Stella my Stella

Stella my Stella. She snuggles next to me every night now. (notice her right front paw on my leg? Silly girl. She looks at me and sighs.

This is her whelping box. I am going to put something over the top like a ‘roof’ to help keep heat in and give her a bit of privacy.

Knowing Louie he’ll be like “Whatcha doin’? Can I come in too? Hey, who are these other kids?? Can I play with them? Please? Please? Skooch over Stell, I want in too!!”

LOUIE!! Get outta there!!

“But why Mom? I want to be by my Stella! I loves her! She’s my playmate! Ow, Stell. Don’t bite. I’m just trying to sit on your head and bite your ears! Let’s go chase that green thing with the squeaker tail Mom got us. C’mon Stell! Let’s go!”


“Oh all right. I’ll just pout on your lap Mom.”

LOUIE! I’m busy right now.

“You always did loves Stella best.”

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Yes, that is my dash.

I have 63 miles on since my last fill-up. I’m averaging 25.3 mpg which isn’t bad considering it’s 1*F!!! I must have been coasting since it saying 41.0mpg…That fluctuation goes to 99.9mpg when I let up on the gas going downhill.


Spending my time getting Stella stuff ready. A week from Friday she is due.

Chubby Momma getting as much rest as she can. She looks so sad. We just cuddle and I stroke her to keep her calm. I think/I HOPE she will be a good Mom. She is a beautiful dog.

I just pray everything goes right.

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Boo’s Memories

Lia started a series of Memories. Her memories growing up. I LOVED reading it. And it made me think. I should write down what I can remember about G’ma Lola. The love of my grand parental life. She was beyond special to me. And I have tried all my grand parental life to be like her. I hope I have succeeded.

So here I go, trying to capture some of the memories of my G’ma.

I always did everything I could so I could spend every possible moment with my G’ma. Yes, even all my chores. G’pa and G’ma used to live in this tiny little mobile home in the back corner of our lawn. I would sneak down every chance I got. I remember the door opening, G’pa sitting on the couch and he’d shake my hand. And start coughing. Almost uncontrollably. G’ma would give him a glass of water and it would calm his cough. He died when I was 3 1/2yrs old so for me to remember him? is amazing to me.

Raking the lawn was less fun with my parents, but a joy with my G’ma. We would make piles, jump in them, and rake them all up again. My parents didn’t like that but as long as the job got doneā€¦. G’ma and I did all the weeding in the garden. Pusley was her nemesis. We chased that stuff like it was the plague. Well it was. To G’ma. “Just remember!” she’d tell me, “ONE little piece of leaf and that will start a new plant!”

We played in the vegetable gardens, flower beds, and wild berry patches, we raked, and gardened and planted, we hung out together and talked a lot; and I miss it so. She and I went to G’pa’s grave every spring to put petunias behind his headstone. Every year we would dig out that nasty crabgrass and plant the ‘tunias. The end of July when Portland Sunday came around, G’pa’s grave was bursting with color.

The week before Portland, I would JUMP at the chance to go with G’ma and clean the old church and outhouse with her. ANYTHING to spend time with her.

She died in 1991 3 weeks after her 96th birthday.

I have had a dream about her twice since she died. Both times I awakened crying, unable to breathe, gasping for air.

I miss her beyond words.

Can you tell?

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