This morning as I was leaning over to tie my shoe, I caught sight of an old looking piece of dried paper. When I picked it up, I realized it was not paper, but masking tape – the masking tape that had Gopher’s name on it. It was bent over and wrinkled; I must have sat on Gopher sometime yesterday and his name came off.

A tremendous sadness overwhelmed me as I remember the day we had put it on him: time passes; things change. I dropped the old tape on the coffee table I use to hold my things – drinks, pencils, remotes, batteries and so forth. Then I felt just really done in and I stared at the tape, thinking, “Just let it go.”  A minute, two minutes. I picked up the tape and straightened it out; it had that fragile quality that dried out old masking tape gets. But there it was – GOPHER – resting in my hand.

So I got the super glue and put it back on.  Call me sentimental . . .

Oh, yeah, I’ll get a picture when Gopher settles down.

Yesterday, I was apprised that two rummage sales would be held today: Faith Methodist at 8 am and the Catholic Church at 9 am. I go to the first day, even though my real time to shine is on $1.50 Bag Day when you can cram as much as you are skilled enough to handle into a grocery bag. I am very skilled.

If anything has an empty space in it, I fill it with something – anything. My bag leaves the church as a solid cube. I give them a donation to even things out; I just pack the bag like that to retain my title and have the thrill of “engineering the squash” success.

But, that’s maybe history. This spring I forgot about the rummages sales until 10 o’clock. I jumped up when I suddenly remembered and then flopped back down. Despair.

Finally, I decided getting there was better than not going at all and made up my mind to go right away. My pants were too loose and I couldn’t find my belt right off the bat, so I used a safety pin to attach them to my shirt. Then I put a big sweatshirt on and pulled it down low and went.

It was great; I walked in and there sat a retro aluminum cake cover and bottom. Do you know how useful those are? I love them and they look cool – like I am hip or whatever. “Hip” isn’t the current lingo, is it? Did I give myself away? Probably. Good, I no longer have to worry about keeping it secret.

I also got a nice 50’s type cotton tablecloth for outside when we grill. And . . . and . . . a Pfaltzgraff pie pan, a large serving bowl, a creamer, three little serving bowls for $5. The price said $5 for all that and about six plates and a bunch of cups and soup bowls and a butter dish, plus a couple of other pieces. I couldn’t see being greedy, so I took the ones I wanted, gave them a high $5 – no, I handed it over at normal level – and went happily on my way.

Then I realized there was a puddle of transmission fluid under the little green car.

AAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH

While checking on a Garden City, Kansas website, just to get a feel for where I was, I looked over to the side and saw a link named “cemetery plots” – a little unsettling. Was it an omen, a hint I should be thinking “It’s a good day to die” a la Little Big Man with Dustin Hoffman? Then I got hold of myself and clicked on “postcards” and saw a Dust Bowl storm . . . and doctored photos of cowboys with giant bunnies, a man shooting a giant grasshopper, a grasshopper pushing a stroller. You can see these things here.

Aha, there is a Beef Empire Days – Do they have a website? Yes, the do . . . woo-hoo and I’m going to go look. Chuckwagons in the Park sounds inviting. Ooops, Carcass Show and Judging Contest; I don’t think I’m up for that just yet. Bikers for Beef Poker Run – does this refer to the card game or cattle prods? Probably better off not knowing. Hoof it to Health Road Run on June 7th and then on the 8th, the Beef Empire Cattle Crawl. Okay . . . Before I left, I grabbed this picture: which is not showing up – it’s a big molded steer with a sign set in its middle that says “Welcome to Beef Empire Days”. Maybe I can get a picture from another source.

Hey, it is working now.

Let’s see what else is lurking in Garden City.

Poogles popped up – they are a cross between poodles and beagles, sometimes called Beagle-poos.

They have a Sunnyvale Bed & Breakfast and the rooms are named for Bible verses.

Shane’s on the left; Anya is on the right. When my son told me they had named Shane what they did, I immediately thought of Alan Ladd in the role of Shane. Ladd was only about 5’4″ and had to stand on a box when close to his leading ladies – or they had to stand in a trench. Now, it looks as if Anya may turn out to be taller than Shane.

Well, I was just thinking about virtual travel, an by corollary, being a virtual tourist. So I picked a spot on the map while closing my eyes. It was Vermont and I pulled up the state map and selected an area and zoomed in until the town Bellows Falls caught my eye. So I decided to look around, not so much for the facts you can pull up in three seconds in a Google search, but in little tidbits of Bellows Falls connections.

Governor Thomas Salmon (1973-77) came to Bellows Falls and practiced law after his days as Governor and University President. His one time personal residence is for sale. I have linked to a page that shows the wallpaper that is in the house now. It’s not my taste, but you can see it here. I then looked at Wikipedia and found this picture:

But here’s an interesting fact: HIs son, Thomas M., was elected State Auditor in 2006. After the first vote count, he trailed by 137. He asked for a re-count and was 102 votes over his opponent, incumbent Randolph Brock. Never before had a Vermont state-wide election result been changed by a re-count. Kind of ironic that the election was for auditor. Thomas M., by the way, is a CPA.

If I am ever in Bellows Falls, I think I would at least stop in here.

I found the above photo at Flickr; it was taken by Sunset Sailor.

I wrote before about how my younger son and I named the bears I had begun collecting because it was so hard to believe anything as cute as they were could only be material and stuffing. This is Gopher; we are certain of this because we put their names on their butts.

I heard or read somewhere – or maybe a little bird whispered it in my ear – that a little boy named Otto who lives in Texas has a birthday TODAY. Now, I know he has his picture on his grandma’s website, and that’s pretty special . . . but if you listen really hard, Otto, maybe you will hear shouts of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” coming all the way from Indiana.

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.

This red mulch is rubber and is made from recycled tires. I don’t think it looks too bad, and actually since it is a purpose for old tires that are usually in landfills, I think it is very lovely.

It started out okay with the old barn I love in the background of Wal-Mart’s spring outdoor stuff; $5 films: 20 Alfred Hitchcock, included a couple of silent films and A River Runs Through It – great book, great movie. Then we hit the check-out line. Yes, line and oh, my gosh, only two lights were on for people who had more than 11 items and couldn’t use a Fast Lane because they don’t want full cart people to do that. We waited such a long time.

When I got up to the cashier, for whom I have great sympathy, I noted that they have two automated questions on the touch screen for payment: Was the store clean? or Did your cashier greet you? There is no question that asks “Were enough lines open?” We got to talking and she confirmed they 1) have to call Arkansas if they are sick and can’t make it in and 2) have to pass a customer to another associate if it’s time for their shift to end. That’s really fun when you are asking questions about a product and then have to ask them all over again of another person.

But it’s sunny today, so that is good.