The mums look surprisingly good, especially considering the temperatures dipped down into the low 20s last night.


It’s “hard freeze” time. Winter has tipped his hat. Reminded us he’s waiting in the wings. Dressed for the show. Are you ready?


The chrysanthemums continue to bloom, the last of the flowers to give up.

You have to admire their determination. Hail, oh mums! You are the staunchest of our flowers, our most intrepid, doughty floral citizens.

If you like flowers, check out Cee’s Flower of the Day!


It must be something about me. Dishes come back. First there was the Spode’s Tower, about which I wrote several times.

Spode Tower Pink

Spode Tower Pink

This time, it’s Wedgewood.

This morning, a large rather heavy carton arrived via UPS. It was from my sister-in-law who lives in northern Maine. I haven’t seen her for a long time, though we’ve emailed back and forth occasionally and exchanged Christmas presents and cards.

There was a card taped to the box which said “OPEN ME FIRST.”


Translated into years and a timeline, Garry — the man to whom I have been married for 25 years — was my first husband’s (now deceased) best friend and my son’s godfather. He had just come back from vacationing in Ireland when Jeff and I were married. It was August 1965 when I first owned the Wedgewood — a mere 50 years ago.

Jeff and I separated in 1978. My son and I went to live in Israel at the end of that year and didn’t come back until 1987.

Garry gave Jeff and I the Wedgewood as a wedding present. I didn’t take it to Israel, so Jeff gave it to his mother. She loved it. Moreover, she had room to display it.


Grandma Kraus died last year at 103. This morning, the Wedgewood came home. It is — for now — on the coffee table in the living room. I’m not sure what to do with it. I guess it can live on the coffee table, at least until Garry does laundry and needs to sort it, something he does on the big glass coffee table. Which is useless for any other purpose, unless you count barking your shins as useful.


And so, another set of dishes has come home. I don’t know or can’t remember if any other china, porcelain, or pottery is lurking in my past. For all I know, it’s in the mail, winging its way back to me.

Life is circular. Really. Circular. Stuff comes back. Especially dishes.



I pride myself in being able to compose
Humorous verse (and sometimes comedic prose)
About any topic, esoteric or mundane,
Serious, frivolous, intellectual, inane.
However, I’ve found my literary Waterloo –
The one subject, though I try, I just can’t seem to do
With an interesting perspective or biting wit,
Sharp insight or even one cynical bit.
I’m too much of a crazy dog lover, I confess,
To see anything to ridicule, any excess,
In my relationship with my dogs, and theirs with me;
Not master/pet, but inter-species family.


To me my dogs are interesting, fun and appealing.
It’s a challenge to guess what they’re thinking and feeling.
They’re endlessly entertaining and great company
And diminish the need for psychotherapy.
I love being greeted with hysterics at the door
(Not so much when they also pee on the floor).
Who doesn’t want to feel appreciated and missed;
To feel someone’s so grateful and happy you exist?
I don’t see begging when I’m stared at while I eat –
It’s a shared love of food, not just angling for a treat.
It makes me feel safe and secure in my house
When I’m warned, at top volume, if a raccoon or mouse,
A car, bike or neighbor gets dangerously near
Or if the Fed Ex man should suddenly appear.

I want my dogs ensconced on the sofa with me
When I settle down to read, nap or watch TV.
They are always content with the programs I choose
And at any time, will gladly join me for a snooze.
This is total and complete compatibility;
All that non-judgmental companionship should be.
I don’t mind being jumped on or licked in the face
I don’t have an issue with “invasion” of my “space”.
My dogs share my bed and I’d be in a muddle,
Unable to sleep without a dog to cuddle.
So what if I’m cramped and can’t stretch out at night?
You know, sprawling is not a constitutional right.
I love doggie spooning and nuzzling and feel
That tension evaporates and my mind starts to heal
The moment I stroke that soft body and those ears
And look in those adoring eyes – Nirvana appears.

When it comes to what dogs add to my existence
I’m not at all objective and have no resistance
To their warmth and “joie” and other endearing traits.
They give the best of what you get from friends and mates.
Most dogs are more humane than most people I know
And for loyalty and giving, they win, place, and show.
I’m mush when I talk about their attributes and charms
And sincerely hope I die with a dog in my arms.
If I continue to gush and praise them to the skies
I know I’ll never win any writing prize.
But please, if I’m reincarnated, just let me be
A dog with a human as besotted as me!



In your native language which letter or character describes you best? Why?

I don’t know. I never thought about it. M because it’s my initial? Because while my last name has changed three times, “M” has followed me for my entire life, except for the years in Israel when it transformed into a “mem.”


What is your greatest extravagance?

Cameras. Lenses. Software for processing pictures. Camera bags. Photographic accessories of every kind.


Otherwise? Crystallized ginger. Can’t live without it!

Do you prefer exercising your mind or your body? How frequently do you do either?

My physical prowess up and fled long years since, so I practice mental gymnastics. I’m good at mental back flips. Actually, I’m ready for the marathon, as long as I can do it on the computer!

List at least 5 things that makes you laugh.

The dawgz.

dogs with bishop and gar

Witty dialogue, live or on television or movies. Sometimes, weird things pop into my head … and make me laugh at my own strangeness.

I won’t bore you with details, especially since these days, I can’t remember details.


The Daily Prompt wants to know when I last ate humble pie. Really, I don’t remember, nor am I sure what the ingredients are. We had a really good Dutch apple pie — and a yummy mince pie with dinner the other day. We still have some of both in the fridge.


Are they humble? I chatted with them this morning.

ME: Are either of you a humble pie?

MINCE: Humble? I am a prince among pies. How dare you question me like this. Have I mentioned I go well with coffee?

ME: What about you, Sir Apple?

APPLE: Thank you for including my proper honorific. I’m proud to point out that I am the iconic American pie experience. You simply cannot celebrate any holiday in this nation without me. I am the top-selling pie of all time. I am the “it” pie. And I got even better with coffee than you-know-who does.

ME: And that’s the way it is, this morning, November 28, 2015. The pies are not humble. So I cannot eat any humble pie because I don’t have any. Sorry.

Please pass a piece of …



photography BY BOB MIELKE

Garry was very gentle. He barely touched my shoulder. I was sleeping lightly … because I knew we had to get up early this morning.

Already dressed in black, Bonnie is ready to go.

A dawn encounter with a clogged toilet had seen to the light sleep, but also, we have a funeral to attend. A neighbor to see off into the next stop in the cycle … and we needed coffee first.

And had to give the dogs a little love before we go racing out of the house.

For once, it’s not a long journey. Just down the street. Don’t need a GPS or map. Show up looking reasonably put together. Merely a left out of the driveway, and keep going until we cross the rickety bridge into Rhode Island. Then look for the stone church on the right side with the white steeple.

Photo: Bob Mielke - Kaity dressed as ... ? Happy Bird Day!

My real morning encounter is Garry. Gently letting me know it’s time to get myself out of the warm huddle of blankets and dreams and hit the floor.

Garry and Bonnie "have a moment" while the turkey cooks

72-Kitchen-DoggiesGarry does this well. He is a very soft waker-upper. No loud noises, no rousing choruses of anything. So I do not leap from the bed and try to tear his throat out. Because I love him, though early in the morning, I generally do not love anyone until after coffee.

72-Bishop Trimmed

Not him, not the dogs, not those endless telephone solicitors who seem to believe against all evidence to the contrary that they can actually sell me something before I’ve had my coffee.

Chef Owen, master of turkey

Chef Owen, master of turkey

Hello world. It’s black Friday, the day of the ultimate sales …and I’m done with my Christmas shopping. Except for the wrapping and some tree decorations. We’ve navigated Thanksgiving and the flow of life is rushing us to Christmas.

If we both keep body surfing the wave, I think we’ll make it. Time is rushing towards us and we merely have to stand still while it engulfs us.