My nephew (never you mind how many greats) was huntin' deer down in my back field. He's after ol' brother tenpoint. Heeeheee! He got here early Sunday mornin while it was still dark and went down there and squated down waintin. The horse in the next pasture suddenly began stompin and snortin over near the fence. Al looked over and saw a dark shape slinkin along. Too little to be deer and too big to be Miss Kitty (my young kitten). A few minutes later he gets an itchy feeling down his neck and between his shoulders. Slowly he turns and looks back behind him. On a slight rise the first thing he sees is green eyes aglowin. And a dark shape that becomes clearer the longer he looks. It's not them coyotes that have taken to hangin around-- It's a large panther or Painter as my granny and mamma always called them.
Al waits maintaining eye contact and finally tells it to go on it's way and he'll go his. Eventually both of them painters went on down toward the crick.
Al waited til they left and started on back up toward the barn and spotted Ol brother tenpoint. Just as he raised that muzzle-loader up three strange dogs come a runnin and start harassing the deer. Al fired right in the ground between em. Those dogs went one way brother deer another and Al gave up for a while.
Him and his daddy have made me promise not to go out in the dark without my pistol. Not that Ol Auntie would anyway. Too many varmints around.

I remember the first time I saw an old friend in Paris. I was walking along the left bank. Luc Rene was the nephew of my Uncle Bud's French wife. Both he and his brother Jean Claude had spent many a summer in my little neck of the woods.
Ummm. What else can I say but the Captain and I spent a few hours just sitting on that one spot. Remembering and crying. It's hard being old. All those you loved when you were young are gone.
Au Revoir for now my dears.

The Captain and I next popped into Notre Dame Cathedral.
I remember well the first time I saw that beautiful stained glass. I also remember thinking we (the resistence) had to save it. That was where I met that young rogue Jean Pierre. His Uncle was the priest there and Jean Pierre was impersonating the church sexton after bombing a bridge with several german tanks on it.
There was a cerain german general who persistently wanted to meet the redhead named "La Belle Americain". And La Belle DID NOT want ot meet him. I had ducked into the Cathedral just before his troops could find me and Father Michael had hid me in the confessional.

More later

After many a smile and a few tears over my visit to Le Moulin Rouge the Captain and I zipped (I can call it little else ) over to what once was my rooms in the section of Paris called Montmartre. Le Bateau-Lavoir. The studio apartment where, years before I was living there, an artist named Picasso had finished a famous cubist manifesto.
The best part of traveling with the Captain is the fact Aunties poor old back was not strained climbing the streets to revisit her former home.
I found a lovely picture of it on the web at http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0FGZ5XEnea6KWhYSIWHpsg

In all the excitement I forgot my own camera although the places are firmly embedded in my memory.

Just a quick note, my dears. I'm revisiting the places of my youth. I'm currently reliving my time with past in the Moulin Rouge. Ah, those were the days when Josie (Baker) and I were performing and working with the resistence. I miss her. More later.