memory connections

Scientists are studying how the brain works and how we remember things.  Some day, they’ll be able to tell us just why the smell of sweet potatoes baking remind us of Aunt Jane’s kitchen.   Once I’m back in that kitchen, other memories flood in.  I can see her gingham curtains, pet her black cocker spaniel and see my cousins (long dead) again. 

A tour of a antique shop is as much fun as a museum, but one where I can touch the exhibits.  My favorite items are kitchen utensils and children’s books. 

I was reminded of one of my favorite children’s book at the last campground I was in.  A neighbors’ small dog was so funny and cute.  Checkers was 8 inches high by about 20 inches long.  His head was brindled black and brown and he has long ears.  Maybe he has some mini-doxie in him?  His body is mostly white.  Nice white tail to wag at me. 

Seeing Checkers brought my mind to my childhood book.  This book was of cartoon like animals.  Each page was divided into three strips.  Top was animal heads, middle was the torso and the bottom legs and feet.  I could flip the strips to create a giraffe head with lion body and elephant legs.  Or flip other strips to create even odder creatures.  The fun was in seeing odd pieces put together, rather like Checkers.               Thanks Checkers for the memories. 


A fowl day

It was a foul/fowl day either way you spell it.  There was enough dry time in the morning to get the doggies out, but then it rained, rained, rained and rained as though trying to catch up on the drought moaned about about the TV talking heads. 

In this campground most people just stayed in like I did, finding ways to twiddle away the day.  I spent much of the day knitting sox and looking through the windshield of my RV to see if there was any activity.  The pet ducks, as you'd imagine, were delighted!  Instead of only the kiddie pool they normally were confined to - the gods had turned the entire campground into a series of private lakes solely for their pleasure!  They could paddle anywhere, shaking their tails in joy and poking their yellow bills into the muck for delectable morsels.  

The feral chickens, on the other hand, surely cursed these same gods for forcing them to be stranded on the high land of a picnic table to protect their chicken feet from the water.  Today they couldn't bully the ducks as they usually did. 

My grandmother would say "Every dog has his day".  This was a day of "Every duck has his day".


First flight

First blog for me.  Here are my beloved pets Willy and Sophie.  Willy is the old man, 12 years in this photo, Sophie is 9 months.  In this photo, Willy seems to be saying "get away, little sister, you're stealing my thunder".