What sparks a flame?

In old Siam (today’s Thailand), white elephants were so rare that they were automatically the property of the emperor. To punish people, the emperor would give them a white elephant, because while they had to care for it, they were forbidden to ride or work it. Hence, the modern term for something totally useless: a white elephant  

(Just in case you are unaware, each time you log onto my blog you will find a new "useless knowledge" at the very bottom of my page.)

So, what is it that you are passionate about? For me it is such things as useless knowledge and trivia. It especially excites me if it pertains in any way to medicine or beauty techniques. I love to learn and have been a life-long student of the insignificant.

Which brings me to my next subject--medical savants, or medical intuatives, also known my many other names, not the least of them, "quacks."

Thanksgiving afternoon I came to learn of such a person by the name of Barry Joneshill who lives in Rosebud, Arkansas, near Searcy. The hostess of our dining pleasure introduced me to this subject from first-hand knowledge. She and her husband had learned of him through a friend and had actually gone to visit Mr. Joneshill about three weeks ago.

From what I understand, Mr. Joneshill "consults" with a client and determines their physical ailments not from an in depth interview or medical history, rather from "reading" them. Apparently, one meets with him, tells him nothing of their medical history or present illnesses, and practically by introduction only, minutes later is able to "diagnose" his clients past, present, and future medical problems.

He owns a health food store of sorts in Rose Bud by the name of "Remedies." The herbs and natural remedies he recommends are available for purchase in the store, however, are not unique concoctions and are also available either on the Internet or various other health food stores.

I'm told that a session lasts about twenty minutes or so and there is no cost for his services. There is a "tip" jar on the counter for any gratuities or donations on may wish to contribute, however, it is neither required, or encouraged in any way.

To the person, the accounts given caused chill bumps to emerge as the information given them during their individual sessions were nothing short of miraculous. 

It seems that Mr. Joneshill has been blessed with a spiritual gift and is able then to glean from his clients medical conditions that have oftentimes even gotten worse with traditional "Western" medical treatments and medications.

The four persons to whom I spoke concerning his consultation related their amazement as he broached ailments they had listed they intended to ask him about or to discuss with him, however, had not yet brought up. 

According to them, he spoke of very specific compulsions and behaviors such as "you experience an extremely strong urge several times a day to brush your teeth and to use mouthwash related to a metallic taste in your mouth," and not a broad range subject such as, "there are times you don't sleep well," which all of us experience on occasion.

This fascinates me and Tom and I intend to call his office/store Monday morning and inquire as to what days he will be there. As he sees his clients on a "first-come, first-served" basis, he suggests that prior to traveling to Rose Bud, a phone call be made to ensure he will be there on any given day. 

Usually, he is there Monday through Friday, however, on occasion, he has prior engagements and either leaves early or is out altogether. 

Now I'm not sure why it is that I am just now hearing about this medical phenomenon, but it is my intention to get the word out as quickly as possible. There have been several "reviews" written about both him and his practice by professionals and non-professionals alike, but I encourage you to "google" him and do some research yourself if interested.

By the articles I have read, he professes to be a born again Christian (despite being known as "the voodoo doctor) and did spend several years as a missionary in Africa. There he studied the medicinal properties of herbs, roots, etc. The rest, as they say, is history.

Now those of you who know me will understand my desire to confer with this gentleman. My luck, he will declare me terminally healthy and turn his attention directly to Tom.......

A Little Off.....

Thanksgiving Aftermath

I don't know about all of you, but I am still full from all of yesterday's feasting. Naturally, the leftover peaches and cream cobbler and the potato casserole are now history. Thank God! I thought I'd never get them eaten--lord knows I tried...eating every hour on the hour...teehee....

Tom and I belong to a book club here in town. We all meet once a month on the last Friday of the month. They had plans to eat lunch at a local cafe' at noon prior to the meeting which was scheduled to begin at 1:00 PM.

As usual, I was running a bit late and lunch was out of the question since we ate breakfast at noon. My usual web camming with Pat did not even start until just before 11:00 AM, which is about two hours later than our usual time. She said something about baking Christmas cookies or something. We all know that was an excuse because she doesn't even start on the Christmas baking until the 20th of December as a general rule. So, I just acted as if I believed her and carried on as usual. Whatever.....

We did get to the cafe' about ten to 1:00. There was already quite the gathering of book club members as some of them did have lunch there. We hadn't been there long before I noticed that two of the members just arriving were carrying in a large electric cooker into the building.

As it turns out, this particular member, who is German with a very heavy German accent, had promised the club she would bring some authentic Hungarian Goulash some time ago. Today, apparently, was everyone's lucky day.

She said she was planning on about 10 people to be present for the meeting and had allotted 1 pound of goulash and one pound of onions (cooked in the dish) for each member. So, she had cooked and allowed to simmer throughout the night and most of the morning, ten pounds of hand-trimmed beef and ten pounds of hand-picked and personally inspected onions.

She shared with us the process and explained that she used no flour or thickener of any kind, rather, the consistency of the goulash was obtained by the onions completely dissolving along with bits and pieces of the beef, rendering it fairly thick. One could readily see the joy she had in preparing the feast and how she revelled in feeding the crowd.

The meal was lovely, however, she asked the moderator, Joan, if she could be given a few minutes to speak to the group about something unrelated to the book and/or the club. Permission granted.

This lovely German woman held in her hand a small photo album and gingerly opened it up to a black and white photo of women and small children. The women were wearing white aprons with bibs and holding small metal cups. The children stood expressionless alongside these women all of whom were standing facing the photographer, a very large metal cooking pot in front of them.

She went on to explain that one of the 5 or 6 women in the photo was her mother. The woman she pointed out appeared to be about the age of 25 or 30, and a strikingly lovely woman, I might add.

When the photo was taken, Trauda stated she was about the age of 6, young, but already in school. Telling this story with moist eyes and a shaky voice, she told us the backdrop to the photo.

She said that that for three years after the end of WWII, the Americans fed the children of their one time enemy, the Germans. She spoke of how she and her siblings as well as the other school children were sent to school with one small piece of dry bread which she could remember holding beneath a faucet to moisten it and then sprinkle with sugar, if they had it.

One hot meal a day was served at the school. That meal was provided by the Americans. She said that at the time, she did not realize the magnitude of the act, but that years later, at about age 15, it dawned on her exactly how generous that act was.

She said that in Germany, the German graves are marked with crosses, and that the American soldier graves were marked with white headstones. It was then that she recognized just how many Americans had been killed in her homeland as compared to the German casualties.

There had been a close family member of this woman killed in WWII, not by Americans, but by Russians. She spoke from her heart when she told us that she did not believe she could bring herself to feed even the innocent children of those who had killed her family member. The love, concern, assistance, and generosity of the American people was then magnified in her realm of understanding.

By being able to cook for us, another generation of Americans, and to actually dip from this huge cooker a cup full into a small bowl as the women in the photograph did, was her small way of saying "Thank you" for the kindness shown to her and to her people those many years ago.

At the end of her short speech, there was not a dry eye in the room. As she spoke, her sincerity was obvious. We stood and gave her a standing ovation accepting her token of love with open arms.

It was quite moving, and made me so proud to know that my country took its focus off of itself and so selflessly helped another country who, too, had suffered so much loss and devastation.

I'm proud to be an American!

Just A Little Off.......

Happy Happy Thanksgiving!

Just a few pix from our Thanksgiving "dinner" at Joan's today at 1:00. Man, this is the way to go!! Whip up a couple of dishes, (I took a potato casserole and a peaches and cream cobbler--both brand new recipes, but believe me, will be made again!) and no dishes to do when it's over! WoooHooo!

Family, friends, and neighbors flanked the booths and tables to full capacity. There was deep fried turkey, spiral sliced ham, sweet potato and pumpkin casserole, cranberry Jello salad, dressing, giblet gravy, potato casserole, green beans w/potatoes, peaches and cream cobbler, and coconut cake. I'm sure I'm missing something, but the point is...there was plenty, and plenty of leftovers.

Everything was yummy and the company was fun, light-hearted, and thankful. Tom asked the blessing over the meal and we ate, talked, and laughed for just under two hours. I think the entire crowd was still there when the group photos were taken.

Enjoy the photos, and enjoy your Thanksgiving!!

A (full) Little Off............

Give away camera shots!

Jr. and Bobbi gave me a camera which had been dropped and afterward rendered the flash useless. Seeing as how the photos below were taken today, a gorgeous, sunny day, obviously the flash was not needed. As long as all my future photos are taken on days such as today, I'm not thinking there will be a problem. These are perfect, don't you think?

So much for rainy, cloudy, indoor, action shots. Who needs 'em????

These photos were taken on my way back from Springdale where Maggie Mae and I took a walk-a-bout rest stop in Lake Norfork in Mountain Home...or thereabouts....

So glad to be HOME!!!!!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee....................................


A Little (more) Off!!!

The transformation of a butterfly...

Today was a dream come true for me. It didn't turn out at all the way it was planned in my head last night--or even earlier today.

It was my intention to leave Springdale about noon today and head back to Evening Shade. I had set my telephone alarm to go off at 6:00 AM in order to finish my ironing.

So far, so good. That part happened as planned. Before Jr. and Bobbi excused themselves to prepare to run some errands, the plan was that while they were doing just that, I would complete the ironing and do whatever housework I wanted/needed to do in preparation for the Thanksgiving crowd tomorrow and Thursday.

By the time they exited their quarters, there had been new developments. Bobbi had apparently mentioned her desire to have her hair cut, styled, and possibly highlighted. Jr. asked me if by chance I wanted to go to the mall with her and maybe get my hair cut and styled as well. I told him that if he ever wanted me to leave (not today, I mean EVER!) he sure was going about it in the wrong way!

And so it came to pass that we turned this into a girl's day out. Man, alive, did I have a blast! As you can see, I documented the event and will, as soon as possible, post the videos I took on my youtube channel: youtube.ladybugapprentice.com

The salon experience was fantastic, but the day only got better! Bobbi allowed me to put together some outfits for her from Vanity, a shoppe in the mall. OMG! How I loved dressing this beautiful, intelligent, fit, toned, but fashion impaired real life Barbie Doll.

Bobbi is a professional in the corporate world, and as such, she dresses the part flawlessly. However, her wardrobe, vast as it is, was either high-end power suits, elegant holiday wear, work out attire or Harley Davidson's biggest advertiser's apparel.

While all those mentioned are befitting in their own rite, the child owned nothing "casual dress." Ultra casual she had an abundance of, but something just a bit more dressy, but not formal, was absent.

I have been wanting to dress this girl for the longest time. She has the cutest little petite body, which she has worked diligently to achieve and is dedicated and disciplined in maintaining. I'm so jealous! So, she graciously agreed to allow me to live vicariously through her while a patron in Vanity (how descriptive is THAT!) today.

The poor dear was hardly given time to voice her own opinion as both the wired little sales person and I trampled over one another pulling jeans, tops, jackets, shoes, hats, and jewelry from the racks and wildly pitching them over the top of the locked dressing room door for Bobbi to model for us.

What a good sport she was/is! What an accommodating mannequin! Many of the styles she was not used to, and many of the colors and cuts of the garments were new to her as well. I simply refused to allow her to entertain the notion of owning one more orange-based red article of clothing! Not on my watch!

We all are such creatures of habit, good or bad. We dress, for the most part, for comfort, not for glamor. However, it is possible to achieve BOTH goals with one outfit, or better yet, many components of outfits which transition easily and quickly into numerous styles, or "looks," if you will.

Is there anything more thrilling than to have versatile pieces which mix and match at a reasonable cost? The pinnacle of a shopper's high is to have discovered each item from the clearance rack! It just doesn't get any better than that, in my opinion.

It was simply meant to be today that Bobbi walk out of that establishment a much more fashion conscious, aware, cutting-edge young woman. Between the gorgeous new do and the sexy new duds, she's just got it goin' on! She looks (and acts) years younger than she did just hours ago.

Although it is not possible she enjoyed the outing more than I, I only hope she enjoyed it as much. You're a real trouper, kiddo. Many, many thanks for your tolerance!

And to my sweet brother......I can never thank you enough for your generosity, but I will certainly show you in every way that I can, and with every chance I get how much I love and appreciate you! You made this day not just possible, but a reality. Thank you both!



Bobbi "before."














Bobbi "after."

Better late than never......

 Justine, and me. And Justine and Michael outside of Love's when Bobbi and I met them in Oklahoma--halfway between Springdale, AR, and Prue, OK. My baby girl's not a baby anymore! I can't wait for Clayton to get here!!!

I'm gonna have to get a job

to get any rest!

Please do not misunderstand, I am not unhappy in the least! All I can say is there are just not enough hours in a day! And I mean that sincerely! There are so many things I want to accomplish while I'm staying with Jr. and Bobbi. I didn't think they were such lofty goals, but as my time here comes to a close, I find myself frantically trying to tie up loose ends.

I have not been home for two weeks and I miss my sweetie in the worst way. I have a sad feeling he does just fine without me there with him. That's a two edged sword, because I love that about him, too. He's comfortable in his own skin and he doesn't need me to be "okay."

He doesn't need me, you see. He just wants me. What a comforting thought. He just likes me around; he enjoys my company. And yes, I know he misses me. I miss him, too.

The past two weeks have flown by as the days have all been eventful ones. I have written about most of them, but as I mentioned moments ago, there are no segments of time to which I could have devoted more time for penning my thoughts.

I have been reminded of what it is like to have a household bustling about. I had forgotten since Tom and I have a rather leisurely life void of hectic deadlines, meetings, school, children, and various sundry obligations. One (I) tend to get lazy when I am left to my own devices.

Each day has brought to me a new challenge and I have such admiration for my brother and my sister for taking it all in stride. They can't possibly know how influential they have been in my life. Positive thinking is a way of life for them and living with them for the past week has been nothing short of paradise.

Not unlike the general population, both my brother and his wife have been through some very trying times, personally, professionally, financially, medically, parentally, singularly and togetherally. Well, you know what I mean.....

This couple of whom I speak have been married just short of thirty years and very much emulate another couple I admire deeply--my parents.

The vein of respect for one another runs deeply, and the artery of support along side of it. Neither is a "yes" person, and both are not only encouraged, but expected to speak his or her mind.  I would say that they have mastered the art of conflict resolution, however, I've seen no conflict to resolve.

This is not to say that I have not observed differences in opinion or preference, just that those differences were just that, and no more. That they have the freedom to express those differences without the fear of persecution of some sort is, in my marital experience, uncommon.

Uncommon, that is, until November 3, 2007. That day I entered into a marriage based on trust, mutual respect, and the freedom to be who we are. In fact, as I now remember one small portion of our wedding vows, I promised Tom that I fell in love with the man he was, and that I would not attempt to change him, rather to encourage him and assist him in attaining his dreams and goals.

So often, in various ways, I have fallen short of that solemn promise voiced just one short year ago. Even at age 51 I am unreasonable, impatient, quick to criticize, slow to apologize, and selfish. But every single day and night (and numerous times in between) I thank God for my husband. I know he loves me, but even more than that, he, in spite of all my flaws, even likes me. I can't ask for more than that. I love you, Tom.

A Little Off....

Justine @ Subway w/maternity clothes

Bobbi and I went to Oklahoma today to take Justine some maternity clothes. She is just over four months along and has a very little "pooch," but I am sure Clayton will be growing by leaps and bound very soon.

We enjoyed our visit, albeit only 1 and 1/2 hours or so. Bobbi got to meet Michael for the first time and made some very positive remarks concerning him, and he and Jus as a couple. They do seem very much in love and quite happy. I am very thankful for that.

I promise to get more photos on here tomorrow, but have got to get some shut-eye for right now.
I do understand that congratulations are in order for my brother, as he was productive in his deer hunting this evening and shot a doe. (Lightweight...it's not a 7 pointer, but hey, it's meat in the freezer, or in his case, jerky. Maybe next year, Jr.) LOL Kidding aside, I'm glad you got something, but I know right about now and early tomorrow morning the real "fun" (NOT!) begins. That, I do not envy!

A Little Off..

Saturday mornings are for slugs....

Nice to meet you. I'm a slug. I don't mind telling you that if I were at home, today I may well sleep all day. At least I would make a valiant attempt.

By 6:30 here at my brother's house I hear the coffee timer notifying the household that hot caffeine is ready to ingest. Obviously, it is unaware that there are those in society who would prefer to ingest it on their own schedules--say, oh, 4:00 PM or thereabout. Slug time. You got your Mountain Time, Central Time, Pacific Time, Daylight Savings Time, and Slug Time.

Though you hear about it less frequently, it is a real, and often preferred means of time keeping by many. I, my friend, am one of those persons!

Jr. and Bobbi (apparently) hopped right out of bed as if there were something pressing they needed to get done today. Sadly, they are wasting away some of the most precious hours of their lives--sedentary. 

Deer hunting was Jr.'s objective, which I can understand...to a point...although I would have done my traveling to my desired destination last night as to be able to cherish a few extra moments snuggled between warm covers rather than to make the cold journey this morning.

Bobbi's incentive was a bit more foreign to me. She rushed around to get out into the cold to "work out." And she seemed even to be joyful about it. Strange.

Maggie and I would be content to reposition at will to once again allow circulation to nourish our compressed tissues, if the need arose. One's body usually cues the "roll over" urge. Other than that, we would only need to empty our bladders. That's plenty of exercise for any given Saturday, I'd say. See seems to agree.

However, since my purpose for being here at all is to clean the house and iron in preparation for Thanksgiving guests next week, I probably should ponder a bit on devising some sort of plan of action for accomplishing the task before me. After all, Bobbi will be back in a couple of hours, and I'll have her lunch to prepare. Guess I'd better go wash that pear......

I'm going to eat a hot fudge Pop Tart..........that's work out enough for me. Have you pushed a lever down on a toaster lately? Whew!

A little off....................

Ironing out the facts about ironing.

Until last night, I thought ironing was a lost art. Well, I'm here to tell you that I've found it again. When my brother and sister asked me if I was interested in "doing a little ironing" for them, I thought, "Heck, yeah, why not?" 

I'm a little more informed now. A little ironing, to me, would be 8 or 10 shirts, a few skirts, a couple dresses, some dress pants, you know--"some ironing."

Bless their hearts, they've both got more clothes than the Salvation Army, Goodwill, and any church thrift shop's got together--before sorting!

Only their stuff is high-dollar and's got lots of trim, ruffles, lace, ribbon, and that's just Jr.'s. LOL Just kidding....

I am convinced, however that they cleaned out their closets and seriously questioned as to whether they could even wear all those clothes.

Bobbi's iron is the best one I have ever used. It is heavy (one might not think that was a positive characteristic, but I do) and it has a lot of neat features as far as irons go.

At first I was even excited about getting to buy two different kinds of spray starches: one for regular clothes, and one for dark clothing as this one didn't leave that white residue. At the end of 8 hours, that excitement had waned a bit.

I'm not griping, because I know I have it easy. I remember the days when Mom used to sprinkle the clothes and even keep them in the refrigerator. I'm not quite sure what that was all about. 

I still have quite some pile to tackle tomorrow. I'm going to try my best to pick up the pace and still do a perfect (or near perfect) job. I was accused today of simply moving the piles of clothes around to lend the appearance of accomplishment. LOL I didn't, but it was a good idea. LOL

A large portion of what we wear today is what is called, "wash and wear," but believe me when I tell you, there is nothing sharper than a neatly ironed shirt with crisp creases! I intend to do my part to see that this art is not a lost one...

A little off......

My obsessions with barns.....

I'm not quite sure when it began, but I would say that my new camera added to the fascination. Old barns, barbed-wire fences, bales of hay, split rail fences, ponds, flowers, and trees--not to mention sunsets.

Coming to Springdale today I saw quite a few barns, but not all of them were the picturesque barns one visualizes when the word barn is said. Modern barns may be more functional, (though I don't understand how) and most likely more cheaply constructed, but they are not nearly so pleasing to the eye, in my humble opinion. 

When I was growing up, my Granny Treat had a barn which I loved to explore. I can still smell the hay and feel the straw tangled in my hair. A special fondness for the loft gripped me. Climbing up that narrow severely straight up ladder was no easy task. But once that top rung was reached and the vast view of the hay-strewn  floor was visible, something within me stirred.

Sometimes there were chickens that had flown up to roost which were startled by my presence. When they squawked and wildly flapped their near flightless wings it seemed as if they would surely attack the invader.

The most special times in the loft were spent there during rainstorms. There wasn't another place I would rather be. I'd lie down in the hay or prop up on bales of hay only to peer out the "windows" at the rest of the quiet, still farm.

Where there were once farm animals roaming about now were wide open spaces void of any signs of life save the cattle huddled together standing motionless in the pouring rain. The chickens and ducks had found their ways to some shelter if even a lean to for a short respite.

Granny's house seemed to be miles from the barn and appeared to be much smaller than it actually was. From time to time I would see her push open the screen door and add some table scraps to the cat bowls on the porch. I'd watch as she shooed the scavenger dogs away from the bowls allowing the kittens to have first choice.

Knowing I wasn't far away, I'd hear her call, "Treasie?" " (She called me that more than she ever called me Teresa.) "I'm here, Granny!" I'd holler.  "OK," she'd say satisfied. "You'd better be careful out there. There may be snakes!"

I never did see a snake in the barn or in the loft, but I was constantly aware of the possibility. The fear of that possibility didn't keep me away. On the contrary, it may have even added to the mystique and lure of the fantastic structures..........

A Little Off.........

The finished product

was obtained by 8:00 PM. The beginning was Thursday, my first hunting day. The saga ended with processed vinison.

Not to sound like Dr. Suess, but, there were lunches and magazines, glances and grinders, and scraps and scrapes. There were sounds and smells, hooves and tails. There were surprises, and smiles, looking for miles. Cutting and trimming, beginnings, and now endings.

Samantha again came to the rescue and got the wrap-up underway showing me how to trim the shoulders, trim the bones, pack backstrap medalllions, grind and scrape, and all with a smile on her face. She actually delights in all of this and she is very good at it.

It took longer than I expected, but then when doesn't it? Mom and Daddy wound up bringing our supper to us from KFC just as I was loading the finished product which was packed neatly in the cooler, into the bed of Daddy's pickup.

We hadn't had anything to eat since early morning; I had had a bagle, and she had some little something at 8:00 this morning. We were both starved and let me tell you, we inhaled that chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. Thanks Mom and Daddy.

And now for the pictures and videos. View the photos here and watch the videos on my youtube channel: ladybugapprentice 

Enjoy my experience......

First Blood

As promised, today I tell the rest of the story...

Having had unsuccessful hunting experiences this deer season, I admit I was getting a bit disappointed. I had so many conversations with God, pleading and explaining to Him why I really needed to not only see a deer, but to kill one. I had some pretty legit arguments if I do say so myself.

The lunch I had packed which consisted of potted meat and saltine crackers had long since been devoured. The pear I picked off of the ground from beneath a farm yard pear tree, gone. Various reading sources, exhausted. Only a Sam's catering flyer remained to help me while away the time remaining.

It was that leaflet I was surfing through when my cell phone rang. It was Daddy. We touched base about what all we had not seen--our stories identical. He took the time to encourage me and to assure me that dusk was "prime time," and that the deer preferred to stir during that time of day if not very early in the morning. I was instructed to keep my eyes pealed and to be alert--the next 20-30 minutes would be perfect conditions for deer hunting.  Keep in mind that I had been told earlier that the all day waits and seeing nothing was the reason it was called deer hunting, not deer killing........

It wasn't as if I were miserable. On the contrary, I was very comfortable. Warmed by a small gas heater and having four chairs/stools from which to choose to sit upon, the chilly wind allowed to penetrate my fortress through narrowly opened windows was the only reminder I was deep in the woods and not in the comforts of home.

Somewhere in the middle of Sam's sale catalogue (about the party tray section), my rifle atop a pillow perched on the threshold of an open window, I lifted my eyes from the magazine to conduct my now routine scan of my surroundings.

The scene outside the window I was directly in front of was unchanged other than the fading sunlight. I swivelled my stool around, legs still crossed, lap covered by glossy photos of party platters to quickly glance out the opposite window. There he stood in all his grandeur. A beautiful specimen--his stance as if he were posing for a photo shoot.

Daddy had told me days ago that the acorns were plentiful this year and that  the deer would have no desire to come to the feeder, therefore, I assumed (yes, I know what they say about assuming!) that there was no corn/feed in the feeder. Wrong! 

I froze. And just as quickly I was fretting over my gun dilemma. The deer was on one side, the gun gracing the window sill of the opposite--barrel outside the window.  Never have I been accused of being graceful and now I was forced to quickly and silently slide the rifle from one side of the room and place it through the window on the other side--all with my heart pounding so hard and fast it was distracting.

In a very short time I established a plan. I synchronized my movements to the dipping of his head into the trough/feeder. He dipped, I slipped; he rose, I froze. Somewhere into that hunting dance I found myself holding the gun and taking it off of safety.

Over a period of time which seemed like a millennium I had raised my rifle and had the sights with the cross hairs squarely on where I believed the trajectory of the bullet would hit the heart, just behind the shoulder blade. 

Preparing to deliver the final blow, I then realized I was aiming through a closed window. More specifically, a double-paned  glass window as to open the window, the glass must be slid to the side--the side at which I was now pointing the rifle barrel. Great.....again, I had to reposition without spooking the animal and before dying of an anxiety attack.

Taking up where we left off, we once again were in the midst of the hunter's waltz with my intended target. Quietly I placed the rifle on top of  a stack of National Geographic magazines which had been duct taped together for stability. Miraculously, the majestic animal continued to enjoy what turned out to be his last supper.

I slowly began to squeeze the trigger only to begin to panic when nothing happened. No click, no action. What else could possibly go wrong? I wondered, but didn't really want to be tested further. I regained my composure and again pulled, however, this time I pulled it with conviction. Success!

That strong, beautiful, elusive animal never knew what hit him. When I shot, he fell like a ton of bricks-not one step, no struggle, nothing but hit the ground. 

I saw it drop while still looking through the scope, but quickly lowered the gun to see it with nothing obscuring my view. Sure enough, there he was at the corner of the feeder, most likely still with corn in his mouth, though I didn't investigate that thoroughly.

Through the deafening sound of my pounding heart resounding in my head, I struggled to discern what it was I needed to do next.

Daddy. I had to call Daddy because I knew he heard the shot go off and was wondering what I saw, shot, or what caused the accidental discharge of the ammo. 

Where was that thing? That thing you talk on that has numbers. Oh yeah, phone...that's the name of that thing. Where had I put my phone? And I needed to get some images of my kill with that other small square thing. That thing you pushed a button and a bright light flashed? Yeah, the camera! I've got to take some pictures before it is too dark. Oh, where did I put those two things and why do I feel choked? I can hardly breathe.

I reached for my throat and was reminded where those two items were by two separate cords pulling tightly around my neck. I had hung both my camera and my telephone around my neck and dropped them underneath my coat and sweatshirt.

Fishing them out and loosening their grip, soon I flipped open my phone and was scrolling down the phonebook until I got to the entry entitled, "Daddy."

Daddy answered the telephone, "Go ahead," which I thought was a little different, but I didn't address his salutation. All I could get out without crying uncontrollably was, "I got him, Daddy! He's down and he's not moving!" His reply was calm and inquiring. "Where is it? and, "Is it a doe or a buck?"

"No, it's a buck, it's got horns!" "How many points does it have?" he inquired. 

I don't know, Daddy, but he's down, and he's not moving!" "Teresa, to be legal........(right about now his voice in my head sounded more like wha-wha-wha-wha-wha rather than actual words from the English language) it's got to have at least three points on one side." 

"Daddy," I said, "all I know is that he's got big horns (by that I meant not spikes, not buttons and it wasn't a doe) and he's down and he's not moving," I repeated for the tenth time.

"What do I do now?" I questioned my mentor. "Can I come and get you and bring you up here to see it?"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Listen to me. Calm down. Did you put another shell in the chamber?"  I hadn't, and told him so. "Do that now, get in the truck and drive around there to him and be prepared to shoot him again. He may jump up and try to run off."

I assured him that that deer was as dead as dead could be, but he simply repeated his instructions. And I followed them. Well, mostly.

Tip-toeing with  the rifle in one hand and the camera in the other, my phone still dangling from my neck, I approached my dead target cautiously.

I found myself apologizing to the creature as I snapped photo after photo like the paparazzi hounds Hollywood stars.

What a magnificent creature. So beautiful, graceful, and sure-footed while living now lay still, legs folded unnaturally beneath him.

Finishing my documentation, I ran back to the truck throwing all of my equipment in before me just before slamming the camouflaged door once I was seated.

While waiting on me, Daddy called and made arrangements for assistance with the moving and the removing of the internal organs, etc.

Before long, a dear friend of mine and a friend of hers were there tugging, lifting, shifting, loading and unloading, hanging, cutting and cleaning the once peaceful animal.

Before field dressed, the deer weighed 120 pounds--a 7-pointer, but had an obvious 8th spike which had been broken some time ago.

The work was done swiftly by experienced hands. I admire the woman who, wrist injured and in a splint, digs in up to her elbows in blood and entrails rarely asking for any assistance whatsoever. A self-sufficient woodswoman in her own right. Thank you, Samantha.........

Sleeping little last night, what time I did sleep I shot the same deer over and over in my fitful dreams.

Awakened numerous times by Maggie wanting out just one more time to make sure that the deer was still safe in the bed of Daddy's truck. When satisfied, she happily went back to bed--until the next time.

The hunting was the fun part. Today, reality set in. Work ensued. Daddy taught me the fine art of preparing the meat for processing. Personally, I prefer yesterday's adventure to today's. 

But this adventure was not about bringing home the game. My only desire was to spend time with my dad, which I was most fortunate to be given. The deer was just gravy. 

Thanks, Daddy. I love you.

A Little Off......