Marsha Henry Goff is a freelance writer in Lawrence.
“Have you seen our little squirrel?” asked Ray, brow furrowed with concern. In a summer of surprises, his question was one of the biggest. My husband contends he hates that squirrel for its thievery of the birds’ sunflower seeds and because he recently observed it eating the leaves of hibiscus plants on our deck.
Ah, February, the month of freezing temperatures, gray days, heavy snowfalls … and LOVE.
Dear Santa, I want to report some naughty children who stole our reflective green and white driveway sign. You might remember that I bought it for husband Ray several Christmases ago...
Have you ever thought you were Ivory soap (99.44 percent) sure of a fact, only to decide that you were 100 percent WRONG? And, then, have you discovered that you were only wrong because you THOUGHT you were wrong, but you were really RIGHT all along? It happened to me recently.
By Marsha Henry Goff On a recent lazy Sunday afternoon, I was idly leafing through one of husband Ray's stack of garden supply catalogs when I noticed a bat house for sale. Why, I ask you, would anyone want to ATTRACT bats by providing them shelter?
By Marsha Henry Goff Anyone who has ever received a parking ticket when the meter ran out while they were doing charitable work knows that no good deed goes unpunished. When I expressed that view to the meter maid who was writing my ticket, she continued writing and self-righteously replied that "a good deed should be its own reward."
By Marsha Henry Goff You don't see many knights in shining armor anymore. Perhaps that's because damsels in distress are in such short supply. However, on a recent occasion when three damsels of my acquaintance were being publicly and unfairly attacked verbally, nary a brave knight rode to their rescue.
By Marsha Henry Goff They're BAAAACK! I've known for some time that raccoons have been making nocturnal visits to our bird feeders (it's impossible to ignore the nightly gifts they leave for me to surreptitiously sweep off the deck), but I didn't want to tell husband Ray who has been threatening to shoot them when they returned.
By Marsha Henry Goff With apologies to Yogi Berra, it was deja vu all over again. I stopped at a self-service station to fuel my car and encountered yet another type of interactive computerized gasoline pump. Doesn't anyone set standards for these things?
Bait on plate kills appetite
By Marsha Henry Goff "What is THAT?" I asked the waitress at a Cajun restaurant as she sat a plate in front of me that contained blackened salmon, a baked potato and a humongous red insect.