What are the odds.

From Crazy as a Loom

I loved how this cardinal totally ignored the squirrel. I watched them for a while, and the bird only looked at him when he had his back turned and was going up the tree. But every time the squirrel headed out towards him, the cardinal looked away.
Kind of like he was saying, " I can't seeeeeeeeeeeeeee you."

Today was rain, rain, rain. So now, instead of having 18" of fresh snow, which is what we had yesterday, now we have water, mud, and snow. Quite the mess.
I love the rain though.
Always have, even as a child.
Something about it is restful and soothing to me. I love the sun, but rainy days have their place in my heart. Call me crazy.
Oh, go ahead.
It won't be the first time I've been called crazy.
I was answering questions over at Chronicles of a Country Girl (that Kate is always asking them), and one of them was 'what is on your key chain'?

Well, lots of stuff, good grief, my keys are a disaster. But the one important thing is a small silver jack knife that used to be my fathers. There is a story attached to it.
My father was a hoarder. Really. Bad. No kidding. After he died in 2005, it fell to me and my husband to clean out his house. A perk of being the only child.
It was pretty disturbing. We filled 13 dumpsters with junk......each of them with a 30 yard capacity.
It was amazing to me, that with so much stuff, there was really not much that I wanted. I looked, trying to find something to take home of my father. But after the dumpsters, the guy we hired to renovate the house took truckloads home with him. None of it appealed to me.
I ended up with a Monitor heater, that is still working. And two floor to ceiling shelving units that would be perfect for cones of thread. To get the shelves out of the house, we had to empty them, tip them on their sides, and drag them through several rooms down narrow paths of junk. We loaded them into my husband's truck, lying on their sides. We drove them over an hour to Kingsbury, backed up to the front door, and dragged them, still sideways, into the studio.
A couple of days later, I got up on a stepladder, to clean them before we painted them. As I was washing the top shelf, my hand ran across something. I closed my fingers around it, and brought it out. When I opened my hand, there was this little silver jack knife. I couldn't believe that it had made the trip, knowing the machinations we had put the shelves through. I shook my head,
and slipped it in my pocket, and continued cleaning. And again, my fingers felt something small and flat. I pulled it down, to see the key to my father's safe, the same key that he had always been so careful not to lose.
For a split second, I thought I heard him chuckle.
It was a soft sound, like rain.