same view, normal river.

Already going down.

high water

something happened, scroll down.

Morning sun shining through.

Spring flowers

God's beauty

Oh so pretty. Lady in the bath

Just take a deep breath and smell!

Patton liked the kettle of warm soup set out to cool. Hi, just checking out the new putter.

just checking out comput.

Update

This old homestead near the river has seen better days.

Drive with care.

Caution, road ends here.

In light of the days tragic events, this pales in comparison.

River update

Pretty Spring Colors

Sunset on the Ohio River

Watching the big ants build a maze.

Hi ya'll this is Sarah Beth takin over Lois's blog ;]....... well she wanted me to write about what I did today so Timmy and me went to Marengo Cave with megan, we went on two tours one was in the crystal cave and the other was in the drip stone cavern now the crystal cave got that name because of the limestone crystals that form on the cave walls when their dry but since it rained really hard last night it washed all the crystals away, the drip stone cavern got that name because of all the stalatites that are dripping from the ceiling or their better known when their that small as soda srtaws because their hollow in the middle but my favorite part was when we got to throw pennies onto the cave ceiling, the stick because of the mud :], in all the tour was about two miles long and verry cold, but we had fun!

first flower!

To Her

Happy Valentines Day! Here's a poem by Edger Guest born in 1895. He was known as "The Poet of the People" I like his poetry, if you ever see anything by him, read it.

"To the mother of my children
And the faithful wife o' mine,"
That's the line that I shall scribble
On a simple valentine,
Just to sort o' reassure her
In an old man's blundering way,
That I'm always thinking of her
Through the troubles of the day.

" To the mother of my children,
And the faithful wife o' mine,"
That's the way that I shell greet her
With some simple valentine,
And her eyes will start to gleamin'
And her heart go pit-a-pat,
For there isn't any title
That would please her more than that.

So it's just the way I'll greet her,
Just to sort o' let her know
That she's still the same old sweetheart
That she was long years ago;
That there's no one any fairer
Than my early valentine,
Now the mother of my children
And the faithful wife o' mine.

Valentine Past

Well, O.K. Since you ask for it. I wrote this one for Honey a few years ago.

Kenny.....
You say I don't love you
Well Honey, you're wrong
For it's too late for you
To sing me that song.

You turned on your charm
You lit up that smile
You winked those blue eyes
Knowing all the while
That you had me hooked
You put out the bait
I swallowed it whole
And now it's too late
To say I don't love you
To feed me that line
'Cause I'm Hopelessly hooked
On You, VALENTINE!

Sweet Thing

Well it seems every one [family] is posting so here goes. Wrote this for my Honey, he hasn't seen it yet so shhhhh.

Oh Valentine, Oh valentine,
Calm this wild heart of mine.
Bid it slow it's dizzy pace,
Each time I see your handsome face.

My heart it jumps around with glee,
To think of you right here with me.
To hold your hand so warm and strong,
Tells me here's where I belong.

For you're my friend, my first true love
Bestowed on me, from God above
He gave me you, and you to me
To share our lives in harmony.

And still you set my heart awhirl,
Just like when we were boy and girl.
But now we're up there, over the hill,
Our love has sparkle in it still.

You're the one, aft all these years,
Who gives me love, smiles and cheers.
So I commit my love, till the end of time
And you'll always be my valentine.

What to do, what to due? Being pulled from 4 different directions. What does one do, take sealed bids then go for the highest bidder?

Recap

Yes Sharon, Maybe I should have said, "I wrote this one morning last spring, sitting on my 100 year old couch, with feet propped up on my old hassock, stuffed with 'horse hair' if you remember what that is. It may be older than that even. The lady I got it from is 92 and it belonged to her Aunt. Oh if the divan could only talk! what stories it could tell. Who sat on it, what were they like? Maybe a little Grandmother sat and talked of Abe Lincoln, with pearl buttoned high tops, hair piled high, white gloved hands and a high lacy collar? Maybe....~~ A young lady all proper and prim, smiling and blushing, her bou just waltzed in. He takes her young hand, with a smile and a wish, thinks, Oh if I dared, I'd plant her a kiss...They sit side by side and talk of their day, It's getting so late, but he wants to stay. The oil in the courting lamp, is burning so low, She smiles , he whispers, "I really must go" He gives her a wink, Oh she's lovely no doubt, He sneaks her a kiss, as the lamp went out. ~~ Who knows what stories it could tell. A peak, deep in it's folds, shows that in it's day it was a beautiful golden bronze color. Over my left shoulder sits an old, ornate floor lamp, topped in a pretty Victorian, fringe trimmed shade. The clocks chime 'Big Ben' one after the other. Sometimes it sets the mood to write.

Take a break

This was written early one spring morning, '09.........Come, Share with me a moment in time, before the world wakes up. With coffee in hand we pause for a moment of silence and thanks for the blessing of a new day for sight and sound, and for health and breath to enjoy it...... It's the still of early morning and dawn has just broken the cover of darkness. All is quiet except the ticking of the clocks inside and outside, the pileated woodpecker nearby, drumming intently on an old hollow tree. The air lays still, heavy with mystic dew. Droplets, like diamonds, shimmer on a spiderweb just outside the window. The keeper of the web, oblivious to the intricate details of her palace, decorated so artistically by diamond dust (a.k.a. dew drops) sits on her thrown like a queen, surrounded and dazzled by jewels......What wonders He has wrought!
A heavy sweetness wafts through the open window, tantalizing the senses. It's so intoxicating and exhilarating, that it invites a long pause to drink in it's flowery scent. Is it locust blossoms or honey suckle? There's nothing in sight to give a clue to it's origin. It seems to be a 'Mystery Scent' but yet it has lingered for some time, mornings and evenings, hanging thick in the air. Could it be the sweet heavenly aroma of the presents of God, waiting to commune at the dawn and dusk of the day? If so, can you imagine the awesome scents in heaven, surrounding our heavenly home? Oh the beauty of an exquisite, velvet red rose, the deep hue of a purple lilac, or the dainty teardrop, suspended from a pink bleeding heart. Aint God Good!
I watch a family of gray squirrels. Two young ones, recently graduated from their high lofty nest nearby, are racing about, rustling the dry leaves on the ground. They chatter a sassy cry and chase each others bushy tails around the tree at a dizzying pace. They pause for but a moment to regroup and off they race again, faster still. A chorus of colorful birds are heralding the start of a new day, with sweet songs of praise to their maker. Their songs are upbeat and catchy, nature's music to the soul
Oh look! Is it? Yes! There's a silent, stealthy doe, half hidden behind the maple tree. Her white tail is working overtime, like a flag set asail in the breeze. She's cautious, peering around a low hanging branch. She ever so slowly edges closer to the big rock nearby and licks up the salty earth, enjoying the remains of a salt block, long gone. She savors the minerals for some time, allowing me to enjoy her regal beauty. She soon has her fill and ambles closer, her head bobbing for a better view, always mindful of her surroundings. Her long ears twitch forward and backwards. She spies the cat and he too, is watching her intently. They eye each other a long moment, then respecting their distance, she ambles away to forage on the tender new grass and pretty wildflowers. From her point of view, all flowers are edible, even mu bleeding hearts, purple cone flowers, hydrangeas and seedum, she enjoys them all.
Well, that's a piece of my morning, home alone, enjoying the quiet and stillness of nature. I love it, it doesn't happen very often but this morning, Hubby is off on a tractor somewhere, plowing a big field and and planting corn. Little britches, (not so little anymore) is visiting his Sissy where he also spent the night. Hence, my quiet morning.
I did have a couple interruption's though. The loud, clamoring phone rang, breaking the stillness, and peace of the morning. Next, a piercing call of alarm from the cat (General George Patton, per Tim) brought me quickly to my feet. A big, wild Tom cat snuck up from the woods and was forcing Patten, , to the edge of the deck. He was ever so slowly inching him backwards, to the corner, to a big drop off. Before I could break it up, Yellow Tom succeeded in forcing him over the edge where he fell about 10 feet to the ground. I hissed the big bully back into the woods and also startled several deer nearby who also ran off into the cover of trees, snorting as they bounded away. In a couple minutes, here came cat, creeping up the stairs, sneezing bleary eyed but still walking. He sought the comfort of my arms for a spell while he composed himself, got his dignity back and his head on straight again.
Well, I must needs get going, clocks need wound, laundry done, weeds in flower bed pulled, windows washed and floors swept. Hope you enjoyed the morning along with me, I did. We'll do it again some time. Perhaps about the foggy mist that hangs heavy over the Ohio River, the mournful foghorn from an enshrouded barge, that echos and bounces back and forth off the hills along the river. It's haunting reverb, meant to clear the way ahead, is muffled by the density, so thick you can feel it envelope you. The night is still, damp and dark. The only light comes from the long beam of the beacon in the pilothouse, swinging from side to side, searching opposite banks for it's safe passage up the swollen, rushing river, pushing hard against the swift current. The grown of the tug boats motor labors as it fights against the force of the cold , murky water. Curves lay ahead, several sharp, horseshoe bends that require careful navigating in the daylight, and still more skillful hands at the helm when the fog is thick enough to cut with a knife, the night is dark, and long miles lay ahead. The pilot's heart races as he fights the treacherous waterway, nervously glancing at his watch as he prays for the first light of dawn and the morning sun that evaporates and lifts the white, heavy blanket that suffocates his view..............I can hear it chugging up river and it's mournful foghorn, piercing the night, as I lay safely in my comfortable bed, glad that I'm on good solid ground as I drift off in a peaceful sleep.................and dream of calm, still waters on a glassy smooth lake, reflecting perfectly the azure blue sky and Cotton candy clouds above. I sit ladylike in the small skiff, one white gloved hand holding a fringed parasol. It compliments my summer hat, bedecked with a dottedswiss ribbon and pretty pink roses for adornment. My long white dress, trimmed with a blushing sash, protects from the warm suns rays. Bare toes are half hidden under the lacy skirt, enjoying their new found freedom from the high top button up shoes, tossed aside with reckless abandonment. Oh these wonderful, carefree, summer days spent daydreaming, drifting along on the placid lake. The ever so slight breeze tickles the fancy and stirs up the perfume from the lilac bushes on the waters edge nearby. My hand shades the eyes as they scan the distant shoreline, searching for the quaint little summer cottage near the rocky cove. Home.....with it's white picket fence and tall colorful hollyhocks half hidden behind the blue morning glory vines. I see the small boathouse with it's image mirrored on the still water, it's reflection a perfect likeness, down to it's gingerbread trim. 'Old Glory' displays her colors proudly, ever so slightly moving as if kissed by the breeze...........The year is 1900, the dawn of a new century, waiting to be experienced. Hi expectations, new hopes and dreams. Oh the wonders of it all. The thrill of life!

Sitten here at Discovery Beach Resort in the exersize room, it's 90 outside, much better in here. Timmy has swim trunks on and begging to go to the pool. Problem is, I have to go out there with him and just sit and bake. I've already baked my feet so now I can't get them in the sun, bummer.We need someone his age for him to hang out with, he wants to go, go, go, to the pool or the beach, all the time. A man was fishing on the beach and gave Tim a smallish fish he caught. Kenny brought it up to our place on the 7th fl. and cleaned it. Now Tim has 4 little finger size strips to try out. Talk later.