TREASURE! IT'S MINE!

“Treasure!  Oh, ho!”

“Treasure!  It’s mine!” is any mans cry.   And, though at the bottom of the heap, the most treasured for all ages of man, are rocks.

We have them lovingly harbored in secreted places.

The firstborn’s teacher went on vacation and brought back crystal in its natural state. The white point looks like the tip of Washington’s monument parked at an angle. 

The second boy brought home from an Ireland trip some peat rock, black and shiny.

The middle boy picked up Selenite, which the local Oakies called Isinglass.  It was laying everywhere sparkling and creating reflective light as we toured the roadside leading to the bat cave.

The youngest would honor a geode from his grandparent’s cache.

Then there’s me.  My favorite rock is ruby.  A red ruby on a chain can’t be beat!  A close second is tanzanite!  Those blue-purple gems are beautiful, ha, ha, ha.

As I go about my housework, dusting the upstairs bedroom and especially the jewelry chest darling hubby had just gifted me, I hear, “It’s mine!” coming from offended lips of a youngster.   Some treasure is being absconded, I’m sure.

My own treasure’s have come up missing recently -- a small old red toy road grader I’d been keeping back for the boy to mature, and a stack of $12 dollars that I’d laid on the piano bench, just to name a couple.  

With three little ones it was hard telling what was going on, always an adventure.

Outside I went.  There they all were on the cement pad, playing with chalk making roads, and riding on their wheeled cars along the green and yellow outlines.  Wondering at their cries, investigating the circumstances, and endeavoring to make peace, I raised the seat of the little pastel blue riding toy.

I couldn’t help myself.   Like Long John Silver’s parrot, seeing missing treasures nestled all together under that lid, the cry came out,

“There’s everything!”

COOING, PO-TA-TO-CHIPS, THE GREAT OUTDOORS

Let's talk about the great outdoors.  Usually I hear morning doves, "Coo, coo, coo".  Sometimes I hear "Po-ta-to-chip" from the little goldfinches, and of course, sparrows who "Cheep" and "Chirrup", but this morning, I don't know what kind it was, but one little bird must've recently been outside the window of Bill Clinton 'cause he was trilling "Cheater, cheater, cheater"!

The dandelions have blossomed into airy little fuzz balls!  They're waving in the wind, thumbing their noses at me because they know we can't mow them down.  All this rain has left behind puddles and enough wet grass to test the metal of any man's mower!

(We won't talk about the feelings of our neighbors who've spent good time and money on lawn care weedkiller!)  Our dandelions are so proliferous, they're secretly delighted to have found the land of Canaan!

Last night I spied a small gray frog called a spring peeper.   Again, nothing to do with the Clintons.

We have spring peepers frequently here, and they're very clingy.  They cling to the rungs of our red outdoor bistro chairs, they cling to the cedar siding walls behind the porch decos, and they cling to the trunks of the maple tree.

This one was scaring me, though.  He wasn't the least bit perturbed hanging there, but I was afraid he was gonna get smashed clinging to the sliding glass door.   For sure he'd jump away if I pecked loudly on the glass.  Nope.  Sure didn't want to mash him against the other passing pane.  Gave the door a hearty push to see if he'd willingly jump off.  Nope.  You know, Daisy Dog always comes to investigate whenever you open that door.  She was curiously watching when spring peeper finally did jump.   Something wetter and colder than him nudged him off, a sniffing snout!

He got cold nosed!

Back to the great outdoors...