positive, so I was given a prescription for sore throat and a regular cold. By the way, I have not seen a doctor for the last seven years. What gives?

After 7 days of taking the prescription, my symptoms worsened, my throat emitted some guttural sounds heard only by my pillow and with fever raging every day, I thought I was being invaded by a alien force who spoke in an ancient language through my ears, directly to my brain, causing a raucous only I could hear.

Left my bed several times at night to find a better sleeping position somewhere else in the house, to no avail. Sitting up on the recliner only caused me to stay up all night and lying down on the mattress created the internal raucous increase to a level never heard before.

Another visit to the clinic and the receptionist denied me a face-to-face since I had only been seen about 7 days prior. She was loud enough for the medical assistant to hear my voice complaining of the lack of improvement in my health, so she sent me back home to wait for the pharmacy to deliver a new prescription.

Because the pharmacy doesn’t deliver out of town to the farmland, I needed someone else to pick up the prescription at the pharmacy in town, so on MLK day, our daughter was great enough to do so.

She brought the prescription home, along with another prescription to enhance the bone density of my skeleton. It was recommended I start taking this new drug in case of a fall and to avoid breaking the bones left in my body. After reading the side effects of this new drug, I put it back in the box and will return it to the pharmacy on my next trip to town.

The side effects will require a new prescription for stomach ulcers, another one for sleep deprivation, another one for bleeding of the stomach and yet another drug for dizziness. Do you think that in my right mind I’m taking this new drug in case of a fall? You got something else coming to you, as I prefer to have a splint on my arm, leg or whatever, instead of another drug.

For more stories, go to www.elvaweber.com

Called the clinic for an evaluation of the symptoms and was told the nurse practitioner was not available for the next three weeks. I figured, better to wait the three weeks than to see if we can find a doctor somewhere else. A doctor? What is that? I haven’t been seen by a doctor in many years, as everything has been transferred to young people who don’t have time to even look at you while you’re describing your maladies, but spend the time allotted to the appointment looking into their laptop and writing stuff.

As I’m describing my maladies, the young woman kept writing and letting me know I had already been seen the previous 4 weeks for the same problem. I tried and let her know the problem had not gone away; in fact, it’s worse. The medication I was prescribed during the initial consult made me so groggy I could not perform my household duties as I was walking in a fog. I was curious, so I went to the computer and asked for the symptoms following the ingestion of those pills and found out they do cause drowsiness. I immediately threw them away and began to feel like my old self again, pain and all.

After several minutes of looking into the laptop she ordered x rays; called the pharmacy for another prescription for more pills and was sent home. OK, so now what? Do I get to see the x-rays? Do I get to find out what is wrong? Do I need to come back later? Are they waiting for me to die so I won't cause any more problems, like taking time out of their day? It is so frustrating, as they are all like robots who don’t listen to you, but write on their laptops to satisfy their immediate supervisors.

It boils down to this: I was unaware of the difficulties encountered in old age. Now, I don’t consider myself old, but my birth certificate is falling apart, so I can imagine this is it. The end of the road, the beginning of forgetfulness, repeating sentences over and over again  to people who think I’ve lost it; of looking into the address book and seeing so many of my friends with their names crossed out as they have departed this earth before me; of dialing phone numbers I have entrusted to memory and now I find them disconnected; of remembering someone’s birthday and not have an address to send a card; of looking to make a lunch date and not having anyone to call; but, here I am, still with a head full of hair, with my teeth still in place, the ability to write things down (otherwise I would forget them) and the willingness to volunteer whenever needed.

There must be a reason I’m still here, and I’m willing to discover it. In the meantime, I will put up with the robots at the clinic and try to be comfortable with my ailing body.

Remember to plan for old age; it will come, and it will take you unaware.

For more stories go to www.elvaweber.com

In my case, I’m suffering from both.

Because of my advanced age, I’ve lost stature when I’m hunting for a position. I like to be employed, not only because of the remuneration but because I can continue to expand my mind learning new things and teaching old things. As soon as the prospective employer discovers my age, I’ve lost stature. Just because I’m an octogenarian doesn’t mean I don’t know how to search the web, type, research or whatever the intended employer needs.

Of course, I could lie and say I’m in my fifties, but one look at me and they’ll know it’s a lie.

So, I continue to lose stature as soon as people discover my true age. Including the ladies at church, oh, my, I suppose I could be home baking cookies, but I rather be engaged in organizational duties, fundraising or whatever it needs to be done in an organization.

However, I digress. My biggest problem is “Losing Stature” in the physical sense of the word. I’m still wearing clothes I wore during my working days, but now I must hem the pant legs, tuck in the shoulders, hem the arm lengths of the blouses and coats or just double them over themselves to make them shorter.

I just discovered my mirror in the bathroom only takes part of my face. My chin is no longer visible so I need to bring the mirror down a bit so I can clean my face better.

The full-length mirror in the hall needs to be adjusted to take in the complete body, as right now my head is too low, and my shoes don’t show.

Now, going shopping for clothes, which I despise with my whole heart, I will no longer go to the regular racks, now I must look at the racks in the “Petite”, not because I’m smaller, but because I’m shorter. Weight has nothing to do with “Stature”.

Which brings me to Grumpy; he has decided to lose weight until he reaches the same weight the day we got married. Wow! He doesn’t realize the weight may go down, but the muscle mass is gone too, so he will look rather silly. But Grumpy is Grumpy and nobody can tell him what to do. In my case, I already told him in so many words. Here I Am. This is all you get after all these years together. You should have treated me better.

Love is good. Be good to yourself and meet me at the Petite section of the store.

For more stories go to: www.elvaweber.com

The neighbors are quite a nice couple with several children who are always willing to help when we need them, so she sent us 4 small cats for us to feed and take care of our mice problem.

The first day, one was sitting on the tire of my car, and as I pulled out, we had a terrible accident. That left us three cats to care for.

I took photos, made nice with them, fed them, cleaned out a space in the garage and was happy when I noticed our mice population had decreased.

Not long after, one of the cats, now old enough to breed, regaled us with three precious little ones. I was fine with it. Unfortunately, one of the babies had a problem with a back leg and was unable to climb, so I made a special place for it to eat without being disturbed by the other cats or the dogs.

After a while, our daughter brought the three-legged cat into her home and left us with two other small cats. We lost one somewhere and the other one is still around here.

A couple of months later, the other female brought into the world 5 little ones, and not too long after, her sister found a place to deliver 6 more. The third cat found it necessary to flee to the neighbors as her sisters didn’t want her around, so she brought 2 new babies to our daughter’s house where they now live.

Now, I’m in trouble.

Since there were too many cats in the garage, I made a place in the barn to house all the babies, their mothers and any other stray animal. But both the mothers decided the garage was better and it was home and brought every one of their babies back to the garage in a remarkable time. I couldn’t turn my back for any length of time, when I discovered all the babies were back!

As I sit doing some sewing, I can see the kitties at the back door just giving me the evil eye and especially one who we named “whiner”, just sitting by the door waiting for food. No matter how often I feed this cat, it’s always whining for more. It is very vocal and loud, and it’s the only one from a litter, who knows where he came from, as it’s different from all the others.

If anybody needs a cat, please let me know, I have several I would like to donate to a worthy cause.

Called home, but being close to midnight it took a little while for the phone to be answered; then, grumpy came on the line and after letting him know of my predicament, he suggested I call *511 and get the sheriff involved as he was not coming out to rescue me because of the low temperatures.

The dispatcher at the sheriff’s office called the tow truck and after waiting for an hour, a disheveled tow truck operator came to my aid.  He took his time hooking up the car to his truck and suggested I ride with him in the front seat.  He opened the passenger door to let me in, high heels and all, and realized the old fast food trash was on the seat along with shriveled up French fries, empty chip bags, cigarette butts, soda cans and more than I can describe on this paper.

He apologized profusely after seeing I was wearing my work clothes, consisting of a full length coat, a dressy skirt and blouse, along with nylons and pumps.

He moved the trash and made enough room for me to sit and started on his way to his repair shop.  I then called home once again and after promising all the things I was never going to do, my better half agreed to dress, get in his truck and pick me up at the garage.

He arrived about an hour later and we started for home, leaving my car behind, with a promise the mechanic would look at it at his first opportunity the following day.

It was the start of my three weeks’ vacation during the Holidays, when everyone is involved in parties, visiting, traveling home, baking and other festive occasions; I had no need to go anywhere but stay home and relax.

I contacted the mechanic the following day and the bad news was the alternator was trash and needed a new one; I agreed to get it fixed. Later, he called and said the battery needed to be replaced, the cables and belts needed work and after all was said and done, the bill was enormous.  I should have gone to the car dealership and bought a new car, seeing most of the important parts needed replacement.

Finally, after waiting what seemed to be like forever, the day came when the car was ready to be picked up and with checkbook in hand I arrived at the mechanics.

The car was working, the interior had been vacuumed, the exterior had been cleaned, the carpets were spotless, and I was a happy woman once again. When we arrived at home, we agreed to give the car to one of our daughters who were leaving for college, and I went to the dealership and bought a new one. I should have done that to begin with.

His truck is equipped with so many gadgets I cannot even begin to understand the reason for them or even trying to figure out how to use them. I’ve told him about the more gadgets in the truck, the more opportunities for them to go bad or be replaced. But he loves his truck.

I drive a 14-year-old car, standard transmission, close to 200,000 miles in the odometer, five gears, windows rattling every time I go over a chuckhole on the dirt road, but it gets me where I want to go.

Living on a gravel road gives us two seasons: mud or dust. When it rains, it’s mud everywhere, and when it’s dry, it’s dust. Driving to the car wash is only warranted when I am going to a meeting somewhere. So, it’s a waste of money to get it washed more often.

Speaking of chuckholes, driving out to the market, we need to know where the chuckholes are, so to avoid them; driving grumpy around, I get the second opinion as to drive on the right or on the left to avoid getting in the middle of the chuckhole and then bumping all over the place.

Just to make matters worse, one evening driving home, I tried to avoid several chuckholes on the road, and drove too close to the side, right over a concrete culvert, slicing two of my tires. I could almost hear the air out of the passenger side tires, as the car stopped because both tires were flat. No way to move the car, not even trying to call the auto repair service, as I only had one spare tire in the back.

Locked the car, left it on the side of the road and called to get a ride home. The next morning, the tow truck came in, hauled the car out to the tire shop and I was presented with a bill for two new tires. If I had an expense account, I could write them off somehow. This way, I must pay for them myself.

So Grumpy’s truck is in the shop again, and I’m his driver. I can’t wait to take him places so he can criticize my driving, either I’m driving too fast or too slowly, I’m not paying attention to the signs and he’s certain the county sheriff is waiting at the next corner to give me a ticket for my driving. I know I shouldn’t have told him about the police car who followed me last week and stopped me because I started to accelerate way before the 55-mph sign was visible. The policeman couldn’t have been older than 16 years old, and when he saw how old I am, he decided to let me go with a warning; and he was nice enough not to cite me for a broken taillight, which I immediately got fixed.

Hopefully Grumpy’s truck will be ready to come home by the end of the week.

For more stories, go to www.elvaweber.com

After some research, the dedicated rural minister was located, and she was asked to use our donations to purchase whatever the children needed. Sister Kathy is most gentle, appreciative, and filled with joy. Every time she receives a check, she sends a thank you card to let us know how the money is being used. At the same time, she writes a bit about the weather, the children, and her ministry in rural Alaska. She tells us about the needs of the people, the difficulties in reaching the small villages as she takes care of her ministry and how little they have in funds to survive the inclement weather. We in turn send photos of our area, notes about our weather and good wishes for her ministry.

At St. Mary Catholic Church in Lamar, our Parish school of religion, which enrolls children from Kindergarten to High School, followed the idea to help the children of Nelson Island, asked the parishioners to bring their coins and place them in a jar. The idea is to collect the coins, fill the jar, bring them to the bank and receive a check to send to the Rural Ministry office to buy books for the children’s education in the rural areas, or to help one of the families.

There is another jar at the AmVets Post on Highway 32 in Stockton, where people deposit their coins to be sent to the Alaskan Rural Ministry. Once the coins are collected, the children send a “thank you” card to the bartender for taking care of the coins.

Several people have heard about this ministry and bring their own coin jar to either St. Mary church in Lamar or the AmVets post in Stockton to add to the existing coins in the jars.

If you want to save your coins to help the children in Nelson Island in Alaska, feel free to bring them to either location. We will take care of the rest.  Sister Kathy will be most grateful.

I thought it was an appropriate characterization as we’re seeing warm, very warm, where you feel is time to put away your winter wear, and suddenly, here it is again: below freezing!

I’ve been working in the flower garden on warm days, getting the seeds on the hanging pots, weeding the rows, mulching the ground, and looking at the little green specks timidly showing through the dirt. What a great joy to see the earth coming back to life following Easter.

How are we to react to this craziness in the weather? Someone said: “you’re in Missouri!”. Maybe true, as I look at the outdoor thermometer every morning before I decide what type of clothing to select for the day.

Then, after I get all comfortable with the duds I selected for the day, it changes. Grumpy keeps telling me I can’t depend on the early signs of weather because it will change either up or down depending on nature’s whims.

The best thing to do is wear layers, so you can either increase or decrease the number of items you wear each day. The temperature will let you know which ones to discard and which ones to add to your body as the days progress.

Last week, our delivery driver was wearing short pants and this week he’s wearing a parka. The mail delivery driver’s wagon was covered with dirt last week and mud this week. There is no telling what the weather will be from day to day, because “we’re in Missouri”.

The wind was fierce, we lost some of our trees, although they were already dead, but now we must move them to the land of dead trees or as Grumpy says: “they will eventually fall and become part of the earth again by themselves, so why worry?”

Amid the storm, I was so happy to see rain; and as I was enjoying the sound on the hot tin roof, (sans the cat), I watched the patio furniture slide by the patio door and end up in a great huge pile, covered with mud. After the storm passed, it was not easy to retrieve all the items from the mud, clean each chair and table, move all items back into the patio and sweep the leaves and water from the patio floor. By the time I was finished cleaning up all the debris, I needed a shower, a new set of clothes and shoes and a chair to rest my bones.

But, hey, it’s Missouri weather. Let’s see what this week will bring.

For more stories, go to elvaweber.com

Can you imagine asking them for glimpses of their life?  I’m sure you will not be surprised to find out they were practicing lawyers, judges, soldiers, architects, designers, wives, mothers, husbands, plumbers, cleaners and drivers and so on. But as we look at them now, we will not find the proper words to ask them how full their lives were in years past, or how they spent their younger years.

Years ago, I was traveling with a rep in Minnesota making stops at several nursing homes in the area; he was well known and knowledgeable and I was comfortable working with him.  As we arrived at one of his appointments, there were several octogenarian women in a row in front of the entrance waiting for a van to take them to the health clinic.

One of them, the more adventurous, stopped us to let us know they were being taken to the clinic to have breast exams. She then proceeded to let us know why she couldn’t understand the reason for it, as they were way past their time for that type of care. She was adamant to tell us what she thought of the bureaucrats filling out the paper work so they could get paid for their care. She was hilarious!

I thought she had more to say to us, but the people caring for her rushed her out of our sight before she could tell us more of her grievances.

As we stepped inside the building, there was a woman to which I was told to pay attention; the rep walked fast, the woman walked behind him imitating. He peeked into a room; she did the same. He stopped, she stopped. He looked out the window, she did the same. This went on for several minutes as he was making gestures, and this woman was imitating him exactly. The caretaker noticed how much fun this woman was having, and she immediately took her to her room. No more fun.

So, don’t tell me just because they are institutionalized the older generation is not having fun! I would love to stop and speak with some of them and learn what they know or just have a visit with the past.  We could hear some great stories, I guarantee.

Elva Weber – for more stories go to www.elvaweber.com

As I was picking up the cat, the empty cartons I’m saving for the garage sale at church had toppled over so I stopped to get them off the ground and placed them on the lower shelf so they wouldn’t get wet on the concrete slab.

Once that chore was completed, I thought about cleaning the car windows as they had picked up some bugs during my trips. I entered the laundry room in search of a rag and window cleaner when I noticed the laundry was ready to be placed in the dryer. Once the clothes were in, I started another load to get ahead of my day.

On top of the folding table, I noticed a sock which needed mending, as I had found a hole in the toe, so I picked up a needle and thread and started to mend the hole in the sock, when I noticed I hadn’t picked up the trash in the laundry room that morning, so I went to the kitchen to find a plastic bag for the trash. Since I was picking up trash, I thought to go into the office and clear the paper basket which was overflowing with old papers after I cleaned out the file cabinet.

On my way back to the kitchen to pick up the trash, my phone rang, so I picked it up and heard a telemarketer trying to sell me a place in the cemetery, which I refused to buy because I’m not ready to kick the bucket yet. Which got me to thinking I better write a check to the church’s cemetery before the price goes up during the summer.

After I wrote the check, I put a stamp on the envelope and put it on the counter to take to the mailbox later; after I completed all the chores, I remembered I needed to pay some bills. While writing some checks, the trash man arrived; I had a bag of trash sitting in the kitchen ready to be taken outside, so I ran and delivered to the man myself before he departed.

The trash man left the container in the middle of the driveway, and I thought I better move it, before Grumpy drives over it and crushes it. Grumpy is a great driver, but sometimes he doesn’t pay attention and runs over things and then he expects me to pick them up later. Better do it before Grumpy arrives.

At this point, I have not picked up the mail, have not put water for the dogs, have not cleaned the car windows, have not mended the sock, have not finished the laundry, or completed any of my chores. I wonder where the day goes, and why I’m so tired already.

For more stories go to: elvaweber.com

I had been home for a couple of years with a new child, but I was looking forward to starting a new chapter in my life; the employment office sent me to a distributor of recycled interior finishes; after completing the interview, I was hired on the spot. Little did I know it was the beginning of a 40 + year career around architects, designers, manufacturers, distributors, and sales reps.

After a couple years of doing accounting for the firm, I was asked to develop a slide presentation program with recycled products information directed to the sales department; it became a profitable enterprise for the company, and it developed into a new stage for everyone involved.

One of the recycled products was manufactured in Germany, another in Italy and yet another in England. Using post-consumer and post-industrial waste, including the used plastic grocery bags, these companies developed new products for commercial buildings, specializing in health care, education, pharmaceuticals and research and development.

Unfortunately, none of the products were manufactured in the US at the time.

It was up to me to learn from the manufacturers. Traveling to Europe was a perk I was not ready to accept without reservations. However, once the first meeting was completed, I was hooked. Learning as much as I could to bring back the information and present it to other people became work I appreciated and developed with every trip I made abroad.

New green marketing was required and new membership in the new and numerous councils dedicated to the recycled process; I was ready to teach new ideas and new methods, along with sales techniques to impart continuing education hours to architects and designers.

Being in the sales business brings out connotations of used-cars salesmanship; however, this was not the run of the mill sales, as it was developed as an educational program. Business cards needed to be designed with a more appropriate title: instead of a sales rep, Recycled Materials Specialist was a new moniker to be used in this new industry. All was well, and my clients began to call me The Green Lady.

Driving 50,000 miles per year visiting clients, traveling to the farthest corner of the US training sales reps in this new market, was a fulfilling experience I enjoyed for more than 40 years. Not to mention air miles, flat tires, ice storms in Minnesota, hurricanes in Florida, earthquakes in California, bad drivers in Texas and other great experiences in other States.

After all the traveling, the teaching, the learning, the visiting, it’s difficult to sit and no longer plan a trip to somewhere every week. It’s time to sit at home, relax, enjoy the grandkids….

I don’t think so.

Years ago, we lived on the island of Oahu in a culturally mixed neighborhood with people from Philippines, China, Japan, native Hawaii, Samoa and a few from the mainland; we celebrated Christmas surrounded by friends for several days which brought us into the New Year.

The children played together and enjoyed the local food from all the grandmas around, and they didn’t go hungry.  I was a food sales rep on the main thoroughfare in Honolulu, visiting restaurants daily, so my knowledge of food was varied.

Real Christmas trees were extremely expensive, having been brought to the island in ocean barges from the mainland and few of us could afford them; we had neighborhood hibiscus plants and palm trees which we decorated with tinsel and other home-made decorations made by the children at school or at home.

My favorite workday was every Tuesday, when I visited Ché Michel on the very wealthy part of the island, where the food manager was very strict and unsmiling. Perhaps he had so much responsibility he could not think of having fun.  I, on the other hand, had too much fun with everyone and everything, as I do now.

One December, he let me know he was giving his food orders to a sales rep from another company, and he had no complaints about him; I continued to dogged him with my specials, my superior food, as he continued his refusal.  Then, I asked him what day and time the other sales rep arrived to take his order, he smiled, said if I could be at his office at 7 am the following Tuesday, the account would be mine; I did, and the account was mine from then on. It was the best Christmas present ever.

Shopping for the children was usually simple, as our neighborhood collected toys and the children then chose the toy they wanted instead of what was under the tree.  It was the most fun the children had in the neighborhood, lasting all Christmas Day, where they shared all the toys.  Church services were the evening before, so we had all day to celebrate.

I drove a red/white 1978 Mustang, my company coat was red and the small igloo where I carried food samples was red/white also. The company logo was red/white.  My clients knew me as: “The sexy sales rep from Sexton with her red and white car and red and white carryall.” We all had fun in those days.

Getting ready for Christmas one evening after working all day, a tire on my mustang went flat and I was forced to change tires on Kalakawa Blvd, the busiest road in Honolulu – my friend, Ron the policeman, diverted traffic while I changed tires and after about an hour, I was ready to continue on my way home.  Of course, it cost me some chocolates as his Christmas present later on, as he had a sweet tooth.

I wish you all Mele Kalikimaka, it’s Hawaiian wish for Merry Christmas. Stay warm and remember the reason for the season.

It seems I’ve heard all those phrases before: perhaps I said every one of them while they were growing up, and now they’re using them on me. Not fair, as I was the one who taught them.

I still have all my faculties, I think. Although sometimes I confuse myself by repeating some of the steps it takes to clean the kitchen, do the laundry or take care of the weeds. I wake up in the middle of the night and traipse around the house to make sure I’ve closed the outside door or put the clothes in the dryer. And sometimes, I even forget to do that.

I have organized my days to complete the household chores according to the day of the week: Mondays I sew, Tuesdays I balance the checkbook, Wednesdays I do laundry, Thursdays I iron the clothes left inside the dryer for too long, Fridays I change the linens and do more laundry and Saturdays and Sundays I do the rest of the weeding and lawn chores.

However, in between all my chores, Grumpy always throws a wrench on my day.  He has his own itinerary and tramples all over my days without a thought in his mind. Either he needs to go to cardiac rehab, or shopping, or looking for some unnecessary item to complete one of his projects, which, by the way, never gets finished; or perhaps, just wants to get out of the house and he can’t do it without interrupting my day. Since it’s my fault he is so spoiled, I comply.

Back to the kids: just because they are all successful, doesn’t mean they can teach me anything. After all, where was I when they were growing up? Right next to them, guiding them, teaching them, scolding them, righting them when they fell, and loving them when they needed it. I was there with them at all times, along with Grumpy.

They have great ideas when it comes to organizing a budget, buying insurance, health care, investing, and even cooking! It’s like I’ve never done any of those things all by myself! How do they think I got this old? By making mistakes, by being foolish, by being dumb? No, by being smart, and having wonderful kids who take the time to make sure I’ve got all my faculties still with me and taking care of reminding me to take care of myself.

I love them all, but, get off! I think I know what I’m doing. I just need a reminder once in a while.

While on a weekend vacation, Grumpy and I were about 7.5 miles from the restaurant downtown he suggested, so we programmed the device for a direct route as we were famished.

I knew the general area where the restaurant was located, so I was surprised when the GPS gave us directions the opposite way; I didn’t want to create a scene, so I remained silent.  The direction the GPS was taking us was suddenly no longer 7.5 miles, but 14 miles.  Maybe I was wrong; however, an industrial part of town was not in my itinerary and the more we drove, the uglier it became.

We found ourselves on a one-way street which led us to the ferry. Ferry? Where in the world are we? Since my sense of adventure was not kicking in, I was beyond being angry but left it alone for the time being. We approached the toll gate and asked for a ticket; the attendant was very nice and asked if we were over 65. OK! I get it… must be a joke.

Being a senior citizen has its rewards because the cost of the ferry was only $1; we can afford that! But where are we going? Enjoy the voyage, take a few pictures, and take it as an adventure, which we did, since we could not turn around.

Arrived at the other side of the canal in about 10 minutes, disembarked and asked the GPS one more time to tell us where we were headed.  By this time, it showed we were going in the wrong direction all the time and it would take us about an hour to recalculate the route.

We drove and drove for a long time, getting lost and going through some rough parts of town, whatever town it was, and continued on our way to the restaurant.  By this time, I heard from Grumpy he would stop at the Wal-Mart, get some TV dinners, and get back to the hotel to heat them up in the microwave.  I was not having dinner at the Wal-Mart anytime soon.

We eventually arrived at the center of town where the streets were filled with pedestrians and cars and sounds and music and everything making noise.  The wait at any restaurant was over one hour and by this time we had been cruising for over two hours; we were not about to wait another hour.  We found a public parking lot, left the truck, and continued on foot to the first restaurant we could find.  Besides the prices being outrageous, the food was good and after our meal, we left to get back to the hotel and some peace and quiet. This time, the GPS took us to the right place.

Next time we ask the GPS to find us a restaurant, I will make sure is a direct route, not through the ferry and not through the bad part of town.

Or maybe I’ll just re-calculate the GPS.

Started the day with the oil change in mind, but after a few hard-working hours at the computer, my mind, as usual, flicked off any other items I needed to care for.

Since I was already late by two hours, I thought I could traipse over to the mechanic and offer my apologies, while he pushed everything aside to care for my car. Otherwise, I will have to make another appointment to bring the car in later.

He was able to care for my car after lunch and drove it into to bay.  After a few minutes, he came over to the waiting area and made a hand motion for me to follow him into the bay.  My mind, of course, was racing because I thought the car was done with and I had to think of a way to dispose of it.  After all, it has served me long enough to make a change. The speedometer runs over 187,000 miles, although it runs great on the straightway and has not given me any problems thus far.

As I approached the car with the hood up in the air, all I could think of was the mud-daubers which I could see plain as anything at the locking mechanism of the hood. I can’t stand the wasps making a home wherever they want and leaving the cleaning up to me. But there they were, right up front of the lock.

However, the mechanic kept looking at me with his arms crossed against his chest and a beautiful smile on his face. It took me a little while to discover the reason for his grin.

There, inside a recess of the engine, stood my newly acquired cat! It’s no bigger than my hand, skinny as a rail, but hanging on for dear life as we both stared at it not knowing what to make of it.

Finally, I pried it away from the engine compartment and hugged him close to my body, while it tried to escape, and I have the scars he created with his nails to prove it.  He squirmed, and squirmed some more, until I could not hold it any longer, so I opened the car door and threw it inside to wait for me.

Grumpy had brought it home for me to feed and keep in the barn, as it was an outside cat. I made him a combination of bread and milk for the first time, and it seemed to like it. Next time we were out, Grumpy bought a large bag of cat food and that became the regular meal in the garage, as it did not want to stay in the barn but rather liked the garage better.

To this date, we don’t know whether we have a girl-cat or a boy-cat. No matter, it stays in the garage, eating the food, drinking water from the tap and enjoying its new home.

As the mechanic said before I left with the oiled car and the cat: “You normally don’t see cats in the engine compartment looking as well as this one.”

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