Where are the Scissors?

"Where did you put the scissors?" I asked, looking into the kitchen drawer where the kitchen scissors should be staring back at me.

"In the drawer," answered the husband.

"Not there," said I, pulling the other drawer open. Not there either.

I opened the kitchen scissors drawer again. Still not there.

"Are you sure?" asked the husband, as he was doing his dish washing magic.

"Yep. Not there." I opened the other drawer again. He stepped over and opened the scissors drawer. He didn't find them there either.

I went over to the kitchen table to see if maybe they were there as he opened the other drawer that I just closed.

"Did I throw them away with that potato chip bag top?" He opened the garbage can. We both looked in. Nothing. He moved the little stuff that was in there around. "It would be obvious if they were there," I said.

I opened the scissors drawer again. No scissors. Of course.

"Where could they have gone?" asked the husband.

"Are they in the dishwasher?" I asked.

"Why would they be there? I didn't put anything in 'til after lunch." He opened the dishwasher anyway. Nothing.

I saw my mom's bag of radish pods sitting next to the garage door. Thinking she might've taken the scissors to clean the pods, I went to check the bag. Nothing.

"Where did the scissors go?" I mumbled. As I headed back to the kitchen, I noticed one of the delivery boxes I'd opened just about 10 minutes earlier sitting on the hope chest. Laying on a shirt box that held the shirt the husband got last Christmas was...u-hem...the scissors.

"Here are the scissors," I said, holding them up as I entered the kitchen. "I forgot I used them to open the delivery boxes."

"And you asked me 'Where did you put the scissors?' You nut," the husband said very kindly.

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Hi All! I haven't forgotten the blog. Just been a busy bee. Hope all's well out there!

Taking a Sunday Two-Wheel Drive

What does every middle-age couple want to do on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?

I dunno.

The better question is this: What do Dick and I like to do on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?

14 Steps

It’s only 14 steps down and 14 steps back up.

Fourteen steps make up the flight of stairs in my house. Not many at all, but for a horizontal-prone person as myself that can be 14 steps too many.

But, just before my 55th birthday, my body gave me a scare. I was driving home alone when I began experiencing some symptoms that matched those that women get when they’re having a heart attack. Short story shorter. Hubby convinced me to go see the doctor. So, a couple days later the doc checked out my first EKG and said I could join the Marines, but be sure to see him pronto if I felt those symptoms again.

That was very happy news indeed. Did I have a heart attack? I don't know. But, it was time for me to think about my priorities. I spend most of my time upstairs, sitting in front of my computer. Because of certain obligations last year, I had put exercising way down on my list. So, it doesn’t take long to get obscenely out of shape. Again.

I’m not one to exercise without prompting. This health scare has definitely done the trick. A couple months ago, I started walking an imaginary puppy to pull me out of the house, as well as doing push-ups and lifting 5-pound weights every day or so. And, I began walking those 14 steps of stairs 15 times a day, five to six days in a row.

My goal is a simple one: To not experience those symptoms again. Ever.

How much for a bundle of words?

There’s a house a couple miles away on which the owners have neatly piled cords of wood in their front yard. Atop of the pile is a sign that proclaims $5 A BUNDLE.

It definitely got me thinking. The only bundle of things I could sell that people might buy are words.

How many words do you think would make a bundle? Should I sell the words in random or per type of subject matter, or perhaps sell them in ready-made sentences. How many "the" and "and" should I provide? And what about punctuation? Should I throw those in for free or for a few cents more? Would it be best to write the words on paper or record them on tape?. . .

Nice portrait, no? It was done by Richard A. McDavid, also known as Arrmac, who is my sweet husband and partner in life and living.

Spring is Popping

Spring is renewal.
Spring is hope.

Our front lawn sports an ornamental pear tree that's about six years old. A couple of months ago I wasn't sure if it was going to make it. Practically all of its leaves had fallen, which was the first year for that. And, many of the leaves were brittle, spotted, and blackish-red. So, I was more than pleasantly surprised to see the tree bursting happily in blooms. Hurrah for the blessed rain!

Spring is hope.
Spring is renewal.
In all things—
nature and man.