RETIRED CHICAGO STAMPERS

A TREE GROWS IN MERRILLVILLE, IN

I am often tempted to call my husband, (Andybill) a "procrastinator." But it's not a common hillbilly word, and he probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Every year I get scared because he waits until way late into April before mailing our income tax return. But he has an explanation for everthing. If he pays it before April 15th, he'll lose all the interest on the money he took out of the bank to pay it early (at today's interest rates - about 25 cents).

There are magazines under his bed dated December 2001. Many of them are from "Best Buy" offering discounts on computer stuff. But he won't let me throw them away until he double checks the date.

A few years ago when our pear tree was a sapling, he got the idea to make an addition onto the shed, complete with a shingled roof to store our boat in. I quit going back behind the shed a long time ago, because I can't stand the sight of rusty tire rims, rotting boards, and old plastic paint covers half buried in the ground. But his idea about the shed extension quickly faded into the past.

Then this spring, something wonderful happened. He came home one day with material to start the project. He even had roofing boards and shingles so he could "do the job right."

But there was something terribly wrong. The little twigs bearly visible over the garage roof in the winter, had shot up and sprouted leaves. And that wasn't the worst part. The little twigs had become branches and towered above the spot where the roof was supposed to be.

I resisted the urge to shout, "I told you that pear tree was growing!" (I resisted the urge to say a lot of things).

I didn't bring up the ever-growing oil spill that made our driveway look like a pig sty. And I wouldn't dream of suggesting that he actually fix the oil leak in the van. I did complain a little when he piled dirt on top of the oil spill to soak it up. The mess keeps getting taller, and is starting to look like something built by an African dung beetle.

But it's hard to dampen Andybill's sprits. He's outside happily sawing through the boards to make a little hole for the tree trunk. I won't ask him to make it any bigger because, "wood costs money." I'm not even going to suggest that the hole will stay the same size, while the tree trunk increases in diameter.

For a moment I could almost hear the board crack... bringing down the roof... which crashes through the floor of the boat...

But that nightmare was short-lived. Andybill just came in with some startling news. The tree trunk is so big that the boat won't fit into the space anyway, and we're back to square one. But on the bright side... we've got the only pear tree in town with its own shed!

About 20 feet from the shore our dream turned into a nightmare. The engine conked out, and we had to do an impromptu version of Humphrey Bogart and Kate Hepburn in "African Queen." He pulled while I pushed.

We parked the boat behind the garage where it has waited through blizzards, droughts, tornados, and 30 Christmas seasons. It served her right - she was no good from the get-go.

I don't know about Andy, but I've finally forgiven her for shattering our dreams of rubbing elbows with the jet (ski) set. Maybe we're just not cut out for the high society of motorcycles, raggy cut-offs and beer in a can.

Good-bye, Bluebird. We'll miss 'ya.

CAT LOVE

"Raven" was beautiful, but a little cranky. When we took a vacation, he commandeered the backseat of the van, and the kids rode all the way to Florida scrunched up in one corner. Every time they tried to move over, he growled. It wasn't an easy 1500 miles.

One word... "fish". They don't harass the kids, come down with "wet tail", or fly away. $200 worth of equipment later, the fish were floating on the top of the water. When I saw the dead bodies, I shouted "ick", (inadvertently identifying the disease that killed them).

Five years ago I found a cat shivering in the rain, nearly starved to death. I carried him in, and stocked up on Tuna Buffet. Life is good with "Big Cat". He does all his business in the neighbor's peony garden, which isn't exactly a bad thing - they have the biggest blossoms on the block.

And then...

In July 2002 I found a kitten abandoned on a country road. I fed "Baby Kitty" with a bottle until she learned to drink milk standing in the middle of a pie tin. It took her awhile to figure out that she was supposed to stand outside the pie tin. She wakes me every morning, wide-eyed and eager to play chase-the-ball. She pesters Big Cat to wrestle, but he'd rather climb trees, and sit on the garage roof. His steadfastness soothes my spirit, and Baby Kitty's joyfulness brightens my days.