80s punk

Charlie got a haircut this past week and I decided to have some fun with it.  I asked them to leave him enough on the top of his head to make a mohawk and leave him a bit of a mustache and goatee.  Add his stud collar and denim vest, and I've got a little 80s punk rocker on my hands!

The video clip below is Charlie looking for me after he got out of the house.  I had gone to talk to a property owner, and Charlie does not like me being outside without him.  If he sees me leave in the car, he's fine.  But if I'm visiting a neighbor he expects to go with me.  You can see in the video he is looking around to find me, but doesn't see me.  What he did next was pretty amazing.  He went next door to Brenda and Joey's house and barked at their screen door until Joey let him in.  Then Brenda walked him back to see if I was okay and eventually found me in the neighborhood.  I should rename him, Lassie or Laddie, because it was a "Timmy fell down the well!" kind of rescue attempt for him.

Even when Brenda went across the street to look for me, he knew to wait at the front door and didn't come across the street until I called out to him.

Such a good dog.  Totally worth the extra treats he got.

I am moving again. 

This house showed on Monday afternoon, and whether or not the young family makes an offer to buy, the stress of not knowing where I will go with a dog and two cats if it is sold is just too much to continue doing.  I am physically sick from the time I get the appointment notice until a few days after it is shown.

  I knew a house nearby was going to be available to rent, or going up for sale, so I talked to the owner and he agreed to rent it to me on a five-year lease.

  It will get me to an age where if I choose to stop working, I can.  I will also be at a point where if I want, I can downsize to a much smaller apartment in a 55+ community, on a fixed income rent rate, closer to my sister and nephews.  Options only at this time, but at least for five years I can sleep easy without the fear of a 30-day move-out notice and being faced with no options.

WfW ~ the men in black...

I am writing with Words for Wednesday, which can be found here.

The goal of WfW is to take given prompts, be they words, phrases, photos, colors, or music and create a story from them. 

 This week's words and color of the month are in bold italics. 

 If you visit the Elephant's Child blog, you can also read and cheer on the other writers participating in this weekly fun.

This is a continuing WfW story that started here on April 5th.

I left off on the 21st with the story of a five-generation counterfeit and con game about to catch up with someone...

  Jack looked over his shoulder, his right hand clawing a little at his left wrist as though he had an itch he couldn't quite scratch.

  "Yeah.  The men in black.  About them.  Unfortunately for us, they work for the government, and that little stunt we pulled back at the Chuck E Cheese might have gotten us in a bit of hot water."

  "What do you mean, 'hot water?'"

  Jack put on his sunglasses and purveyed the landscape around us as if looking for something.

  "Well, they work for the Treasury Department and have been on the trail of that drop hammer and family for quite some time.  Especially since it has become an international issue when a particular Grandee Ferreira from Portugal was conned out of a couple million dollars worth of anodyne when the escudo used to purchase it turned out to be fake."

  "I'm lost now.  I thought we were just dealing with fake coins from the future.  And ano who?"

  "Anodyne.  A pain relieving medication used to reduce the brain's sensitivity.  Not so much a popular name for them now, but they act like an analgesic.  Except that in large doses, and mixed with certain illegal narcotics, they can become so much more.  There is more resilience in the brain to not become addicted in a way that causes people to become hopeless."

  "But still addicted?"

  "Yes, but it's not like the opioid addicts.  These new addicts can be totally functional, and unaware that they are even addicted.  That is until they haven't taken any in a week or so.  The pain goes away, they stop taking it, then the pain starts to come back worse than before.  It reaches a point where it is the pain itself that makes them hopeless and unable to function.  It is a new luxury drug that is so far only available to the elite in this country.  For now, it's not one that is going to become affordable to the people who could probably benefit from it the most.  Those who are truly in pain with little or no health insurance."

  "Is it even available with health insurance?"

  "Oh no.  It is completely illegal because it hasn't been fully tested at all, and most of the time, the users don't even know what it has been mixed with."

  "That doesn't sound like it falls under the Treasury Department's slice of the jurisdiction pie."

  "Imagine if you will all of the fingers of the Justice Department getting involved in this one little con of fake coins.  You've got drug trafficking.  Murder.  Counterfeiting.  Money laundering.  Just a rainbow of laws broken here and abroad.  There isn't an agency in the world that doesn't have this family on their radar."

  "You know, Jack, it might be high time we get out of the private detective business and do something normal for a change.  Maybe find a little beachfront bar in the Bahamas.  Get a deep-sea fishing boat we could name The Coriander and just spend a little time fishing and drinking margaritas."

  "Why on earth would you want to name a boat after cilantro, Simon?  That is the stupidest name I've ever heard for a boat."

  "After Cori Ann.  You know.  That woman I was falling in love with that I met at the art exhibit?  Remember?  About 15 years ago when we were doing that job trying to catch a guy cheating on his wife?  Cori Ann made these amazing portraits where she painted with dry spice and used herbs so that you didn't even realize it was made with actual plants.  They looked like photographs."

  "Didn't you two date for a few years? What happened with that?"

  "Sage.  Sage happened, and it broke me.  I just couldn't deal with it at the time, and I wasn't there for her when she needed me.  She left."

Sunday ~ Old Stone Church Cemetery

  I went to a new church this morning, and after the service, I took advantage of the fact that it was close to the Old Stone Church Cemetery to explore.

  But first I visited the African American cemetery (aka the Dick Pointer Cemetery) across the street from it.  It's so odd to me that there would be a separate cemetery for people of color, but I have to remind myself that racial segregation "ended" (legally, anyway) just within my generation ~ two years after I was born.

  I think the cemetery was renamed in 1982 when there was a dedication for Dick Pointer's grave, and maybe also when the larger stone monument was put up.  Both cemeteries were originally granted in 1850 to expand a town cemetery and "designated a portion of the conveyed land as a "burial place for Whites" and a portion to be used as a burial place for "Africans or Blacks."

  < This gravestone caught my attention because of the age of the mother that passed, 108 years old!  Her son was 75 when he passed just a few years later.  No other stones nearby with either of their last names, indicating a husband or father, so she might have been a single mother.  He would have been born before the Civil War started, and since they were both in the African American cemetery, it is an unfortunate fact of life at that time she could have been raped by someone who "owned" her because [link>] there were slaves in West Virginia at the time he would have been conceived.

  > Sadly, it was the picture and sentiment on this stone for a young 19-year-old woman that caught my eye.  "She faltered by the wayside, and the angels called her home."  She was buried in the African American cemetery, but her photo appears to be of a white female.  I'm not sure if it was also a cemetery in the 1920s for those who did not belong to the Presbyterian Church across the street.

  I feel like there is a story there.  I may renew my Ancestry.com membership this fall when the weather gets too cool to be outside on the weekends and do some digging.  There is also a book that the Friends of the Old Stone Church Cemetery has put together with information on those buried in both locations that I might see about getting a copy of.

  [link>] The Old Stone Presbyterian Church (in the background of the picture on the left) was built in 1796 and is one of the oldest churches in continuous use west of the Allegheny Mountains.  It escaped destruction during the Civil War due to its use as an emergency hospital for both Union and Confederate troops. After the Battle of Lewisburg on May 23, 1862, Old Stone's sanctuary housed fallen Confederate troops prior to their "burial" in an open trench near the south wall of the church.   They were later moved to a larger mounded "plot" in the shape of a cross with about 95 Union soldiers who had died.

  The cemetery is huge, and I had all the best of intentions to walk both sides, top to bottom to get all my steps in for the day.  Unfortunately, the 80+ heat and the fact that many of the graves had settled over the centuries made the ground extremely uneven and unlevel.  I did not want a broken ankle from a misstep for a grave I didn't see.  But I did walk about 75% of the left side in the picture here.  

  It was a fascinating mix of men killed in the Civil War, whole families (some with surnames I recognized from people I knew), and tragically young children.

  I did see one stone marking an entire family that had a son who died on the same month and day (not year) I was born.  A little morbid that I look for that date, but yeah, I do.  I would like to go back to the cemetery as a planned walk with more appropriate shoes and maybe some paper and charcoal to do stone rubbings. There were some beautiful cut stones and marble.

Saturday ~ Kate's Mountain

   This morning the little man and I took a drive up Kate's Mountain.  I'd heard it was beautiful but had never been, and wasn't sure what to expect.  

  The mountain was named for Catherine "Kate" Carpenter who took refuge on it with her daughter, Frances, in September of 1756 after Indians attacked the settlements along the Virginia border.  Her husband,  Nicholas, had gone for help to Fort Dinwiddie on the Jackson River but was killed when Indians then attacked the fort.  Kate decided to relocate to Staunton, VA where Frances grew up and married, later inheriting her parents' 950-acre property in White Sulphur Springs, which became the site for the [link>] Greenbrier Resort.

Looking down at the Greenbrier Resort

  It is the highest peak (3,280 feet) in the Greenbrier State Forest and the type location for [link>] Kate's Mountain clover, Trifolium Virginicum.  Kate's Mountain was also the inspiration for a 19th Century poem that was published in its entirety in 1895, titled [link>] The Mystic Circle of Kate's Mountain.

  On the one hand, it was more than I expected.  Almost like being in a rainforest, it was thick and lush with old-growth trees and so much greenery.

  I saw sumac, daisies, milkweed, several different types of clover, and sweet pea flowers.  We stopped a few times to listen to the birds, and I was able to add two new species to my life list [links>]: the Eastern Wood-Pewee and the Blue-headed Vireo.

  When I got back, my neighbor said she was surprised I hadn't seen any bears, and quite honestly, that was something in the back of my mind the whole time we were up there also.

  On the other, it was just a little bit on the creepy side.  The road was only one-lane, and I had no way of knowing if there was anyone coming down the mountain.  There was a steep drop-off with no guard rails.  We've had quite a bit of rain in the past week, and today's weather was iffy for more.  I definitely did not want to get caught in a sudden thunderstorm up there, especially since no one really knew where I was (including me!).

  When I reached a point where I could safely turn around, I still wasn't at the top of the mountain, but the road in one direction was blocked by a fallen tree, and I wasn't sure where the other road would lead.  It had begun to feel like I was intruding on nature, and on the wildlife, just with the sound of my car crunching on the gravel and shale road.  It was time to go back down and go home.

When we've done enough

*DILLIGAF: Do I Look Like I
Give A Fill-In-Your-Own-F-Word

   I had a revelation this morning ... before breakfast and on a very very very insufficient amount of coffee ... that in addition to women coming to the realization that we are "enough" just as we are, we also at times have to say we've done enough.

  We've worked hard enough at a relationship or marriage, struggling to keep it together when we are making more than 95% of the effort for that to happen.

  We've worked hard enough at a job where we are underpaid, underappreciated, and overworked.

  We don't have to be perfectionists.  We don't have to do it all.  We don't have to be everything to everyone at the expense of our own happiness or our own health.

  Sometimes it's okay to shout "*DILLIGAF!!!!" at the top of your lungs.

  I was trying to finish wallpapering the bathroom in a tight and awkward corner which was painted the same color as the opposite wall.  Originally I had realized it was going to be a difficult task and since it is behind the door (when opened) and probably never going to be really noticeable, I would just leave it like that.

  Except I noticed.  I noticed every time I took a shower or went to the bathroom.  Just like I noticed the spot in the opposite corner by the sink where the wallpaper ended abruptly and exposed a partially painted corner because I ran out of odd pieces to fill it in.  The perfectionist OCD I inherited from my father for remodeling and construction projects kicked into high gear every time I brushed my teeth or washed my hands.

  So this morning I woke early, determined to odd patch the walls with pieces cut, like a puzzle, from the remaining paper.  Overlapping a leaf here, faking a matching strip there.

  It was in the midst of wrestling with a long piece in the corner and a razor knife that would not fit where I needed to cut because of the angle and the necessity of actually being able to hold it that I realized it.

  I'VE DONE ENOUGH.

  It's a rental house, and while I'm a renter that takes responsibility for the upkeep of some things as if I owned it, in this particular case, I've done enough.  

  He's trying to sell it out from under me, with no concern for where I might have to go if the new buyers don't want to rent it. [However, the truth is, that he probably won't be able to sell it since it is in a flood zone and has flooded in the past which is making potentially interested parties walk away ~ flood insurance is VERY expensive ~ and tho he has dropped the price twice now, it won't make up for the cost of the insurance.]

  He repaid me for the wallpaper and the paint, but he didn't pay me for the labor ... the hours and hours my OCD made me spend to make it look perfect or kept me awake thinking and worrying about it.  [Not to mention the hours of listening to the ghost of my father telling me I could do better ... echoes of my childhood where I never felt good enough, and nothing I ever did was good enough.  No job I got, no college degree I achieved.]

  In the process of painting the bathroom and parts of the kitchen so far, I have cleaned in places the previous tenant of five years NEVER cleaned. [And let me tell you, that was so much fun.  NOT.]

  So I will finish my projects that will eventually leave this house better than I found it when I moved in.  But I no longer have to listen to ghosts that tell me I'm not enough, or that I'm not doing enough.  

  Because I Am Enough.

WfW ~ The Artisan's Loft Continues...

I am writing with Words for Wednesday, which can be found here.

The goal of WfW is to take given prompts, be they words, phrases, photos, colors, or music and create a story from them.  This week's words and color are in bold italics.  If you visit the Elephant's Child blog where the words can be found, you can also read and cheer on the other writers who participate in this weekly fun.

This is a continuing WfW story that started here on April 5th.

I left off on the 14th with the revelation from Jack that the coins from the future were authentic.

Image Source: Bing.com

  "What?  I'm sorry, Jack.  Do you mean to say that the coins are actually from the future?  Isn't that the archetype for all paranoid conspiracy theories?  How could that be determined from just photos? And who told you that information?"

  "Slow down, Simon.  One thing at a time.  Okay, so you know who da Vinci is, right?  Right.  One of his sketches was for a cam hammer, which wasn't made while he was alive, but it was used during the Industrial Revolution for steam engines, and manufacturing during WW1.

  "The concept behind his design has also been used to make a drop hammer coin mint which uses gravity to stike metal between two dies with about 40 tons of force to create what appears to be an authentically minted coin."

  "You said 'appears to be.'  So these aren't really from the future?"

  "Not necessarily.  They aren't from 'our' future."

  "Now you really have your head in the clouds, Simon!  If they aren't from our future, whose future are they from?  Are you talking in riddles or just trying to make me feel like an idiot because I don't really have the patience for it tonight."

  "The man I was talking to back at the coin exhange shop said that he took over the business from his father, who got it from his father before him, and go back about five generations before you get to the first in his family who started the business.  He was more or less a pawn shop because back in the late-1700s early-1800s there weren't a lot of diamond jewels or antique coins floating around for people to sell.  One day a man came in with a copy of da Vinci's cam hammer, and was talking about how it could be used to make counterfit coins to make them both rich.  Trouble was, the guy didn't have the metal or the skills to make it happen, so he was willing to bring in this guy's 4x great granddad for a share of the profit if he could help him make it happen.

  "So great-great-great-great granddad rummages around in all of the farm tools and shovels he has taken in exchange for money or other goods, and they come up with enough to make a small drop hammer with the help of a clueless blacksmith."

  I shook my head weakly.  "So all this time, we've been chasing around coins that were actually minted in our past?  Not 'our' future?  What happened with that get-rich-quick scheme?"

  Jack sighed, "Sort of.  That plan backfired on both of them when they got caught and were hanged as thieves.  The drop-hammer was hidden away for a generation until by the grace and stupidity of a blot in this guy's family tree, he had a great-great-great-uncle who worked for some sort of traveling carnival as a psychic medium to con money out of people.  The drop hammer was passed down to him, and he got the idea of making coins that were supposedly from the future. He had a trained jackdaw that would on cue take one of these fake coins and fly over his seance table and drop the coin in front of the 'mark' after they shelled out more money to find out when they were going to die in the future."

  "Holy crow.  What happened to him?"

  "He got caught making the coins in one of the towns they were in, and was literally run out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered ... with the some of the feathers from his jackdaw no less.  The drop hammer was then tucked away in an attic for a generation until a legume farmer who inherited the property found it and was told the family history of it and the coins.  He used it to create counterfeit coins, got caught, put in jail and died there of tuberculosis."

  "It's starting to sound like this drop hammer is cursed or something.  What happened to it next?"

  "Now it shows up with the great uncle, who again is with a traveling carnival.  Only this guy uses it to create love tokens with a line from a famous poet on one side and 'Will You B Mine?' on the other.  He lives to a ripe old age with no problem, and it gets passed down to the guy's direct uncle."

  "Who I suppose was up to no good with it?"

  "Of course.  He creates counterfeit coins to match ones from this century, just with a date and mint stamp from the distant future.  Practically indistinguishable from the current minted coins unless you are paying close attention to the date and letter on them.  One morning he wakes up and his entire body has turned a shade of turquoise blue."

  "From the silver!  Of course!"

  "Unfortunately for him though, he already had kidney issues, and while they aren't sure that the argyria was a contributing cause or not, he died not long after."

  "So where is it now?  The drop hammer coin mint thing?  And where does that leave our government men in black in this story?"

Saturdays are for adventures!

  Two years in the waiting, I finally was able to go to the [link>] West Virginia Renaissance Festival!

One of the best things of the day were the random muscians scattered about!

Cosplay wasn't just participating performers and actors, but also attendees! 

Apart from performers on horses, sometimes it was hard to distinguish between performers and attendees!

This performer scared the bejeebers out of me at first!

Yes, there were men in kilts!  This one I believe was an attendee.
I was not able to get close enough to sneak my camera under his kilt to see if he was an authentic Scotsman or not.  (Relax!  I did not try! I'm not sure if WV has stalker laws or not, but I didn't want to find out!)

Glass blowing demonstration.

The setting for the festival is on a MASSIVE site!  I managed to walk almost three miles around the festival, some of it on quite challenging inclines.  Enough that I had to call my day short there when my knees felt at times like they were going to buckle, and started to swell. 

These "nuns" were hysterical!

I thought at first that this metalsmith would tie into my Words for Wednesday story. 
But then when I was going through a brochure I picked up from [link>] Somewear Beyond Coin Mint, I found something else!  Did you know that da Vinci designed a coin press?!?!

WfW ... time flies!

 How did it get to be THURSDAY already???  I'm participating in Words for Wednesday found [here] and playing catchup again this week.  Once again, the detective adventures of Jack, his sister Rose, and his best friend, Simon continue ...

 "How can I help you, dear?  My name is Mimsy."

 "Um, hello Mimsy.  My name is Jack, and this is my partner, Simon.  We were looking for a metalsmith?  Is this Bittersweet Metals?"

 "Why, yes it is!  How can I help you?"

 "You're the metalsmith?"

 "Do you think a woman in a dress can't be a metal artist?"

 "Uh, no ma'am, not at all.  I was just a little ... um ... that is to say ..."

 "Hahahaha!  I'm just teasing you!  I'm not the metalsmith!  It's my grandson, or rather, granddaughter.  Oh, I'll just never get used to that ... just a moment ...

 THYME!  Get down here!  These gentlemen want to talk to you!"

 *BOOM* The sound of something heavy hitting the floor above us made Jack and me jump.  Mimsy cackled, and heavy footsteps sounded across the ceiling and down the stairs.  I had a flashback to the first time I saw Texas Chainsaw Massacre when I was ten years old, and inching behind Jack I decided I didn't want to stay there any longer than we had to.  

 "How can I help you, boys?"

 Thyme was as much of a surprise as Mimsy had been when we first walked in.  Instead of the Andrea the Giant image my adolescent mind had conjured up as she walked across the attic floor, she was about the same size as Jack and I.  She was wearing a heavy welding mask that was now flipped up, in a pair of denim coveralls and what appeared to be steel-toed work boots.  Welders gloves were shoved into one pocket, and she had salt and pepper gray hair braided down her back.

 Jack pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to the pictures of the coins.  "We were wondering if you had any experience in making coins, or if you could tell us anything about the process.  We're investigating a murder that may have been related to these coins that were supposedly from the future."

 "I don't suppose you got one of 'em with you?"

 "No, unfortunately, we don't.  These pictures were taken from a hidden camera that the victim had when he was inspecting them.  We think whomever killed him had the coins so we are trying to figure out if they were part of a con."

 "And you say they're from the future?"

 "Well, we don't know for sure.  That's what we're trying to figure out.  The year on them is 50 years in the future, and the letter designating the mint they were made at isn't one that is in existence now.  How hard is it for someone to replicate coins?"

 "You mean like counterfeit coins?  Well, it's a whole lot harder and more expensive than counterfeiting paper bills.  You gotta factor in the weight of the metal, get a press, and smelting equipment.  It'd be a big investment for someone to go to the effort, but I guess, depending on the face value of the coins, say if'n you was to make quarters or half-dollars ... yeah, could be done.  And easier to pass off without anyone noticing if you did a good 'nuf job.  But they'd have to be really good.  Most machines nowadays spit back anything that isn't up to specs, like weight, edge ridges, or even foreign coins.  But if you was to pass them off in a store, not likely anyone was going to pay attention to the date on them or where they was minted."

 "Do you know anyone with those kinds of skills?  Or have you heard of anyone making that kind of investment?"

 "Not offhand, but I can put some feelers out and see if there is any talk in some of the chat sites."

  Jack and I left cards with Thyme and Mimsy in case they heard anything and headed to town to see if we could find a motel for the night and get a dish of something to eat.  I was starving, and while we drove I told Jack about the first time I watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

 "You surprise me, Simon.  That's not really a movie genre I'd expect you to watch."

 "I think that was the movie that scarred me for life and I never could watch another horror movie.  Hey, stop at that coin and jewelry exchange shop there on the corner.  Let's ask if they've heard of any coins from the future."

 While Jack was busy chatting up the owner of the store, I was checking out some vintage jewelry for something to apologize to Rose when we got back.  I spotted a matching set of earrings and a pendant that were some type of embroidery and was about to look for a salesperson.

  "That's human hair, you know."

 "It's what?!?"

 "Human hair.  During the Victorian era, it was common for mourners to take locks of hair and turn them into jewelry or keepsakes.  Would you like to see them?  They are quite beautiful, and the roses on them are very unique."

 "Ah, no.  I don't think that would be something that she would appreciate once she knew what they were made of."

 "Is this for your wife or girlfriend?"

 "No, for my partner's sister.  I sort of hurt her feelings and was trying to find something to apologize."

 "You know, diamonds are a girl's best friend."

 "I think that would send the wrong message to her, and that's how I got in this mess in the first place, by sending the wrong message and putting my foot in my mouth."

 "Maybe instead of buying her jewelry that could be misinterpreted, you should take her out to dinner and really apologize.  It's possible that what she really wants is to feel acknowledged and appreciated, without being bought."

 "Are you speaking from personal experience?"

 She smiled and handed me her card.  "Maybe give me a call after your dinner with her and tell me how it turned out.  Then if you want to buy her a little bling we can find something she'll really like."  Turning away, she went to wait on another customer just as Jack came up and grabbed my arm.

 "Let's get checked into a motel and find someplace to eat, you will never believe what I was just told, and we can't talk here."

 Half an hour later, we were eating bread covered with an herbed butter spread at a local steakhouse while we waited for our meal.  Jack looked around to see how close the nearest diners were before whispering across the table.

 "They're authentic!"

Monday ...

  I had an appointment in Roanoke this afternoon, and Google Maps took me through the mountains on VA311 to get there.  It was a beautiful drive, through the George Washington and Jefferson National Forests, on wonderfully winding roads, up and down mountains.  It made me think of how much my 2nd ex Jay would have loved it on his Harley.

 < One community I want to go back and visit when I have time to actually stop and explore is Paint Bank, VA [<link] where there was a beautiful old home that has been turned into The Lemon Hotel [<link].

Image Source: Wikipedia

 > Sweet Chalybeate Springs, VA is somewhere I'd like to just stop to take pictures.  The hotel there was built in the 1850s, and closed its doors in 1918.  It was put on the National Registry of Historic Places in 1974.

Photograph of the Jefferson Building at Old Sweet Springs
captured by Frances Benjamin Johnston in the 1930s.
Image Source: Wikipedia

 < Another spot to stop and wander is Sweet Springs, WV.  It is home to a resort that was originally built in 1792 and is currently undergoing renovation by the nonprofit Sweet Springs Resort Park Foundation.  It is open for tours on the weekends.

 VA311 alone was worth the drive, and I definitely plan on taking it again in the fall when the leaves start to change.

Friday at last ...

  June began with a flurry of activity, at home and at work.  I'll let pictures be the guide ...

  I did get most of the vegetables put into pots, still need to get more soil this weekend to finish.

 This is my upcycled scarecrow made from a lampshade I no longer used, and some empty aluminum cans.  So far it seems to be working nicely.

 We had a thunderstorm last weekend that brought some hail.  Thankfully most of the garden survived, and what didn't seems to have been doomed to fail from the start.  Particularly the okra in the tall pot there on the right.  It was the only set of plants left at the nursery, and they looked like they were left behind for a reason.

 His Royal Hindness Charlie's favorite place to oversee his kingdom is sitting on the highest pallet where he can observe all of the neighbors, especially Brenda and Joey, whose yard he is looking at here.

 He loves running over to see Joey in the morning and wants in their house as if he lives there.  Joey occasionally shares a strawberry with him, or we will sit on the front porch with Brenda while he stands guard over us.  Such a goofball.

  This rose was an unexpected surprise on the climbing roses I got for the backyard.  The bush is supposed to be pink roses.  But the yellow reminds me of one of my past mothers-in-law.  I considered her to be more of a mom than an in-law and called her my Gypsy Mom.  She loved yellow roses.  She has been gone now for several years, and I miss her oodles and goblollies.

 Cotton is a sweet girl who is looking for a new home.  She came to visit the other day, much to Charlie's displeasure.  They get along, but he is happier being an only child.  I think she is a 2-3-year-old dachshund and yellow lab mix.  She has one blue eye and one brown eye, and unlike some white dogs of mixed parentage, she is not deaf.  Cotton knows her name and will come when called.  She is short but long and has very high energy.  She can, if left to her own measures and ignored, become as destructive as a lab puppy can be.  Chasing birds and running are her favorite activities, bouncing through taller grass like an antelope.  But she needs a home with consistent positive reinforcement training, a fenced yard, and maybe some young children to play with. 

 

 Cotton does get along well with other dogs and with cats, but I don't want to take on another young dog.  I want to be able to travel in a few years to Europe for an extended time.

 Gracie, by the way, was very happy to get her favorite window seat back.  From this perch, she watches birds in the yard between houses and catches the morning sun as it comes up.  We have had some unseasonably cooler weather lately, and I've watched birds spread their wings and flatten out on the grass to catch the warmth of the sunshine.

 But here is the most exciting of all the week's chaos...
I have finally been able to get a car!!!  It is a new-2-me 2017 Honda Fit with all kinds of bells and whistles that make me feel like I'm finally in the 21st century.  I cannot even begin to describe the excitement of being totally independent again.  Her name is Pearl since her paint is called White Orchid Pearl, and while I haven't had time to fully plan all of our adventures, Charlie and I are thrilled.  

 I hope that your week has been good.  It is going to be a busy weekend for me with a baby shower for a friend on Saturday, then a rheumatology appointment on Monday.

   Blessings ...... Ci

WfW late... June 7

First apologies for being so late in getting back to the story of the Artisan's Loft murder and the cast of characters Rose, Jack, and Simon.  It has been a hectic yet exciting week which I will follow up with another post after this one.  

This week's words can be found here, on the Elephant's Child blog Words for Wednesday, which can be found here.

 And the beginning of this mystery started here on April 5th.

We last left off with Jack and Simon at the library after discovering the government agents were not who they said they were, and on their way to find a metalsmith who might tell them how and where the "coins from the future" were minted.  We are following the story from Simon's point of view.

Image Source: IMDB.com

 A quick internet search gave us the name of two metalsmiths within 100 miles of the Artisan's Loft that may have some answers, so we stopped by the temporary site of our office to check in with Rose before heading on to the closest one.  As usual, Rose was in a melodramatic frenzy, her hysteria causing her roiling eyebrows and turquoise blue eyeshade to remind me of Helena Bonham Carter's version of the Red Queen in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland.  I tried to stifle a laugh at the thought, but needless to say, I wasn't successful.

 "Well, it's about time you two showed up!!  I've been a nervous wreck worrying about the two of you idiots.  What are you laughing at Simon?  This isn't funny!"

 "I realize that Rose and I apologize profusely.  It's just that Jack and I were discussing a movie on the way in, and how much you resemble a famous actress."

 "Oh!  Really?  Who?"  Rose turned to Jack curiously, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at me.

 "You go ahead and tell her, Simon.  I refuse to take the surprise away from you.  It will be gratifying to hear you explain it to her."

 Cornered now by both of them, I had no way out. "Well, it was Helena Bonham Carter actually.  She is such a versatile actress with such classic beauty."

 Rose brushed her hair back, "Oh, you really think so?"

 Jumping in finally to save me, Jack quickly changed the subject.  "Rose, has there been anything on the news about what happened at Chuck E Cheese, or the Artisan's Loft?  Any kind of newsreel that we can pull up on the internet?"

 Annoyed that the attention was no longer on her, Rose shrugged her shoulders and grabbed her cat that was kneading the back of the office sofa, silently watching Rose's drama unfold.  She stormed into the front office that was serving as a reception area with an air of disappointment floating behind her.

 "Helena Bonham Carter?  Really, Simon?  In what role?"

 I quietly explained to him the image that had come to mind when I first walked into the office, and he doubled over in silent laughter, covering his mouth and tears rolling down his face.  When he had finally gotten himself under control he pointed to the rear exit of the office and then his watch.

 "Rose, Jack, and I are going out of town again for several hours to find a metalsmith who might be able to help us with the questions about the coins.  We may need to stay overnight because of the distance.  Will you be okay here until we come back?  I've gotten hotel rooms for all of us nearby, and left your key in the top drawer of your desk."

 There was silence from the front office, and I peeked through the doorway.  She had apparently left the office, leaving a note on the top of her desk.  "Gone to the hotel to change my eyeshadow.  I hate you, Simon."  Apparently, my attempt to be quiet when I was explaining to Jack the resemblance was not quiet enough.

 Meeting Jack at the car, I told him what had happened and suggested that while we were out on our journey we look for some jewelry or something that might heal her hurt feelings.  Jack had often teased his sister unmercifully when they were younger, and I hit a sore spot in her with my comments.

 "Yeah, sure.  Whatever.  She'll get over it, but if that's what you want to do, be my guest.  Waste of money though if you want my opinion.  Let's just get on the road and find this first guy.  I don't want to be driving in the dark to find this place.  Port Nathan Forrest sounds like a place I don't want to stay long in or spend the night in."

 "Really?  Why not?"

 "Well, let's just say that if it is named after who I think it is, General Nathan Bedford Forrest, [<link] there is a good chance that they aren't very friendly to people who come from the North.  I know the Civil War was over ages ago, but the crimes that were committed under his command would never have gone ignored in this day and age."