Give a person some ham, and...

 ...they can make ham salad. Even after all these years. No eggs though, and heavy on the pickles and mayo.

Helen

 Helen with her mother, Ellen O'Brien Donovan Hogan. Helen was born December 30, 1900. Her name was Ellen but she herself changed it to Helen. Not sure why. Picture taken "over home" and as always posed with animals. Helen is holding a dog on a leash and Nanny has a baby chick in her hands.

In the picture with Matt, David has said he sees resemblance to Danny. I would not have thought so, but now I can see it.

Southern Schroders 2004

 Carl, Tom, Paul, 

Norine, Bill, Anne

Alex, Phil, Tammy, Eric (Tammy's son), Martha, Sam in front

Thanksgiving 2004

Conspiracy Theory----Could it be that...

 ...he is a mole, whose mission was to destroy the GOP.

Old Dog, New Trick

    To pay for my purchases today, I tapped my credit card. Imagine that...

Christmas night viewing...Elf

    I was familiar with the movie, of course, but I'd never watched it. But it seemed relevant in keeping with the theme of one of this year's Christmas cards. And the movie happened to be just starting. If I were to write a review, I would say the first three quarters of the movie was surprisingly sweet and tender, with the addition of subtle humor as well as the broader type. 

   So many things remind me of Dave and our early dating years. The scene where he is on a date with Jovie was a close approximation of one of our first dates. Buddy is showing her the  town, as if his discoveries of NYC are brand new to all, not just him, and he repeats with her the magical quality of the city, she joining him in the delights of revolving doors and other activities. On our second date, Dave wanted to go dancing at an established hotel in downtown Albany, the Sheraton perhaps.   He  had recently moved to the area and had attended an event there which was great, he said. We walked into the hotel and maybe we sat down and ordered a drink. There was dancing all right; the floor was occupied by what seemed like elderly couples formally dressed, kind of a stodgy clientele, it appeared. Dave apprised the situation and said not for us and we left, within minutes of getting there. We then went to four other places in the course of an hour. Dave was all about making a good first impression, and I was impressed; I thought he was kind of nuts.

    Back to Elf, which struck a human chord even in the realm of fantasy. But the last half hour did not hold the same consistency. The earlier plot appears to have been taken over by a different team of writers, or maybe they realized that the plot  could not be favorably resolved in the same mode, or else they needed to wrap it up quickly. Hence, the Central Park chaotic action scene with bad guys, a needy Santa, and a lot of quick concessions. My thought is that an earlier decision about how the story would end was to have Buddy happen on the unfinished Children's  Book and develop  a satisfying  conclusion to the mangled book, and then maybe go on to write other best-selling children's books. Instead of incorporating this idea which seemed to have been building up, the movie went into bizarre and chaotic episodes of unlikely behaviors. The conclusion did reference this idea, but as an afterthought.

   I read a while ago that most movie making now is the work of people deeply into the drug culture. I can visualize them sitting at a table, much as portrayed in Elf, and wasted, saying, "Let's put this baby to bed."

   

   

Christmas 2020

 

Dryer Vent Alert

 "Little Fire Down Below"

       I've been clearing out my store of paperwork---bank statements, medical records, and other paperwork that contain personal information such as account numbers, SSN's, etc. But what to do with them. We owned a shredder in the past, but that has disappeared at the present. And it was a rather tedious process anyway. I have used scissors to cut out personal information and then put the rest in the trash. My hands ached from that method. 

     So for the last year or so, I've burned the accumulated files of papers. I know burning is banned except for outdoor fireplaces.   I wait for snowfall, and make my own little firepit in the snow. As in previous years doing this, I found it is quite hard to ignite  a fire meant to burn stacks of papers. Today I struck 4 matches into flames, but the flame dissipated after only surface charring. I went into the basement looking for something more flammable.  (Not anything liquid; I know better.) I went to the basket of dryer lint, and grabbed a handful. I put that on the barely smoldering paper, and instantly, there were bright flames, and most of the papers disappeared, leaving  only ashes.

     I keep reading about the dangers of clogged dryer vents. I believe I'll look into a dryer vent

cleaning service.

Lost in Plain Sight Sort of.

    I couldn't find the remote for the outdoor Christmas lights. I never throw anything away, and rarely lose anything, but I just could not locate it this year. I looked in all the places I would logically have stored it away, but to no avail. Maybe with last year's Christmas lights, but it wasn't there, even though I looked through all the strings of lights which we hadn't used in the 4 years since we "downsized" Christmas. I looked in the cabinet which used to house the TV, since that seemed a likely place. Couldn't find it. I could see the remote in my mind's eye, white and slender. 

     J.T. replaced it with a new one, even smaller and black in color, but I couldn't stop thinking where I'd stashed the old one. So I thought where will I put this one after Christmas? I figured I would put it in the cabinet where the other remotes are, but I would make sure it would be easy to find, if next year warrants it. I was drawn to the cabinet, and where I would probably put it this year, I saw a small blue box. I hadn't been looking for a remote that was back in its box.

What is the matter with people..

   ... finding phallic symbols in everyday pictures and objects. Why, it's enough to freeze the holly off Frosty.

Flashbacks Unbidden

    To fill the emptiness, I turn to reading, and word puzzles--Cryptoquote, Cryptogram, and crosswords.  The theory being that if I'm thinking of one thing I can't be thinking of another.  But memory has a way of intruding. Tonight a NY  Times crossword clue was "Confident juggler's props."  The answer was "eggs."  As so often happens, I don't try to invoke a memory, but a real scene opens up. 

     Everything is just as it was back then. We are alone in  my mother's kitchen. The refrigerator door is open. It is late at night, rather early morning. It may be the first time Dave has been there after our night out and he needs to get something to eat before he drives back to Albany. He takes the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and announces he knows how to  juggle. He picks up 3 eggs in a juggling posture, and starts the process. All 3 eggs instantly fall to the floor, and of course break. It was funny, back then.

Famous Quotation

 "The Walking Wounded conceal their wounds under bandages and clothing and skin."

Rescue Me

 

Prisoner--in My House of Ice

 Can't even get to the mailbox. Plower further barricaded driveway and outward access. And it's still cold.

The Time of Used To Be

  Memory jolted by the last time I recall walking in deep snow:

     It seems like a very long time ago, but really not that long after all. Back in the day, when the world was still young, Cosmo liked looking at birds, and squirrels. That is, when he wasn't going on walks with Dave, at least three times a day, or riding in the car with him, or sleeping in the living room. Unlike our first two collies, who shared our life with kids, and were therefore not nearly as indulged plus they were very large and thick-coated and were not comfortable being inside the house so they were pretty much relegated to  the doghouse. 

    But not Cosmo. When he wasn't in the house or the car or on walks, his domain was the basement. Dave had attached a very long wire from the doorway to a tree at the end of our property. And he put a stopper near the end and hung a birdfeeder on the closed-off wire. Cosmo could walk a long distance around the yard and yet sit in the doorway and observe the wildlife. Sad to say, Cosmo's life ended much too soon. The veterinarian had failed one year to test him for heartworm, and he contracted the dread disease, resulting in  a long and intensive course of treatment. He recovered but developed symptoms which the vet one bright summer day tried  to alleviate by withdrawing fluid from his chest. Dave drove him home, and Cosmo lay down in the yard and never awoke. But....the birdfeeder was still there, at the end of the dog run.

   Dave still fed the birds, even in summertime, but especially in winter. And one winter, he had developed symptoms which made him feel somewhat unsteady on his feet. Even a well-regarded neurologist, Dr. V., was at a loss to explain his symptoms.  (Clearing out old paperwork, from 2014,  I found his diagnosis, all systems in perfect working order.)  

   But the symptoms were not to be denied.  So one winter after a heavy snowfall, I decided it was time to relocate the bird feeder to a more accessible location, i.e. the front yard. And here's where today's jaunt kicked in the memory of that event.

      I walked around the outside of the house, down the slope and I decided to see if the door to the basement was open.  The snow was deep. As I walked toward the doorway, the snow was even deeper, as I soon found. As I carefully put my booted foot in the accumulated snow, my foot sunk so far down that it propelled me forward.   Right into the concrete frame of the doorway. I saw stars. I'm not sure if they were actually stars, but explosions of some kind. I developed a large goose egg on the side of my head. I don't recall if I succeeded in bringing the bird feeder to the front of the house or not, but it's here, so I must have.

A Whole Lot of Snow

  Looking out the front window, I could see something red sticking out of the newly fallen snow.  It could be one of the packages I'd ordered, so if the guy does come to plow the driveway, that item will be buried 'til spring. I'd heard the snow was to be light and fluffy, so I ventured out to try to retrieve the mostly buried red thing from the snow.

      Turns out the snow isn't so fluffy after all, and my boots are not tall enough. The snow even in the undrifted areas was well above my knees, mid-thigh at least. With a snow shovel as a prop, I made it to the red object; it is the broken-off newspaper box.  No newspaper in it either. 

    Unable to hold onto it, I tossed it in the direction of the mostly buried garbage and recycling containers. Pick-up was scheduled for today. I have no idea if the contents were taken; if not, I can expect strewn garbage and papers from now to spring. 

 So I slogged back into the house. No mission accomplished.

BUY!! BEWARE!!

     I fell asleep with the TV on, and was awakened thinking the house was under  siege.   On screen was the commercial for the Wine and Liquor Warehouse at The Crossings. I realize the sale and consumption of alcohol is a serious matter, not to be taken lightly, but it sounded like gunshots to me. And those who evidently operate the store look like they could shoot at the drop of a hat. I suppose the ad is designed to sell liquor but also to discourage any would-be robbers  from targeting the store.  The employees in the ad would keep me honest, for sure.

The Ugly Ortho Truth

    My legs  always used to be straight, and I walked quite a bit, with no problems. But there came a time when that was no longer true, and every step was painful; standing for any length of time became excruciating. I tried to downplay and even ignore it, for a variety of reasons. One reason was that nobody likes to hear complaints, and another reason was that my insurance was not  established, as I was considered a part-time employee, even after a number of years. We were hired on a year to year basis.  And I also feared a painful and lengthy recovery.

   I tried to hide my affliction, trying not to show my limitations as I walked down school stairways; I tried to wait until there was nobody in sight. Our annual convention in Syracuse would often have our hotel room floors away  from the instructional areas and the meeting rooms. It was a painful walk. One time I took a faulty elevator to my 3rd floor room, needing to lessen the painful walking.

  At the time I owned several pairs of striped pants or jeans which I got rid of because the stripes were "crooked when worn." And even on the hottest days in summer I would not wear shorts, ashamed of my now crooked legs. I guess I was reaching a breaking point but didn't want to admit it or accept what the consequences would be.

   One Thanksgiving I was preparing dinner and my son was home. He was in the kitchen and said it bothered HIM to see me trying to walk, even the distance in the kitchen. I realized that if I wanted to keep my mobility I would need to do something. I'd found that if I wanted to walk across the yard to the shed, the pain made it not worth the trip.

  That fall, 2012, Joanne and I had done our usual meal deliveries to each election district, and a woman at one of the sites was displaying how well her new knees worked. She said  she had been in a wheelchair prior to her knee replacements; now she actually skipped around the room. She owed it all to her surgeon, Dr. Conguista.

  I decided to call him to see if he could help me. His decision was that I needed total knee replacements, that I was not too old, or too heavy, and he said he would "straighten my leg."  That was more than I had hoped. I scheduled the surgery right away, saying I didn't need to think it over. That May, after my work year was over, I had a TKR on my right leg. And later the same on the left. My legs have been straight and pain-free ever since. (I was clearing out old papers and forms and found these pictures. What a mess.)    Pics are After and Before.

 

   

A Phalanx of Snowmen

 

Clouds---Both Sides Now

   David was Facetiming and Theo, as always seemed to be the case, was nearby. David asked if he wanted to say anything to Nana, and Theo took the iPad and ran upstairs and into the bedroom where I had spent the nights when we had stayed in Holliston. 

   A week or so earlier, Theo had told me he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up, and that one of their bedrooms has pictures of the planets, which he named, (mentioning but excluding  Pluto from the planet category.) It was then I told him my memory of the clouds painted on the ceiling of the room where I'd slept. 

    He remembered what was my memory, and showed me the pictures of the clouds on the ceiling, all 9 of them.  

I keep having to look things up.

 First it was Hot Cocoa Bombs. Now it's Microagressions.  I'm so behind the times.

We're trying. We're trying...

 

Kevin

  We started our careers as High School English Teachers at HVC in the early 60's so we had lots of conversations, disagreements, and discussions. This is but one, minor, but it sticks in my memory:

    The setting is the Faculty Room, and he is discoursing on students' inability to learn a simple thing about word usage---when to use "affect" and when to use "effect."   

 "All  they need to remember," he said, "is that affect is always a verb and effect is a noun."  I ventured to say that was incorrect, usually true, but not always, that each word can be both noun or verb.

  Disagreeing, he went to the ultimate source in those times, to the copy of Webster's Dictionary which was on the shelf of the Faculty Room, and served as the authority on all such disputes.

   He opened the dictionary, searched through it silently, while those who were party to the issue sat silently, awaiting the results. After a short time, he closed the book, placed it back on the shelf, and uttered a single word, GODDAMIT. He then went back to his seat. Nothing more was said.

 He may have lost the argument, but he won the dramatic flair.

Horoscope and Poem

 Dorothy believed  in astrology, or told herself so, and she faithfully followed her horoscope. Granted, she read the more detailed findings that dealt with placement of planets, cusps and such. I did not believe in horoscopes, in the past or at present.  But I read the horoscope, Capricorn, every single day now, as a way to remember her. And  I'm directed to mine also, trying to pretend she's contacting me  in some way. Anyway, my latest reading said I should write a poem. So here it is:

      (I'm unable to single space, so will write my "poem" in paragraph form for now.)            LONG AGO

At the house on the hill, I see my father getting out of  his ride-share car, being dropped off from work.

          Besides his black metal lunchbox with the silver clasp, he is holding something else in his other hand. It is a little make-believe house. In the time when toys of any sort were a rarity, I didn't know it was actually a doll house, having no concept of that. Someone at work had given it to him, and it was now mine; my sister was too little, still a baby.

     The house was wood, with a front that opened and exposed the entire interior. There were no figures or items of any kind, but the walls were papered with scenes appropriate for each room. The house had two stories. The upstairs had bedrooms, with flowered wallpaper and pictures of the bedroom furniture. The bathroom was upstairs too, and on the walls were pictures of all that a bathroom should hold. The downstairs had the kitchen, with pictures of stove and icebox, kitchen table, etc., and the living room had a full suite of living room furniture--couch, chairs, and some lamps, blue, I think. 

      There were no doll figures, or even actual toy furniture, and I played with that little house on a regular basis.  I was very young and I used my imagination to picture myself in that house, visiting all its rooms, the rooms with pictures and  vases of flowers all depicted on the papered walls. I didn't know what else there was to do.

                                            NOW

     I'm sitting this night in my living room, in a chair against the inner wall. The lights are off, except the Christmas Tree is lighted. It is an artificial  tree, and it seems to blend in against the front window, as if a framed picture. The chair is beside it, unoccupied.  A bookcase is along an adjoining wall, containing books, or maybe pictures of books. A couch is against the wall, as if a prop.  And a cabinet is in the corner of the room, its glass front displaying curios and small pictures seen only by me, the viewer from outside. The living room presents as a tableau, with no figures to be moved around. All I can do is try to insert myself into the setting.

        

       

Honesty is a shaky policy.

  Thought about hiring this company, but

I couldn't be sure:

Lordy, Another Dream

     I was home, doing nothing, when the girls showed up. Previously, we had discussed that our next get-together could be at my house, once I got it cleaned. But no, I wasn't expecting them. And I had no food in the house. We had talked about getting pizza from  Marpe's, because several people had claimed it was the best around, though not one of us has ever tried it. So pizza at my house, and I thought I would make a broccoli salad. But that was months ago, and months away, if ever to happen. 

  But they came into my house, 3 of my former classmates. I remembered the pizza proposition, so told them I would go get it. I started asking their choice of toppings, but then several more cars pulled into my driveway and other class members came into the house, just about all the girls in my senior class.   Off to get pizza, I said: I was sure my car would be blocked in by their vehicles, but no, someone, Marilyn probably, had moved it to the very edge of the driveway.

 I stopped first at SnS,  but they had no broccoli, so I decided to go to the store near the pizza place. It was quite  a country-chic shop, where the shelves  looked a lot like those in Bill Ryan's meat market. Unfortunately, they had no broccoli either, but the very friendly manager who was  also the owner said to look at the other greens in his store. He had only a limited amount , and they were placed in decorative fashion on the shelves, in glass vases---lettuce, kale, arugula---the most lush and healthy looking salad makings  I had ever seen. He was very proud of them and as he showed them to me, he told me had named them.  That was the end of the dream.

    As each night is now broken into .two portions, I went back to bed and to sleep. I dreamed again, a complicated dream about my being in church with no pants on. Enough said.

Long Ago Friend

    Looking for other information, I happened upon the name of an old friend, from our time as employees  of the New York Telephone Company in Troy. A click brought me to her Facebook page. I knew she and her husband had retired to Florida, and sure enough, that's where her posts are from. 

   It's hard to say, looking back, when relationships come to an end. It's much easier to recount the beginnings. We first met when we were in the Telephone Company's training program, a very serious and prolonged program at the time. Not just anyone was fit to work there; you had to be trained for that job. 

  Jo Ann and I  were both in our 20's at the time, single and unattached, and we gradually developed a friendship over time, which included many adventures, work related and then past our time as employees, of events both humorous and later tragic.  So long ago, and in the past, but as in other happenings in youth, time had an endless quality. 

   The Telephone Company was a supporter of community events; they would buy a number of tickets for shows and events and offer them to the employees. Since we were both unattached at the time, we would accept the tickets. Once we went to the RPI Field house for an appearance of Ray Charles; our seats were behind a pole. Another time, we were offered tickets to a Dog  Show, but when we got there, it was a Cat Show. The cats, being cats, were all in their containers. You couldn't see them without peering in,  so we left early. Probably the most memorable event was a swimming competition at the Crooked Lake Hotel. We were not interested in the swimming, but it included dinner, so we went. It was the longest afternoon of our lives. Glass enclosed, the pool area was sunny and uncomfortably hot, the smell of chlorine saturated the air, and one after another, we sat and watched what seemed like hundreds of youngsters dive into the pool, and get their scores. Kind of deadly, but we waited for dinner.  We entered the large dining room. There were many people seated at a number of tables. It was quite a formal affair with  reserved seating, including a very large table for the Telephone Company, probably about 20 or so place settings. Jo Ann and I were the only ones at our  table, apart from any others, and we enjoyed the respect and attentiveness of a number of waiters assigned to our table. We were treated like big shots and felt like fish out of water.

  Such a short time and the years flew by, through marriages, child births and yes, the tragic death of one of her young children, as well as other achievements and misfortunes. As I mentioned, you are aware of beginnings, but oblivious of  endings. So I can't recall our last telephone call, our last exchange of Christmas cards or baby announcements and child updates.   I thought of contacting her on her facebook site, but decided against it. What good would it do.

It's a Shoo-In. Right?

 All 9 performers are very good, but we know who's going to be the winner, don't we.  (Last letter of first name is "n."

Pearl Harbor Day

   I was only 3 years old, but I remember this; it was different behavior. We were living in the house "on the hill," now Brundige Road. I remember there being a large barn out in the back.  It had steps  in front of it, probably only a few, but I was little so the steps figure prominently in my memory. Tommy and Agnes were at our house, probably with their kids, but they're not in this slice of memory. It seems the men had gone into "town" wherever that may have been, possibly just to Tomhannock. Remember we had no electricity in that house, so if they had heard the news about Pearl Harbor, they may have driven out to find out more information. They returned.  My most vivid memory is of my father and Tommy sitting on the entry of the barn and singing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" while banging on the floor of the barn with a hammer. I knew this was unusual behavior, even at my age. 

 I seem to remember that they drove to town again, to find out more recent developments I would now assume. And I think they bought beer. That was, what, 79 years ago.

  

Certainly Montaigne

 "I can hardly blame anyone but myself for my mistakes and misfortunes. For, indeed, I seldom consult the advice of others, unless as a polite gesture, except when I stand in need of scientific information or knowledge of the facts."

Reality Or Not

      Sometimes when  searching for something to fill the empty space in my mind, and I am done with the recalling of past memories, I slip into the imagined or dreamlike state which  I can almost convince myself is real.

   Dorothy did not like to be alone so for several years she would spend the weekends at our house.  She almost always brought the fixings for a special Sunday dinner, including the recipe, all the ingredients and even her favorite  mixing bowl. She liked to cook and we enjoyed the meals she prepared. But I remember most the evenings when Dave had gone to bed and we would watch TV. Rather she would watch her  crime-solving show while I worked on the New York Times Sunday Crossword. Oddly enough, she who never cried for herself during the horrors of her too-late diagnosis and painful medical treatments would tear up every time they played the theme of the particular show she watched. I can't recall the name of the show, CSI something, probably, but the music leading into it had a most  eerie quality.

   Broaching the sometimes fine line between the real and the dreamlike, I can recall some of  the conversations we did have and I can imagine what we would talk about now, if that could be. Tonight, one of the news shows featured a volunteer who was helping with some organization to provide Christmas cheer to children. He was a nice ordinary-appearing man, and was speaking on camera, while on his head was a pair of antlers. The thought passed through my (empty) mind that he did bear a resemblance to a reindeer, with  a mild, rather long face. And as he spoke, he nodded his head toward the camera, in kind of a horsy, or reindeer, fashion. Dorothy would have found this humorous to be sure, and we would have engaged in those back and forth silly comments. I can almost hear her laughing.  Almost.

He sprang into action:

   Dave was sitting at the kitchen table, with coffee and the newspaper. I heard what sounded like shouting out front, so I opened the door to see a man lying under the rear wheel of a large metal-framed hay wagon, attached to a tractor. He was yelling for help. The rig was pulled off to the shoulder of the road, and seemed to be teetering. I ran to the phone and dialed 911 at the same time telling Dave there was a guy trapped under the wheel of his hay wagon.

     I called 911 and relayed the address and the problem. The person there asked how old the man was. I didn't know. He asked what the crossroads were. I  couldn't say. Dave, passing by, took the phone from my hand and shouted in his loudest voice, which was really loud, GET SOMEBODY OUT HERE, and hung up. He raced outside, opened the trunk of his car, took out the jack, and jacked the tire up so the guy could free his leg. The responders showed up shortly.

Uh-oh

 Trying to pull a dog's tail while walking down an alleyway?!

Spectrum Begone

    One more home repair completed. The volume on the TV would drop out and I would have to turn the TV off and then on to retrieve it. Before calling for professional assistance, I checked the connections. I will say that the worst decision ever had been to locate the television set in a heavy oak cabinet. Trying to find the connections was a nightmare. I guess that setup made since years ago when there was a single  cord that plugged into the wall. But now with the tv isolated on an open stand, there are 5 different cables connecting the tv set to the cable box, in different colors for those who would discern such things. 

  When I touched a certain cable, the volume would lessen or disappear. The connection was firmly attached, but seemed to be slightly loose. The new cable, HDM1 arrived today, shipped from Monoprice. It was a simple matter to remove the old and attach the new. Both ends appear exactly the same, so I guess I couldn't have installed it backward. 

    

Who made khakis a thing again?

 Steve Kornacki          I hear that's true.

Now I understand. (I think.)

     I wondered how some of the new quiz shows could get away with being so obviously staged and phony, given the strict regulations imposed by the FCC after the Mark Van Doren debacle. That is until a well-known authority reported that shows featuring celebrities are exempt from those rulings. Believe it or not.

Birthday Cake Make-up Date

 

The Mind of America

    According to those in the advertising market, not of the highest intelligence. I admit I don't watch commercials deliberately, so I often miss the beginning. But take this commercial: A young woman presents her apparently significant other with some apparently small gift; "One for me and one for you,"  she says. I acknowledge I don't know what these gifts are. He reciprocates by leading her outside where a pair of brand-spanking-new trucks are parked in the driveway. "One for you and one for me," he tells her. Without any question as to how the vehicles showed up there, what they cost, why they would want 2 of exactly the same model, she runs to the darker colored truck, exclaiming "I love it."  No thank-you even. When the poor doofus tries to explain that the vehicle she is embracing was the one intended for him, she repeats her claim, "I love it."  He than concedes that "I like red."  

    I don't care what happens in that simulated interaction, but can't help but wonder what the creators of the ad were thinking when they came up with this idea. Who are they marketing to?  In what setting would one partner go out and buy 2 brand new trucks without consulting the other, as to make, model, need, budget, personal preference, not to mention who the heck surreptitiously delivered them. Are the advertisers directing their appeal to  millionaires, very young ones at that.

  Many Americans are presently not engaging in large purchases and it would not be smart of them to do so. Maybe the target  audience are those who watch fake and staged shows like The Masked Singer, I Can Hear Your Voice, The Bachelorette, Wrestling, Survivor, Jerry Springer----wait, there are a lot of those folks out there.

Maple Stump

 All that's left:   I rather like the stumps being there because it serves as a barrier. Off road traffic has hit that tree and others several times over the years. I can always put flower pots on the stumps for a classy look.

Bemis Heights 1844