It's an unusually warm day for February in Kentucky. Amazing Grace, age 6, is playing in the yard with her friend...laughing, skipping, stopping to twirl in the breeze.

Her cousin Aidan (17 months) and her little brother Luke (22 months) are standing at the door, noses pressed to the glass, watching the "big kids" enviously.

Aidan: "ME go! ME go!"

Luke: "Luke TOO! Luke TOO!"

Suddenly a light bulb appears over Luke's head and he turns to the nearest adult, points to his chest and announces...." *I* am LUKE!"

Being half a century old and trying to "find" yourself for the umteenth time: A tad disconcerting.

Watching a toddler grandson find himself for the FIRST time: Priceless!

Good old Chester. Well, I guess he'd rather be remembered as "McCloud," but Dennis Weaver will always be CHESTER (Matt Dillon's sidekick) to me.

(No, not THAT Matt Dillon -- I'm talking about the one with the COWBOY hat! Sheesh...how OLD am I, anyway? Don't answer that.)

It cannot be helped that I'd rather remember him as Chester than McCloud...it's his own fault for having an AUNT who taught my 4th grade class -- and for accepting her invite to come and meet her students. We were all so excited when she told us he was coming to our school!
WHOO HOO!

But alas, the day he showed up he was wearing -- gasp! -- a business man's suit! No hat, no badge, no boots. Was this REALLY Chester? My classmates and I had our doubts as we watched his every move. We kept hoping he'd slip up and remember he had a limp, but it was not to be. And he talked funny too -- not like Chester at ALL! He thoroughly disappointed us all. We determined he'd been FAKING IT on television every week and vowed we'd never watch that show again.

But we did anyway.

Peace, Dennis. I'm not mad at you anymore.

This space dedicated to Don Knotts, aka Barney Fife -- 1925-2006.

I remember that he was probably the only sheriff’s deputy in the world who never got to carry a loaded gun, but it would be impossible to remember all the times he made a little girl howl with laughter. Thanks, Barney!

Wonder how many people are thinking the same thing today? It boggles the mind.

So I think everyone who ever watched Mayberry RFD should set aside a moment today in his honor; not to cry or be silent, but to laugh out loud.

Yep. If all of us laughed for a full 60 seconds, I’m thinking he’d like that almost as much as a slice of Aunt Bee's pie.

The moon must be in a house with too many windows lately because I have been COVERED UP with curtains for entirely too long....mine and everyone else's.

The whole thing started back at the first of the year when I acquired this horrendous cold from one of my plague-ridden grandchildren. Felt awful for so many days in a row that I finally broke down and went to see a doctor who prescribed antibiotics along with -- shudder -- the dreaded PREDNISONE 6-pack. You've heard of the 6-pack, right? You take 60 mg on Day 1, 50 on Day 2, etc. and by Day 6 you've hacked up 2 metric tons of loogies and are, supposedly, back in the pink.

Unfortunately for me, taking steroids means not sleeping. At all. (And hey -- is it just me or does sleep deprivation seem like a strange way to cure an illness?)

But anyway, while hacking and not sleeping, I had to do SOMETHING so I began obsessing about how the living room needed new curtains, and started the process of measuring windows. And that's where I should've stopped because in this hundred-year-old farmhouse, none of the windows are the same distance floor-to-ceiling.

But did I stop? No, I did not. Due to my insanity from lack of Zs, I forged on, figuring if I got 3 sets of curtains the size of the longest window I could whack the other 2 sets off and redo 'em. I inconveniently forgot the part about how I really HATE to sew.

So I cruised catalogs for days, both online and off, and bitched to anyone who'd listen about it all, which turned out to be another bad idea.

Suddenly it seemed that EVERYBODY needed curtains and wanted help altering and/or getting 'em up. And I, in my crazed and sleep-deprived state, said, "Sure! I'll be HAPPY to help!"

I sorta' hoped they'd all forget I said that, but they didn't. So for the last two days, other people's curtains have been my entire life. And now I don't even want to LOOK at the three thousand yards of material I'm supposed to be turning into my own curtains.

Yesterday evening I rolled it all up in a wad and piled it on the couch, vowing not to even THINK about going in that room for at least another week.

But wait! Was that a CAR pulling into my DRIVEWAY? Yes, it was.

Did I EXPECT company? No, I did not.

But apparently it was expecting me, because when I answered the door there stood a friend I haven't seen in forever with her brand new (3rd) husband.

What makes it all so weird is that they live about 50 miles away from where I live. And did I mention that I live in the "wilderness?" No way were they "just driving by," deciding on the spur of the moment to "drop in" on a Friday night. They HAD to have planned this! Haven't they ever heard of TELEPHONES? GAWD!

Whut if I wasn't home? Would they have camped out on the porch?

Whut if I hadn't run the sweeper in a month and they'd walked in to ankle deep dog & cat hair?

Whut if I'd had a giant zit on the end of my nose and didn't WANT any company?

Uh...whut if I had an unmanageable mound of FABRIC wadded up on my sofa?

Sigh. All the lights were on, so I couldn't hide and pretend to be somewhere else. Nothing to do at that point but invite them in. I didn't have any steroids left to offer them so we settled for a little smoke, a LOT of snackies, and several hours of their wedding and honeymoon photos/stories...none of which I can recall at this time.

Oddly enough, during the entire evening, neither of them even MENTIONED all those yards and yards of material they were sitting on...or the fact the *I* was sitting on the floor. And I wasn't gonna bring it up if they weren't, so now I will never know if they thought I was thinking of opening a yard goods store or if they just didn't NOTICE.

It's probably better not knowing, huh? Because if I knew, I might think they were a teeny bit self-absorbed. Or something. And if I thought THAT, I'd probably tell them to start a blog of their own.

This morning I learned that you cannot stay in a lousy mood with a purring cat in your lap.

It's a TRUTH with a capital "T," and I "only just" discovered it this morning. (Or maybe I knew it a long time ago, but had forgotten.)

Although mornings are never my thing, they're usually tolerable as long as no one asks me to think for the first couple hours. But THIS morning was an exception, probably due to having one of those goofy dreams where everything was out of control and all I could do was be helplessly ticked off about it.

From whence this dream came I have not a clue, but it was
Christmas and about 40 friends & relatives of mine -- many
of whom didn't even KNOW each other -- were gathered at a
house I later learned was MY house, although I'd never seen
it before (too bad, it was a pretty cool house) -- to partake
of festivities, food & merriment.

Right off the bat, my mother (who in real life has been dead
since 1981) complained loudly because I wasn't playing her
Mitch Miller Christmas LP, and went upstairs to sulk. Shortly
thereafter my ex-sister-in-law whooshed in the front door and
set up a CARD TABLE in the middle of the living room so she
could display a conglomeration of candles and incense in hopes
of SELLING them to my guests. (Gawd!) But before I could nip
that little enterprise in the bud, some guy I've never seen
before who resembled an aged Karate Kid demonstrated his
prowess by breaking the tray to my antique oak highchair with
one hand. HIIII-YAHH!

The dream went on and on like that -- nutzoid to the nth degree -- and gradually I became aware that I had to either wake up or just give them the house and leave. When I did finally manage to open both eyes I was frowning and my head hurt.

Since I did not ingest anything alcoholic or hallucinogenic last night, I reasoned that I had every right to be mad as hell. And I was. Muttering to myself, I stomped into the kitchen -- followed by three bewildered dogs and one incredibly perceptive cat. Halfway through my first cup of coffee I was STILL pissed off at those stupid people and was seriously considering staying pissed off all day.

That's when Buster Cat jumped in my lap and began purring. He looked up at me with those big intelligent green eyes of his as if to say, "Hey...you're here with ME now and it's all-lll good. So pet me!"

Damn cat. I felt like the Grinch must've felt when the WHOs started singing. But hey...restored sanity from any quarter is a welcome thing, right?

-Watching John Fogerty reminds me of Tom Jones. Which makes me really glad I spend more time listening to him than looking at him.

-Who have thunk I’d have come to this: ripping out large clumps of hair while trying to help an 83-year-old with Medicare Part D.

-Dead at 51...a nice guy I used to work with. Instant massive heart attack. He looked so healthy...I am speechless.

-NEEDING a digital camera is the easy part. Figuring out which one to buy gives me an Excedrin headache. So I’ll probably still need one this time next year.

-Aliens apparently abducted everyone from the post office, but they forgot to turn out the lights or lock the doors. It would’ve been a wasted trip, but I managed to salvage it by fixing the copy machine while I was there.....

-Diablo's ashes are still on the mantel. If I don't scatter them soon they're gonna get dusty...

-I do wish people would stop throwing junk & stuff out of their cars as they drive by. Cans, boxes, empty cigarette packs, a 2004 date book, and...what’s this? Someone’s undies! Oh man...if ONLY your mom had put your name in ‘em! Wonder if there’s a reward?

-Is there such a thing as “Restless Brain Syndrome?” Because I think I have it.

My late husband never got rid of anything, whether he needed it or not. "It's good stuff," he'd say. "Sure as I throw it away I will NEED it someday!"

Nevermind that he couldn't possibly FIND said object should the aforementioned need arise -- (card cataloguing wasn't one of his strengths) -- the point was that he was using a "thrifty" gene acquired at birth from his dad. Why go out and BUY something that you once had and threw away?

We're talking about electric cords for long dead camcorders and VCRs, (not to mention the appliances themselves); ratty bath towels (good rags, you know!); leaves to tables no one remembers; clothes unworn since the 70s; miles of rusty fencing; half-empty containers of viscous and vile automotive fluids; endless coffee and peanut cans filled with nuts, bolts, & nails; dog cages in 17 sizes; broken ceiling and floor tiles; and etc. etc. etc.

I teased him about this pack-rat thing, but only in a non-bitchy way. It was a just another part of his personality that made me smile. And the thing is, I save stuff too. No, I did not inherit a "thrifty" gene...quite the opposite. My reasons for saving stuff lean to the sentimental side. (John Prine is not wrong when he sings about it taking years to get these souvenirs, but that's a whole nuther story for a whole nuther day.)

So where was I going with this musing? Well, it's about finding myself heiress to all these "saved" things. I dunno what to do with most of 'em, yet it seems almost irreverent to disengage myself from my sweetheart's treasures of a lifetime, you know? (There goes that sentimental thing again.)

One of the items that I've inherited though is not really a "thing," it's George. He's a friend my husband hung out with in high school and kept all these years despite the fact that they had nothing in common for the last hundred years of their friendship.

Unfortunately, George is like no one I have ever even considered knowing, much less spending time with. A sexist and semi-bigot, George is pretty much a social disaster. His conversational skills are limited to (1) reminiscing about high school days, (2) World War II Airplanes, (3) his two unruly male Dobermans,(4) women and their collective lack of intelligence, and (5) getting a job in Nigeria that's gonna make him a millionaire. You get my drift?

So why does she have to TALK to him, you may be asking yourself. The answer is.....I dunno. I just do.

George feels obligated to call and/or come check on me at odd hours at least once a week. He honestly thinks he's helping and being thoughtful and I, despite being infamous for having well-honed sharp edges at times, find that I am powerless to say "STOPPIT!"

But why? I'd like to think it's because I've inherited more than just "things" from my late husband. I'd like to think that I've inherited his inability to be unkind to anyone, any time.

It's probably something a lot less selfless though. Maybe it's because George can fix small, medium and large appliances -- even furnaces -- and firmly refuses to accept payment for his services.

Or maybe it's because I'm saving him for a chapter in that book I'm gonna write someday -- "Weird People I've Known and Wondered About."

Whutever...he stays. Along with all the other stuff.

No world news for ME today...can't risk two days in a row of crabby. So I got to thinking -- whut if I had my own "news" paper? I'd call it the "Toad Hall Times" and today's headlines would be as follows:

*LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE*

*14 CARDINALS SPOTTED IN SWEDISH MAPLE TREE*

*MOUSE DROPPINGS MAY LEAD TO ENTRAPMENT*

*CHIPMUNK OBESITY THE RESULT OF TOO MANY PEANUTS*

*SHORT SHOVEL HAMPERS TREE TRANSPLANT*

*WINTER GROUND SWELL A PROBLEM FOR GARAGE DOORS*

*RAIN THROWS WET BLANKET ON DOG COMFORT*

*WOMAN MAULS MECHANIC FOR KEEPING CAR TOO LONG*

*20-YEAR-OLD SMOKE DETECTOR TRASHED FOR DISTURBING THE PEACE*

*LONG & SHORT OF CURTAINS LEADS TO PSYCHOTIC BREAK FOR SEAMSTRESS*

*VACUUM SWEEPER COUGHS UP 10-POUND HAIRBALL - Cat Denies Involvement*

*FOR SALE: 1981 DeLOREAN*

Having a crabby day today. No apologies; it happens sometimes. I need to quit listening to the news on Public Radio though. (What I don't know can't show up here, right?)

Frown #1: The time limit has run out for folks who got government help with temporary lodging in hotels/motels after Katrina, so some of them (the poorest & elderly, of course) are back out on the street now -- still waiting for the long term help that our illustrious govt clowns "say" they have in place. We just can't get it right, can we?

Frown #2: The clowns at Google have caved to the Chinese government & agreed to a sensored search engine. Dunno if this is about dollars or politics or both, but it sure sudks for the people in China. A pox on Google...I must find a new way to find stuff, immediately if not sooner.

For the first 200 years of my life, I was an upwardly mobile urban bohemian and could not have cared less about this guy. And I was perfectly HAPPY about not caring less. But then a level 10 updraft sucked me out of the city and spit me out on 5 acres of paradise -- a place where John Deere is king of tractors, mowers, caps, tee shirts, a decorative porch flag (that faded to brown in last summer's sun), plus a set of salt & pepper shakers.

So now I care more rather than less about John Deere. He has become essential to me, particularly during the months when grass grows so absurdly fast. I care a LOT, yet I don't even know what the guy looked like or why he was so fond of green and yellow. Or if, when his third grade teacher called roll with last names first, the other kids snickered when she said, "Deere John." Do I care enough to spend time researching the answers to these queries? Probably not. But I do care enough that I did not snarl even when the service guy woke me up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 this morning to haul Mr. Deere's mowing tractor off for its yearly check-up. I care so much in fact, that I will patiently endure the sarcastic remarks during the soon-to-come phone call from the dealer....asking me if I realize that my warranty does not cover the huge chunks of metal missing from the mower blades.

Okay, okay, so I ran over a few tree limbs and some of those walnut thingys that are constantly falling off the trees around here. (I ran over my Operator's Manual, too -- can you say "confetti?") Nevermind...it was merely an urban bohemian-turned-rural bohemian learning curve. I'll do better this year. Maybe.