Neighbor Shawn and I sat on my porch one evening to watch the sun set behind the mountains. When the rays of the sun were no longer shining on us, it became chilly quickly. That may have been what prompted her comment that it was about time to take plants in for the winter. I knew I had been getting cool at night and finally switched the system from cooling to heating. If I felt it, I’m sure my plants were even more aware of it. Poor plants. All these years here I didn’t take them inside until temperatures were almost freezing. It just shows what a novice I am.

Still, I was in no special hurry. A day or so later I thought I’d at least trim the plants. That didn’t take long, so I began to move them to their winter quarters in the living room. It was as big a job as I remembered and promptly took a break half way through. It’s awkward to hold a big pot in front of yourself and navigate around furniture. I slept well that night and presume the plants did, too.

In daylight I took a photo, probably to congratulate myself on doing something I would rather have put off. I’m writing this in the same room with the plants, gladly exchanging my carbon dioxide for their oxygen. Thank you, plants.

I hadn’t seen neighbor Logan for ages, but he bopped across the road to visit with me for a few minutes. I was so pleased to see him and talk to him that I never thought of taking his photo. He is 16 years old now, looking and sounding very mature. His favorite sport, basketball, will begin in a month or so. I asked if he still had a ball in his hands much of the time, and he smiled and said yes.

I remembered that Logan always ran everywhere he went. Did he still do that?

He laughed and said, “Yes, I ran over here just now.”

Most teenagers have a phone handy, and his rang. I asked, “Do you need to get that?”

He did need to answer. He was being picked up, and the car had just pulled up in front of his house. He gave me a quick hug and was off like a shot. Wow! What a whirlwind! It was marvelous to see him up close. His smile was as engaging as it always was.

When grandson David was with me, his mother Kate was chatting with us on the phone. We had already covered family news. They brought up puzzles and together began to do the day’s Connections. I was looking at it, too. We all noticed some last names, and I knew two who had the same first name. That turned out to be the key to one of the sets of four.

I don’t remember how it started, but I named the composer Beethoven, and one of them gave his first name – Ludwig. I was very pleased that they also gave some last names, some of which made me search my brain. We played our impromptu game for quite a while. David would search on line if we couldn’t get a name immediately, but we usually came up with it before his phone did. I was very impressed that they knew so many musical names. Yes, they were surrounded by music from birth, but that didn’t mean any of it would stick. Kudos to you, Kate and David!

It occurred to me that any group could play a game like that. Husband John would have been very good at names of politicians. He would also win over almost anyone if the category was historical figures. Some of you might be able to supply first names for designers of clothing. Leave me out of that one! You could make a game from almost any category if you knew your group’s interests – anything from architects to writers.

The red warning light came on in Kate’s car as she drove home from work. We’ve been taught not to ignore such a dire warning, so the next day she drove to the dealer in the next town. From there, she called the store to let them know she was taking the day off. She doesn’t have family or friends who could have picked her up.

Oh! My! They went into a tizzy! Kate is in charge of shopping the orders that are sent through the internet. There was one worker who could do the shopping and would be there until 1:00, but after that they had no one. The assistant store manager picked her up, and someone should get her back to her car before the shop closes.

The diagnosis for the car was a clogged gas filter and a heat shield that needed to be replaced. Presumably it will be finished today.

Meanwhile, I was alarmed that my car brakes squealed the last time I drove it. I called the service station at the bottom of the hill. The woman said the repairman had just come back, so I should bring the car down for him to look at it. She said to ask for Thomas (not his real name). I parked in front of the service bay and stood there a minute, trying to figure out who to ask. A young man changing a tire said he had gone around the corner. I stood there for several minutes, wondering if Thomas had gone “around the bend”, not the corner. A young woman that I had mistakenly pegged as a stranded motorist, asked was I looking for Thomas. She came back and said he would be with me when he finished something, about five minutes.

Thomas came rushing around the corner and said he’d take the car for a spin, because he could probably tell what was wrong with it by the sounds. He backed up, and the car did its squeal. He pulled forward next to a gas pump, where it protested again. He jumped out, looked at the rear tire, and told me the pads needed to be replaced. I had a choice of going to buy the pads myself at an auto parts store or waiting until next week. He expected that, looked at a calendar, and announced I should bring it in on Tuesday at 9:00 am. Yes, sir! I’ll be there!

As I walked down the hill, almost home from my walk, I saw neighbor Bob walk around his truck. He had asked to park it in my driveway for a few days while they had things going on across the street. This was fine with me, since I need only half the drive, anyway. I was amused at our short chat.

I asked, “Are you visiting your truck?”

He got in the spirit of the conversation and replied,, “Yeah. Kinda missed it.”

He had come over to take the truck home and found the battery dead. He would be back to jump start it. Before he took a step, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, wondering aloud who wanted him.

“Did they hang up?” I asked.

He replied, “They just let it ring once. Guess they didn’t want to talk to me.”

I said, “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Right!” he agreed and headed home.

That’s the kind of chat we have around here, but most of the time I don’t remember the words long enough to write them.

Two or three years ago, neighbor Shawn gave me Morning Glory seeds. I scattered them only once, and they’ve come back bigger and better every year. Each morning while daughter Kate was here, we counted the blooms. I think there were 28 one morning. I thought one tendril was reaching out to a mystery weed/tree nearby. I left that plant growing, wanting to see what its blooms were like. Well, now it is being strangled and smothered by the morning glory vine. I’m okay with that, since the buds never blossomed. In my opinion, it didn’t deserve to live.

While scattering coffee grounds in skunk holes in the garden, I went closer to the vine. It had reached out, grabbed the weed/tree, and pulled it close to the house. It was no longer standing on its own. [The images below turned themselves sideways. I redid them for an hour, but they refused to show the way they were taken. I am disgusted and have given up for the day.]

I moved to one side to get a different angle, and the entanglement can be seen clearly. This change took place in three days!

I’m now having second thoughts about the wickedness of the wisteria plant on the pergola. It often waved tendrils toward the house, which I took as an aggressive action. It looks quite tame now, after Kate and David trimmed it last week. I’m thinking the morning glory vine is the real killer, and much closer to my living space. I’m sure I’m safe this year, but I shall be on guard next spring when new plants spring up. If they are bigger and stronger and faster than these, I could be in real danger.