COLD BEAUTY

Cold beauty stands tall
Pink light shines through bony limbs 

Icy darkness reigns

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”

DELIGHTFULLY ABNORMAL

A delightfully abnormal person called me Delightfully Abnormal tonight.  I have never been referred to as “delightfully abnormal” and as ambiguous as the appellation seems, I understand immediately and am, at the same time, slightly chagrined and tickled pink. 

What had I expected?  Abnormally delightful people seem to attract quite the number of abnormally delightful people.  We’re magnets, drawing other delightfully abnormal people into our sphere, one-by-one.  Some come reluctantly, unsure why they are there, yet unable to resist, as others have tried before them.  Others, more willingly, ‘cause they’re more in tune with the delightfully abnormal side of themselves. 

Our whole group is delightfully abnormal.  What was I doing with this delightfully abnormal person who has the chutzpah to describe me as such?  We’re hanging in our usual Monday ‘off’-night coffee shop, catching up, sharing, somewhat caring.  The little shop echoes with laughter and camaraderie, as sleet bounces off the two outside glass walls, with almost inaudible clicks.  Condensation starts little runlets from the fog coating the window inside, and it slowly starts slithering down the glass.

Adelheid, Addie for short, is the perpetrator of the Delightfully Abnormal moniker.  Addie is short, 5” even or so I think.  Her streaked blondish hair glints with purple, blue and an unlikely red hue in the harsh florescent coffee shop lighting.  Funky earrings, 3 in the left and 4 in the right ear, dangle and dance with the energetic nods and nays of her wildly coiffed head.  Her passions are all things horses and writing and I’m never sure which reigns supreme with her.  I think it’s a matter of whichever is closer at hand.  And so, since her horses are boarded at her Mennonite parent’s farm in the greater Tavistock area, writing gets the nod more often than not.  The world is a better place for that since I have had the pleasure of either reading or listening to Addie’s stories and believe her to be immensely talented.  She’s definitely diverse and always entertaining.  Her almost brutally honest writing about her life hits home because I can identify with her stories. It comforts me to know that there are others like me (delightfully abnormal) out there.   

Even the place where Addie did her growing up years is fascinating, although there really isn’t much to it, especially today, where, alas and alack,  the municipality has given up putting up a place name on the highway, which jets you past Punkeydoodle’s Corner.  People keep stealing the hamlet’s sign out by the busy roadway as fast as the county put one up, so the powers-that-are stopped erecting one.  Now  Punkeydoodle’s Corner has faded into historical obscurity, except in the memories of those who grew up there and have since moved away for busy city lives and for the few that still call the place home.

According to a notorious free online encyclopaedia, Punkeydoodle’s Corner may have been named for the cheery innkeeper who would sing Yankee Doodle so badly,  tavern guests thought he was saying Punkeydoodle’s, or so the legend grew.  Most likely, though, it sprang from a less-than-flattering description of the local pumpkin farmer, a lazy old sot, as characterized by his not-so-loving wife.  The geography of the area has changed somewhat over the years but way back when, in the late 1800s, the tavern was situated at the junction of four Corners, and a hamlet was born with this unique name and with it, somewhat later in its existence, my Delightfully Abnormal friend.

When Addie first told me the name of the place she sprang from, I really thought she was yanking my chain and made it a point to look it up online when I got home.  I came across a terrific image of the place name, posted on busy Highway 6, and knew that Addie was not pulling my leg. Punkeydoodle’s Corner it proudly proclaimed, in glistening white letters, knocked out of a vibrant blue background..  Now, a couple (okay maybe 3 or 4 years later)  I can’t find one anywhere.  I’ve put out a plea to various web sites and my friend, Addie.  I would really like to have that image for this story.

According to local legend, THE most prominent moment in Punkydoodle’s Corner history was Canada Day in 1982.  Joe Clark, Ontario’s illustrious, albeit shortest-tenured Premier (I think), was there in the hamlet for the festivities. It was such a momentous occasion that a post office was opened for 6 hours out of one day to issue commemorative stamps and a decorative pillar, with the place name, was unveiled in his honour.  I have to wonder how this whole PR opportunity came about?  Oh and so far as I know, the pillar has yet to be stolen.

While the spelling and punctuation vary in common usage, the version recognized by both Statistics Canada and the Canadian Geographical Names Data Base is "Punkeydoodles Corners".

Sigh…I seem to have veered slightly off course again, as the focus of this story is not the unusual name of this curve in the road, but Addie and how an unusual place grew my unusual friend.

Driven from life in the Town Down Under, back to her birth place by the harsh economic realities of hubby being self-employed in the music recording field, which, while lucrative, needs more clients than are available, Addie faces the changes head on and with equanimity and courage.  Reading about her day-to-day life, and occasional death of beloved barn cats, her cherished horses and passing on the passion of the equine world by becoming certified to teach the complexities of how to stay on the horse’s back, I am always entertained and awed by the never-ending tales of this Delightfully Abnormal friend.

And, now that a few years have been tucked up under the belt, not only am I tickled pink that this Delightfully Abnormal person has drawn me into the fold, I am honoured.

2014

2014

                                                        

                                               Sun shiny new year

                                     Wishes for prosperity

                                     Happiness and health

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”

JUST ANOTHER DAY

Ghosts of Christmas past

Leave no footprints in the snow

Just another day

© 2013 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycover

DEAD ... AGAIN

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”  Hmm, ponders Isabella, who said that? as she stares fixedly at the local news rag.  The obits were plentiful today and longer than usual, especially the one about her.  It must be a slow news week. 

Thoughtfully, Izzie pops another piece of the warm, buttery croissant into her waiting mouth and slowly chews, savoring the rich taste.  Puddles, the dog, sits quietly beside her, waiting for her bit.  Izzie absentmindedly tears off a piece and pauses, reading on. Puddles gently nuzzles the morsel from Izzie’s hand. As it starts to fall, she manages to catch it in her mouth with a quick mid-air snap.  Her eyes roll up in quiet, doggy ecstasy.

‘Isabella (Izzie) Korman (nee Piccolo), in her 72nd year, After a courageous battle with cancer, passed away peacefully surrounded by her husband and children on Saturday, March 13, 2010 at Southlake Health and Wellness CentreeWeW .  Izzie, cherished wife of Harvey Korman Sr.  Devoted mother of 5.  Sons Harvey Korman Jr., (Harriett), Herman Korman (Hermione) and Harry Korman. Daughters, Rachel Kraftsman (Ralph) and Rebecca Karly (Richard).’   

By the time I reach this point in the obit, I know that there has to be another Izzie Korman in my town and ‘though I have lived here pretty much all my life, how come I’ve never bumped into her or even heard of her?  I know my town is small (about 40,000) but it’s not that small.  Obsessed now, I wonder, “How could that be?  She was even the same age as me.  We should have crossed paths at the senior’s centre.  Everybody over 60 went there.  Maybe she wasn’t a joiner?” 

Not understanding what is driving her, a strange compulsion makes Izzie finish reading the obit, which had so caught her eye –

‘Adoring and proud grandmother of Roberto, Rachel, Reuben, Rick, Kimberley, Kacie, Katilynn, Kailee and Kassandra.’

“Whew”, thinks Izzie, counting out loud, ‘9 grandchildren.”  They must have kept her happy…And broke.”  On she reads, unable to stop. 

‘Fondly remembered by her brothers and sister and their families:  Peter Piccolo, Pearl Pantalone, Paul Piccolo, Percy Piccolo, Parker Piccolo and Phillip Piccolo.  Predeceased by her parents, Raphaela and Kobe.  Isabella’s loving memory will live on forever in the hearts of the Piccolo and Korman families and her many, many close friends.   Isabella will be remembered for her major contributions to the life and work of The Meeting Place Prayer Circle and to the community of Aurora.  The family wishes to thank all those who have reached out to us over the last few months and offered love and support.  Friends may call at the Thomas Funeral Home, 530 Go Home Lane North (northeast corner of Go Home Lane and Yonge Street) Aurora, 905-772-2154 from 2-4 and 6-8 p.m. Thursday, March 18, 2010.  Funeral Service in The Meeting Place Prayer Circle (32 Church Street) on Friday afternoon March 19, 2010 at 1:00 p.m.  Internment Queen City Cemetery.  In memory of Izzie, donations to The Meeting Place Prayer Circle, in lieu of flowers, would be appreciated by the family.

Sighing heavily, Izzie leans back and as she slumps down, plopped her head on the cushy sofa back.  Three cats, sleeping cozily entwined into one big fur ball in the bay window, grumble at the intrusion of Izzie’s head coming ‘that close’ to them. They stretch out, languidly, hooking gnarly claws gently into Izzie’s silvery nimbus.  “Be still”, say they.  “We’re trying to nap.”  Izzie sits quietly, contemplating her navel. The catchy 70s (or was it the 60s?) phrase pops into her head as she stares down at her stomach, and she laughs softly at the silly expression which was so popular with the hippies, ‘back in the day’.

Closing her eyes, Izzie thinks back to the heyday of the second half of the last millennium and a small smile curls up the wrinkled edges of her generous mouth. Snippets of the more memorable moments run across her memory like a movie…  

There's a light over at the Frankenstein place (the Rocky Horror Picture Show)

They're creepy and they're kooky. Mysterious and spooky. They're all together ooky.  The Addams Family.

Elvis the Pelvis

45s and 8 track tapes

Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is

 














Sock it to me baby, say Goodnight Dick

Oh, so many funny and now melancholy memories.  The ‘movie’ hip hops like the energizer bunny, sometimes going into slo-mo mode…

Women's lib

Never trust anybody over 30

Drive-in restaurants and waitresses whizzing from car to car in their lace-up roller skates, trays balanced perfectly on stiffly tented fingers

A lil’ dab’ll do ya

Love means never having to say you’re sorry

I love you more today than yesterday and less than tomorrow

Bright pink Double Bubble bubblegum, 2 for a penny and the teeny tiny comic

Black balls

Chocolate cigarettes which you could actually make ‘smoke’ with

Peacenik, beatnik

Flower power

Car 54 where are you?

As the show plays on, Izzie settles deeper into the pillowy softness of the sofa, the newspaper clutched in her left hand.  Gentle wuffles come from her partly open mouth and Puddles lays her head on Izzie’s well-padded thighs, sighing with contentment.

Backward the movie spins into the 50s…

I Love Lucy

Here’s looking at you, kid

Gunsmoke

Phyllis Diller and Fang

 















Girdles

Studebaker's (the car not the bar)

Queen Elizabeth

 Baby Boomers

As the 50s slowly fade into grey and the 40s start playing, Izzie settles even more deeply into the sofa and maybe something a little more than just sleep.  Her breathing slows until it’s barely discernible.  Her right hand gives just a little twitch and her right foot moves in sync. Puddles lifts her head and stares quizzically at her mistress and best friend, sensing something amiss.  She nuzzles Izzie’s hand, the one that twitched.  It doesn’t twitch again.  It doesn’t do anything.  Puddles lifts her head to the heavens and howls and howls.  With a sudden start, Izzie’s eyes pops open and she exclaims, “Oh, Puddles, thank goodness you were here to wake me up.  “I think I was almost Dead” and then her eyes light on her doppelganger’s obit… Again!” 

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”

ONE YEAR LATER

A year ago today, September 19, 2012, a young spirit died and left this world a better place for having lived in it. 

Her name was Eileen Mabee.  She was only 35 years old.

I've often mused about what made Eileen so special.  Her buck-toothed grin stood out in my mind.  It sure was the first thing that I noticed about her as she strode forward to greet me and meet me for the very first time, three years ago at Scottsdale Farm in Georgetown.  The next thought was about the funky hat she was wearing.  One of the many in her rather limited wardrobe.  The other aspects of her rather atrocious attire were but a fleeting observation, as it was abundantly clear that Eileen didn’t fuss about what covered her outside and the dogs didn’t care.   Never a truer statement was made about the wardrobe making the man and Eileen’s made her. 

I came to realize that Eileen was truly a self-made woman and absolutely totally unaware of how she came to be.  She just was.  She was a bottomless well of giving and dog treats.  Never mind how the rent would get paid, and the aging vehicle kept running.  Dog treats were the order of the day and she always seemed to have an endless supply in the back of the well-used sky blue van, which, in the end, was the vehicle of her demise.

That first time I met her at Scottsdale, was my second hike with the Muttley Crew group.  It was a rather chilly, gloomy, late February Sunday morning.  As I drove there to meet Eileen and what turned out to be the only other member there, Alexia, with her two children and of course, pooch, Daisy, who fast developed a huge doggie-style crush on Sofie. Poor Sofie.  Every time she stopped, even for the briefest of moments, Daisy was right behind her, literally with her nose up Sofie’s butt.  It’s just a dog thing.  I had to smile when I witnessed Daisy’s obsession and remembered a story line from a TV show called Allie McBeal.  The show was about a law firm and how Allie (Calista Flockhart in real life) bent over and sniffed her friend’s butt.  She knew immediately that he, (now a lawyer), was her soul mate.  They were around 6 or7 years old at the time and the childhood crush endured well into their adulthood.  She must have had the nose of a hound.  Anyhoo off track again…

It turned out to be a good day for a trek in the forest, albeit treacherous.  The path we were on was well-worn and the deep ruts crusted with camouflaged ice, which became luge chutes for the unwary.  I had first-hand experience of riding a chute while attempting to climb up a rather steep part of the trail, when my feet lost the traction challenge.  Down I went, face first,  with a bone-cracking thump.  Very ungracefully I shot down the arduous ten feet or so I had managed to scale with the help of exposed tree roots and spindly brush.  Nothing was broken but my right elbow took the brunt of my memorable fall and still aches today on damp winter days. 

 Eileen would have walked all day but saw that the whoomph had been knocked out of me and asked if we wanted to start back.  Alexis’ kids had been flagging a bit and between that and the now-battered and bruised me, we did turn around and start making our way back to our starting point.  It was just as hard a slog back, as it had been getting there but the warmth of friendship and camaraderie made it all worth-while.

Eileen was at all the subsequent hikes that Sofie and I attended and she made a special effort to ensure that we were always able to go, even if we had been wait-listed.  As the owner and organizer of Muttley Crew she had pull and used it when it suited her.  I’m glad.  Sofie and I had some never-to-be-forgotten hikes and another winter one sticks in my memory.  I spent most of that one at the back of the pack, keeping company with Eileen’s mom, Diane.  I think we were the two most ‘mature’ members of the group on that hike.  Getting to know Diane that day and on a few other hikes, made me realize that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and I figured out where Eileen got her strong sense of family from and love of dogs and treasured friendships and ….

                          

                                  

                                       Forever remembered.   

LIVE AND LET LIVE

Hmmm kinda reminds me of a movie I once saw.  Some hunky actor if I remember correctly….

Every day when I get up, I say thank you.  I just love going out into the living area and see the sunshine pouring in and feel so blessed that I found such a wonderful house to live in, and in such a beautiful neighbourhood, here in South Park.

I know that as much as I have yanked some chain about living here in Sandycove, the New Wild West, it is a great place to live and play and just be yourself.   My opinion, after a year’s worth of residence and experiences here in what is probably Ontario’s premier Adult Lifestyle Community, is that it is worth the drive to Innisfil, from whence you’ve come. There seems to be a lot of former residents from York Region here in SP (South Park), especially the more northern parts of it, including the Town Down Below.  It’s kinda like old home week but you’re just meeting for the first time.

I really didn’t have any pre-conceived ideas about what it would be like to live in a “retirement” community, so in I moved one beautiful sunshiny June day and discovered a whole brand new world.  After the first few months I had met pretty much everyone on my quiet street and nearly everyone is quite pleasant.  I think that most people, as they mature, relax about a lot of things that they used to get their knickers in a knot about in their younger days, you know, way back when they had the energy to get those bloomers blowing in the breeze about the slightest injustice, real or perceived. 

Lazing back in my comfy lounge chair, on my shady porch, I think back to the ‘olden’ days, and remember first becoming aware of protests, especially one in which a young man, a student, was killed at Berkeley University in the U.S.  His death torched never-to-be-forgotten riots, which lead to more deaths, injuries and general mayhem.  I wonder if Reagan was happy with the way he decided to deal with the situation.  I was 15.  Even at that young age, the death of someone pretty close to my age, for no good reason, had a huge impact on me.  I believe that those riots stirred the social activist in me and even to this day I am ready to fight for the underdog, the weak, the poor, the uneducated and the naïve ones, upon whom the greedy prey.  BUT and it is a BIG but, do not mistake my kindness and caring for weakness. 

The reasons for these historic passive protests are interesting and as varied as the generations which spawned them.  Segregation, free speech, the war in Vietnam, which provoked a unique protest by John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the Bed-in and most recently, down in the Big Smoke, in 2011, Occupy Toronto.                                        

 

Oh, and how the reasons seem to have gone from the glory of freedom of speech, ending unnecessary wars and abolishing segregation to the self-indulgence of avarice and differences of opinion.  I speak of Occupy Toronto (one of the cities protestors targeted), for the former.  The sole purpose of this sit-in?  Some don’t-have-anythings decided to speak up against the inequality of the have-it-alls, having it all.  Yep, staging a sit-in really is a way to make a difference in your economic situation.  I wonder how many of the protestors had jobs?  Oh, and had jobs which paid them while they were sitting-in?  Other than the ‘professional’ agitators, I mean.

The latter, which first started out as peaceable sit-ins and have since denigrated into never-ending riots, is the situation in Egypt.  Apparently, grievances are focused on legal and political issues, and interestingly enough, involves free speech and free elections.  Mostly though, from what I've read, hark back to that old stand-by, money - economic issues.  Most recently the riots seem to be centered about the ousted President, Hosni Mubarak - some people like that and some people don't.  Okay, let us riot some more.  We don't have jobs anyway, so riot it is.

I say live and let live.  Get along with your neighbours.  Stay out of their business and, hopefully, they’ll stay out of yours.  We, none of us, are perfect.  As I recall from my karate training days, perfection is a direction.  And, what does the bible say?  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”  I was not put here on this earth to judge and I do not expect to be judged, except by my Maker.  Again, to quote the good book, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”

There are many things I see here in South Park, SCA, which I could ‘judge’, should judging be part of my life’s job description, which it isn’t.  But they certainly are grist for the writer’s mill.  Most of the time, though, I forgo the grist in order to maintain civil relationships.  Some people just don’t seem to know when to keep their mouth’s shut though and mind their own business and I hear a lot from my neighbours and friends along my dog walking routes.

One of the most peculiar is the one I've heard from two or three residents, about an older woman who just sits on her porch, day after day, just rocking away, not goin' anywhere, in her rocking chair.  That, in itself, is not peculiar.  What is strange, according to Hoyle, is that she shouts nonsense at whoever happens to be around, then cackles hysterically, eerily reminiscent of a famous movie character.
 

It just amazes me what some people want to expend their energy on – especially at an age when most Sandycovers seem to just want to let it all hang out and use their time wisely - contemplating their navels or napping.  

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercoversandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”

CONUNDRUM

If a rolling stone gathers no moss, how in the heck does my ceiling fan, which is always moving, gather dust?

THE SEA

                                       Great business world

                                  New Entrepreneur unleashed

                                      Watch out, here I come

The Paws that Refreshes

I feel like I’ve been going into withdrawal since I have not yet mastered the art of functioning 24 hours a day, without a modicum of sleep, even if that modicum is chock full of work dreams.  Hence, no creative writing or blog for far too long for me.

Writing?  More writing than I know what to do with but I have to confess not the kind of writing I enjoy sharing with all of you.  Business writing, doncha know.  Dry as dirt financial data, projections.  The stuff nightmares are made of, especially for the mathematically challenged. 

I feel like someone turned on the tap for my ‘business brain’ and now it’s flooded.

Running here, running there, I’m learning the Greater Barrie area far quicker and better than I ever thought possible.  I don’t think I even need to use my GPS so much anymore but I do bring it with me and program it, just so I can hear Jill say, “turn left in 1 miles”, or my favourite, “in 300 feet make a U-turn”.  She keeps me company.

I’m so far behind in watching ‘my shows’, I’m not even sure that the Survivors have reached the island yet.   

Don’t touch the espresso-whatever-possessed-me-coloured furniture or the speckled brown kitchen transaction counter top.  If I can’t see fingerpaw smudges in the dust, I won’t feel compelled to clean.

Pinky (Tuscadero), the baby, feels so neglected ‘cause I’m not taking sofa siestas much anymore and she misses the knee curl. So much so, that she jumps up on my naked thighs when I’m using the throne and then digs in her freshly honed (on the back of the sofa, no less) needles, trying to keep her balance.  She really doesn’t understand the screech of agony I emit but startled, adds to the carnage by leaping off, her back claws digging in deep for better leverage, trying for the gold medal in long distance leaping.  It’s a good thing I love her.

 

Carpe Diem - seize the day…seize the moment, but bloody hell, don’t let the hood latch on your car seize.  Not only does it cost about $200.00 to fix but it costs an entire afternoon of homework time to get it fixed, ‘cause… the young man with the purple Mohawk, tats inked over every square inch of visible derma,  has just informed me that he drained all the oil out of my car (I was getting it changed), BEFORE he popped the hood latch.  Go figure but you won’t go far, ‘cause there’s not a drop of oil left in the car.

Meals?  You mean home-made, real meals?  Fuhgeddaboudit.  Add the good ole’ Lipton chicken noodle soup standby (ready in 5 minutes), to the sandwich you made for lunch but were too busy to eat and call it supper. 

One good thing about not having time to prepare proper meals, is, at least, that grocery shopping only has to be done when you’re totally out of convenience food (unless you have demanding family members staging a mutiny for better living conditions).  Of course, it would help to have the carefully crafted grocery list in your hand when you’re actually at the store but it’s still gracing the top right-hand corner of the fridge, affixed with the cheerful, yellow, smiley face magnet. 

 

Stopped in the middle of the ketchup aisle, I screw up my face in an effort to remember what in the hell I have on the damn list.  A concerned citizen stops to ask if I’m okay or should she have the “girl” call the paramedics.  I move on.

Oh and what about housework?  Make sure you have multiple sets of utensils and dinnerware.  And at least a double sink.  You can always buy one of those plastic sinks people buy when they go camping.  It’ll hold the overflow from the dishwasher until someone remembers to turn it on and the clean stuff will magically waft its way to its rightful place in the kitchen cupboards and drawers… I have some land in Florida you might want to check out…

Turn that accidental oops, dropping a recently replenished mega size plastic ‘glass’ of ice water on the ceramic tile, into the ideal opportunity to wash the kitchen floor, scrubbing especially hard in the places you recently started sticking to. 

All in all, it’s been three weeks of total intensity, with more weeks to go than I care to count.  One of the saving graces and probably the reason that I’m still slightly sane, is my daily walk with Sofie, The Wonder Dog, who waits for me with quiet anticipation.  I throw out the magic word “walkies” and start making my way toward the front door.  Then, as if drawn by a dark force, I sit down at my computer to finish ‘just one more sentence’.  Audibly sighing, or as I refer to it, giving me the dog version of a Jewish guilt trip, she lies down by the front door and patiently waits until my “one more sentence” is done. 

About twenty minutes later I’m instantly forgiven when I finally make it to the front door and open it.  Sofie leaps to her feet, feathery tail helicoptering at high velocity, then bounces down the walkway to the street, waiting for me to catch up.  I take a few deep breaths of the fresh spring evening and laugh at Sofie as she grins at me and woofs, “Hurry up!”  One of life’s simple pleasures to treasure and truly the paws which refreshes my weary sole. 

      

                                     *© 2013      Sofie, The Wonder Dog

  © 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”