It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

They are actually repaving a nasty stretch on our main thoroughfare, eliminating the need for evasive man-hole cover/pothole driving maneuvers. It feels like you’re participating in the Indy 500 around here. Cake decorators could do a better job of applying asphalt to the potholes and smoothing them out.

While it would have been a perfect past year to get all of that work done – (lower traffic numbers, outside work?) – we are now “back to normal,” with crews working while we’re all toodling around. I remember driving around over a year ago thinking we should be repairing the roads while they were ghost-like. However, then I wouldn’t have been able to complain about construction, which apparently is a topic of interest to me.

“Director of Transportation.” Another career opportunity I didn’t know existed back in the guidance counselor’s office. Enjoy the drive.

Driving along the road early this Wednesday morning, I saw a young guy in the opposite lane trying to change a tire. Upon my return 45 minutes later, he was still standing there on the phone. I drove by. Sighed. Turned around. After all, I do know how to change a tire!

There was no way I was heading off to college without the basic knowledge of car maintenance. My father required it before my sister and I backed out of the driveway. I changed at least three tires in college, one on a particularly rainy night returning from the disco. I was always driving, so I’m sure it was a tire on my vehicle, though I did have to work my magic on a friend’s car one other time.

This poor guy had a broken jack. The rains we’ve had created a mire for his equipment. It slowly sank and snapped in the muck. I merely asked how I could help, as I was clad in my white jeans – which for some reason I chose today after having NOT worn them for two years? He assured me he had help coming. I assured him I wasn’t going to help other than to call my husband who has a heavy-duty jack.

That was my good deed for the day – offering my spouse’s assistance! I’ll keep looking for things I can actually do with my white attire. Or, I’ll just change clothes and get out and clean the garage as I had planned.

It may be two years before I sport these white pants again.

My spouse and I are considering adoption. The thought came to us upon a two-mile stretch of highway, just north of Cheyenne. That particular block of roadway was unclaimed in the “adopt-a-highway” program.

The reason we considered it was that there was absolutely no trash to acquire! As we know, it’s not a particularly highly-traveled path, and citizens who travel it must be pretty sensitive to Mother Earth. Either that, or the Wyoming winds blow it all next door?

Oh, we could adopt and have our names on a sign for those few travelers to see, but I’m pretty sure you have to make some attempt at showing up to care for your little stretch. As lovely as our neighboring state is, we won’t be doing that.

In lieu of the highway, we’re just going to adopt our driveway and try to keep it weed-free, which is no small feat living in this current rainforest.

Every year my father and his veteran friends would head out to the local cemetery and place flags on the graves of fellow veterans pre-Memorial Day weekend. They would drive to smaller towns and do the same, honoring those men and women with that simple gesture. My brother assisted, but living further away, I never had that opportunity.

My family also placed wreaths on the graves of my ancestors, often with my brother and his wife having that duty. Then again, they would be responsible for taking them away after the Memorial weekend.

While melancholy could set in thinking about those beautiful traditions and wondering who continues them, I am buoyed by the recent meeting of a member of the future generation who I know will have that same respect in her genetic make-up. Obviously she will. She has amazing parents and grandparents, a perfect consanguineous blend of families. (Word of the day…too cool not to incorporate!)

Darn it. Yes, I was trying to recall how you play that particular card game, when I saw it offered as a free app on my IPad. Without instruction or monumental recall, I am relearning a game my father taught me pre-college. You know the brain cells are being stretched a wee bit further!

I understand card play well from my infant years. Okay, childhood. I remember being around age ten and sitting at the adult table playing pitch with my aunts and uncles. My dad always encouraged me to go for it, but I was shy around the elders, wanting to impress them. I did not, on this one memorable occasion, “shoot the moon.” Obviously, I should have. Perhaps that incident is the reason I sometimes antagonize my bridge-playing friends. If any of you readers happen to fall into that category, I apologize for my genetic bent and my impatience at times. Ahem.

Anyway, the Euchre app assigns you a partner automatically. Guess the name of my cohort? Yes, my father’s name, Jerry. It’s really fun to play with Dad again!

Remember that song by Leslie Gore? That is what greeted me upon arrival into the waking world. At least I had the opportunity to waken, which meant I slept at some point. I wasn’t necessarily feeling that joyful tune as I am still groggy, waiting for the miracle of caffeine to perform.

However, it seems the joy I have whenever I play that “Hallelujah” rendition is sparking all sorts of other happy tunes. Why else would Leslie show up this morning? (I didn’t even know what she looked like.)

This won’t embed – probably too old or “exclusive” rights? Anyway, this is what Leslie looked like, and you can always find her cheerful voice on Utube if you want to do further research. If you want to do further research, perhaps you need more to do in your day? Like me, apparently! Let’s hope this ear worm leaves soon.

Dining at the Village Inn with the family, my son shared this hysterical Utube recording. I couldn’t stop laughing! If you’ve ever had the privilege of singing the “Hallelujah Chorus,” you can only imagine the faces of the choir on this one! I hope you can listen to it. It’s short. If not, google “Disastrous moments for the organist on the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

It reminds me of something I could quite easily do!

Oh, texting with my sibs on Tuesday because I missed them. My brother reminded me that I’d be seeing him soon at his daughter’s wedding and, “it will be a hoot!”

Well, I responded, “Yes. I need a hoot! Darn. I don’t have an owl emoji.” (We are literary giants in the world of texting.)

That very afternoon I received a lovely note in the mail from a friend, known as “Panita” in the Pinterest world. On the front was a beautiful photo of an owl taken in Platt Park. My “hoot.”

No coincidences.

If you sincerely changed every password as often as one should, I do believe you could spend a good ten hours doing so. To remember them or where you inscribed them, is the first challenge. To think of something to fit the parameters without repeating yourself from “two passwords ago,” is another. And finally, to actually care about your passwords is the biggest hurdle.

It kinda sorta feels like a password-changing day. Stagnation may have set in with the gray May. Maybe I’ll download a new app so that I can create a new password?

Yes, I was securing the nursery for the new arrivals. No, not chatting grandchild, hummingbirds!

I was gazing out the window when I noticed the patches – plural this year – of Indian Paintbrush, Mother Nature’s hummingbird food. Thank goodness we had caution tape remaining from last year’s parking needs in the yard. I roped off a section so that NO ONE would mow over the growth. And I’m getting rid of my third attempt at a feeder, as apparently they prefer the plants. (It’s the same problem I have with the birdbath. The sun overheats the water and the nectar in the feeder – no one wants a hot drink to slake their thirst.)

So, I’m ready for the new arrival. (And I’ll be ready for our grandchild when she arrives!)