Crispy Shoe

Honesty. It was an accident that I burnt the Youth Director's shoe at the Girls' Talk Overnight.

The teams were each hiding their three objects: a purse, a scarf, and one of a pair of shoes. The only time I'd left my spot by the fireplace was for a quick trip to the restroom. As the girls switched locations, I started the fire while Team One searched the floor I was in charge of. I wanted the fire to be warm and welcoming when we were ready to settle down after the game.

When Team Two finally came up from searching downstairs, they were horrified to find a full-blazing fire in the fireplace. They'd hidden the Youth Director's shoe under crumbled paper and logs at the very back.

Mount Rushmore Tourist

We lived in the Black Hills, near Mount Rushmore, for a time. The top tourist blooper question for me came the summer there was flooding in North Dakota along the Red River.

A tourist called a ranger stationed at Mount Rushmore to say they were debating about visiting. They wanted to know if the Presidents' faces -- standing about a mile high in elevation -- was flooded, too.

The Proper Way to Hang Toilet Paper

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Breakfast Fruit

This morning at breakfast, my hubby commented, "This fruit was picked by a sad dog."
(a melon collie)

Athletic Squirrels

Our present house had stood empty for a several months before we moved in. There was so much to do inside that I only went outside to mow or fill the birdfeeder.

Then came a day when I needed to simply sit in the sunshine and get some fresh air, to relax for a moment. I took a chair to the backyard and sat for the first time in weeks.

My eyelids were starting to droop, when out of my peripheral vision, I saw something dark, wandering slowly towards me, and now about three feet away. It was as obviously unaware of me as I had been of it.

I don't believe we have flying squirrels in this part of Michigan, but when I screamed, that black squirrel jumped about eight feet straight up, moving its little limbs for all its worth -- trying to fly, I think. Impulse made me leap up as well. But only a few seconds after the squirrel landed, it had scampered out of sight.

How to Keep Deer Away From Your Garden

While living out west, deer were very much a problem, both in city and in the country. It was not unusual to read about houses advertized for sale, listing they had an 8' deer fence around their garden. I've seen deer standing parallel on the outside of our chainlink fence, and in a blink of an eye, magically appear on the other, inside our yard. I swear, her legs didn't bend at all.

For a week one spring, there was a herd of about 30 deer who chose our yard to be their residence. It was nice for them since our fence protected them from the neighborhood dogs. And every day I scooped up the fertilizer they'd leave as rent payment.

Gardeners in the west have a secret which I'll now share with you. How to keep deer away from your garden? Cougar poop.

Moving to Michigan, I strung a rope around my little garden, not so much to keep the deer out, but to discourage them. A woman with several preschool kids passed by as I was stringing up my rope.

"Know what keeps deer away?" she asked me.

Without thinking, as I sometimes do, I answered, "Cougar poop."

Forgetting what she was going to suggest, she asked, "Where do you get cougar poop?"

And I, again answering without thinking, responded, "From cougars."

The Presbyterian Nun

While attending a small, rural church for a couple years, there was this one woman whom we dubbed The Presbyterian Nun. Viola was in her mid-90's, had never married, and lived her life for her church. She taught Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and was also the weekly organist.

Once, in the middle of the sermon, a single note began from the organ. The tone hung in the air for seconds, then a minute, then longer. The pastor stumbled over his words. Everyone looked towards Viola sitting motionless at the organ. I was not the only one present who thought Viola had died at the organ, doing her church thing. Oh, what a nice way and place to die, I thought.

Then, slowly, Viola moved. Everyone in the congregation sucked in a startle-breath. The preacher kept preaching, but glanced now and then to the organist. That's where everyone else was looking, anyway.

Viola looked up (5 seconds), looked to her right (another 5 seconds), looked down to the organ (yep, another 5), then lifted her hand from the keyboard as the musical note suddenly stopped.

Our Presbyterian Nun lived to play for many more worship services.