Black Smoke, White Smoke, Yellow Smoke

(Although this title sounds like a Native American family, it's not.)

A couple years ago people built a house diagonally across from us. The neighborhood scuttlebutt was that there were over 200 electrical code failures to be fixed before they moved in. With that gossip in the reaches of my mind, when I saw the smoke pouring out of their basement window, I panicked. I threw on my winter coat and boots, not caring that I hadn't showered or brushed my teeth, nor even met our new neighbors yet. I ran-flailed-slid across the ice and snow to quickly get to their house. We'd moved to Michigan from Western South Dakota, where forest fires (and smoke) were very common. The Michigan habit of burning leaves in the Fall still makes me nervous. So I slip up to new neighbor's door, ring the doorbell and pound away, not caring that it's only 7:30 in the morning. Their house was on fire! Their brand new, multi-code-failured house. The door tentatively opened.

"Your basement's on fire! There's smoke pouring from the window!!!" Notice I didn't even take the time to introduce myself.

"Which window?" (I told them.) "Um... we're doing laundry. That's probably from our dryer."

Colors flashed before the backs of my eyelids in memory recall: Black smoke -- carbon or tire or oil burns; Yellow-Brown smoke -- the Black Hills are burning; White smoke -- cigarettes, or car exhaust on a cold day, or breath on a cold day... or heat from a dryer... on a cold day.

"Um. Hi. I'm your new (crazy) neighbor. Welcome to the neighborhood." (Notice I still didn't introduce myself, hoping that they would forget the entire incident. I slid home and buried my head under a blanket for an hour, trying to forget it happened, too.)

Watch out for Angels

Driving through Plainwell, Michigan, last week, my husband and I noticed a car with the advertising on it: "Angel Pest Control."

My husband and I laughed as he elaborated: "I bet they're very busy this time of year. Those angels can get rather pesty around now."

Limited Sight Sign

I saw this road sign yesterday -- it reads: "Limited Sight Distance."

SeaGulls Talk

When my first born was about six years old, I took his brother and him to a local park in Western New York. The boys were running around and playing, when First Born walks up to me, face pale and concerned. At first I thought something had happened to his brother, but they were both safe.

"What's wrong, honey?" I asked.

"That sea gull just cried for help," he informed me.

I listened, and sure enough, it did sound like the sea gulls were crying "H-EELP!"

It took a while to convince my poor, concerned son that that was just sea gull talk for "Hello." (Makes you wonder where he got the idea that animals can talk, doesn't it?)

My Down Vest -- How Sad

I told my husband that I had to take my vest to the cleaners because it was down.
He replied: "How sad. Maybe you could play with it, or sing to it, to cheer it up."

Word Play; Play Words

See lake?
Sea lake.
I see lake.
Burr. Icy lake.

Fall Hiking -- Stick Snakes and Doing a Francie

I love fall hiking. The colors are amazing; the weather is unpredictable; and the number of two-legged critters are limited. On a 2-hour hike today on new trails, two thoughts occurred to me: 1) Stick Snakes, and 2) Doing a Francie.

Stick Snakes. These guys make me jump and yelp every time I hear and spot one, especially in the fall. They happen when someone hiking behind you happens to kick a stick along the trail just right, and it goes sailing under the fallen leaves to your side and in front of you.

Doing a Francie. I have a good friend named Francie. She is very conscientious about keeping the trails passable. She will pull fallen branches to the side of the trail out of habbit. With 30-60 mph winds the past couple days, the wooded trails are littered with branches and trees. Of course, I couldn't move the fallen trees, but as I hiked along, I'd slip my walking stick under the smaller fallen branches and fling them off trail. I dubbed it "Doing a Francie."