The only traveling I will do next week will be on my rider.
I always dread the task of mowing until after the first round.
I call that a rough cut.
Cutting your grass early on is like looking for a toy in a Cracker Jack box. I never know what will pop up before I finish the task.
This property sure did gobble up a lot of metal in its day. My metal detectors go nuts and I do too, if the finds merit such behavior.
Every dog and his brother must have buried their pan or a beef-bone or two on the homestead property.
The tires on the Craftsman tread lightly.
Could be, my old diary will surface one day. I haven't seen it in years. I keep thinking that I buried the little leather-like book, filled with jottings, during war and peace times, secured with a key in a metal canister near the coal pile.
I buried treasures there, behind the pigeon shed that housed the birds and sheltered the coal and kindling wood, in the early 50s.
There might have been facts in the thoughts that I forgot to share. Maybe not. I know that one time, in early spring, several years ago, I helped my dad's buddy, the late Ernest Dowell, dig some red worms from behind the rabbit pen near the rhubarb patch across from the remnants of the retired coal pile.
Ernie shoved the tines of the potato fork into the moist earth and exposed a metal can. I got so excited. I thought I was about to be carried back to 15 nearing closely sweet 16.
The elderly man pulled out an empty "Donald Duck" brand orange juice can. I gave it to Ernie to hold all of those wiggly earthworms.
I lost one of a pair of the first earrings that I ever owned in the front yard of the little blue house at the end of the road when I was 12. My mother purchased the screw-on hand-painted gold tone pot metal jewelry for me on one of her frequent buying trips to our local G.C. Murphy Company store.
That was the same year she decided I could have a small tube of Tangee, a tangy lipstick, similar to a lip balm.
There I was, holding everything I ever wanted, at the time -- my birthday gifts from mother.
I wanted my neighbor Mary Holechko to see my new earrings. I was wearing both gifts and the prettiest school dress Sears and Roebuck had to offer.
As I hurried across her front lawn near the well, proud Mary L. lost one of the little floral earrings in the grass. Everyone helped me search, with no luck.
Still, to this day, the hunt is fresh and ongoing, just because.
Speaking of hunting things, Paul Baby is finding mushrooms. I found one, although, none are big enough to brag about nor enough to fill the void left over from last year, but they will add to the platter later. "Waste not, want not."
We visited the eye clinic at Richard Roudebush VA Medical Center, in Indianapolis, last Friday.
The result of Paul's eye surgery does not satisfy the surgeon, nor the patient.
The previous procedure will be repeated and the problem corrected in the near future.
My youngest granddaughter, Mary Shannon Patrick, Lakewood, Colo., arrived in Brest, France, last night. She will stay in the host home of the Seite family there for the next two weeks. She is participating in a cultural exchange program.
The thoughtful daughter reports to her "Ma Mere," via Facebook that the countryside is beautiful and the landscape is lush green, at this time.
Mary Shannon now awaits her luggage that lags behind, in Paris. Lucky for her, her new friends, Agathe Seite, came to her rescue on that matter.
She was treated to her first taste of French pastry, "Pain Du Chocolat," a bread filled with rich crème similar to that which her mother, Lori Patrick, and her sister, Olivia Cory, bakes.
Mary has been invited to the inauguration of the President of the United States in January 2012. The learned teenager does not sit around and wait for exciting things to happen. She makes sure they occur for her. I have yet to hear that "mover and shaker" complain that she is bored.
Mary was named after me, but, unlike her maternal grandma, I am sure she wouldn't waste much time looking for an old diary filled with secrets, fears, upsets and nonsense.
She would not be searching for red worms, either. The main things the young woman digs is gaining knowledge, accomplishing self-set goals and adventure, along the path.
Who knows where her wings will take her? I hope that I will know.
I do not wear sweatshirts that spell it out, but I am proud of my eight grandchildren. They make our days special every day, in every way. God bless our children.
And, I cannot knock Facebook, for the reason that it allows me to be even closer to my loved ones and friends.
We older folks know how that is a good thing.
Now is the time to stuff some more graham crackers with my butter cream icing and re-energize.
If there is time left in the day, I may dig out a new 9-volt battery and juice-up the metal detector.
Paul needs something different to read at bedtime.
That old diary might carry more excitement on its tattered pages than catching up with life on the Mississippi.
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.