Nearly 35 years ago, a college professor, who hailed from Australia, told me if it weren't for the awkwardness of my writing, I would've got a higher score on my paper. She forgave me for some of my usage and grammar because, according to her, "English is your second language." For once, I kept my mouth closed rather than enlighten her on how wrong she was. English is the only language I can read, write, speak, and understand fluently. Proficiently, too, except for the lapses in awkward writing and the proper use of grammar, word choice, and cliches. I'm especially good at forgetting articles (the, a, an, and so on) and getting prepositions mixed up, which, I think is because the Ilocano language has no articles and, as far as I can tell, one preposition. As I was growing up the parents mostly spoke Ilocano to me while I spoke English to them. I still do that with the Mama, and the Husband finds it very strange. It's really not unusual with immigrant

This is Molly the Kitty Cat. For short, we call her Molly the Cat. Prrrrrrrrrr. I've told many a tale about our sweet Missy Molly by Golly. If you'd like to read one, please click here . Have a great weekend! Prrrrrrrrr. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.  

Because I was born 10 days after the cut-off date for first graders, I was sent home on the third day of school. Fine. The Mama had her hands full caring for Baby Sister and figuring out the new house that we had moved into about a week before school started. That meant I got to go with the Daddy for part of the day. Great! The Daddy irrigated the rows upon rows of crops on the valley floor. During  his morning break, the Daddy came home to fetch me. I'd get in the car with my Golden Books, coloring books, and crayons and down the hill we would go. While the Daddy worked, I entertained myself with my books and when that became tiring, I'd wander and explore, but never too far from the car and always where the Daddy could see me. We'd go home for lunch and sometimes I'd get to go back with the Daddy. A ditch stood between the fields and the car. It also separated me from the Daddy. Without help, I could not get over the ditch, especially when it was filled with w

Itty-bitty bananas are growing in our backyard. It's quite amazing. Don't let that photo fool you. I took it close up. They are truly very small bananas. Bananas have grown before, but normally they sprout at the end of summer, then before you know it, the weather is cool, and so much for the fruit. This year though, ooh la la, we may be eating bananas from our trees. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow.  

The Husband and I stood in line at the big-box home improvement store. As we waited our turn, I watched the busy movement around us. All the lines were long, a given for a Saturday,  I suppose. Men and women pushed their carts forward in line, all heaped with lumber, sacks of soil, cans of paint, plumbing fixtures, and other large and bulky items for their DIY projects.  Finally, it was our turn. The Husband placed his items on the counter—a tiny light bulb and two drawer knobs. The transaction was quick. As the cashier handed a tiny bag to the Husband, he said, "Enjoy your project." The Husband still cracks up when he recalls that moment. I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here . See you tomorrow. 

It started happening last year. Well, I noticed it last year. A wonderful phenomenon that sometimes happens at intersections where there are no traffic lights or stop signs. The Husband and I stand at a corner, waiting to safely cross the street. We are in no hurry, usually. So, if there are several cars about to parade in front of us, no big deal. But, then, unexpectedly, a driver stops for us. We walk as quickly as we can across the street, waving our thanks to the driver.  The first few times this occurred, I was amazed that there were still kind drivers in the world. One day it occurred twice—drivers stopping their car to let us go by. The first time was in a parking lot, the second at a street intersection. As Yul Brynner in The King and I sang, "But is a puzzlement." Then it dawned on me. The drivers who stopped saw two old people standing on a corner. Perhaps we looked forlorn or lost. Ha! I doubt it. Our normal stance is silly. They probably felt sorry for us

Free! That's how I feel when I pedal my clunky bright pink bicycle. Being short, I've got a lot of power in my stubby legs, so says the tall Husband, who sometimes huffs and puffs after me. "That's okay," I tell him. "I can't keep up with you when we walk. Since December 31, 2013, I've pedaled nearly 320 miles on my pretty cruiser.  I'm rather proud about that. Several days a week, I take off before breakfast and pedal up and down and through the flat and hilly neighborhoods or trace a perimeter around town. Because I'm alone, I generally follow the streets and roads. Now and then I forge quickly across a field or ford the dry riverbed. The Mama is almost used to me going out on my own early in the morning. Just when I think it's not a big deal for her that I'm out roaming alone, she'll say something like, "Do you go far away?" "What takes you so long?" or "Aren't you afraid to ride by yourse