Mother is a reader and today it is the Druids and now we are talking about them – the yule log, the use of garland, the holly and the idea that you you could do what she wanted to do as long as other people were not hurt. Did I say we were talking? Well, actually Mother is going a mile a minute, about the Druids and about the Amish lady who turned English and married a man who turned out to have a drug problem. Now she is on to the cat that has been allowed in, falls asleep on Mother’s stomach as she lies down and reads and jumps off when the ringing of my phone call disturbs her. Except tonight the cat has stayed put.

Speaking of cats, we caught a mouse today and Mother wanted to know why I didn’t put it in a sandwich bag and freeze it for her cat. Well, gee, Mother, can’t that cat of yours do anything? Oops, the last time we poked fun of the cat, she (the cat) put a curse on me and I got sick and I don’t think Sydney was feeling well, either.

For years, Mother was never a cat person and now she has a cat shrine where Lucy Lib, the first cat she took in, was buried. Tippy’s final resting place will be there also. Poor Tippy, probably some antifreeze from the place down the road – the house that used to be Homer’s but he sold when he moved to Kentucky. We are training Sydney to not “visit” the bushes at the Lucy Lib Memorial Garden.

Right now, it is not the evening I started this post; it is the morning after. Cameron has left to walk to school, but not until after a little Q & A session about a point of history. I have drilled it into his head that when I say, “I don’t know,” that is exactly what I mean; I do not mean, “Ask me some more questions in detail and maybe I will suddenly know the answers.”

Maybe I’ll tell him to call his great-grandmother and ask about the  Stonehenge/Druid situation.