Frayed Laces

A city diary.
A country diary.
A little northeast Illinois, a little southeast Kentucky.
(All photos & art are my own unless otherwise noted.)

Blast from the past…………

Old family photo in a family garden of many many summers ago in Germany.

You only think you’re gonna get thru us to your beans………
                                                                             ……bwwwahahahaha!

You only think you’re gonna get thru us to your beans………

                                                                             ……bwwwahahahaha!

As we begin to move slowly into autumn, the harvest this year looks to be very very nice…………..




The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven’t changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don’t change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion.
                  ~~ Doris Lessing



(An old Minneapolis-Moline tractor maybe?) 

The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven’t changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don’t change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion.

                  ~~ Doris Lessing



(An old Minneapolis-Moline tractor maybe?) 

Whoa momma, it’s one of those OMG Moments.

I posted the top photo back sometime this past winter, saying that while the florist was alive & well, the sign was defunct.  Had been for a couple of decades, actually.

Heard thru the peeps grapevine that my photo wasn’t popular.   Whether it was seen on tumblr or on flickr, I don’t know.  And I’m not sure who it was unpopular with, was it the florist, was it the village mommas & poppas, was it the village common peeps, I have no idea, I didn’t ask.

I especially hated the sign because the shop is on one of the village’s main drags, it’s right next door to the library on one side of it, and the Illinois Prairie Path on the other side of it.  Directly behind it and directly across the street from it are two very popular churches in town.  In other words, it gets seen by tons of people every week and it gave the village a sucky image.

Howevah……………………………. 

The florist is only about a hundred feet from the library, so when I walked mid-town to the library this morning, voila baby!, brand new sign.  Ain’t that grand?  Now our village is lookin’ an eensy teensy bit less decrepit, yeah! 


human boys are so silly no need 4 expensive art when fire hydrants are all over the place to pee on an’ the fire department puts ‘em out for us for free an’ who wants to pee on some ol’ rusty thing for territory when i can claim somethin’ shiny bright red what a waste of good treat money i’m just sayin’.     
~~ Wussy, Shihtoodle

(‘Art in the Park’,  Mount St. Mary Park,  St. Charles  IL)

human boys are so silly no need 4 expensive art when fire hydrants are all over the place to pee on an’ the fire department puts ‘em out for us for free an’ who wants to pee on some ol’ rusty thing for territory when i can claim somethin’ shiny bright red what a waste of good treat money i’m just sayin’.     

~~ Wussy, Shihtoodle

(‘Art in the Park’,  Mount St. Mary Park,  St. Charles  IL)

Top is an old German postcard with a poem by author Rudolf Anatol Petz.    Bottom photo is of BabyFlake, probably the most precious of all the dogs who have owned me over the past six decades.  

October 31, 1983, a cold, rainy Halloween night.  A gentleman was out driving on a road that ran along a local forest preserve.   A tire went flat.  He got out of his car to change it, jacked up the car, took off the blown tire, hadn’t yet put the new tire on.  Hadn’t noticed a large box sitting between the woods and the street.

Suddenly the box began to move.   The box began to move toward him.  Being as how this was a cold, rainy, very dark Halloween night, he was torn between just leaving the car & running away screaming, or using common sense.  He did a little of both.  He began to run away, realized it was probably just some dumb prank, and came back towards the moving box.

Taking the top off the box, he discovered 6 tiny, cold, wet, smelly, very young German Shorthaired Pointer puppies squirming around. 

The next morning he took them to a local humane society, which immediately took them in.  One of them, a tiny female who was obviously the runt of the litter, was very sickly — she had pneumonia — so the society called me to ask me to foster her.  She was such a little pain in the ass that I ended up keeping her.

Even tho she never stopped being a little pain in the ass, and never did fully recover her health, she was the absolutely perfectest dog.  :)

Following is a very (very!) rough, and somewhat lacking, translation of Petz’s poem.  But when I read it, I knew what he meant:

Dog’s Eyes

You look at me with your brown, clear eyes

And a world full of loyalty to me,

Unconditional love and devotion,

I’m your friend, your Lord, your God for you.

Everything reflected in your eyes

Shows me the loveliness in your soul;

You are the source off all that is good,

Your love is always there for me.

And what have I to give you?

My God, so little.

You’re rewarded with a good word.

Or your eyes thank me when I stroke so gently.

So light, so fast, my happy dog.

You look at me with your clear, brown eyes,

Eyes that I can always confide in, always trust in,

No eyes on this earth can look on me

Like your clear, brown eyes.

Song sparrow having a bad hair day.  Having a bad tail day, too, from the looks of it.  But hey, at least we’re not goin’ hungry!! 

Song sparrow having a bad hair day.  Having a bad tail day, too, from the looks of it.  But hey, at least we’re not goin’ hungry!!