Bobbe White Writes

Perspective – it’s a pretty big deal.

Cheer Up? About What? — September 25, 2019

Cheer Up? About What?


After finishing an interview on this subject, it became clear that I had a lot more resources for feeling cheerier than I remember to tap into sometimes. If this is a feeling you can relate to, then here are my top ten-ish ideas.

It seemed logical to divide the ideas by locale: inside or outside.
Inside activities to cheer you up:
1. TV/iPad or phone: what are your go-to shows that make you laugh? No News, for starters. Absolutely not! For me, those shows would be Grace and Frankie (Netflix), Friends, Seinfeld, Big Bang Theory, Fehrety, Jimmy Fallon reruns. Go-to movies can work too. mine are Love Actually, The Holiday, Mamma Mia, The Hangover.
2. Mindless hobbies:  I make wine-cork lined serving trays. Don’t ask me why or how it started, but I get swallowed up in this, indoors or outdoors. I’ve even carted the supplies to an outdoor place. It’s a big puzzle. And a conversation starter, which is kind of fun for the demeanor. Each cork MUST fit. No cutting. It’s oddly satisfying and makes me happy, even to do it for a short time. People will always stop and comment and by watching they become engaged. I also have a loom on which I make infinity scarves out of yarn. Again, you just get lost in it and it is a happy lost.
3. Puppies and babies: nothing cheers up our staff at work than when either of these living things enter our lobby. They are like magnets of joy! Toddlers work too. We have a coloring table and a coloring cardboard house. There have been a few times when a child has asked another employee or me to sit down and color with them. It is absolutely the best to color again! Not to mention, getting paid to do it!?
Puppies can also be grown dogs, in my opinion. I love communities where dogs are hanging out with their humans at outdoor cafes. It’s a must to go over and ask if they can be petted. There’s no drug like a natural endorphin to bring cheer to us – almost instantaneously. Same with Babies. I don’t care if I get to hold them or not, but just let me touch a baby toe or that soft place under their chin, or a cheek and here come the endorphins!
If you have a pup to walk, you will have other people acknowledge you, especially if your dog is good looking or funny looking. When I walk my Lab or my grand-dogs, both beautiful, black Labs, people admire them. Most children ask to pet my dog. If that doesn’t add cheer to your day, I don’t know what will! Also, when you walk try to imagine the pure, simple joy a pet or child has to being walked or strolled outside. So much to take in, sniff, or touch.
Perhaps you’re a cat person. I don’t know too much about that genre, but I suppose it has many of the same properties, although it would be great if more people would leash their cats, like we do our dogs!
For a really feel good pet event, there is the Mutt Strut fundraiser this weekend for the Humane Society. It’s like stepping into Dr. Seuss’ book, “Go Dogs, Go!” It’s a dog fest.
4. No pets? Okay, fine, just walk outside by yourself. There’s nothing better than the great outdoors even in off-weather. Check out that sky, whether it’s clear or clouded! They don’t call it, “The Great Outdoors” for nothing. Do you ever hear it referred to as, “The Mediocre Outdoors?” Nope. 
Sometimes getting out of the house is equivalent to getting out of your head. If I can coordinate a walk with a friend who is fun or funny, that’s a win-win. 
Other ideas:
5. Go to the gym. If there is noise and people, the activity makes me feel good. I don’t even have to break a sweat! If it’s not a positively charged place, find a new gym.
6. Get to some water. Sitting by a pool, a pond, lake or ocean does something magical to me. The constant movement are happy laps of water I guess. I just love water. I even love the Gulf of Mexico when a storm is brewing out to sea! It’s the best! My dream some day is to live close enough to a body of water that I can drink my morning coffee on the porch or deck and look at the water. Currently, we just have a plastic blue baby pool for our dog. She thinks it’s her water bowl. A baby pool is a start, but I want the real deal.
7. Classes in general: art, clay, or physical exercise. My latest indulgence is Pound-fit class. We use drumsticks, called “Ripsticks”, because apparently, if we do this class long enough, we’re going to be ripped. But I doubt it. The instructor plays great music and we keep beat to it with cardio and strengthening moves. Best thing is the movements can be done from a standing position, to a mat on the floor, to a chair. Any level can engage. Last week, I tried a virtual class for the first time. I picked barre class. A ballerina I am not, but it was actually fun and very difficult. Of course, looking at myself in the mirror in gym shorts and sneakers, hardly mimicked the beautiful svelte ballerina instructors on the screen. Big deal. There was music. There was movement. I left feeling happier.
8. Grabbing a great morning coffee cheers me up. It can be out of our own kitchen or it can be a specialty coffee at a shop. The key is that I do not go every day. For one thing, that gets expensive. For another thing, any activity ceases to be special if done repeatedly.
A common thread through finding joy and feeling cheered up is variety. 
9. One time, a friend and I attended a drum therapy session. I felt absolutely ridiculous, but there was something about the effort and the noise and picking a different instrument for each song. Nobody judged and nobody laughed at me. Except me. Yes, it took guts to do something quite outrageous (for me), but that’s what a buddy’s for.
10. Haircuts, facials, manis and pedis: I completely love my monthly haircut. Kris is always upbeat and we have some of the most interesting conversations. Same with Carol, when I get my brows done. When she finishes, she takes a final look and pronounces my eyebrows, “ABSOLUTELY PERFECT!” How can you leave not feeling better? Sometimes she puts makeup on my eyes or a new color of lipstick on me. Then I feel glamorous. I remember when my mother was held hostage (not literally) by her hair stylist. She didn’t enjoy going every Friday, but she couldn’t quit her. It was like a bad date that you kept going out with. I would never settle and neither should you.
If you’re paying good money to look or feel better, then make sure the environment isn’t toxic. 
11. Nursing homes are another place that can make you feel better. When I go to visit my mother there is always that tug on my gut before I get inside the home. Let’s face it, nobody wants to live in one and/or visit one, but we must, so we do. I make a point to say, “Hello,” to every resident and staff I encounter. Because most residents are in wheelchairs, where Mom lives, a lot of people look right over them. They will greet you back (if they can). I don’t care if they’re comatose, I’ll say, “Hello.” It cheers me up to think I may have added a teaspoon of cheer to their day, just by acknowledging them.
It’s the little things that can be the big things and that’s the main thing!
For now, I’ve got to go to work, where I’m guaranteed to find some cheer, because of the people with whom I work. I’ve already walked the black Lab, Lily White, and she’s laying halfway inside and outside the sliding glass door. She’s sniffing the air and has her ears tuned to the birds. After writing this piece, I do believe there is a special coffee waiting for me somewhere on the way to work!
Here’s to cheer!
Sent from my iPad
Where Were You July 20, 1969? — July 19, 2019

Where Were You July 20, 1969?



Like most major events, the moon landing and Neil Armstrong’s walk is firmly ingrained in our brains. We remember where we were and what we were doing. We remember what time of day it was. Me? Here’s what was going on…

The place:  Lane 3 at Sheridan Swim Club’s annual invitational meet. The time:  3:18 P.M. (CST) The weather:  hot, sunny, miserable for parents in the stands. The activity: Me, slogging through the 400 yd. Individual Medley (IM) 100 yds. each stroke: butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle. The results: Dead last. I knew this wouldn’t be my stellar event. First, I was a sprinter; 100yd. IM was more my speed. Second, before the race, the P.A. announcer said the landing would be aired momentarily.  And I’m going to be underwater. Fantastic. By the fifth of eight laps of this race, I lagged behind, thanks to breaststroke. I swam breaststroke like Myrtle the turtle. That day, my stroke was even more turtle-like, because I swam with my ears above water. (The better to hear the broadcast.) See photo above. My hope was that it would appear as if an effort was still being made. I failed miserably because I just could not miss history in the making. Coach was less than pleased to see the results, but I’d totally justified it in my mind. Sometimes you just have to keep your head above water, you know?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

So, what were YOU doing? Where were you? What do you recall if you were near a radio or television? I’d love to hear from you and will compile a list. I’d bet my last dollar you can remember, if you were old enough, that is.  bw


Remember When Nobody Knew Your Birthday? — June 18, 2019

Remember When Nobody Knew Your Birthday?



First, thank you for remembering mine! Yep, yesterday I turned 64-ish. Give or take an ish. When I was a little kid, birthdays came and went without a blip on the screen. Oh, wait, ha, we didn’t have screens.  In the 60’s and 70’s, I didn’t even get to take birthday treats to school. It was during summer break. As a kid, that stinks. Now, at least, some teachers allow treats on half-birthdays, which is a start. Sometimes schools have everyone bring treats on the same day for summer birthdays. Well, geez, what fun is THAT to have your birthday smooshed in with everybody else’s?

Then came FaceBook. The universe answered every summer birthday person’s invisibility. We did a 180, from when nobody knew to the Billboard Effect! Except for Jeff, of course, who put the wrong birthday on his profile…

While there are tons of reasons I abhor Facebook, there aren’t many reasons for Facebook better than birthdays. Why? Well, there was this one guy. He pretty much nailed Facebook in 1943. They just didn’t call it that. It was TriangleBook. A/K/A Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. 

Once you get basic junk met, like survival and safety, you step right up to TriangleBook: love, belonging, community/inclusion. If that’s not enough lovin’, level up to Ego, which includes little gems like self-esteem, power, recognition and prestige. That dude really got it. Hence, TriangleBook or FaceBook. Or MyFace, or FaceSpace as our parents would call it. 

Today greeting card inventories turn over slower than a table at Cracker Barrel on Sunday morning. I get it. I still love sending cards. I’m a noter, by nature. I love receiving cards…early, late, whenever. Who doesn’t? I have to say, however, getting gobs of birthday posts are simply the best! I’m going to step up my game and pay even more attention to other’s birthday alerts, because I know how much fun it is to be on the receiving end. 

Thank you from the bottom of my triangle. BW

Boob Cups & Sandbags — June 6, 2019

Boob Cups & Sandbags

Too many things bubbling to the surface this week, so we’ll touch two topics briefly!

Boob Cups

Early June always reminds me of the summer of 1967 at Sheridan Swim Club. I was a budding twelve year old; that time in life between child and young adult. Frustratingly, your mind and body can’t pick a lane. Mom bought me a brown & pink dotted Swiss bikini. An apron was velcroed under my wannabe-bust, in case I wanted to cover the stomach. The bra was slightly padded. Seems like an unremarkable memory, right? It was. Until I overheard this freshman, Patti say, “Did you guys see Bobbe’s Big Boob Cups?!?!” OH MY DOTTED-SWISS SAVIOR! I was mortified. Were they THAT ginormous? Did my boob cups surface before surface in the water before the rest of me? 

She was poking fun at me. And I’d bet my bottom dollar that if she poked one of my boob cups, it would dent, because you can’t fool Mother Busture. And they wonder why young girls struggle with their bodies…  To this day, when I try on swimsuits, my eyes go right to the boob cubs. Do we ever heal from snide remarks? Not fully, no. Be kind when commenting. A vulnerable person may be within earshot. Possibly boob shot, which is what I wanted to do with both boob cups.


On a totally unrelated topic, the National Guard showed up Saturday to help make and distribute sandbags. If unfamiliar, bags help shore up river levees to keep rivers in their banks. The need was great; 130,000 bags requested on JUST Sunday. And I couldn’t help. I’d overachieved edging the yard by opting for a $24.95 shovel (19.95 with ACE coupon).

Maybe it was the repetitive jumping on the shovel, bending over to scoop dirt or to realign our 12” sidewalk stones. YouTube made hand edging look like easy. Plus, I was a physical beast, so why not? Ohhhhhh, I don’t know. Because I’m 63 11/12? Because I’ve never done it before? YouTube lied. As for my shovel, I’d like to shove the shovel up ACE Hardware shovel manager’s keister. Or maybe shove some common sense into my head. Hundred’s of physical therapy dollars later, I’m recovering, slowly.  Grrrrrrrr.

Instead, I volunteered at the check-in desk last Sunday, to help. It was fun. The city lifted the age limit. Children of all ages could help with parents or guardians. There were baseball clubs, church groups and gobs of families. Adults with children had designated sand piles so they wouldn’t interfere with the heavy duty sand baggers. I mean, kids will be kids…  “He threw sand on me!”  “I’m hot!” “It’s so hard.” “I’m done!” You know, the same thing the adults are thinking, but powering through it all. But, God bless them, they helped! No matter if they shoveled a teaspoon of sand or a mountain, they helped. And that’s where community pride begins.

Last night, I helped the Salvation Army serve the Guardsmen dinner at Quincy University. Again, it was fun to help. And these men and women are so darn appreciative and respectful. When the call arises, please answer your community. You’ll not want a minute of it back. Hey, wait, maybe I could fill the boob cups with baby sandbags…   Oh, this brain. BW

Be a Houseguest Rockstar With These 10 Tips — May 17, 2019

Be a Houseguest Rockstar With These 10 Tips


It wasn’t a new year’s resolution, but 2019 has turned out to be the “Year of the Friend” visits around the country. The only reason it happened is this: I invited myself. Ugh. I can hardly write about these impositions. Mom is, no doubt, rolling her eyes out loud at me, because people with manners just don’t do this. I’m a little sorry, but not a lot sorry, because I got to mix some biz with pleasure and spend time with really great friends.

My destinations included humans – and a few hounds – ages 4 weeks old to 94. The overall theme of these travels was, “If not now, when?” I’ve learned that with major miles and busy lifestyles among us, most people won’t outright invite others. I really don’t either, really. We all just assume, “They should know they’re welcome.”  They haven’t met my mother, “Not until you’re invited, Young Lady!”

When imposing on others, I tried hard to abide by these ten tips. (My hosts may be rolling their own eyes after reading my intentions below…!)

  1. Offer a few dates you could visit. Fortunately, I have honest friends who tell me when it’s inconvenient to visit.
  2. Limit your stay to two days. I thought it was Mom’s rule, but just learned it’s not.   “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.”   Benjamin Franklin
  3. Be a good guest. This includes bed made and room(s) tidied daily, particularly the bathroom. ESPECIALLY the bathroom.
  4. Be gracious. Come bearing gift(s) or follow up promptly. If there’s a young child in the home, take a book or tiny toy. (Side bar: just found out that I mailed my thank you note to Christine and Family to Debbie’s house.  Oh, Bobbe…)
  5. Be cooperative. If there is a 6:45 p.m. dinner reservation, do whatever it takes to be ready…FIRST.  Thou shall not wait on you!
  6. Be agreeable. They want to go bowling and eat pizza. You’d hoped for TopGolf and Tacos. Toughen up Taco Head. Go with it.
  7. House rules rule! I noted in 75% of the homes where I stayed. (Okay, 3 of 4) shoes were left by the door. Once inside, it’s best to ask before you tromp through their house.
  8. Assess your pajamas. For some of you that may even mean, “GET SOME PAJAMAS!” Perhaps you sleep in bikini briefs, boxers or bare bottom. This doesn’t mean everyone does. Cover up buttercup. Oh, and while dressing, SHUT. THE. DOOR. You never know who might pop in. Awkward!
  9. Spring for a meal. They’ll say, “No!” You say, “Yes!” Personally, I hate food funding fights, so I’ve gotten quite sly about handing off my credit card to the waiter unnoticed. I figure it’s the least I can do in exchange for lodging. #needtips?
  10. Be self-sufficient, on both arrival and departure.  This may include Lyft, Uber or car rental. Your hosts and hostesses appreciate not having to fetch you, although some will insist. On the other end, I’ve found that my friends are more than happy to return me to the airport. Hmmmm, what’s that fishy smell? Oh, ha-ha, It’s me! Bye, bye!
  11. BONUS TIP: Board Bob the Beagle. Don’t even think of showing up with extra people or pets, unless encouraged. That is just rude. Ruff ruff!

My friend, Christine, said something which made me feel much better about inviting myself, “How can you invite yourself if the door is always open?” I like that philosophy. A lot. Hear that one, Mom? Is this new age hospitality?

Thank you, thank you, from Denver to Dallas to Charlotte. There was a common denomination among you all: loads of laughter. My emotional tank is now full to the brim. Thanks for the fill-ups, Friends! You all were grand hosts, I can only hope I was as grand of a guest. Bw


My First Green Beer in Years — March 19, 2019

My First Green Beer in Years

As some of you saw on social media, I actually went out Saturday night. That in itself is unusual. The fact that it was St. Pat’s Eve made it improbable. Yet, I went. I had to wear teal, which is the closest color to green that I own. I do have a kelly green wristlet, compliments of Mary Beth McGee, but it was a bit dressy for the bar.

My Hannibal pal, Lisa, told me at T-minus two hours, that The Scott-Free project was the playing at On the Rail. After an hour and a half of  debating,

“Go, don’t go, go, don’t go,” I went.

Lyft dropped me at the door. It’s the best service in town. Call me vain, but I feel like a celebrity when I get out of the Nissan or Toyota. On the other hand, maybe it’s not vanity, but intelligence: smart enough not to drive on a c-rrrrazy night like this and lucky enough to not have to jockey parking places. Also, Quincy is small enough that your wait is minimal…if they can get through the four-way stop at 18th & Broadway, that is. It’s worth every penny. Both ways.

I figured that it had been several decades since I’d experienced St. Pat’s revelry. Here’s what I learned:

1. Everybody’s Irish on a bar-crawl.

2. Tu-tus are not just for dance recitals anymore.

3. Green beer’s not bad.

4. Nobody drinks green wine or vodka. (But couldn’t we?)

5. Every song the band played was by an Irish group: this included, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Eagles, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Nobody chose to prove them wrong. Who cared? The music by The Scott-Free Project is always excellent.

I asked Scott what the name of his project meant. He explained it to me:

“It means that when I used to be in a band, we would all have to agree on what songs to play. Now that I am rolling solo, or with one other musician, I am free to play what I want.”

What a great approach, right? Why don’t we all be our own free projects and do what makes us happy(ier)? It means that you’ve got to be bolder, gutsier and riskier. And when bar-hoppers request songs that you don’t know, just play them something they’ll enjoy just as much. My personal favorite is “Bathroom on the Right.” Also known as “Bad Moon on the Rise”. And what was REALLY funny, the bathroom IS on the right! (Make that stage right…)

It’s not always easy being the headliner. They’re musicians, comedians, and overall crowd pleasers. I have no idea how much musicians make for three hours in our local bars, but I sure hope you tip them on your way out. They earn every cent. Just like your Lyft driver.

Here’s hoping you had a spirited St. Patty’s holiday, when everything turns green. What a perfect time of year for a much needed holiday, even for those of us who are slightly Irish, if not at all.





That’s On Me and That’s the Troof — January 25, 2019

That’s On Me and That’s the Troof

4f7ff044-0642-4eef-b058-b3ac4e119e08We’ve been hearing this phrase a lot lately. It’s a handy one. It can tolerate any pronoun:

That’s on me.

That’s on you.

That’s on us.

That’s on them.

I think this phrase be used a lot or a little. It depends. If we’re taking ownership in something we’ve done that doesn’t turn out particularly well. Well, that’s on me. I need to own it. 

Before slinging this phrase around, perhaps the best idea  is to turn the phrase  into a question “That’s on who?”  (For you grammar gurus, I suppose it’s more correct to say, “That’s on whom?” Whichever, it is and right now, I’m getting confused about the wrong thing, so let’s move on, shall we?)

If someone is trying to throw blame on you for something, they might say, “That’s on you!”  If it’s true, then it’s going to hit right where it hurts. Why? Because truth is hard. Truth can hurt. But the truth is the truth is the truth. And that’s the truth. Or as our Nick would’ve said it as a little kid, without front teeth, “That’s the troof!” And that’s okay. We need to hear a little more troof!

The problem with hearing the troof is that we become so damn defensive. It’s a natural response.  If we don’t go down the defensive road, I know that for myself, I will just crumble into a puddle of woe. Woe goes like this: 

“I’m so stupid. I’m such a loser. I should’ve known better.” Yeah, let’s be self-defeating. That’s so much more fun! This is because someone has just validated what I’ve known all along. And the troof can feel like crap. So, be careful before you sling around “That’s on you.”

However, if we’re to correct our actions and become better humans, then it’s important to know what troof feels like. I think I really like using this version (troof), because it makes me laugh. And maybe we all need to do that a little bit more when it’s on us. Bw

My friend, Michele, is Just the Best! — January 11, 2019

My friend, Michele, is Just the Best!

After 67 years, my parents had been split up, not by divorce, but by different aging conditions. 

While there was no question about the strength of our friendship, it was confirmed many times by Michele’s willingness to accompany me on my visits. 

There are two kinds of humans in this world: those who can deal with the elderly and those who cannot. Now a successful banker, Michele had CNA experience a couple of decades before this. 

CNAs must deal with the messiest of patients and there was nothing that could violate Michele! 

At this time of the year, I’ll never forget when my ninety year old mom was in the hospital one winter, three times in six weeks, for recurring pneumonia. Her diagnosis was, “pneumonia and failure to thrive.” Her prognosis read, “Poor”. She wouldn’t eat or drink and it felt like the beginning of the end. 

One Sunday morning, Michele offered to go with me to the hospital. Very few people assume the invitation is always open. I would never ask anyone if they wanted to go, except a family member. 

Mom had just had a bath and was ready for a breakfast that she wouldn’t eat. Her hair, thin from aging and wet from her bath, was plastered against her small head. It was unsettling. 

There were two basic things to do: get food and liquid in her and set that hair! Michele coaxed her kindly and fed her easily from the front, while I put her hair up in Velcro curlers, from the back. It was a two-pronged approach and quite a vision, I’m sure. 

Perhaps it was because of Michele’s kind, gentle easy nature with Mom, orr maybe it was the ever-present sparkle in her eyes, but it was the loveliest gesture a friend could offer Mom and me.

We see this aging parent scenario unfold hundreds and thousands of times. Let this be a positive lesson to us all that we, too, can dish up kindness and assistance with a spoon or a fork. And a little Dippity-Do! 

Thanks, Michele. LYLAS!


Don’t Let Mom & Pop Shops Flop — November 27, 2018

Don’t Let Mom & Pop Shops Flop

FullSizeRender (1)With what shopping you have remaining, consider shopping local. Yes, I love the ease of Amazon too. It’s great not fighting crowds and to have doorstep deliveries in a day or two. Here is a clip of our dinner time table talk from this weekend. It gave me pause and I hope it will you too. At least, think about it before opening the Amazon app. If we stop shopping local, our stores don’t collect sales tax and they don’t make bank.

In our community, we’ve watched four major big box stores fold: Best Buy, Bergner’s (a/k/a Yonkers in the east), Sears and Penneys. K-Mart is next. I’m not a fan of big box stores. IKEA gives me Vertigo, it’s so overwhelming. But, whether large or small, merchants employ people. People make money. People spend money. Repeat. 

With stores -big or small – already closed or those facing the possibility, the city and state loses necessary income from tax collection. I’m no economist, but I know enough to understand that city services (think: garbage collection, infrastructure, emergency services) depend on taxes. 

Garbage in – garbage out. Think back to your ‘hoods last garbage pick-up day.  Ours was Friday after Thanksgiving. Everyone had tons of bagged crap. What if that morning the city guys said, “No more garbage collection. Out of money. Out of gas. Out of biz.”  Visions of third world streets flash in my brain. Hi Willard. Yuck

Ding-dong. It’s not Girl Scout cookie time yet. It’s the neighbor stopping by to tell you your chimney’s on fire. Who ya gonna call? Firemen are all taking naps, because , well, you know why. (See #1 above. Same problem, different department.)

On Dancer, On Prancer…  Sunday night, our neck of the woods got 6-8 inches of white stuff. Yes, it was pretty, but driving to work on Monday would have been easier with a sleigh and reindeer or a pack of dogs. But the snowplows are idle and the only salt around is in a shaker on your stove. 

Spring has sprung. After the snow and the ice, often what remains are the potholes. Typically, this is when the city and state crews start screwing up traffic and fix our streets, bridges and highways. While it’s annoying to be delayed or detoured, it’s worth the wait. Unless the wait is a while. A lonnnnnnnnggggggggg while. Like forever.

The shopping model has changed and continues to do so. If you don’t like the clerk in the craft department, just order your ModPodge from Amazon, right? You broke your ankle in a pothole and can’t get out. Amazon is perfect, for this scenario too. I LOVE EASY, TOO! But I also know, something has to change before our Mom & Pop shops flop. It won’t be long before online shopping is taxed to the max so that the local governments can continue operations. That day is coming and it probably needs to get here fast. 

In the meantime, when you can’t get out, call a friend. Or call me. I LOVE shopping with other people’s money! I’m not a certified personal shopper, but I’d be happy to help. I’ve gotten good training from my dad who delivered purses, shoes and hosiery anytime we were in the car.

Local business is the lifeblood of our communities. Keep it flowin’ now, won’t you do your part? Bw



DUCKING CATS & DOGS — November 3, 2018




Jeff and I drank coffee Sunday morning. Lily White, the black Lab, lounged by the sliding door.

”Meowwww,” said a cat somewhere. Lily barked and pawed the door to go outside. In she came, a moment later, her search discontinued.

“Meowwwww…” we heard from the front of the house. Lily barked. So did Jeff.

“Is there a cat in this house?”

This surprised me that he’d heard anything at all, because he often doesn’t.

“Nooooooooooo.  It’s outside the front. I’ll check.”

But cats scat fast. We resumed coffee and reading. 

Sunday was one of those “get stuff done and finish tired” days. Jeff left for work and onto the duck camp. 

7:30 p.m.: “Meowwwww.”

“Holy baldy! There IS a cat in this house!” How’s this even possible with an 85 pound hound in residence? Okay, she’s old. Her patrol isn’t what it was, but when the pizza guy comes, Lily goes bananas. I frantically searched the house. 

There, staring at me, all comfy-like on the basement barstool, was the neighbor’s cat. I’m not sure who hissed first. Since this house was built (‘71), there’s NEVER been a cat served at this bar before.

It ran for safety, right under the back bedroom bed. I broom-poked it. It didn’t budge. Reality check: this cat had been in this house since morning. No, wait! It was yesterday. It all returned… 

4:00 p.m.: Saturday, after work and errands, I threw the slider open for Lily. I changed into walking clothes. Being a nice day, I left the slider open. BIG mistake. Apparently, the cat entered. 

I recognized the this cat and looked across the street to the neighbors. They weren’t home I phoned a friend, Michele. She has cats.

“HELP! I can’t get a cat out of my house!” 

Michele laughed.

“Not funny. What can I do?

“Do you have any cat food?” Michele asked.

“Now, why in the hell would I have cat food? What about dog food?”


“Yes! We have tuna.”

I served the tuna bowl, hoping to coax the cat out from the bed.

“How’s your day?” Jeff texted.

“Great, but got a cat in the house!”

“What cat?”



It was almost funny he’d hit “d” instead of “f”. Almost.


“Figure out where it pooped and peed!”


I texted the neighbors, who were minutes away.  Soon, Sara (not her real name)  raced over and on her pregnant belly, peered under the bed. I couldn’t recall if baby bellies should do this maneuver.

“C’mere Ryan! C’mon Buddy.” She kissed the air, coaxing the cat. “He’s probably scared,” she said. So was I, of ensuing messes.

Finally, Ryan crawled out and into her arms. She apologized profusely, ran Ryan home, then returned to help search for his deposits.

“Nice watchdogging!” I growled at Lily.

“Are you allergic to cats?” Sara asked.

“No, we’re just not cat people.”

(Don’t judge us; we won’t judge you.) We discussed that they try keeping Ryan closer to home and off our deck, which drives Lily nuts. Through all of this, I remain puzzled as to why people own cats, only to let them run amok 24/7. As I said, I’m a dog people, but I’m open to explanation.

No nuggets or puddles were discovered while searching. Still, we’d launder all bedding. She offered to have carpets cleaned. This helped; a CRNA student (nurse anesthetist) was moving into the bedroom for a five-week rotation.

Soon, bedding and carpets were restored to clean…just in case. Abby, our student, arrived the following Sunday. 

Upon entering, she asked, “Is that your cat out there?” He’s baaaack.

Worn out from a week of cleaning, straightening and searching, I started and couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell Abby the story.

In an ironic event, for Halloween, our work staff decorated yellow tee-shirts with favorite emojis. I helped a co-worker, who was busy studying. 

“Which emoji do you want me to make?”

“The grinning cat!” She said.

But, of course. And I did- make it. And it was – grinning. And the slider will stay shut, because that’s what ducking screen doors are for. I hope your Halloween was as happy as the grinning cat emoji! Bw