With so much news about bullying - and a very serious subject it is - we've had our own threats to deal with. It began with a single buzzing insect - at first we thought it was our resident bumblebee. He comes through on the deck every afternoon about five-thirty, checks us out and then goes on his way. However, this was different. This large, loud bee was hovering in our faces and was not going away. We'd swat, he (she? it?) was faster. And it wasn't just a random act. A tag-team started, every few seconds another would arrive hovering, threatening to land on body parts and generally making our lives a misery.

Every day, they'd come; we'd jump around, swat, dance, wave our arms. No reprieve. These guys were fast! They bullied us for weeks. Then, luck was with us - we actually knocked one to the ground. And there it died. This harassing swarm turned out to be Bumble Flower Beetles and it must have been their locust year. Just as fast as they had arrived, they were gone. We could once again reclaim our deck, letting our single bumblebee do his thing.

Bullies come from all walks of life.

P.S. Our bumblebee, which had been with us for several years, has passed. Found him belly up on the driveway. We'll wait for another to take his place and hope he's as sociable.

Leaving city life and regular jobs behind some years ago meant a return to freelancing and seven-day workweeks. But, in amongst all that fun, it was time to revisit a few dreams. The main one being writing full-length fiction. At the age of 21, I wrote my first manuscript - it will likely never see the light of day again. But almost fourteen years ago, the keyboard pounding began again, this time with a couple of action/thrillers followed by a humor novel. Well, there they sat waiting to be grabbed up by a big agent and then a publisher. Obviously that didn't exactly work and, really, all for the best!

All that has changed for those who have the guts. And, in Texas, guts are a necessity. Not to mention if you're freelancing, guts and other body parts are called into action. With heavy re-edits, multiple go-rounds and a couple of terrific beta readers, the first in line is now up at Amazon and available for other formats from Smashwords.

So, be looking for more from this little corner of East Texas. The first in a long line has arrived.

Debuting: Jackson's Neighborhood.

Some weeks ago, browsing the local paper’s real estate ads (just for fun, mind you), I ran across a most interesting appendage for a larger home.

porta’ cache

I was reasonably sure this wasn’t a new definition for a high-end outhouse or porta-potty, so to speak.

Anyone want to take a stab at that one? Luckily, a picture accompanied the ad that made interpretation most helpful. It showed the home’s entry with an open roof with supports extending over the drive. Oh, get it?

porte-cochere

Thanks, Century 21 Real Estate lady for the latest in architectural details.

First it was a young bobcat tracking across the yard three weeks ago. Next, longhorns on the loose slowed an early morning trip into town two weeks ago. Then, an e-mail sent among the homeowners: feral hogs had invaded our little lake community.

These are not pretty pigs nor are they by any means sweet. They root around at night, can attack small animals, and charge humans. Come to find out, Texas is home to 50 percent of the entire nation's population of feral porkers. Of course, with a wide stand of woods and a complete state park across the highway, sightings shouldn't be a surprise. Still, it was just one more thing to worry about on early morning dog walks.

The sighting was a call to arms. Men of the neighborhood were setting out mounds of corn, latching trail cameras to trees, and carrying on nightly vigils. A call to arms, so to speak. Sure didn't want to be wandering around after dark or we were likely to be in someone's sights - and the wrong end of a shotgun.

As the fun continues, we get rally cries by e-mail of the first - and largest - boar killing. Don't know how many are left, but we hope PETA doesn't find us out until our porker pack is gone.

Sometimes, nature throws a little entertainment our way. When you live "out," it doesn't take much, as they say. In the good old city days, we never traipsed around the house looking for living oddities. Goodness no, we had zoos for that. Nor did we have show times that involved vultures fighting over dead turtles or deceased cats. (Yes, revolting, but that's life in the country, really). Goodbye, theater; hello reality.

While our IO moth had to be turned upside down to get the full impact of its silly face, in real life, this is excellent protection from predators. The "eye spots" make it appear larger and other critters generally leave it alone, if they're in doubt. This species also sports spines that cause intense irritation to human skin. The colors are stunning, aren't they? I won't bother to give it the dignity of turning it around. This is way too much fun.

One of our local Mexican markets is just off the town square. Here, we get cheap, cheap dried peppers and you can even find piloncillo (brown sugar) straight from Mexico (if you dare).

In the early days of our visits, we pretty much had to know what we wanted - and what it looked like. Otherwise, we were lost in a sea of Spanish that our limited vocabulary could not handle. We'd hold up a dollar, or two, or three and point. The staff would smile (smirk?) and scoop items into plastic bags, take our money, and we'd be on our way.

On our most recent trip in search of guajillo peppers, we got lucky - the little market has gone upscale. Now, there are crudely printed cardboard signs in front of each box or basket. No more guesswork and a very exciting progression for us gringos. Of course, we stick out like sore thumbs and we still get the same smiles.

Amazing how the sight of snow turns the world into black and white photos. After spending years in Boston, some winter time in Scotland, and then in the ice storm capital of Tulsa, we've been glad to get away from it - to return to a Texas base where you just don't see much of the white stuff. We're more likely to get the aftermath of a hurricane. But when the first six inches arrived mid-February, it was a beautiful sight. Big old wet flakes came down for nearly two days while the roads stayed reasonably clear (always a plus).

Now, the first day of spring has brought us yet another round. This one is pretty as it comes down, but it won't be sticking around. We can laugh over past memories - a now-unused snow shovel, a snowplow that ran me off the road, cutting donuts at Edinburgh Castle before a private social gathering with the new Finance Minister of Scotland.

Even better, we won't be looking at big ugly dirty piles of the stuff as the melting begins. No huge icicles breaking tree limbs and no injury to our own life or limbs if we step outdoors. Yes, indeedy, it's a great way to greet the first day of spring!

After a couple of earlier incidents that involved blood (fish hook) and more blood + stitches (baguette slicing), the aftermath of treatment depleted our medical supplies. I had put together a small first aid kit during the house-building phase and it had some heavy duty gauze pads and a host of other emergency goodies. None of those, as it turned out, were of much use when a rather large hand-operated machine caused some pretty serious burns across a couple of forearms. Nonetheless, I've always been one to be prepared. Solarcaine in the kitchen is a lifesaver, by the way - especially if you're a klutz around hot items.

As we took inventory, we realized the need for quite a few bandaging items. They don't come cheap, either, so my husband started looking around. The local Fred's store won our business with a bounty of off-brand band-aids, gauze wraps, tape, and more. It was exciting - sort of like a January white sale for the accident-prone. Fred's is one of those places that is kind of a jumble of things, but you find a few gems and can't resist checking them out once in a while. Thanks, Fred's, for being a jewel in the middle of nowhere.

My husband loaded up a small carry basket with boxes; large, small, in-between sizes plus multiple rolls. At checkout, the young female clerk stared down at nothing but piles of emergency supplies. She paused a moment, before touching anything, then looked up.

"Are you planning something?"

Yeah, as if.

No matter where we are, Thanksgiving is a very Big Deal. Each year, we name the bird and give it such a fanfare. Friends and family start calling and e-mailing a few days before, eager to hear what our bird's name will be. One year, we switched to Cornish Hens (Gertrude and Heathcliffe) and that didn't go over well at all. Back to our regularly scheduled official turkey. Past favorites have included Valerie Bird-inelli, Engel-bird Humperdinck, Vince Lombirdi and so on. Some years we strive to sound a little sophisticated with names such as Johannes Gutenbird and Alexis de Turk-ville. Yes, indeedy.

Not that we eat much of it on the Big Day, it's just there to look pretty. We save it for later and concentrate on all the side dishes. This year, we got lucky down at the local (where we're held captive because there's no place else within miles) Wal-Mart. They had a special on turkeys at 40 cents a pound. After digging through the bin and straining back muscles tossing aside the bigger birds, we found it - our 10 pounder - our "Four Buck Bird." Perfect.

In honor of the past, here's our 2009 turkey. His carcass has already been reduced to stock and his white parts are in the freezer.

In fond memory of:

Duesen-bird

Even though we moved to a lake in the middle-of-nowhere, we didn't technically become a vacation destination right away. It took some time to "develop a following" so to speak. In fact, the turning point might have been purchasing a pontoon-style fishing barge complete with port-a-potty compartment and sink. Not to mention the fact that it could hold up to 13 people (yet to be determined). We were warned about that.

While you can't get here easily by air and certainly need good directions by vehicle, the past couple of years have picked up as far as relatives, friends, and combinations thereof go. In our big city life, we were always ready to throw a party at the drop of a hat. In fact, all we needed was enough notice to wash our stash of party plates, dessert/appetizer plates and various wine/highball/margarita glasses. Those days intermingled frequently with relocations to faraway destinations where there was no need for - or room for - partyware. Great adventures, all, but, really, there's no place like home.

Cousins, dogs, nieces, nephews, brothers, and all those married to them - all are a true treasure as they pass through our little lake house in the middle of nowhere. Such a treat.