Murder Most Foul

THEY’RE BAAAAACK!

Every year for the past decade or so Terre Haute (That’s French for, “I need to wash the car again”) has been the winter camping ground for upwards of 10,000 Crows. When the weather begins to get a bit nippy and the leaves start turning lovely shades of red and gold this city is invaded by a sky-blackening horde of these bad-attitude flying versions of Chase Utley (for non-baseball fans: look him up, then give in to the urge to wash your hands).

Sunday In The Park With Dogs

THIS PAST SUNDAY MORNING was different than most Sundays, but an absolute delight nonetheless.

A Day Filled With Sunshine

HERE WE ARE MOVING INTO MID AUGUST and we are having a very “Late September Day.” The sky is a blue canopy and the sun is shining.

When I got up this morning the temperature was in the mid 50s. I actually wore a light hoodie when I went for coffee at the Chapel of St. Arbucks. There were school busses driving around, getting ready for the resumption of classes next Monday. Yes, it was all very Autumnal.

But…but… I’m not ready for summer to be over.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere A Sign

THERE ARE GOOD SIGNS and there are bad signs. And then there are signs that are just disappointing.

The other day when my wife (the lovely and epicurean, Dawn) and I were out and about around town. And we were feeling hungry. It was a little after two in the afternoon when I spotted a café that had a large sign in the front window –

“Breakfast Served All Day”

I Got You, Babe

I SAW AN ITEM FLY BY MY EYES on Facebook a couple of days ago that made me say, “Wha???

A truck overturned near Xenia, Ohio (Which is near Dayton, for the geographically noncognoscenti.)

The cargo on this extremely horizontal truck was 2,200 live piglets. Tragically, as in many vehicular accidents, there were casualties. Approximately 200 – 400 piglets are no longer in the “living” category. For the rest of them it was “Run for your lives, little piggies.”

This Is Not Going To End Well

MY WIFE AND I have been doing some binge-watching. We started with Doctor Who, then moved on to other series – some better than others. Currently we are wrapped up in House Of Cards on Netflix. Without actually looking it up I would guess that this series has about six million episodes. We have just entered Season Three.

I Like Trash

 “I LIKE TRASH. I LIKE TRASH””

I think that is a Sesame Street song or maybe Michael Bublé. I’m not sure.

I’m not willing to go so far as to say that I ‘like’ trash. It’s trash. It’s part of life – the part we throw away. It’s the stuff I roll down to the curb on Wednesday nights. But that is in Terre Haute. Here in Texas the trash has its own “je ne sais quoi” or whatever the Tex-Mex version of that might be.

With about seven thousand family members in town for Christmas the trash can fills up quickly. Most of what goes is of the usual, mundane, variety: week-old leftovers, gnawed upon rib bones, mystery side dishes that nobody ate (wisely), and scores of yucky paper plates and Solo cups. No pies, cakes, cobblers or cheesecakes ever make it into the trash. You would have a better chance of finding the Ark of the Covenant in our trash than an uneaten dessert.

That is why the trash this morning proved … disturbingly strange. Let me explain.

I’ve never been hunting. I grew up two blocks from a steel mill. The closest I ever got to actually hunting was taking a pellet gun down behind the mill to shoot at rats the size of a SmartCar.

But somebody has been hunting or out driving through the countryside at night. It wasn’t me. I would remember, I hope. It wasn’t my 94 year-old mother-in-law. I hope, but you never know. But somebody on the guest list has been hunting. How do I know for sure?

Because, this morning, sitting in the trash can in the kitchen was an ear from a deer – an ear. Just one ear, nothing more. God knows where the rest of the animal might be. He, or she, wasn’t in the bathroom waste basket – or in the ash tray in the mini-van. No hoofs were visible.

I’m not terribly squeamish.  I mean, I’ve seen enough of my own blood over the years to be intestinally secure. But we all know some people who, if they had discovered an ear in their trash, would have hit the floor like an overcooked baked potato, but I’m jiggy with it.

I know that in bullfighting the successful matador is often awarded El Toro’s ears as a reward. I don’t think they do that in hunting, so I doubt that the ear was a prize. If it was the recipient was not impressed and dumped it in the kitchen trash.

I just hope that the ear was not part of a scavenger hunt contest ‘cause I ain’t playing!

When the family gathers again at feeding time this evening I’m going to keep my eyes open to see if anybody seems to be looking for something that they may have dropped, or for anybody bringing in a venison soufflé.

Manna From Texas

FOR REASONS THAT BECOME increasingly obvious as the temperature drops and Christmas comes closer – we will soon be heading to Texas for the holidays.

On Christmas Eve we will pile into the car after the Annual Christmas Eve Services at church and drive up to the Indianapolis area for the night. The next morning, Christmas Morning, we will get onto the Great Silver Bird called Southwest Airlines and fly to Texas.

Hopefully, all will go well and our flight from Indy to Houston will be uneventful and on time so that we can then get onto the Not So Great Silver Bird called by some other, less known name, and make the short jump down to Corpus Christi. Once there, we will collect our luggage and be met by an, as yet unnamed, family member who will drive us the final half hour to the Family Home.