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D and I are on the verge of a project. This may not sound like news, but it is; its bad news. We are great out of the gate and missing at the finish line when it comes to projects, and I had just about decided that all future home projects would be carried out by paid professionals. But no, we’re cracked, and we’re going to jump in anyway. ‘Into what’, you ask? We are going to build a bed. More specifically, a bed like this. I repeat, we are cracked ...
Ernesto failed to take his Viagra before coming ashore, and is proving to be a little limp. We have grey skies and rain, but nothing I’d call stormy. The bulk of it is still south of us and we have been told to expect worsening conditions as the day wears on, but even the areas that will bear the full brunt aren’t expecting super serious weather. D’s business closed for the day, so he is home sleeping in. The temptation to call him is strong, but I’m resisting. For now. We did go ahead and hang the shutters last night as Miami was reporting ‘squalls’ and wind. There is some good in doing so as we discovered some weather and wear on the supports for the shutters that will need repair before the next storm, but mostly it was just a ‘drill’.
My resolve regarding my glasses waned shortly after arriving at work this morning and my contacts are back where they belong. The ‘script is fine, I stayed in them until bedtime, but they are simply annoying to someone this blind, and I’m lazy. Also, my vanity, was not bolstered by D’s reaction when I got home, “Well, its an interesting look.” *sigh* Some days you can’t win for loosing.
The panic alarm continues to ring. ‘Ernesto’ is such a star that the John Mark Karr Show has all but disappeared from the tv. Yet, there remains little to panic over. The storm stays a tropical storm, not a hurricane, and though it shows some strengthening it has very little time to grow into a massive storm. The biggest worry round these parts is whether to go home now and put up the shutters, or wait till the storm picks a more decisive direction before making that decision. We’ve chosen to risk having to put them up in the rain tomorrow morning as opposed to putting them up for no reason. Right now we will be on the ‘good’ side of the storm and can expect lots of rain but not much wind ... or at least that’s what the forecasters tell us. Florida weather differs very little day to day in the summer, and sometimes they screw that up, so who knows. (The little yellow star is a rough approximation to where we are).
Our remaining preparations are few, (other than shutters) two trees to tie down, trash cans to bring in, and laundry to do. I know, doing laundry in the face of a storm sounds funny. But, we learned during hurricane Charlie, that it only takes about a day of no AC and small pile of dirty clothes to make the house smell like a gym locker - blech. Of course, we also learned that it sucks to run out of clean underwear when there’s no water or power. The dog gets a bath before a hurricane too, much to her chagrin, because dirty dog smell is oh so much worse than gym locker. Despite the fact that we are going through the motions, we really aren’t getting too cranked-up over this one, there just does not seem to be much threat (famous last words, right?).
In other news, my glasses came in today and, boy, has my brain forgotten how to function without contacts! I’ve worn contacts since I was twelve, that’s twenty six years for those of you taking notes. I’ve been mostly blind for longer than that. That’s not too much of an exaggeration either. The lady who orders and fits the glasses had to call the office manager over to show her my lenses before she cut them down to fit the frames. Though made from the ‘thinner’ material they are still the thickest they’d ever seen. It’s so nice to be special - ack. Even with small frames, the distortion is pretty bad, and I have to keep reminding myself to point my nose at the thing I want to see. I’m also a little seasick, my focus is sorta slow when I change distances. I’m determined, though, to leave them on through the end of the week, woozy or not. I put the last pair away practically the same day I got them and when I needed them realized the prescription was wrong. Not because my eyes had changed, but because it had been wrong from the beginning...what a waste! We’ll see if my determination lasts through the morning’s routine of make-up and hair, its been a very long time since I couldn’t see to do that. I’ll post a photo tomorrow, the frames alone aren’t very entertaining, but my hair should be - heh!
Ok, what nimrod pushed the panic button? Whoever it was needs to be smacked. Hard. Multiple times. It occurs to me that I write a post similar to this almost every year at this time, and I’m sorry. But every year at this time I still feel this way. We are on the verge of our first storm of the season and folks are already lined-up for water, batteries and plywood. Gas stations are running out of gas. Grocery stores are running low on staple items. On one hand I’m happy to see folks making an effort to take care of themselves rather than holding out their hand and waiting for the government to fill it. But, on the other, why would you wait until a storm is 36 hours away to go get the things you need? How many times have you been to the hardware store or the grocery store in the last three months? How hard is it to toss an extra pack of batteries or can of tuna into your cart? The last few hurricane season’s have been rough on a lot of folks, but no one seems to be learning much from them ... and I just don’t understand why.
I’m busy this week, but not too busy to hatch a scheme. Yep, a scheme, more importantly a birthday scheme. And today I bounced it off of a few folks; not only was it met with approval but also encouragement. You see I’ve always been a birthday person, I like my birthday, and I really don’t ever expect to stop liking my birthday, but the last few years have put a dent in that feeling. D is not a birthday person. Its not that he’s worried about aging, its just that he’s a guy, he could care less. I accept that and celebrate his birthday according to his wishes, meaning we don’t celebrate. But fair is fair and I think he should celebrate mine according to my wishes, but he doesn’t. In fact, he has an annual, weekend long, party that he attends that just happens to fall on my birthday every year. Combine that with my grandmother’s death last year, the day before my birthday, and you can imagine the last few birthdays have been on the disappointing side. Normally I sit home, with a fine dinner and bottle of wine, but feeling a little sorry for myself. This year I think I’ll take a trip. I think I’ll go to Atlanta, visit my brother and meet Kim and her family in real life. I think I’ll stay here (look knitters, a room (see room views) with a whole wall of knit!). I think I’ll spoil myself silly with some shopping, fine dining, and whatever else strikes my fancy. Anybody want to meet me in Atlanta in November?
Thanks to everyone who weighed in on the glasses conundrum! I should have asked you all first before committing to a pair, but left to my own devices and egged on by the overly complimentary women at the shop, I chose the red ones. Yeah, I know, I’m not that cool. I think it was a desperate attempt at ‘young and hip’, which, even when I was young, always ended in disaster ... I don’t know what I was thinking. The good news is that I was able to call them back yesterday and order the frames in something called ‘honey tortoise’ (I’m guessing brown). I can compare them with the red when I go back and choose the ones I like best – there may still be hope.
I had much better luck with the ‘cheaters’ (aka: reading glasses) I also bought yesterday. I wish these had been one of my frame choices ‘cause I kinda dig ‘em.
I had an eye appointment this morning that has resulted in a new pair of glasses. Of course they wait until they’ve dilated my eyes to show me frames, and I can see a bloody thing (Not to mention the fact that I look like an owl). Technically I’ve already made the purchase, but I thought I’d share the top three to see if any stand out as really bad or really good. Comment quick, I have to call them back this afternoon ... Thanks for the help!!!
That is quite enough ... I mean it. You are freaking me out, seriously! I received not one but two more unexpected parcels today and I honestly don’t know how to handle it. That makes five parcels in the last week or so. I’ve checked every blog to make sure I’ve not missed a swap date or something - lol.
The post card and little bag of Forest Berry Herb are from Ailsa. You are a genius woman! I am so tickled to have a new, never-tried, never-even-heard-of spice you’d probably laugh at me. Notice that the packet is opened, I had to stick my nose in it right away! First wiff reminds me a little of epizote, thought not so strong. But the finish is almost floral and sweet. The package says its good for pancakes – so this weekend, pancakes it is! Oh, and the post-card, it is from the hotel where they all meet and knit - what fun! Thanks Ailsa, its just delightful!
The remainder of the haul is from Donna. She included her new favorite candle from Dusk. It is called Harmony, and is a blend of geranium and lavender. It is soapy and clean smelling. A Body Shop soap in Daisy, which also has a very pleasant, clean scent. A very cute card and knitting ... yes knitting, for me. A scarf of what feels like a wool/alpaca blend. Impressed? Yeah, well I cheated, you can see it here on her blog, where she says it’s a ‘brainless and easy’ knit — perfect for me! Har. Best of all it is light enough I just might find an excuse to wear it this winter - yay! Thank you Donna, I don’t know where you found the time to put this all together, but I’m so glad you did!
And to all the friends the internet has brought me in this past year, I have no doubt that my life is better for having ‘met’ you, it is certainly richer! Thank you all!
Thanks to everyone who played Obfuscation! Just in case you haven’t and still want to, the answer must be high-lighted to be seen. So, was the lie the ‘class asshole’, ‘tractor love’ or ‘snake in a basement’?
Drum roll please ......
“Cleo” the snake is the lie. There is, however, a grain of truth in that tale. I did have a snake go up under a taffeta and tulle prom dress that I was playing dress-up in. And boy-howdy did I scream-like-a-girl! To this day day I’m not a big fan of snakes .... urg! The prize winner is Jae! Congratulations! I’ll get your prize out to you by the end of the week.
And now, other news. You might remember that before we left on vacation I accepted a challenge to produce a costume that looked something like this. What you might not know is that I later also committed to the matching men’s jacket. Despite a very tight time line, I believe I will put the finishing touches on both tonight ... yay me! The recipient has promised photos, and I’ll wait for those before sharing with you, the costumes just don’t look like much on a hanger, ya know?
And finally, the mail gods have smiled on me yet again! Over the weekend I received another unexpected package from Filambulle in Switzerland. Ages ago I met her online and sent her a little box of hats for the kids (made by the fabulous Rox) and some KoolAid and yarn for dying. It’s been so long I’m a little fuzzy, but I think I was angeling for a swap. Anyway, life swept her away .... new baby, new house etc, and except for the odd comment I really hadn’t heard from her. What did she send? Why, a very pretty ‘dishtowel’ apron, trimmed in red. In the perfectly sized pocket, chocolate. Very good chocolate – the package in the photo is a stand-in (ie very, very empty, heh), a very pretty piece of vintage kimono silk, and a darling card that I think must be the birth announcement for the newest baby (I cannot read French). Sadly, this post will have to suffice as the ‘thank-you’, I cannot find your e-mail address anywhere, Manuele! It is a lovely gift, thank-you so very much for thinking of me!
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Webster’s says obfuscation is to obscure or to make dark, but in these parts it’s a game, played by bloggers and designed to lead friends and family astray. Here’s a link with more information, and an invitation for you to join in. Below you will find three stories about me, two are true and one is false, your mission, should you choose to accept it is to find the false tale. I will post the answer on Monday (or Tuesday depending on how many play), and offer a wee prize to the first person who posts the right answer. Be sure to visit Pea and Dan as they are playing too.
Story 1 - Creative Writing Class
In college I took a creative writing course with an instructor who was both a writer and a poet. The class was small, maybe twelve students, and we sat round-table style along the sides of six tables shoved together. The professor always at the head of the table, and a guy we’ll call Gary always in that all important right hand spot. Gary fancied himself the favorite, and a good writer. He was inextricably stuck in the genre of Science Fiction, and wove strange, bloody tales filled with sharp edged, single sided characters.
Part of handing in our assignments was to come to class with a copy of our work for each of the other students. At the end of the week we each had eleven short stories to read, and when we returned on Monday we were expected to critique them. Not only was our professor a genius in that one of his own books was required reading for the course, but also because the students basically did his grading for him as well. During the critique we were allowed to defend our particular pieces and no one in the class defended harder than Gary.
During one such heated debate the professor was called from the class. Once gone, Gary launched into a tirade that lauded his own writing skills and slammed everyone else’s, including the professor’s. I don’t take on people like Gary, mostly because there is no winning with them, just exhaustion. They are like terriers, and once they get their ideals gripped firmly in their teeth there’s no shaking them off, but Gary got under my skin. Really deep under, with a comment that included the whole female race, and before I could think better of it I jumped into the ring with him.
I cannot remember our exchange, only that it was heated and that most of the rest of the class seemed firmly behind me, or rather, firmly against him, and that it included debate about the school’s annual writing magazine, The Review. Gary maintained that only talented professor’s favorites, like himself, or alumni were accepted. Average students simply did not get in. Certainly an untalented, female like myself couldn’t expect to have a single line of her drivel published in such a touted publication. Before I could respond (probably because I was so spitting mad I couldn’t form a sentence) the professor returned, and took his place at the head of the table.
I don’t remember his exact words, but this is a fair representation.
“As you know, each year students and alumni alike are published in the Review,” he said, “And each of the writing classes are required to submit entries as well. I have just been given the list of accepted entries. This year we had over 600 stories and poems, and only accepted roughly forty of them. I’m pleased to announce that one of the students in this class was accepted.” He smiled, and Gary began to swell visibly. “Congratulations,” (Gary began to stand), “Ms. Jade. I believe this is your second year in the Review isn’t it?”
“Yes sir”, I answered, “it is.”
Story 2 - First Love
In elementary school I had a crush on a Caterpillar. No. Not a little multi-legged thing that munches on milkweed and becomes a butterfly ... my crush on them wasn’t till middle school. A Caterpillar, with a capital ‘C’. A big, lumbering, orange earth-mover; a Caterpillar.
I’m sure that the children’s story “Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel” played a huge role in my crush. You might not remember Mike and Mary Anne, the steam shovel; it was a story much along the lines of “The Little Engine That Could”. With the invention of gas engines and electricity Mike and Mary Anne had become outdated technology, and had trouble getting work in the big city. So they found a small town that needed a basement dug for the new Town Hall and said if they couldn’t dig that hole in one day then there’d be no charge. The mayor, knowing it was an impossible task accepted the offer, and Mary Anne started digging. In the end she succeeded in proving that she could do just as they’d promised, with one problem. She could not get out of the hole she’d dug. The solution? Turn Mary Anne into the boiler for the Town Hall! And everyone was happy. Except me. I thought it was sad that Mary Anne would be forever stuck in a dark old basement. That she was basically being buried alive kinda freaked me out.
So when they started work, just up the street from my house, replacing telephone poles with the big orange Caterpillar, it was love at first sight. One end was fitted with an arm and clamp that held onto the poles, and the other with a huge screw that dug the holes. I was enamored with the mechanics of it and its strength. I loved it so much I didn’t mind the black diesel smoke that poured from it as it worked or the ear shattering noise of its engine as it moved poles into place. For nearly a week a small knot of children gathered to watch it go.
Once the job was finished it remained, trailered, at the end of the street. Quiet & still, it held no attraction for the other neighborhood kids, but each day, after school, I rode my bike to the end of the block and admired it. I spoke softly to it and timidly touched the tires that towered taller than me. Sometimes I brought it clover chains, and draped them around the nuts of the tires. Sometimes I brought paper and orange crayons and drew pictures of it. Mostly I just looked at it, and willed it to life, like Mary Anne. Of course, one day it was gone, and my little heart broke, well, at least until I discovered boys.
Story 3 - Charmed
I’m an animal lover, but I’ve never been overly fond of snakes; that is until I met Cleo. Cleo, for Cleopatra, was a ‘lavender albino ball python’ owned by a family that I babysat for. Yep, lavender - but you had to look really close. Ok, I admit it, she never looked lavender to me, more gold and white with a faint blue tint, like maybe she was too cold. But they said she was lavender and I wasn’t going to dispute them.
They were a young couple, and even after the arrival of their son, Cleo was still a loved member of the household. The baby, Brian, was not quite walking when I started to babysit for them. Mr. & Mrs. B were worried that I would be frightened of Cleo, so part of my first visit was to be introduced to her as well as to Brian. The den, you see, was in the basement, ninety percent of Brian’s toys were in the basement, the TV was in the basement and Cleo’s cabinet was in the basement. If I were to sit for Brian, most of my time would be spent, you guessed it, in the basement.
To be honest, Cleo did creep me out. I’d seen snakes at my grandparent’s farm and knew I didn’t like them. I’d even had one run up under a taffeta prom gown that I was playing dress up in, to say I screamed like a girl would be an understatement. But I figured if she stayed in her box and I stayed out of it, we’d do all right. I do not remember a getting lecture about not messing with Cleo, but I do remember that there was a little pad lock on the case lid. Short of breaking the glass I there was no way I could get to her, and since I didn’t want ‘to get to her’ that was just fine by me. But that didn’t mean I didn’t look at her; turns out she could be as interesting as the TV.
Mrs. B. always had me put Brian in his swing rather than his bed; about five minutes of swing-time and he’d drop right off. Besides, his bed was upstairs and this was before the invention of baby monitors so he was easier looked after in the basement with me and Cleo. Once he was down I’d sit in front of Cleo’s case and watch TV or her depending on which was moving faster at the time. She often raised her head slightly when I sat down and stared at me. At first I thought she was sizing me up for a meal, but later I decided she was just curious ... I liked watching her, and she liked watching me watch her. I can’t say we became friends, I’d never even held Cleo and only touched her once or twice when Mr. B. was handling her. She was smooth and silky, not slimy as I’d expected, and her tongue flicking out across my fingers made me giggle. I can say that watching her in her case for all those years (Brian was five when we moved away) gave me an appreciation for her and her kind. In fact a still have a piece of skin shed from her, tucked into a keepsake box
The internet is a great place to find anything, but only when you know what you are looking for. Like the Yellow Pages, if you don’t know what something is called it becomes impossible to find. So I’m going to appeal to you, loyal reader (all two of you) and see if perhaps you can help me in my search for the following information and items:
- For the geeks out there (Geeky, ya reading?). If you visit my old blog, Comfortably Numb, you’ll notice a date at the bottom of each entry, and if you click said date that entry opens all by itself in a new window. I’d really, really like the same thing to happen here. Is that date a ‘permalink’ and do I just not have that template set up properly ... or is it something entirely different?
- As a kid we always had a bottle opener in the gadget drawer. A small flat metal affair, one end for opening bottles and the other for punching holes in cans. On a recent cooking show I saw a single ended one (no bottle opener) that was about 2 ½ inches wide. When you punched a can, you punched almost the entire top. Anybody seen one of these somewhere?
- Another one for the geeks, and also a blog question. I keep trying to set up my categories (over there on the left) so that they will exist on a new page only. Right now, to post in a category, I must post to the main page and mark it as belonging in the specific category. Obviously another template problem, but since I don’t know what to call what I’m trying to do, I can’t look up info on how to do it.
- Has anyone taken a quilting class on the Twisted Bargello pattern? Anyone that is that would be willing to let me have a peek at the instructions. Evidently it is too close to the Bargello pattern for the designer to publish a pattern, though it is taught in several shops in the area (during the day while I’m at work). I have the Bargello book, but haven’t a clue how to tweak the pattern to ‘twist’ it.
- And finally, I need your opinion. I love this, probably more than someone should love an inanimate thing. On our vacation I purchased a similar bead, already strung on a necklace for about $18. Am I insane to want another (almost the same) for twice the money? Oh, and do the dimensions seem too large (the other is about 1” across)?
My work schedule has changed, by my own choosing and hopefully for-the-better for all parties involved. Rather than work 8-5 I’ve elected to work 9-6. The office benefits by having someone here later that can order emergency parts and close out calls that end after 5. It also allows the ‘on call’ person to get all the way home before the office phones are forwarded to their cell (our busiest after hours time is often between 5 and 6pm. My benefits are faster drive times due to lighter traffic, a whole hour in the afternoon to work with almost no interruption, and a more leisurely morning.
I’m also more likely to walk in the mornings because I find 6:30 far easier than 5:30. So, to that end, I’ve been waking at six-ish and hitting the pavement with Mackie in tow. This morning, however, I didn’t roust myself until 6:30 and we didn’t set off until a quarter to 7. I had already noticed on previous mornings that my landscape had changed. Before Mac and I had the road to ourselves, now we share it with teenagers trekking sleepily to the bus stop. They move like noisy shadows, slow deliberate zombies that do not turn their heads or acknowledge my “Good Morning”. It took Mac only two days to decide they weren’t any fun and put them in the ‘not interesting’ category.
My tardiness this morning further changed that landscape. The bus teenagers were replaced with those that drive. They zipped past us in too noisy rice burners, bass thumping, and loose parts rattling. The only other pedestrians we encountered were one little old lady all in pink, who walked as far to the other side of the road as she dared to pass us (frightened of Mackie), and the guy.
I’ve seen him when I ride my bike. Usually he is seated in a chair in front of his house, surrounded by beer cans, where he yells exuberant greetings in a garbled tongue. He is wild haired and unkempt; the house and his clothes perfect mirrors of each other in their tattered shambles. This morning he boiled out of his house just as we reached his property line, in a wild gait; half stumble and half run, that pitched him into the street just in front of us as we gained the driveway.
He seemed surprised to find us there. I smiled and offered a good morning, which he grunted back, before continuing rapidly ahead of us. I guessed he’d had a stroke, his left hand was fisted tightly against his chest, and his odd, flailing gait seemed caused by his efforts to propel his left leg forward. He accomplished this by raising high on the toes of his right foot and sharply kicking his hips to the left. The left foot scraped off of the pavement in a wide arc out to the side that ended half a step in front of him. His right arm followed a similar arc, for balance, and kept time with the left leg.
Mackie’s initial reaction was a full body wag, and as the man lurched away she took two bouncing steps to join him in the fun, before I pulled her back. I slowed our pace a little to open the distance between us. But he suddenly stopped and turned toward the center of the street. The gap closed and we overtook him. I offered another smile, he nodded in return as he fished in his pockets. He remove a large bunch of keys which he clipped to his belt, and a lighter to fire up the cigarette dangling from his lips.
Sometime in our passing Mackie’s attitude changed. Perhaps because he didn’t acknowledge her. That always seems to throw her a little, she doesn’t understand that not everyone appreciates her cuteness; like the pink lady a few blocks back. Truly though, it was the way he moved, and the awkward unpredictablenessof that movement that unglued her. And, when he lurched back into foot scraping-key jingling-arm flailing motion, she freaked completely out.
She danced out to the end of her lead like a terrified horse and paced back and forth, all the while moving backward, so she could watch that terrible octopus on roller-skates traveling behind us. I hissed and scolded to no avail, she wasn’t having it ... chasing him up the street was one thing; him chasing us was something altogether different. Thankfully his house is less than a block from where we turn around and once we made the u-turn she settled somewhat, but still watched him closely, and was careful to keep me between him and her. I nodded to him as we passed, but he didn’t seem to notice as all of his concentration on his forward motion. We walked almost three more blocks before she stopped looking over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t sneaking up on us.
I leaned a valuable lesson. In the case of an emergency, there will be no miraculous doggy rescue. Oh no. Its every dog for herself around here, and those silly, slow humans can stick around to ‘play dead’ for the bear. She better hope I don’t fall on the lead – heh.
I grew up in the Midwest, smack in the middle of an area they call ‘tornado alley’. As a kid we had tornado drills, where we all ran to the hall, or dove under desks, scrunched down on all fours and covered our heads. I’m old enough that those very early drills included two or three kids hand picked to throw open the windows – now, strictly a no-no. I remember more than night when the tornado sirens would howl and my brother and I would be bundled into sleeping bags and carried across the street to the only house with a basement. Once we came up from that basement to find the brick steeple of the church next door scattered through the neighborhood like Legos. A result of all this early storm training, I think, was a long lived fear of storms; particularly lightning and thunder.
That is, until I moved to Florida, which considers itself the lightening capital of the world. It probably took three years and countless raging storms to pull the plug on my hypersensitivity, but pull the plug it did, and I often don’t even notice the thunder unless its really popping. Tuesday night we had a hair raising storm and based on the volume and suddenness of the thunder some of the strikes were quite close. One in particular, just before 9pm, was rather breathtaking and that old fear stirred in response.
The next day we learned that somewhere on 9th Avenue (we live on 8th Court*) that a bolt of lightening struck a tree, disbursed out through the roots and damaged sixteen homes, two of which are now ‘uninhabitable’. Perhaps I need to dust off that old fear after all; or at least my respect for the elements.
*To be fair, both streets are quite long, and I do not know exactly where on 9th Ave the damage occurred. I do know I distinctly remember that particular blast of thunder ... I’d say somewhere slightly south of us.
Due to circumstances beyond my control (namely I am so freakin’ busy!!!) This post will be photo heavy, content light, and more than a little scattered.
Firstly, Fred Junior was waiting for me in the kitchen sink when I got home. He is smaller than Fred Sr, thankfully, but he still made me dance around and squeal! Yes I caught him (he made D dance around and squeal too) and let him loose outside. I would have really grossed myself out if I’d run him down the disposer - blech!
Secondly, and I’m a little out of order here, I made the mistake of admiring some fabric Jussie landed at a local show and blogged about a while back. I further hung myself by admitting to her which one attracted me so, knowing full well she’d just have to send me some though I begged her not to. But no, being the darling she is she just couldn’t stop herself, and look what arrived yesterday. Not only a yard (front and center) of a great Japanese geometric print, but pieces of what must be twenty other gorgeous fabrics, blooming tea (that she’s made me swear to use), a nice note pad (I never get enough of those), a darling sweater key chain, dragonfly quilt pattern, dragonfly card, and a book I that I almost purchased right before our trip. When the box arrived I thought I’d missed a swap, and seriously panicked. I didn’t do a darn thing to deserve this package of goodness! Jussie, I am so thankful, and humbled by this package you have no idea. It made me all weepy!
Thirdly: Have you ever put something important somewhere safe, because you knew you would need it later, and then not been able to find it? I did that with a small bags of parts for my sewing maching; namely the pieces that keep the thread spool in place, and the standard foot. Not being able to find them is driving. me. crazy!
Fourthly: I arrived at work and was greeted by my Uncle who said ‘come here, I want to show you something on my computer’ ... since that time I’ve been trying to remove a virus / spyware program, and it too is. driving. me. crazy!
Fifthly: I had a somewhat disappointing doctor’s appointment yesterday, THE BUMP IS BACK! Great, something else to drive. me. crazy!
Sixthly: (And not driving me crazy) Over the weekend I received another package, this one from Kim. This one too was out of the blue, and her lovely daughter Hannah helped pick out part of the contents, making it even better! A wine glass with an embossed dragonfly, a ‘mushroom’ dragonfly (I adore it), an initial note pad, and a pretty stone that says ‘hugs’. Ms. Hannah saw the dragonfly glass the same day that I did my “Dear Hannah” post and suggested her mom get it for her ‘friend that likes dragonflies’. Good girl! Heh. Thank you both so very much, it is so wonderful to know the world, crazy as it is, still holds sweet, giving folks.
Finally: as a Thank-You to Kim (and Hannah too, if she digs this kind of thing) .... Barn pictures!!!
This is Uncle G. Being the brother of D’s step-monster, errr mom, makes him as related to D as I am, but he’s just a lovable as he can be and I pretty quickly adopted him as one of my favorite Uncles - heh. The first day we met him we went to his place to pick up cucumbers, zucchini and sweet corn fresh from his garden. He met us in the driveway in his battered straw hat, coveralls* with a big grin and a bigger laugh. The man is a card, a hoot, a cut-up, and he is jammed full of terrible one liners.
Some G-isms:
“Hey, did you hear about the Pope, he’s got dat bird flu. Yeah, one of dem Cardinals bit ‘im”
“You need a bag for dem [zucchini]?” Grabs his wife by the shoulders and steers her our direction. (Its obvious she’s long been the butt of his jokes, she rolls her eyes and goes right on with her conversation).
Slaps you on the back and leaves his hand there and asks “You know who’s back”, and keeps right on asking ‘till the light goes off in your head and you say “Mine!”.
Anyone else would get on my nerves with things like this, except D (who loves and good pun) and Uncle G.
He took D and me out on the ranger for a tour of the farm, a fairly sizable piece of land. He made sure, in a cute ‘dirty little old man’ way that I sat in the middle. Clearly showing off, he went too fast, sending us bucking and bouncing and sliding across the seat. I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather, and being a little girl sliding across the bench seat of his pick-up as we drove across the fields to check the calves. D and I just giggled and giggled through that wild ride.
He rents much of it out to a man who grows corn. Everything that is not rented has a special job; plots for squash, pumpkins, watermelon, sweet corn, Indian corn, and hay. There are several buildings including the ‘duck house’ I showed you a few posts ago, and the barn. It is pushing 150 years old, has a gorgeous stone foundation and is packed with barn swallows that stream from the doors, and cracks and windows whenever anyone enters.
And way, way back in the far corner he has saved the last plot for himself. A plot that offers this view of the lake.
I hope he gets to build that house, the one of his dreams there on that lake. He came late to farming, he was a factory man up to his sixties, but he has defiantly found his lot in life, and its clear he loves it. And clear that I am a better person for meeting him.
*That’s ‘over-alls’ for most of you.