If you have ever been on Stringtown Road early of a morning, the lady you waved encouragement to was ME! I clippedy-clop along at a good pace, making the mile in about 16 minutes. I started this practice about six years ago, after my dad had a heart attack and was ordered to walk four miles daily.

When he was visiting me, we would start off on our chosen route at an invigorating pace. Walking daily became "catching". I continued the practice even after he would leave, shortening the distance to two miles per day to fit my schedule. Neither wind nor snow nor sleet kept this walker from her daily hike.

It was a wonderful way to start off my morning, for in 32 minutes, I had the "all-over-tingely-feeling". But, the very BEST part of my walking, was the last few feet, when I would see the smiling face of my best friend and neighbor of fifteen years, For she had taken pity on my frosty form as I came back down the street on very cold mornings, and started the practice of having tea and toast waiting for my return.

She was a peppery-little-wisp-of-a-thing -- a good puff of wind would have blown her away. I couldn't begin to count the hours we have spent in happy company over a cup of tea, joking and just old fashioned gossiping! We had a special comradeship that bridged the difference in our ages and allowed the stream of friendship to flow under it. She was big sister, confident, rummaging buddy, loving friend and just a beautiful person. Her homemade noodles and chicken soup were a gourmets delight.

Her sudden death has left a gap in my heart so large, that even Dr. Christian Barnard couldn't mend it. I seldom take my walks anymore. I blame it on the mounting traffic that has crept into our quiet neighborhood, sending us pedestrians scurrying into ditches to avoid being skewered to a car fender. But I KNOW that I don't walk much now because there is no bright, loving heart like Katie's smiling back at me, of a cold winter's morning, over "hot tea and warm toast""

It was a warm April afternoon. For the first time in many years, all the brothers and sisters were home at the same time. They gathered under the canopy, All listened, inconsolably, to the rich voice of the minister, reminding us of the glorious season of Easter. HE is risen, Hallelujah! The words hung on the stillness, enveloping us gently, not really penetrating the shell of sorrow, all so engulfed in thought and memory.

The flag was neatly folded, presented to our sister. The sharp crack of the rifles stunned the silence. It shook the assembled into the present. The mournful sound of Taps shivered on the air around us. A last farewell from the Army he served so well. Silent tears made running streams down our faces. Sisters wept, brothers coughed and sniffled.

A chance remark I overheard, at the store the other morning, brought memories flooding to my mind's eye. A young lady replacing a large bag of candy back onto a shelf, as an angry four year old was bellowing between tears, "I'll go to Grandma's, she lets me have candy". "Wish I had the plane fare, I'd send you!", replies the harassed mother.

Ah, how I identified with that little girl and thought how lucky I had been at that age to have Nana Jenny. I remembered the well worn path of the stairs leading up to Nana's room on the second floor of our house.

When I was growing up, you were never more than a holla away from grandparents, aunts, uncles and innumerable cousins. In my pre-school days, long before they invented "Dash", I WAS the "Bold One"! My brother was the "goodie" and I was the "naughty" one. Consequently, I was forever vaulting up those stairs, my mother just one panting, hot breath behind me, cat-a-nine-tails poised menacingly, as I headed for the sanctuary behind my grandmother's apron. "Don't ye lay a finger on this dear chi-lld Kath", she would intone; her eyes saying much more than her Irish brogue!

You NEVER set yourself against Nana, when she had "THE LOOK" in her flashing eyes! Out of my frustrated mother's mouth, tumbled all my present and past transgressions. I must admit to a few, for I was a bit of a hairum-scareum type. Poor Mama would retreat downstairs with a "just you wait Jee-on" hanging in the air,. She always referred to me as "Jee-on" when I got her "Irish up".

SAFE AGAIN, I would rest comfortably against Nana's consoling apron. She would fix me hot tea and a piece of Dugan's pound cake and pat me lovingly. As I walked thru the store, I thought sadly of my own little grandson, now in his "terrible two's", living so far away from me, . With no loving grandma's overalls just a holla away, to hide behind! Poor Grandson!!

Wildlife of my area, PLEASE head for the hills of Kentucky! You are getting Me in deep trouble! It is My RACCOON taking up nesting quarters in a neighbors attic; MY SQUIRRELS plummeting down their chimneys: MY OPOSSUM knocking over their garbage cans; MY FIELD MICE gnawing into neighboring homes. WHEN will it ever end? There IS a breaking point you know!

TELL ME:

HOW do you talk to a pregnant raccoon about to take up housekeeping in a nice warm attic she chewed her way into? Do I tell her the owners really don't appreciate the pitter-patter of little feet at 2 A.M. in the morning?

HOW do you tell rambunctious squirrels, plummeting down peoples fireplaces, playing "catch-me-if-you-can" thru their house, is an exhausting, scary thing?

WHAT do you say to a mother opossum, kinder clinging to her back, as she rummages thru neighbors garbage cans, in the wee hours of a morning? Do I tell her that this is not the "socially acceptable" way to eat?

WHAT can I say to a little black bunny who's gourmet taste runs to dining on everyone's choice petunias? Tell it "Please, eat the daisies?"

I truly sympathize with all my dear neighbors, but PLEASE, HOW CAN I TELL THEM!!!? You are expecting a DR. DOOLITTLE PERHAPS?

I know a nice lady who had an embarrassing moment or two one lovely, breezy September morning, while trying to earn her "good deed of the day" award. Her neighbor had an old horse called "Babe", who had a perpetual case of the "wanders". At the drop of a blade of grass, this horse would wander down to her place seeking those greener pastures, that we all have in mind, from time to time. No amount of "horse sense" could convince Babe that the grass on this acre of ground was not the finest eating around,. Whenever she spotted Babe grazing in her Eden, she would take an apple for coaxing, go down the hill, tie the horse to a tree, and call her neighbor, who would send her little son after the stray. Routine, yes? Well, MAYBE!

Early this nice warm morning along trots Babe, headed for her favorite green patch of grass. Our lady sitting on her secluded patio sipping tea, in her skimpy negligee. She ran inside for her coaxing apple, breezed down the hill, in her best Lauretta Young fashion, only to find that this time, there in no bridle on Babe.

Babe grazed nearer and nearer the woods. Fearing the old horse would get lost, if she got into the woods, she ran back to the house to call her neighbor. "I'll call school and have my son sent home. He can bring the bridle and take Babe home". says the neighbor. Apple in hand, our lady runs back out in pursuit of the errant Babe. The apple holds no appeal to Babe. She manages to turn the horse back toward a tree stump, by pushing against the horse, with her body. Jumping from the stump, in her best Roy Rogers style, she leaps upon Babe's back. Using her knees, heels and a few "giddy-ups", she steers Babe up toward the house, her gown flapping in the wind, revealing more of her than she suspected!

She hoped to hang on to Babe's mane and ride around the grounds, until the boy came with the bridle. Five minutes later he came --- with the PRINCIPAL of the school, who had driven him over. She will NEVER, NEVER, forget the look of astonishment upon the man's face or the mischievous smile, that replaced it, when he beheld her, in her negligee astride the horse, doing her "good deed".

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