A Plant

My sister and brother-in-law, Tony, moved into a huge old house on Granite Street in Butte, Montana, something over twenty years ago.  They started remodeling the big old place, room by room, the year they arrived.  Even though my sister passed earlier this year, Tony has decided to continue the room by room progression.

Tony came to visit me yesterday afternoon.  We sat at the island counter in my kitchen, chatting about the remodel.  He is presently renovating a couple rooms he only rarely visited in the house.  In our conversation, he told me about a recent exchange he had with the remodeling wizard he uses on all his projects.  Following is the opening conversation they had on the first day of remodeling for one of the rooms:

Remodeling Wizard: “I didn’t know you had a plant in that room.”

Tony: “I have a plant?”

Remodeling Wizard: “You had a plant.”

—Mitchell Hegman    

Tony has a video blog (vlog).  He is presently sharing his adventures in remodeling his old house.  Here is the link to his latest vlog post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYjkvaKKZw8&t=269s  

State Abbreviations

I friend shared this video of Facebook yesterday.  I found it hilarious.  Hopefully you will also enjoy.

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLECCmKnrys

20 Pounds of Cat and 1 Foot of Blanket

Though I never gave this any thought until yesterday, every house has a softest spot.  I mean soft in the literal sense.  Maybe the spot is the pillow on a certain bed or the cushion on a certain chair. 

Wherever that spot is, a cat is sure to find it.  Yesterday, without thought, I made a new softest spot in my house.  I did this by folding up a throw blanket and placing the 1 foot thick result on my sofa.

Within an hour, my cat found the new softest spot.

Posted here are a couple photographs of my cat being melted by the soft spot.

—Mitchell Hegman

Button

Several years ago, I randomly met a woman from the United Kingdom.  We small-talked for a few minutes and then parted ways.  Walking away from this chance meeting, I found myself enamored with—of all things—the woman’s accent.

“Man,” I thought to myself, “If I could, I would marry her accent.”

I seriously had not considered the rest of her, but I totally fell for her accent.

Something similar occurred yesterday.  At midday, I called a technical support line for an educational portal.  I needed help in managing dashboard settings associated with some continuing education courses I offer.  While sorting through an issue I had encountered, the woman talking with me informed me I need to locate a “save button” to the right of a settings box we were working on.

But she didn’t say “button.”

She said “butt-Ton.”

Like an extra, super-powerful “t” had been assigned to the end of the word.

She said “butt-Ton” several more times as we sorted out my issues.

After we finished talking, I dropped off the phone and sat there thinking how much I liked the way she said butt-Ton.

Just gorgeous.

If it were possible, I would marry the way that woman said butt-Ton.

—Mitchell Hegman

Molly and Me

Posted today is a selfie I captured with Molly.

Molly is a chickadee.

As a point of fact, Molly might be a boy bird, but I can’t really bring myself to call a chickadee by a boy’s name.  That, and I really have no idea about the sex of my local chickadees.  I don’t know a boy from a girl.  I read somewhere that males have a larger black bib in their coloring.  Not particularly helpful.   

Molly and I are pretty good friends.  She and a half-dozen other chickadees are regulars at my birdfeeder.  Of all the birds, Molly is by far the friendliest.  Maybe the hungriest.  She flutters around me—practically pushing me aside—whenever I pour more seeds into the feeder.

Molly will readily perch on my fingers and take seeds from my palm.

As you can see from the photograph, she is not camera shy.

—Mitchell Hegman

High Maintenance

I can’t help it.  I’m from Montana.  When I hear the term “high maintenance woman,” I don’t think about a bejeweled woman strutting around in stiletto heels.  My image is of a woman who fixes a leaky kitchen sink faucet or attaches the snowplow to a four-wheeler and clears the drive after a blizzard.   

—Mitchell Hegman

Lana’s Song

Lana made wings from fallen willow leaves

and tied back her long graying hair.

She intended to either fly or perish trying.

And she jumped from a sea cliff,

thinking she might be a bird when the moist air lifted her.

But then she began to fall though.

She would have fallen into waves  

flexing against stones below

had not the clouds turned into galloping horses.

Had the horses not swept in and caught her by the wings.

Had the horses not carried her into the sky.

The sky quieter than she ever dreamed possible.

—Mitchell Hegman