Miss Chief and the Case of the Missing Guppy

My niece, Jana bought three guppies for her three kids and set them up in a little fishbowl.

One day, they got a floater. A fish passed.

Jana did what every good mother does: held a solemn toilet-side funeral and flushed the dearly departed.

Down to two.

A few days later, Jana walks by the bowl… and now there’s only one. 

The CSI: GAMERS EDITION

The suspects claim innocence, but the cat looks like he knows too much

                                

I wasn't here to witness the mayhem, but I did see the video.

My daughter tells her husband and my grandsons, “Mema will be here tomorrow, so clean the house.”  

Of course, the boys don’t do a thing. They’re gaming, chilling, living their best lives… until they realize: Mom will be home in ten minutes. DEFCON 1 panic.  

What’s their solution? Grab a vacuum? Pick up the laundry? Nope. Genius plan: stage a home invasion. Maybe she’ll be so grateful they're alive she won’t notice the mess. 

 

They blacken Captain Chaos eye with shoe polish, tie him to a chair with a pillowcase over his head, and scatter broken glass from the trash all over the floor. It was a crime scene straight out of CSI: Gamers Edition. And of course, Dad’s filming. Why clean when you can go viral? 

How I Almost Fried the Nephew-In-Law

                                          

                                                              

My brother Buddy invited me to visit. (He lost his partner of eighteen years just nine months after I lost my husband, so we’ve been keeping each other company.)

I love his patio — could practically live out there. Honestly, I actually do whenever I’m with him.

One sunny afternoon, Buddy ran an errand, leaving me home alone. Dangerous idea. I really do need a little supervision.

Sun streaming through the house, I noticed the kitchen light still on. Being helpful is my hobby… and sometimes a contact sport. I flipped every switch I could find.

 Nothing. 

"Oh," I thought, “maybe this is a smart house.” 

Magic words time: “Hey Google, kitchen light off.” 

“Siri, kitchen light off.” 

 Alexa, Kitchen light off."

The 1940s wiring may not be on speaking terms with Google. We still have to use a three-prong adapter like we’re smuggling electricity from the neighbor.”

“Jarvis, kitchen light off.”

Nothing.

Then I spotted two hidden light switches behind the back door. I flipped one… and got distracted just as Buddy pulled into the driveway.

My idea of helping: well-intentioned, poorly executed, highly memorable.

Later, when I ran out to grab lunch, Buddy came back to find the patio and garage completely powerless. By the time I returned, his nephew-in-law was crawling through the wires like he knew what he was doing. 

Buddy came in and asked, “You didn’t flip any switches behind the back door, did you?”

I gave my best innocent look. “All I did was turn off the kitchen light.”

(It was still on.)

Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked behind the back door again. Both switches were OFF. Without thinking, I flipped them back on. Helpful? Yes. Smart? Not my strong suit.

A loud YELL from the garage made me panic.

 I rushed outside, ready to explain how we almost turned a perfectly nice nephew-in-law into toast. 

He emerged, rubbing his head, “By some miracle,” he announced, “the power’s back in the garage!”

Oh yes. A miracle indeed. My help comes with a warranty: 100% chance of panic, 0% chance of smooth sailing.

After sixty years, Buddy already knows not to leave me unsupervised.

                                                   

The View From Van's Hill

                                              

                                                   

The View from Van’s Hill

(I Brought Lunch. They Brought the Silence)

Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of Van taking up permanent residence on the hill...

I always decorate Van’s grave, take his favorite food and sit for a while, reflecting on the good years.

 
JoDee packed a picnic lunch to eat by the pond.

From his spot, the pond below sparkles like it’s trying to show off. It’s peaceful, with trees and moving water. The kind of place where you can breathe in the cool February air and feel the world slow down.

I have more people in that cemetery than I want to admit.

The Roll Call at Van’s Hill:

Chaos with a Soundtrack

  Stardew Valley Music Has Been Turned Into a Symphony

Stardew Valley is this cozy little farming game where people willingly spend hundreds of hours watering pixelated turnips like they’re running a vegetable empire. They chop trees, smash rocks, attend festivals where everyone pretends to be normal, and try not to collapse from exhaustion before the sun sets at 6 p.m. Too stressful for me. I retired after my character nearly died because I was running late from a festival and forgot to check the time. 

And now someone—some visionary or possibly a madman—decided to turn this into a symphony. A full orchestra. Violins. Cellos. French horns. Suddenly my little pixel farm feels very serious.

But the real question haunting me was: who exactly attends a Stardew Valley symphony?

How to Land in a Stranger's Lap (A Symphony Prequel)

 Robin, my daughter-in-love, invited me to join them and her brothers for the Stardew Valley Symphony. I’ve never been to a symphony before. I had questions — lots of questions.

In my mind, a symphony is pure elegance: white-gloved ushers guiding guests to velvet seats, soft golden lighting warming the room, formal gowns and tuxedos drifting through the aisles, and music that promises sophistication before the first note even plays.

BUT — and I do mean a big but — these are gamers. Do they know what a real symphony is?

Do I know what a real one is?

  I’d seen symphonies on television and once attended a very proper choir performance in Cincinnati. We dressed nicely for that. Shoes were involved. So naturally, I wondered if we should shop.

Frozen Pipes= Frozen Productivity

Why is it that the moment pipes freeze or the electricity goes out, my entire body decides it has a broken arm? Or a broken leg. Possibly both. Suddenly I am incapable of doing anything.

Cleaning mirrors? Absolutely not. Sweeping the floor? Don’t be ridiculous.

I don’t have water. Well… I do have water. Just not in the bathroom. And the hot water is frozen solid, which feels personal.

Rap Monster, the Temporary Pet

 

The Kitten Chronicles: How I Accidentally Became a Cat Landlord

We have two darling little kittens — outdoor cats, feral cats, “don’t touch me, human” cats. Their older brothers survived last winter outside like tiny Viking warriors, so I figured these two would be fine.

But I still bought them a heated cat house. A whole tiny Airbnb with a warming pad specifically designed for feral cats. Because apparently I’m running a luxury resort for animals who won’t even let me pet them.

One morning I was playing with them through the glass window — my version of “interactive cat parenting.” Jimin looked over his shoulder, froze, and bolted. I stepped outside to see what scared him.

Mama cat screamed — a sound that could summon demons — and she was standing over little Jimin’s body. No life left in him.

A strange feral male cat stood there like he owned the place, challenging me.

I grabbed a shovel and ran him off like a furious pioneer woman defending her homestead..

Well.

“I am NOT having a cat in this house,” I declared.

But I am also NOT having another one killed.

Christmas on a Pontoon 2025

                                                         🎄 Christmas Day on the Pontoon

Christmas at home this year… what a concept.

I was not thrilled. No big adventure, not even a tiny one. I’m not afraid of flying — I’m afraid of flying on small planes that need repairs “signed off on” instead of actually fixed. (That blog is below. Buckle up.) Survivor: Holiday Travel Edition

I put the tree up in October, stockings hung, the whole house looking like a Hallmark movie… but no adventure in sight.

My smoked turkey was thawed, gifts wrapped, stockings filled, cards sent — and still nothing planned for Christmas Day. I even invited Marvin and his new bride Rhonda over for dinner. They had “better plans.” Well thanks a lot. At least pretend to invite me. They did not.

Then Monday rolls around and Marvin calls:

Survivor: Holiday Travel Edition

 Last year, JoDee and I decided to fly to Colorado for Christmas with our siblings. Sounds simple, right?
A sweet little holiday getaway? No. No, it was not. It was an episode of Survivor: Holiday Travel Edition, and we were the unwilling contestants.

I didn’t realize Tulsa wasn’t an international airport until we boarded what was basically a flying shoebox — maybe 50 passengers total, two seats on each side, and the kind of plane where you can feel everyone breathe. But hey, we made it to Denver just fine.

Then the real fun began.