Part Three: Tossing Toads and Grinning Ground Hogs

So my past two posts have been about window-well animal/amphibian rescues. They may not have ended up like I wanted them to, but hey, I should get an "A" for effort at least. The rescues didn't end there. Oh no they didn't.

The window well that faced the backyard was only 2 feet deep, but it, too, had it's share of wild things in it. One day I looked to find a big ole toad in it. When I say big, I mean BIG. The body of the toad was as big as my HAND.



photo courtesy of www.topnews.in

I didn't want to see that poor thing die a slow death in there, so I put on one of Jim's work gloves and scooped that bad boy up. It gave me the willies just to hold him, even with the glove on, so I ran like my pants were on fire to the back of the yard and hurled that toad over the tall wooden fence. The last I saw of him, his arms and legs were widespread, and his mouth was in a perfect "O", just like "Oh No, Mr. Bill!"



photo courtesy of futurelawyer.typepad.com

At the back of our yard, along the fence, and crossing the property line, was a huge green metal box that housed a power transformer. It was big and it was ugly. I hated it, but it seems that a local ground hog loved it. Yep.



photo courtesy of wx-man.com

He took up residence underneath it! He dug a large hole next to the box, and would come and go as he pleased. Not only did he have a nice, snug, warm place to sleep, but also a food source nearby. You see, I had bird feeders hanging nearby. So he would come out and munch on whatever seeds the birds carelessly dropped to the ground. If there wasn't enough to satisfy his huge appetite, he would stand on his hind legs and shake the pole to knock out more seeds. He was a crafty little devil.

My friend was visiting from Virginia one day and happened to see him outside. She screamed, "Oh my God, it's a BADGER!"

I laughed so hard! "No, it just a groundhog!"

One morning I looked out my kitchen window only to find that a couple of the tubes from my bird feeder were lying on the ground.



This had happened a couple of times before. It could only mean that Mr. Ground Hog was shaking that pole quite vigorously.

All of a sudden I saw him come out of the hole and waddle over to the tubes filled with seed. Then he grabbed the tube and started pulling it towards his home!

Say what?

If I didn't stop him, I'd never see that tube again! I jumped up and ran outside, screaming, "Let go! Let go!"

(My neighbors were used to my oddness.)

I scared the animal back into his home and rescued the tube and put it back where it belonged.

But one day I had to rescue the ground hog.

You guessed it.

He fell into the window well. Luckily it was only the 2 ft one and not the 5 ft one. I had no idea how to get the little guy out. (I'm using the term "little" loosely, here.) There was no way I would touch him or pick him up.

I called my husband, Jim, who was conveniently out of town.

He suggested that I put a 2 x 4 board in the well, and thought that the animal would climb out of it. I dug around in the garage and found a piece long enough that would work and stood back to watch. Nothing.

It seems that the ground hog wasn't going to move with me watching him. So I went back into the house and by the next morning he was gone.

Yes! Mission accomplished!

Of all the critters I've dealt with in our little suburban yard, none can compare to the Battle of the Chipmunks.

Stay tuned.....

Part Two: Ribbit! Or Frog Legs for Dinner!

It was another morning of doing laundry and again I spied movement in the infamous window well.



Lots of movement.

There were about 20-30 little frogs hopping around down there.



Photo courtesy of http://allaboutfrogs.org

"Oh no!" I thought. "How are they going to get out of there? They are trapped! If I don't RESCUE them, they will DIE!"

OPERATION GREEN FROG

So I donned my red cape, metal cupped bra, blue panties and red go-go boots, (okay maybe the outfit was all in my mind,) and grabbed one of the kid's sand pails, and marched determinedly to "the hole."

With experience under my belt (see my last post) I felt no trepidation as I looked down the hole at all those tiny green babies whose lives were depending on ME, Wonder Woman, to save them.

Dut-dut-dut-DAH!



(They never DID ask permission to put Lynda Carter's head on my body for this picture!)

My thoughts were to gather the frogs into the bucket, then empty the bucket in the open field behind my house. Freedom for the little frogs and I'm a hero, or really, a legend in my own mind.

I jumped into the hole and started scooping up the little froggies, WITH MY BARE HANDS, I might add, and tossing them in the bucket.

Well, those little suckers didn't appreciate my effort 'cause they were jumping out as fast as I was putting them in, like sailors abandoning a sinking ship.

C'mon, didn't they realize I was trying to SAVE them, damn it?

I tried the old "scoop-and-dump-into-the-bucket" rescue a couple more times, and those green imbecilic amphibians were not going for it. Well, my momma didn't raise a dummy, (SHUT.UP.), so I stopped that rescue effort and moved on to the next best thing.....

I scooped the little idiots up and began flinging them out onto the lawn. Hey, if they hopped back into the hole, it was their suicide, you know?

I didn't have to worry about that, though.

You know why?

They probably died a more bloodier death.

How do I know?

Well, I don't know for sure. I'm guessing.

Because right after I tossed handful after handful of baby frogs onto the grass, (I can't throw very far - I throw like a GIRL), my neighbor came by with his LAWNMOWER and cut his grass.

Yeah.

So death by sling-blade.

Not this one.



(Billy Bob Thorton playing Karl Childers in Sling Blade)
photo courtesy of top100actors.webs.com/3140.htm

But by my slinging, and the neighbor's blade. *sigh* I did try, though. Really.

Old Miss Pat had a house, E-I-E-I-O, and in that yard she had some (fill in the blank) E-I-E-I-O

When we lived in a house, it was in a normal subdivision in a small town about 35 miles northwest of Chicago. It was not in the country; we had an average sized lot; but we did back up to a large open area. This meant that we got critters. Lots of them.

My first incident was with a domesticated critter. A cat, to be exact.

Our house had two window wells. One was only about two feet deep and faced the back yard. The other was five feet deep and faced the neighbor's house.



photo courtesy of www.coloradocustomwelding.com

We didn't have any covers on these window wells, so we captured a LOT of different things in them. Including me.

Let me explain.

One morning I went down in the basement to throw a load of laundry in the wash before the kids went off to school. I noticed a small furry thing curled up in the bottom of the window well. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was a small cat.

So I clamored up the stairs and explained to my 5 and 7 year old kids that there was a kitty trapped in our window well. The plan was that I was going to lower one of them into the hole, they'd grab the cat and release it, then I'd help them out. Simple.

But when we got outside and they actually looked down into the hole, it appeared deeper than they thought and they both started to back away.

I had no choice but to jump in myself.

No problem. Or so I thought.

Jumping in was easy. It was the getting out part that was difficult. I grabbed the cute little kitty-cat and gently set it on the ground. It took off immediately, with my kids following closely behind yelling, "Here kitty, kitty!"

I was left to myself to deal with hauling my butt out of the window well.

The first couple of attempts my gym shoes slipped on the metal ridges.

"Ha, ha," I thought to myself. "No problem!"

I continued to try and my shoes continued to slip. Now I was getting worried. The top of the window well came up to my neck. I put my hands on the ground and tried to boost myself up, only to fall back down with a loud grunt.

This could not be good.

Since we were new to the neighborhood, my kids couldn't call anybody for help.

Great. I could imagine them calling 911 and saying, "My mommy fell down and she can't get up! She's stuck in a hole!"

I'd be the laughingstock of the town!

The thought of this must have shot some adrenalin through me, because I was able to get enough footing on the bottom ridge to boost me up enough to crawl up out of that hell hole. I lay on the ground gasping for air and thanking GOD and anybody else up there who helped me (probably St. Jude - the patron saint of hopeless cases), when who should be coming around the corner of the house but that damn cat with my kids hot on it's heels!

And you know what happened.

Wait for it. Wait for it......

Bam! That stupid feline fell RIGHT BACK IN THE WINDOW WELL!

Now, I ask you, what are the chances of that happening?

I screamed so loud at my kids that I swear their hair went straight back like when you stand in front of a fan that's blowing full force.

I jumped back into that well, not giving a rat's ass if I stepped on the cat or not. I grabbed it and tossed it none too gently on the ground and hissed to the kids to "Leave it alone!"

My Irish/Italian temper really helped me because I scaled that metal wall in no time. The kids were already back inside, finishing their breakfast.

A couple days later a flyer showed up in our mailbox saying "lost cat" with a picture of the culprit that was in our window well. I called the owners and explained how their cat had fallen into our window well, and that maybe, just maybe, he was sitting in someone else's window well. They thanked me profusely and we hung up.

Later that night when we went out, I saw that little kitty smushed on the road. I called them again to say, "I think that's YOUR cat on the road," and gave them the location. It was gone by the time we drove back again. So when I rescued him, it was his 7th and 8th lives.

The cat was only the beginning of what I've found in the window well.

Part Two: Ribbit! Or Frog Legs for Dinner anyone?

Got Milk?

I always have my camera on my lap while we are traveling down the road. I was so happy I had it with me when I saw this excellent reflection from the milk truck ahead of us. The reflection is the road behind the milk truck, and the shadow towards the bottom is our truck approaching it. I like the motto on the back, "DRINKAMUGAMILKAMEAL!"



For more weekend reflections, visit James at Newtown Area Photo.

Ponderings by Pat

"What 'chu talking about, Willis?"

So we all know that Gary Coleman died on May 28, 2010. This whole thing is just sad, isn't it? I mean the way he died and all. Did you hear the 911 call that Shannon (his wife/ex-wife) made? Watch this segment from the Today Show.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

No sound of concern or alarm in Shannon's voice - not ONE OUNCE of compassion for a man she was once married to, as he was lying on the floor bleeding to death. Okay, it's true there was some reports of domestic abuse in the past, but they were still together and supposedly loved each other.

There certainly wasn't any love left, though, when she refused to put pressure on the wound.

And when the 911 operator said, "Well, can you at LEAST give him a towel?" I thought the dispatcher kept her temper in check. I would have been screaming, "Listen, you unmerciful b*tch, give the man a freaking towel or his death will be on YOUR conscience!"

I guess I wouldn't make a good dispatcher. Too emotionally involved.

Like Matt Lauer said, "It turns out that Shannon is NOT the person you want next to you in the proverbial bunker when something goes wrong."

I couldn't have said it better myself.



I Scream, You Scream, We ALL Scream for Ice Cream!

My mother had told me long ago that she loved when she and Dad returned from grocery shopping and she'd put all the groceries away, especially the ice cream. She'd open up the carton and scrape off all the melted ice cream and eat it before putting the carton away in the freezer. (Granted, I'm sure it was only one or two spoonfuls because it was a short trip to the store!)

I remembered this little bit of wisdom that was passed down to me and started doing this a few years ago to OUR ice cream.

Unfortunately, I got caught.

"What ARE you doing?" Jim asked, taking in my ice cream mustache and my glazed over eyes as I was greedily eating right out of the carton.

BUSTED!

"Uh, I'm checking to make sure this isn't POISONOUS before YOU eat it! That's right! I'm taking one for the TEAM!"

He didn't buy it.

So now, any time we buy ice cream, we have a shoving match to see who will be the "tester". Usually we're a team, so we can die together just like Romeo and Juliet.

Well, that's the romantic version.

The truth is - neither one wants the other one to get more ice cream.





Going Rogue!

My son-in-law, Dave, teaches middle school history. School's out for the summer now, and he started a part-time job today "de-roguing" corn.

You heard me.

It's like the farmer's version of "Girls Gone Wild" only with corn. "Corn Gone Rogue."

In this case, it is corn that is growing outside of the rows, like coloring outside of the lines. "De-roguing" is pulling those wild thinking corn stalks out. They are also called "volunteer" corn stalks.

I have no idea where that name came from, unless the corn is compared to hands raised like volunteers in a group and they "stick out" from the crowd (row). That's my guess and I'm sticking to it.



Crew of roguers in a corn field just outside Sioux City, Iowa. The crew is Carrying the roguing shovels they use to take out undesired plants.

photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Next Dave will supervise a group of youngsters to "detassle" the corn.

Who knew so much was involved to grow that delicious ear of corn? I'll appreciate it that much more next time I eat one! Yum!

One bird-brained blogger (try saying that 5x!)

I love birds. I've always had an attraction to them. As a matter of fact, I wanted to BE one when I grew up. Weird, huh? Other kids had aspirations to be a nurse, or a teacher, or a mommy. Me? I wanted to FLY, baby!

I wonder where the expression, "eats like a bird" came from. Who would want to eat like a bird? Seriously. They eat bugs, and wiggly worms, and regurgitated mommy food, and little stones (true fact) to help them digest their food, AND yes, of course, the little grains of seed. None of that sounds appetizing to me.

I love the movie Alfred Hitchock's, "The Birds". The.Best.Movie.Ever. I love birds even when they are behaving badly.

We had a parakeet growing up. For the life of me, I can't remember where we got it or it's name. But that that doesn't surprise me, since our cat was named "Kitty", and our goldfish was named "Goldy", so chances are, the bird was called "Birdie". I know, priceless. (We also had a dog named "Skeeter" - I wonder who was ingenious enough to come up with a name besides "doggie"?)

We taught Birdie to say "pretty bird", and possibly "hello" (my mind's a little fuzzy at this point.)


photo courtesy of www.thelensflare.com

He had blue feathers and stayed in his cage in the corner of the living room. That is, most of the time.

I used to say that the dog could chase the cat, who would go after the bird, who would eat the fish.

Some of that came true. The bird got out of his cage one day (?) and the cat attacked it. I'd like to think Kitty was being playful with Birdie. Either that or Kitty was playing badminton and thought Birdie WAS indeed the "birdie" and took her best shot.

Birdie ended up with some injuries under his wing. So my mother grabbed what she always used on us: zinc ointment. She lathered it on the wound and called it a day. Birdie survived.

I don't know how long Birdie lived, but he died when I was in high school. I was devastated not only about Birdie's death, but also when I found out that my mother wrapped him up in aluminum foil and tossed him in the garbage, like, well, garbage! I remember crying in biology class, and when my fellow classmates asked me what was the matter and I told them that my bird had died and how my mother disposed of him, they laughed their butts off. One kid even drew a picture similar to this:



Note the feet sticking up in the air. Cruel, I know.

FAST FORWARD A FEW YEARS

I was newly married and lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. But birds didn't count, did they?

So I bought two yellow parakeets and named them Sonny and Sarah. I loved my two little birds. Even up to the day I tried to kill them.

Let me explain.

Sonny's nails were getting quite long. I thought, "Heck I can cut them thar nails! Easy peasy!"

I brought the birdcage into the bathroom and closed the door.

I reached into the birdcage and Sonny trustingly hopped onto my finger, all the while I talked to him in my soothing voice.

I clasped him in my left hand, and wielded the clippers in my right hand. Little did I know that a bird's nails are similar to humans and I cut Sonny's nails way too short - all the way down to the "quick". I think I cut two nails like this before the blood began to flow. And flow.

He wiggled out of my hand and flew furiously around the small bathroom, spattering blood everywhere. He started out looking like this...



photo courtesy of www.parrot-bird.com

And ended up looking like this....


photo courtesy of www.betterphoto.com

Only without the crest on top. He was THAT red, covered with blood. PLUS he was sending some kind of signal to Sarah, who was still in the cage.

"Get out NOW! The woman's CRAZY! I'm going to BLEED TO DEATH! She plans to TORTURE us!"

Sarah was going ballistic in the cage. I was crying hysterically, trying to catch Sonny, calm him down, and stop the bleeding. I finally caught him and put him back in the cage. It was a Sunday and the local vet place was closed. I called the 24 hour hot line and confessed what I had done to my poor bird. The nice man was kind enough not to laugh at me and recommended using a styptic pencil (which I didn't have) or to scrape off the tip of some matches and then dip the bird's nails in it to stop the bleeding. So that's what I did. I kept an eye on Sonny all day, and even though he swayed while clinging to his perch from losing so much blood, he survived the whole ordeal. And I NEVAH cut my birds nails again!

Boy this post turned out a lot different than I initially planned. I was only going to post photos of birds that I have taken over the past few years, and then all this past history of birds came vomiting out of my mind. So, if I haven't lost you yet, without further ado, here are some bird photos for your enjoyment:

Boat-tail Grackle. Most people think these birds are a nuisance; I love them. They can mimic up to 50 different calls, some of them quite comical. They are everywhere in the Southwest. (Males are dark, females are light brown)



Cactus Wren - I admire that that they can even LAND on a saguaro cactus. They must have TOUGH feet! They build their homes inside of these cactus.



These are peach-faced lovebirds that are now spreading throughout the Phoenix area. I was delighted to count up to 10 of these beauties at one bird feeder in the park where we stayed in AZ.





When I'm up in Wisconsin by my sister's trailer, both she and her neighbor have lots of feeders out to attract birds like this rose-breasted grosbeak,



or these yellow goldfinches.



And we were so happy when a pair of bluebirds moved into the little home next door. Here's momma bird



Momma bird peeking her head out before leaving the nest



And she's off!



Then poppa bird did HIS part







This is a barn swallow who took over a bluebird house. I think he was trying to win over the female swallow in the next bluebird house. He wouldn't budge no matter how close I got to him.



Looks like somebody can't read (taken in central IL)



This is a stellar jay, the west coast's version of a blue jay.



Last year around this time our trailer was attacked by a killer cardinal. It was quite funny and amused me for hours. Click here to watch a video and read the post.


My best photo is this big old Raven that was sitting on the fence in Bryce Canyon. He was pretty accustomed to people (sadly) and hung around the park hoping for people to throw him some scraps, even though the signs said, "PLEASE DON'T FEED THE ANIMALS!" It did give me a great photo op, though!



Sorry this rambled on and on. I need a nap just from WRITING it, so go ahead, get a little shut eye if you want. It's okay.

Things that piss me right the heck off

The following things piss me off in no particular order.

The last two bottles of dish detergent that I have bought have come with these new tops.



This pisses me off.

I can't remove these suckers if my life depended on it! I pour my detergent into a pretty bottle that I leave on the sink. When I empty the detergent bottle, I save it for one last dish washing. I can squeeze out the last bit of soap that's stuck to the sides by rinsing out the bottle right into the sink of dirty dishes and wha-lah! Suds! But now I can't get the damn tops off! I supposed I could cut it off, but I could just see me cutting off my fingertip or something, and then that would cost money to go to the ER to have it sewn back on, and all I was trying to do was save a little money by eking out the last little bit of soap from the bottle. Sheesh.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Simple chore that can only be done by the female persuasion in my household.

This pisses me off.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to the Tylenol Murders in Chicago back in 1982, every stinking product has to be sealed like it's Ft. Knox. Now I know it's for our own safety, but, guys, can you make it a LITTLE easier here?



If they'd just put a tab on the end so I could pull the seal off easily, I would be oh so happy. But no. That puppy is sealed tighter than a drum. I pick and pick at it, hoping to catch one end to peel the seal back, but to no avail. I end up taking out my frustrations by getting a knife and stabbing the heck out of it, then peeling the foil off.

This also pisses me off.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You all know we live in a trailer. So everything has to be orderly or it can get quite chaotic. We have one door to get in the place. That's where we keep some of our shoes. I like things neat, like so.



Unfortunately, my husband doesn't see things my way. He takes off his shoes and throws them willy-nilly on the rug, like so.



This pisses me off. Big time.

Then I go back and straighten all the shoes so at least if someone comes to visit they can get in our door!

What kinds of things piss you off?

James, Carole, Me and, uh, Dorothy

We were so excited to see James Taylor and Carole King in concert, together. Can it get any better than that folks?

I hadn't been to a concert in an arena since I don't know when. I was shocked at the price for parking - $20!! Yikes! Seriously - is that REALLY necessary? And I thought it was bad back when they charged $10!!

We arrived early for the concert - about 5:50 pm because there was some confusion as to when it actually started. The tickets said 7:30 pm, but on line it said 7:00 pm. We didn't know if maybe they had an opening act at 7:00, so we opted to get there early. So early that the doors weren't even open yet! So a policeman told us where to form a line (behind the doors, please), and we did what the nice officer told us to do. We were the second group in line. There were cops everywhere; directing traffic, standing around outside the arena, looking important.

The woman behind me said dryly, "I doubt they have to worry about a riot with THIS crowd!"

That was certainly true. The average age was AT LEAST 50.

The doors opened at 6:30 pm and we made our way up to the balcony. Of course by this time I had to use the restroom, which was conveniently located near our seats, then we grabbed a snack because we hadn't eaten any dinner. Another shock to my system. A pretzel and bottle of water? $8.50

Finally we got to our seats. Even though we were in the balcony section, they weren't bad seats. The stage was in the center of the floor and moved 360 degrees. Plus with the jumbotron screens, pretty much every seat was good.

Before long the seats began to fill up. Two women sat behind us. I thought they were mother and daughter, but found out later that they were just friends. I pegged the woman, let's call her Dorothy, shall we? to be around 60, 65. Linda thought that Dorothy was younger. That's all I know is that Dorothy got on my last nerve. Usually I can talk to anybody and tolerate pretty much anybody. Not Dorothy.

She struck up a conversation with us. Then she would not shut up. Even if we didn't turn around. (I never turned my head since she was sitting right behind me.) She continued to talk, in this grating voice, about how sick she had been, with a collapsed lung or two, puss filling in-between the lungs (yes, this while I was eating my $5 pretzel), how she has fibromyalgia, and so on and so on....By this time she just sounded like fingernails on the blackboard to me.

I WANTED to turn around and say, "Why don't you just shut your pie hole?"

What I DID was, when she took a breath, finally, I leaned over and started a conversation with my sisters. They had such a look of relief on their faces!

It was 7:20 and I thought I'd better go to the bathroom one last time before the concert. I quickly ducked out and saw that the line was at least 30 women deep. What's up with that? The men's bathroom? No line. Crap. So I just turned myself around and went back to my seat. Pee-pee be damned!

The concert didn't start till 7:40 pm, so the tickets should have read 7:30ish

Oh the excitement to see these two great musicians walk on stage!

Did you know that Carole King is 68 years old? I.Kid.You.Not. She looks great.

She danced around the stage on heels, wiggling her butt, clapping her hands, jumping around - she was just unbelievable.

I leaned over and said to Linda, "I hope I can be this active when I'M 68!"

"Get Real!" Linda replied. "You don't even do that NOW!"

Like Randy Jackson says on American Idol, "Just keeping it real, dog."

James Taylor is 62 years old, and although he's lost almost all his hair from his hippie days, his voice is still like buttah.



I don't remember if this was the song or not, but Dorothy and her cohort stood and flicked their Bics, while other people just flicked their phones (it's the millennium people!) I was so afraid ole Dorothy was going to drop her Bic on my product-filled hairdo and that I would go up in flames and run down the stairs like Richard Pryor running down the block on fire. That oughta get JT/CK's attention!

Pam leaned over and said, "I bet about 95% of this audience was stoned when this song first came out."






Carole's voice (we're on a first name basis don't cha know) was clear as a bell, and still had that "roughness" to it at times. Brought me right back to my high school days. Aahhh.....

Oh yeah, at one point, Dorothy yelled at the top of her lungs, "CK YOU ROCK!" My eyes just about popped out of my head.



Hope you enjoyed a little bit of the concert with me, and look at the money you saved!! And the BEST part? No Dorothy!

If I had known she'd be sitting behind me, I could have hired the Wicked Witch of the West to fly over the arena and write,

GO HOME DOROTHY!!

Note: None of the videos above were mine. The person(s) who took them had better seats than me, so I used their videos. The following video is mine. I recorded the complete version of Carolina in My Mind. The picture isn't great but the sound is good.

Antiquing with my sisters

Last Sunday morning, my sisters and I decided to go antiquing. First stop - The Big Chicken.







Cute idea if you have an old wheel barrel just sitting around.



Although some things were stored on shelves, it was kind of messy inside, with a hodge-podge of things everywhere.

I've really been into roosters and chickens lately and hope my "someday" kitchen will be filled with them. Although I didn't purchase any of these, I have a feeling I won't have a problem finding any when I want them!





I absolutely fell in LOVE with this print. I regret not buying right there on the spot. But I see it's available online from other places - without the frame.



This baby toy spoke to me for some reason....don't know if I had one as a child OR if MY kids had one when THEY were little. (I have an awful memory!)



Look at this oldie, but goodie!



We left The Big Chicken and moved on to the next place. There was an Antique Mall located on the outskirts of town. Sitting outside next to their building were these beauties.







The humidity was extremely high, and the temperature was in the high 80's, so when we entered the air conditioned building and that cold air hit us in the face, I'll tell YOU that I was happy!

The "mall" was set up with little sections, each rented by individuals who sell their items on consignment. What a difference from the first place! Paintings hung on the brightly colored walls. One room was set up like a country kitchen, with pots, pans and utensils hanging off the walls. All items were displayed so nicely. You could see each and every one. I didn't even make it to the basement; I was so busy taking pictures and stopping and looking at so many items. Here are some that caught my eyes.

This was the red/white/blue display. Those are tiny baby shoes.



This is a huge vintage dough bowl, I suppose that was used to let the dough rise. I don't know if this is Amish or not. That is not a hole at the bottom, but part of the bowl. It looks deceiving, like it is the table underneath.



Wooden spools in a row.



Okay, does this mean that I am old when I say that I first learned to type on a manual typewriter like this? Shut.Up.



I thought that these were shoe stretchers. WRONG! My husband, Mr. Wikipedia, said these are called "lasts" which are tools for making shoes. Huh! Who knew? They just caught my eye. I like to take pictures of things in a row. (see photos of milk cans, spools, above!)



I got a kick out of this print. This looks Rockwellish, but I don't know if it is or not. It's called, "Grandma gets a hit!"



Cute



Later in the morning our cousin drove up for a visit and to show us the latest addition to her family. Meet RLE (pronounced "Arley"). Those are her husband's initials - he died a year ago.



All together now, "Awww." RLE is part Chihuahua, Cairn Terrier, and Maltese. He is so sweet.

We had a great visit. After a good dinner of spaghetti, salad and garlic bread, we all drove into town for a little ice cream.

Isn't this a great name for an ice cream joint? "The Brain Freeze"



Look how cute it was decorated inside.



A work of art....



I had a scoop of strawberry cheesecake ice cream in a waffle cone. Delish!



We were leaving in the morning, and it had been a good weekend.



We had one thing left on our agenda: The James Taylor/Carole King concert. Stay tuned....