A House is not a Home

Sometimes it takes a real “slam-dunk” to jolt you back to what’s really important in life.  My personal “slam-dunk” came one cool, sunny day many autumns ago.  

I stepped outdoors to tackle the endless trail of falling leaves that had blanketed my front yard in hues of orange, brown, and yellow. Beautiful site, really, but in keeping with neighborhood appearances,  I blew the leaves to the curb so the city would be able to sweep away the colorful piles by sunrise. 

Lost in the melodic hum of the electric blower, my thoughts drifted back.  Way back.  To my 5 sisters, 3 brothers, and me.  To a much more innocent time.   All 9 of us, along with scores of other neighbor kids, would gather the leaves that had fallen from the four huge Maple trees growing in our front yard during the 50s and 60s. 

The roots of the trees, and the children’s PF Flyers played havoc with the blades of grass vying for survival, but no one was too concerned about the grass in those days.  Grass was for playing Ring Around the Rosy, Red Light/Green Light, and Red Rover, Red Rover.   We’d dive head-first into the biggest pile of leaves we could build, and emerge dusty from the heap with leaves and twigs poking out from every hair on our head. 

I recalled how we somersaulted through the pile of leaves, our cheeks rosy from the cold, and the strong odor of the neighbors’ burning leaves rising through the air.

The loud roar of my leaf-blower jolted me back to reality, and, as my mountain of leaves finally reached the curb, I proudly glanced back to admire the “clean” look.  That’s when I noticed that “thing” desperately hanging from the house.  That unsightly, battered basketball hoop and backboard, perpetually dangling from my garage roof, should proceed to its final resting place - the city dump.

It’s not the first time the old hoop would be sent to its demise.

When the hoop was first propped over the garage door in the early 80s, son Mikey was just a tyke who could barely muster the strength to throw the ball high enough to hit the 10 foot rim.  He had to be hoisted into the air to “score.”  Over the years, as “Mikey” evolved into “Mike,” that old hoop occupied him and scores of neighborhood youngsters, each with dreams of becoming the next Michael Jordan. 

Then, as “Mike” eventually became known as “Hawk,” occasionally I would peer through the window from my refuge in the living room and watch “Hawk” and the rest of the 1994 Trenton basketball team shooting hoops, as they converted my driveway into their personal court.

The hoop weathered snowstorms, ice storms, sleet, and 100^o heat.  It outlived a roof, windows, two patios, and landscaping.  And is also responsible for the dings and dents in my garage door.  And don’t forget the sparse blades of grass along the edge of the driveway that fight for survival every year against a stampede of size 12+ Nikes.

One year the trim on the house was vinyl-sided and the hoop came down.  Brand new expensive siding.  The house looked good.  No more beat-up backboard bolted into my new siding. I even gave up the idea of hanging out my twinkling outdoor holiday lights at Christmas time! 

It didn’t take very long, though. Mike missed - make that needed - his hoop.  He became increasingly restless without it and with a little, make that a lot of, persistent begging, Mike’s hoop was resurrected.

A year or two later, again, the backboard was removed.  For the last time - I thought.  But when Mike returned home from college for summer break, the first thing he did was to convince his dad to help him hang the hoop back up on the roof.

Summer was now over so I figured that Mike was safely away into his third year of college and was too busy, and probably less interested, to find the time to shoot hoops.  Besides, he was also employed long hours during the summer when he was home.  He just didn’t have the time for basketball anymore.

“Today’s the day to get rid of that unsightly basketball hoop.”  But doing yard work took precedence and, before I knew it, the sun was setting on the backboard still perched high on the garage roof.  Next weekend.  Number one priority...next weekend...down comes the hoop.

But the day before that fateful weekend, on a whim, Mike decided to drive home from school for an unexpected visit, and, as is typical, gave only a moment’s notice that he was bringing home company for dinner. 

Scrambling around the kitchen during some last minute meal preparations before their arrival, I heard an enormous rrrumble.  It reverrrbbberrrated throughout the house.

I knew my son was home.  I bolted to the front hall and met Mike and his friend just as they opened the door.  “I knew you were home, Mike,” I said.  “I heard your “slam-dunk.” 

Little did I know that Mike had just whispered to his friend that this was his unspoken way he let his mother know he was home.

The backboard is staying.  A secret signal from my son is so much more important to me than an eye-pleasing house.

50s Style Vacation Memories – Crossing the Straits

Mom and Dad Wedding Day 1940

I was born and bred a southern (southeast Michigan, that is) gal whose roots were planted 100 years ago by my parents in Michigan’s Marquette area -- God’s Country -- the U.P.    

In the 1940s, the booming city of Detroit beckoned job seekers from all over the state and the country.  My parents left the iron ore mines of Marquette County and headed south, as did many other fortune seekers, to prosperous Wayne County searching for new and better opportunities.

After moving around a bit in southeast Michigan, on a snowy January day in 1950, my parents moved into a home they built in Dearborn Heights in the Joy Road/Telegraph area.  



1950 New House before it was painted.
I'm in my mother's arms.



One of the first homes built in the new subdivision, they purchased two lots (just had to have room for a large vegetable garden) and moved into their bungalow where and I was born only days later…child number 4.  Little did my parents know that in addition to the 4 they already had, there would be 5 more little ones after me that they were going to be raising in that house.

And like clockwork, my parents would make the annual return trip to their small hometowns in Ishpeming and Negaunee in Michigan's Upper Peninsula with all their children in tow, to visit with grandmas and grandpas. 

So every year my parents would wake us in the wee hours of the morning to start the, then, 10 to 12 hour drive (depending on how long you had to wait for the ferry at the straits).  The kids, yes, all nine of us, were so full of excitement that none of us got much sleep the night before we left.  It was the only vacations we ever experienced as young children.

Our “luggage” (discarded cardboard boxes dad hauled home from the corner A&P) had been carefully packed the night before, and by morning, dad would be tying down our “suitcases” (my parents had a “real” suitcase – at least by 1950 standards) in the homemade “carrier” on top of the car.  After dad hoisted the boxes to the top of the car, he would cover his precious cargo with tarp, weave a tight rope across the canvas, and off we’d go…sans seatbelts.

Ray Kroc's McDonald’s chains hadn’t even been heard of yet, so we packed our own peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches to ease us through the long Michigan trip north.  In our family, peanut-butter and jelly were two separate sandwiches and, heaven forbid, the two should ever meet!!  

And then there was that big heavy, slightly-dented silver-green gallon-sized thermos filled with precious water from home!  No matter how parched, only the smallest of small sips were allowed (I suppose just enough to make that plain PB sandwich slide down a bit easier!).  My mother’s intent was for us to avoid guzzling water; otherwise she’d have nine whiny kids crying out for pit stops for you-know-what!

I clearly recall our car whizzing (no pun intended to the previous sentence) past the exits where we kids would beg and plead, year-after-year, to PLEEEEZE stop…  Sea Shell City in Cheboygan, Call of the Wild in Gaylord, and the most intriguing to us…the Mystery Spot in St. Ignace. 

Those signs along I-75 were more than enticing to us kids.  Needless to say, with nine kids, we never stopped.  But 20 years later, when I made that same trip, my first alone as an adult to the U.P., guess where I stopped…..the Mystery Spot!   



Waiting in line for the Ferry



Some 300 miles after leaving home and arriving at the straits -- the real fun began, for the kids, at least.  I remember waiting in long lines in the car for the Ferry to load.  Sometimes the wait for the Ferry was so drawn-out we became restless. But occasionally, if luck was on your side, our timing was perfect and boarding was not too much of a problem.



I recall during some of those long waits for the ferry, there were girls selling “samwiches”.  I distinctly recall a young lady walking among the long lines of idling cars.  She wore a “tray” similar to what the ladies in the old TV commercials wore when they cooed:  “Cigars?  Cigarettes?”  Only this lady was selling sandwiches!  Of course, we never purchased…we had our own PB and J (separate, please)! 

Someone told me they sold pastys, too.  FYI:  I still make pastys today…pass the ketchup (the only way a true Upper Peninsula pasty should be eaten). Yummy!  If you don’t know what a pasty is, give me a holler!  

Me (Left) on the Ferry with big sister...circa 1955.



I can still hear the sound of the heavy steel platform that bridged the ferry to the concrete dock.  boom-boom..…boom-boom, as the tires of the cars rolled over…boom-boom….boom-boom.  And I can still hear the screeching noises and deafening blare of car horns echoing off the interior hard steel walls of the boat as the cars crossed the threshold into the deep belly of the ferry.  Then the clankity-clank of footsteps as hundreds of us “sea-worthy sailors” climbed the dark cold open-steel stairway finally reaching the bright sun on the open-air deck above.



Standing on the deck of the ferry, I recall my dad with an outstretched arm showing us the construction of the five-mile span that was to come.  An unbelievable feat! 

Now the Mighty Mac has been goin’ strong for more than 50 years!  A real Michigan icon, it is!  I hate to admit it, but I was only 7 years old that summer when the bridge first opened to traffic and I crossed it.

Vacationing, and life,  in the 1950s was a lot different than it is now.  We were without all the luxuries of today.  Didn't even have air-conditioning for us to keep our cool.  But you know what?  Those memories are some of the best I have of my childhood, and I wouldn't trade them at all.  

Let's hear your favorite vacation memory from long ago.

Real Reality

The verdict is in…Not Guilty.  The Casey Anthony trial captured the world’s attention as if it were a reality show.  It WAS a reality show, without all the editing and film left on the cutting room floor.  True reality despite the lies, imaginary characters, and accusations of incest.

I wasn’t on the jury, so who am I (we) to say.  Even the alternate juror (he’s the only one talking, so far) agreed with the Not Guilty decision. 

Ms. Anthony lived up to her latest ink… Bella Vita. But will it be a beautiful life?  Where is she to go?  She’s fingered her family and friends…burned her bridges.  Doubt she can get a job.  She’ll have to get outta town. Seems as if the only alternative will be to sell her story for some big bucks and go into obscurity.

Stranger than Fiction

You may think I am strange, but I just love watching crime shows.  Oh, I don’t mean Hollywood’s hour-long melodramas featuring whoever the current hunk or starlet (do they even use that word Starlet anymore?) happens to be. 

I’m talking real-life people who temporarily, or more-often, permanently go berserk. Or, most-likely, were ALWAYS strange but no-one ever seemed to notice! 

My Friday and Saturday nights are often filled watching 48 Hours, 20/20, Dateline, Cops, and America’s Most Wanted (have to check-in to see if any faces showing up on my computer from those silly dating sites are being hunted by modern-day cowboy John Walsh). 

Then there is late night on the History Channel delving into daily prison life of some of the most hardened criminals.  And don’t forget the interesting stories about the gangs in our big and small cities across the country.  I just LOVE watching this stuff.

Week after week tales of murder and deception bombard my TV.  It’s enough to make ever the sweetest, most innocent person a bit suspicious.  THAT’s where I get my suspicious nature. lol

This 4^th of July weekend I’ve been paying special attention to the Casey Anthony trial in Orlando, Florida.  I’ve been interested since the beginning and have followed most of the sensational headlines and quick snippets here and there.  But for the past two days, I have been listening intently to the closing arguments.  And just now, Judge Perry’s instructions to the jury.

In case you’ve been in a coma for the past 3 years, Casey Anthony has been accused of murdering her 2-year old daughter.  This trial has everything.  Murder, Lies, Abuse, Lies, Sex, Lies, Affairs, Lies and, did I say Lies?   It’s amazing how the story has spread its tentacles.  It has reached out to include unbelievable tales of friends of Casey Anthony, her mother, her father, her brother, her boyfriend and even the imaginary Zanny the Nanny. 

Not sure how long the sequestered jury will take to render a verdict, but I’ll be listening.  Life is stranger, and definitely more interesting, than fiction.

Whether the weather is cold… or whether the weather is hot… we'll weather the weather… whatever the weather… whether we like it or not.

It was a perfect day today…weather-wise.  Low humidity, clear blue skies, a gentle breeze, bright sunshine.  The kind of day you yearn to be outside.

For me, though, I ALWAYS prefer to be outside.  The minute I wake, it’s a 5-minute ritual just to open all the windows and doors in the house.  I detest the air unless it’s 90+ and/or extremely high humidity.

I am sure my neighbors have noticed that for the past 33 years or so, I am always outside during those perfect and sometimes not-so-perfect summer days…and spring days…and fall days.

If I am not in the backyard, I am in the front yard.  And for some unknown reason, it always involves water.  I find it extremely relaxing to water my grass by hand.  Forget the sprinklers.  I stand in my bare-feet with the water running and get lost in thought whiling away the hours. (With the thoughts I am thinkin' I could be another Lincoln, If I only had a brain.)

Which brings me to my sunroom.  About 7 or so years ago, I fell in love with the English Conservatory.  You know the type.  Glass windows, glass roof.  Of course knowing now what I didn’t realize then (or just didn’t want to hear), glass windows and glass roof translates to hot Hot HOT!

It’s beautiful in the early spring and late fall.  When it’s 35 degrees out and sunny, I take refuge in my room and soak up the sun. If I close my eyes, I am ALMOST basking on a warm beach on my own secluded island. 

Well, today, I tracked down a contractor who fixes sunrooms and conservatories.  Mostly he builds them, but with the economy and everyone trying to spend a little lighter, he’s been doing more “caring” for the older rooms than building new additions.

 

I’ve had a leak in the glass ceiling.  He’s been out before and tried to fix it, but this stubborn leak sprang again.  I think we may have gotten it, this time.

So, until it rains again, I’ll be basking in the sunshine...inside or out!

Pretty in Pink?

I attended a graduation ceremony today, watching all the pomp and circumstance as the graduates strutted up the aisle proudly wearing their tassel-caps signifying school work well done and behind them.  They are now on to new things, taking all the lessons learned and shifting to a new phase in life.   I couldn’t help but think how fast these lives were moving, and if only they could have the foresight to truly understand all that is important in life. 

Midway through their march across the stage, each graduate was approached, quickly introduced to the crowd, and questioned as to their goals.  “And what do you want to be?” questioned the teacher as she bent down and put the microphone to the mouth of babes. 

OMG!  I cringed each time I heard the word “Princess.”   Don’t worry, though...there were a few other aspirations.  batman…princess….an occasional soccer star…princess…doctor (yes, a young girl’s answer)…princess…princess…spiderman….princess…even a veterinarian or two in there.

What a ROYAL pain!  Is this what we teach our children?  Hasn’t this Princess thing gone a bit too far?   Just take a stroll down the “girlie-girl” aisle of any toy store and you will be blinded by hues of bubble-gum-pinks and psychedelic purples.  Aisles where glittered, feathered, fairy-dusted toy boxes hypnotize unsuspecting girls as young as 1 to “pick me...pick me!   Warning:  The instant little ones are snatched into the clutches of this potentially life-altering aisle, they are trapped until they are at least, what?   10?  

If it ain’t pink…it stinks!  Is that the message the toy manufacturers are sending?  Little girls and the me, me, “look at ME syndrome!”   I am all for little girls acting like little girls.  I just love the clothes and ALMOST everything girly.  But come on now. 

I know, it was only a Pre-School graduation.  Let’s just hope that by Kindergarten graduation these little princess-graduates will have an understanding…YOU already have the Crown Jewels.  YOU are capable.  YOU are smart.  YOU are competent.  You don’t need Prince Charming to rescue you.  You will be perfectly capable of rescuing yourself, thank you.

For another humorous outlook and explanation on "Fairy Tales" for children read:  http://www.facebook.com/l/f30a6/barefootinhighheels.wordpress.com/2008/08/21/the-anti-princess-diaries

Heed Life's Lessons

As mentioned in my very first post, I am nearing 4 years out of a 40-year relationship with one man.   Thirty-six of those years as married.  After an agonizing tumultuous first year of barely surviving my divorce proceedings, I began to turn my focus to the internet for helpful suggestions, and to search for others who had been through the same ordeal as I. 

Now…before I go any further, I want to tell you that I had PLENTY of suggestions, counsel, and advice in REAL life.  I had the most amazing support from my family.  Without them I am not sure what would have happened.  And, not to depart from the theme here (I hope there is a theme buried somewhere in here) but, and that’s a big but, AT THE TIME, I dropped exactly one pound for every year married!  You do the math!

Only 3 short years ago, during my much-protested (by me) divorce, I had just begun a new part-time position at home.  I had "retired" from my 18 year stint as an office manager at an engineering company (with full support of my ex) to start the next chapter of my life and to babysit for grandchildren.   During this same time, my dear mother was nearing the end of her life.  Her loving husband of 67 years took care of her every need until he was no longer able (at age 97).  It was then that, again, my supportive family came to the rescue.  We kept my mother in her own home until she died.  Lots of work, stress, and long hours.  We did it though, and, for that, everyone is thankful.  And now, this June 3^rd, 2011, my dad will be celebrating his…….get this……100^th Birthday!  Since my divorce, my dad gets around more than I…and I am beginning to get jealous!   

The reason I mention my family issues is because I want to let you to know the tremendous amount of pressure and anxiety that was taking place in my life all at once.  Betrayal.  Death.  Divorce. New Job.  


Alas!  Not all was on the down side though.  In that same time period, I also had 3 more precious grandchildren make their way into the world!  I have a total of 5 now!  And I am soooo thankful that I am involved daily in their lives.  It’s been a blessing...a Godsend.

But back to my theme(?).  In cyber-space, everything you (n)ever wanted to know about divorce is out there… advice for young couples, advice for couples with children, advice on “how to get back with your ex,” advice for coping.    

But I was looking to communicate or read the blog of…of…someone like ME...a “reasonably” intelligent woman, “slightly” older.  Someone with a wealth bit of humor and practicality.  Someone family-oriented, but had lots of a limited amount of time for herself.

I wanted to communicate with that person who thought she’d had a somewhat “normal” marriage.  Now, don’t get hung-up on the words “normal marriage”.  All marriages have their faults.  I am fully aware of my faults, the faults as a couple, and “the ex’s” faults.  I am also aware of the good, and sometimes very good, strengths that I, and even “the ex,” sometimes brought to the marriage.

I was searching to share life-experiences or read about a woman with a long-term marriage that ended as abruptly as mine, and whose grown, adult, out-of-the-house children were content in their lives, as mine are.  I was searching to communicate with someone who was at the brink of embarking on a new chapter (the wonderful “golden” years) in her life and then suddenly had it all ripped away.

I still haven’t been able to find that person...not quite.  Perhaps there is no one with an experience quite like mine as everyone's life travels a different path.  But I believe people are out there.  People who have not come forward to talk about their heartache.  Hence, this blog.  Slowly but surely, as one gets to know me…the real me…perhaps they, too, will come out of the woodwork to share their story and begin the healing process.

I think it’s necessary to meet women who share the same interests/background as me.  That's important. You want to really start figuring out who you are and what you're all about. Most men dive back into dating too soon after a divorce and find the same woman again...many before leaving the first one!

I am finding that most men NEED a woman in their life.  Most women do NOT need a man.  Unfortunately, sometimes finances play a part in what a woman needs.  For those younger who can sustain themselves and their families and do it ALL alone?  I give you so much credit.  You show how capable you really are and should be proud.

Learn from your experience and from your last relationship. Welcome those lessons learned.  You will be satisfied with YOURSELF. 

Beware:  If you are divorced or out of a long-term relationship, it’s necessary to experience the pain.   A new relationsh­ip takes away the pain, BUT the step to recovery that you are skipping over by entering into a too-soon new relationship, is a most important one. 

This is the time for self-examination and to understand what your contribution (or lack of) did to the relationsh­ip.  YOU will be the one to succeed.  Why? Because then you have a chance to LEARN and to do BETTER.

Quackers!

I came to the rescue of a couple ducks the other day.  The two mallards were waddling across the median on a side street I was driving down on my way to the post office. 

I slowed, thinking the birdies were surely going to reach the curb by the time my car approached, but nothing was fazing these two “love birds.”  The ducks continued taking their sweet old time.

Suddenly, I spotted a serious problem.  Oblivious to the large cat stealthily creeping up behind them, the ducks, a male and female, continued their waddle across the street directly in front of my idling car.  The cat’s body, prepped for a pounce, inched closer to his prey until I opened my window and “hissed” at it.  And I can “hiss” with the best of them!

Perhaps my concern for those two ducks helps negate my feelings of guilt for chasing out the ducks that take up residence in my pool from March through mid-June.  

A Bridesmaid but Never a Bride?

I first saw the trailer for BRIDESMAIDS while in the theater to see another movie a couple of weeks ago.  The small snippets seemed as if it would be funny, but I dismissed it, thinking the movie was trying to be a “guy” movie for gals.  I thought it would be the typical “junior high” humor…something I am not usually a fan of.  

However, on a rainy day (one of many, recently) with a few hours to spare, I decided to see what this movie was about.  Besides, I needed a light-hearted comedy to chase away a light case of the blahs.

And guess what?  It was worth the short trip to the theatre. I was pleasantly surprised that the movie actually had a story line, and I was interested in seeing how it would play out. It was a hilarious comedy to be enjoyed by all…not just for women...although it was written by a woman.

The characters, especially the main character, Kristen Wiig of Saturday Night Live, were genuine (in a slightly over-the-top kind of way), despite some gross-out gags, and profane language (hence the “R” rating).  I thoroughly enjoyed Kristen Wiig as Annie. She is absolutely wonderful and soooo funny!

Annie is the penniless main character whose messed up life is crumbling as she tries to make good on her expensive duties as Maid Of Honor for her best friend.  

See it and let me know what you think!

To Wipe or not to Wipe…that is the Question

Today I made my way through the grocery store.  My usual trip for food and other household necessities.    I try to limit my shopping to once a week.  I would prefer going even less often, and sometimes I manage that.  When I do, I feel proud that I s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d my dollar just a little bit further.

I have 5 grandchildren I watch, so I am always on the look-out for goodies for them.  At the moment, lunch has come full-circle.  It’s back to buying peanut-butter and jelly (strawberry jam at grandma’s) after a 30 year long hiatus when MY two were little ones.  Mostly though, the grandkids get turkey lunch meat with green beans, fruit, and…mustn’t forget the dessert.  They seem quite satisfied with that menu, right now, so all is good. 

It used to be that Macaroni and Cheese was the lunch of choice, but they tired of that.  Suddenly, what they proclaimed was their favorite, they now whine  they “don’t like it anymore.” 

Besides.  Grandma (a.k.a. Bob Evans) had the “traditional” macaroni noodle.  One wanted the “spiral” noodle like they get at home, another wants the skinnier, shorter noodle.  It’s hard to make everyone happy.  And who do we want happy?  Grandma…that’s who!  When Grandma’s happy…….everybody’s happy!

So, while I am in the grocery store picking out necessities, I am, again, in the toilet-paper aisle. Oh.  I guess it’s called toilet-TISSUE aisle.   Anyway, I say “again” because I swear I was just here recently spending almost $20 for the “BIG” size tissue.  And now here I am shelling out another $18.50 for more.  What is going on here?  These rolls that claim to be “double?”  No way!  I know that in a matter of a couple of days, that roll will be empty again!

Excuse me for the visual, but I pride myself on being clean in ALL my personal hygiene habits, but (no pun intended) changing a toilet paper roll every two days?  In my personal bath?  It’s not Grand Central Station, after all!

I have no scientific evidence, but my experience tells me that the rolls today are much smaller, nor are they wound as tight.  And the cost is exorbitant.  Will we have to return to the Sears-Roebuck Catalog in our hour minute of need?

And it’s not just toilet paper.  Have you seen the Ice Cream containers?  They are not all 2-quarts anymore.  The one is got today is 1.5 quarts.  My favorite Keebler Chocolate Chip Cookies that I have been munching on for years and years and years, suddenly look as small as silver dollars…and each almost as expensive! 

How about potato chips?  You are buying a bag of AIR!  And look at the price!  Unbelievable.

Companies are camouflaging their price increases by selling their products in smaller packages. 

But hey, look on the bright side…it’s less calories….except for that darn toilet tissue!

Sprucing Up the Yard

I have a medium-sized Weeping Cherry Tree in the landscaping outside my front window.  You know the kind.  The branches grow up and then bow gracefully towards the earth in a “weeping” style.  I love that tree and wait anxiously every year for it to bloom.  And not until I witness those delicate pink flowers blossoming, does it signify the official start of the spring season.   

About five or six years ago I added one of those whimsical faux-stone faces to the tree.  With my help, my grandkids have had fun letting their imaginations come up with silly stories about Mr. Tree.  Mr. Tree has been spotted by friends, neighbors and visitors over the years. 

But poor Mr. Tree’s character began to fade right along with his appearance.  Still, he stood stone-faced through all types of weather keeping watch and greeting visitors as he stood guard outside my  window. 

My front window has always been a favorite spot for my 5 grandchildren.  We sit there and watch the world go by during the long winter months.  Then watch spring come alive with the arrival of ducks, squirrels, all types of birds (my neighbor lovingly feeds all critters), and bunnies, Bunnies, BUNNIES.

I visited a dollar store the other day looking for nothing in particular.  Occasionally I discover trinkets for the kids, or I spot some small, fun, do-hickey for the pool or yard.  It was that day when I came across 12 colorful Sharpie permanent (at least I hope they are permanent) markers.  I picked up the pack of felt tipped markers and headed for the checkout.  Five Dollars total?  Great.  Three coloring books, sidewalk chalk, and those markers.  Such a deal!

When I got home, first… the blue marker to color Mr. Tree’s big googly eyes.  Second?  Pink for those luscious lips.  Mr. Tree…oops MRS. Tree…….now how am I going to explain that?