Yesterday we moved son #2 back to college.  I think the adventure can best be described with pictures.  Besides, if I just tell you about it, you won’t believe it.

This is my son’s girlfriend. She is a very patient person. I took her with me to some consignment shops to look for son #2 some furniture. His kitchen is very, very small and when I found this table and chairs I was so excited. I love bargains and this was a bargain. It was solid wood, good and sturdy. Just the right size and a good price. So I made a picture of the table (and the patient girlfriend) and showed it to my son. He said he wanted to keep the girlfriend but was definitely not interested in the table. I should have known if I liked it, he wouldn’t. Our tastes are slightly different.

This is my hubby and daughter helping transport a picture that my son bought to go over his bed. Would you want thirty or so Buddha’s looking over you while you slept? Not me. Did I tell you our tastes are different?

This is my hubby squished in between my daughter, boxes and other stuff we were hauling. This definitely was not the safest way to transport people or furniture. Thank goodness we made it and thank goodness Bill was able to get the kinks out of his back!

Now here’s the part that’s hard to believe. By the end of the day we were exhausted and thinking food. We went to a restaurant and while we were waiting a guy pulled up on a motorcycle. Here’s the strange part, he went inside and left his two dogs on the motorcycle.

They are not tied or attached to the cyle in any way. They just sat there while the guy went inside to eat! Now look at them more closely. Not only do they have sunglasses on, they also have beards.

I wonder if their names are Harley and Davidson?

Anyway, yesterday was a very, very good day, but by night time this was one tired nana!

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At the very moment I am writing this my seventeen year old twins are carrying Roxy, the German Shepherd, through the house. One boy has her front paws and the other her back ones. I’m not sure why they are transporting her like she’s Queen Cleopatra going for a cruise down the Nile, but they are and she loves them so much she lets them.

Roxy is just one of our six dogs. That’s right. This nana has five kids, one grandchild and six dogs. That’s one for every kid and grandchild if they were all home at the same time, which they usually aren’t. How did I end up with so many critters? It’s a long story but I’ll condense it as best I can.

This is Murphy, who is slightly neurotic, sometimes temperamental and definitely my problem child, er dog.

One day I happened to be at the veterinarian’s office (I’ve probably financed his last five vacations) and a woman was holding the cutest little Cocker Spaniel puppy. Instead of scratching it behind the ears and moving on I made the mistake of asking them where they got the puppy. They told me and then said, “And there’s only one left. It’s there all alone and really needs a good home.” The “all alone” part got me and Murphy has been with us for seven years.

This one is Sam. He came from the animal shelter and he has the sweetest disposition of any animal I’ve ever known. We have no idea what kind of dog he is and truthfully, neither us nor Sam cares.

Oreo’s owner moved to an apartment in town and needed someone to take him. He’s a country dog and you know what they say about them, you can take the dog out of the country but not the country out of the dog. He’s the oldest of our animals. I’m not sure exactly how old he is (he won’t tell me) but his chin whiskers are turning white and when the dogs chase the boys on their four wheeler Oreo is like me after I go to the exercise place up town. He comes back to the house with his tongue hanging out, panting, out of breath and wondering just why he left his shade tree in the first place.

This is Lefty. He’s a Brittany Spaniel and he and his girlfriend, Sugar (who refused to have her picture made because she was having a bad hair day) are the newest additions to the Kindred canine crew. My son brought them home because he said he wanted hunting dogs. All they’ve hunted so far is the garbage can in the garage and my great-aunts fur cap that they chewed into itty bitty pieces.

I know that some folks think I’m crazy for having so many animals but there were lots of people that thought I was crazy for having five kids too, and that turned out okay. Fact of the matter is, it really isn’t anyone’s business how many kids or dogs I have as long as I take care of them and so far we’ve managed just fine. If you don’t believe me just ask Roxy but wait until she gets back from her adventures with the twins. She’s a tad busy at the moment being queen of the Kindred canine crew.

Queen Roxy at rest in the garage.

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My grandmother was raised on a farm and she could grow anything.  Her gardens were full of vegetables and her porches were always filled with pots full of petunias and begonias. My mother was born and raised on a farm too. She loved to work out in the yard on her flowers or to grub (that’s what she called it) in her garden. She said it was her therapy and she could grow anything.

I was not born on a farm and I kill plants.

There, I’ve admitted it. I should feel better now, but I don’t. In fact I’m feeling exceptionally guilty because I’ve really committed the ultimate gardening sin; I’ve killed a Bonsai tree.

My college age son (yes, the same one who said  was a good NanaHood idea because us old folks needed something to do) gave me a Bonsai tree for Mother’s Day, a 27 year old Bonsai tree.  Now keep in mind that he knows my reputation with growing things. I walk through nurseries and plants wilt at the sight of me. So giving me a live plant is about as smart as giving someone on a diet a box of Krispy Kreme donuts and asking them to hold them for you. I managed to keep it alive for a few weeks but then I got busy and well….

This is what a Bonsai tree is supposed to look like.

And this is what my Bonsai tree looks like.

I can’t bear to throw the thing away. After all, it lived for 27 years and it was such a sweet gift. Maybe I should bury it in the backyard and hold a memorial service for it. We could sing Bye Bye Bonsai to the tune of Bye Bye Birdie. I could make a tombstone for it that says, “This Bonsai lived 27 good years before having the misfortune of being given to Teresa Kindred.”

Next year I suspect I will get pajamas or socks, or some other non-living item.  Oh well, not every nana is perfect; especially not this one.

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