October 5, 2021 - Tuesday morning
50 degrees/clear skies/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I'm fearful leaf season is about over. That being said, there are still a few small pleasures that can be enjoyed as the winter season approaches. 

Hiking early yesterday morning, I found myself happily kicking through the growing layers of fallen leaves, much like I did as a child. 

In grandbaby news, Josh sent Wyatt and Cody's school pictures. Wyatt's in eighth grade this year, Cody in fifth.

Other than my insatiable love of life, the most prominent feature I passed along to my sons and grandchildren are the extra holes in their cheeks, dimples. Mom wasn't sure from whom I inherited mine as no other family members before me had them. That being said, I was more than happy to share my dimple DNA with future Pennington generations.

As a small child, dimples were the bane of my life. My primary teachers loved to stick a thumb in one, a finger in the other, and gently squeeze. I heard such phrases as, "That's where the angels kissed you," or "I know that's where you hide your jelly beans." 

It never failed. After, I was pulled into a hug and smothered in their grandmotherly bosoms to the point of suffocating. I remember closing my eyes tightly and holding my breath so as not to endure the perfume that each must have bathed in earlier in the day. It was a curse I pretended to live with during the formative years of my life.

I hated my dimples, or at least I wanted others to think I did.

Move the clock ahead sixty five years:

In my senior years, the dimples have grown deeper and seem to be the place where many of the wrinkles on my face meet. Just as all roads lead to Rome, so do all the wrinkles on Tom's face lead to the holes in his cheeks. 

At this stage in my life, I don't care. Besides, I remember well what Mrs. McDonald, my first grade teacher, told me. 

"Tommy P, you're a lucky lucky boy. That's where the angels kissed you."

Honestly, I loved Mrs. McDonald and the truth be known, I didn't mind her suffocating hugs at all. She made me feel loved, warm, and safe. 

Maybe having a couple of extra holes in my face wasn't so bad after all.

In more current news, Alaska Curt shared a picture of the nice buck he recently harvested. It's archery season in the UP and Curt was able to take advantage of it while the "gettin' is good." Once firearms season opens, it's a toss up what will run in front of a deer blind.

Progress was made in the garden house yesterday. I lucked out when I found the original pattern from when I made the windows with the round tops. One window is finished and the other should be completed today as well as the rest of the wall covering.

Alaska Curt dropped by for a visit yesterday and we spent much of the afternoon reliving Alaska days (one of my favorite subjects), telling stories, but mostly laughing and reminiscing of days gone by. 

Later in the afternoon, Kelly and Dean, our neighbors a mile away, stopped to see Curt the Pumpkin. 

We laughed and talked, talked and laughed, then we talked and laughed some more. Curt and Kelly have an ongoing pseudo cooking contest where one leaves the other a morsel of food or treat in the other's mailbox. Kelly's renowned for her cooking and quite honestly, Curt's no slouch. It was fun to hear those two tease each other.

Sargie soon joined us and the conversation grew. We learned neighborhood news and caught each other up on life.

 

 

The shadows were growing long when we bade our neighbors goodbye. Sending them home with bags of vegetables, we watched as they drove away. Curt was heading back to his deer blind, Dean and Kelly have to work today.

Why neighbors don't get together more often is beyond me. Caught up in this craziness of the 21st century, everyone, including us, seems to be too busy and when we're not, we tend to go inside, close the blinds, and hibernate.

It's time to remedy that situation. Life's too short.

I'm going to try to finish the walls of the garden house today. Fall is upon us and despite this recent bout of warm weather, history tells me it won't last long. I'm hoping to get the garden cleaned out in the next ten days or so, Curt the Pumpkin needs to be moved out to alongside the road, and the lawn furniture stored away for the year.

Enough writing for one day. It's time to go for my morning stroll and kick a few leaves, a simple pleasure that costs nothing other than a bit of effort.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...