In the Garden

I've known a lot of gardens in my life, if only peripherally. When I was a child, I was in my grandfather's garden a lot. Trailing after him, I listened to story after story as he worked; planting, weeding and harvesting.

I think this is one of the reasons I love to tell tales. My great-grandfather (on the other side) loved to tell stories too, as did my own daddy.

As I became a young adult, gardens more or less disappeared from my thoughts altogether. I was too busy learning how to do a job through education and work experience, and for a while I lived away, close to the city.

Both sets of grandparents couldn't wait to garden in a big way as soon as they retired. In fact, the year before my grandfather died, he gardened on his knees, using a tater sack to slide himself down each row so he could plant, weed and harvest.

My grandmother (other side) crossed the creek to tend to her garden, delighted to have one again. (After all, her daddy said she was the best hoer in the county.)

Neither of my parents were gardeners. In fact, they pretty much ran the other way if the word was said aloud.

But a lot of my friends' parents still gardened, and they learned skills that I never did.

A few years ago, we (meaning Husband) began with a small raised garden, and we've enjoyed the tomatoes, beans, potatoes, onions, cukes and a squash or two from it.

One of my best friends (the tall, blonde, talented one) has tended her own kitchen garden, as well as her ailing, aging parents giant garden. She says every year it's the last time. But she found herself once again this year plowing, planting, weeding and harvesting.

She told me the other day, "This is the last time."

I said, "Um hmmm."

She just shook her head.

Well, yesterday while working in the big garden, my friend may have broken, and  if not broken, hurt badly, one of those long legs of hers when she stepped in a big old hole.

Me, along with a bunch of others, have prayed without ceasing for her. She is the main caretaker of her parents. She works two jobs, one of them driving a school bus. She leads a vital Bible study and prayer group and about a million other things I don't have space to name.

I talked with one of our mutual friends yesterday, and we are all signing up to take over her life if necessary; and I don't mean this in a bad way. But together, we can take care of her, her house, her cooking, her parents and whatever else her poor husband can't do alone.

You may even find us in the garden.

Hair

As you may recall, a few days ago I blogged about Eli, my Maine Coon cat, being shaved.

The vet tech. said at the time that he would probably be a few pounds lighter once this was done, (The cat, not the vet tech. however; the tech worked over an hour on the cat; the tech. looked thinner at the end, too) and by looking at the mound of fur, I didn't doubt what he said.

So, we weighed him (the cat, people, the cat!). His usual twenty pound self is now a svelte eighteen pounds.

Why, oh why, have I not thought of this??

Humans have hair everywhere, too, you know.

I think we are a lot more shiny without all our peach fuzz, and certainly a bald pate is obvious.

But, still...two whole pounds!

Shine on....

Five Long Years

Five long years.

That's how long I waited to get a new, decent sidewalk.

Why the wait, you ask?

I am so glad you ask.

Many years ago (say, five) we had the original, beautiful brick sidewalk dug up because a giant root was pushing it up. All we wanted was the sidewalk to be relaid in sand so that the root could remain undamaged. It is attached to a large tree close to our house.

We had an emergency, and had to leave hurriedly while the men were repairing our sidewalk.

They were paid half, we left.

Woe is me.

When we got back we had a cement sidewalk with a brick here and there and a peculiar step down, which looked dangerous and has proven to be so. Husband's sister has fallen down it and a dear friend fell up it.

We saved furiously, then sought a professional to build a sidewalk that would not try to kill company.

I have had four men look at it, three promise to do the work, and no one to show back up.

Finally a young man said yes and actually dug up that mess and put down lovely cobblestone.

I am in love.

True love, they say, is worth waiting for.

Five long years.

Bless Be The Ties That Bind

Visiting my friend all day had me reflecting all the way home.

I've known her since sixth grade. And while our closeness waxed and waned during our young adult years, the affection never did, and we easily reconnected.

I have friends whom I have had for so long I don't remember life without them. We were born close together in years and in geography, and the rest, as they say, is  history. Our history.

I have friends that I've known since early adulthood - only thirty, twenty, fifteen years. Newcomers, you know.

I am favored with friendship from all walks of life - from doctors to the woefully unemployed.

Liberal and conservative and a lot of in between.

Male and female. 

Older than me, younger than me, the same age as me.

Christians, non-Christians.

Red and yellow, black and white...

I love and am loved.

Bless be the ties that bind, indeed.

It Takes a Village

I just ate supper. I am full as a tick that just fell off a hound dog. (Look a lot like one, too, swole up and all. I really need to lose a dozen pounds, and I'm willing to share them if you want 'em. I'll even deliver (which is what I look like I'm about to do).)

I needed a bracket to put outside my two parentheses up there, but there ain't no brackets on the keyboard!

I digress. Scampers back up off the rabbit trail and gets back on the main road.

I prepared part of this food - but let me tell you about the rest. I was on the phone with my bestest friend (yes, she is taller, blonder and can sing AND play the piano, outshining me at every turn, but hey, I love her anyway). We were planning a play date, because school is finally out. She is still hanging on, not retired yet, but I have everything crossed but my wires that this upcoming school year will be her last so we can play more often.

Anyway, we started talking about food right outta the gate because she was grilling zucchini and squash. Then she told me about a salad she was marinating, and by the time she finished, I was drooling into my ears (I was lying down, resting my stupid back).

Since Husband was doing a grocery run in a few, she insisted he come by and she'd send me some of both.

Then Mother called and had a big old dutch oven full of baked beans, and gave instructions for Husband to pick some up.

So, he came back from the grocery store laden with not only the regular fair, but real food ready to eat.

I added to it, we ate like pigs, and the rest is history, so to speak.

We Southern women show our love often times through feeding those we love.

Today, I was shown a lot of love.

I am thankful for this love - I have shown it myself from time to time.

You make sure your baby is well fed. A man's heart is through his stomach. Romantic dinners, breakfasts served in bed.

The list goes on and on.

Now, can someone please help pull me out of this chair so I can waddle into the kitchen for clean up duty?

What's Left Behind

Those of you who know me, and many who don't know me well, know I love my cat.

Now, we have three cats. One for me, one for Husband and one for Daughter.

My cat is Eli. He is a white Maine Coon. He weighs around twenty pounds. He is not only a stunning specimen, he is alpha animal, territorial, possessive regarding me, and sweet as surgar when he lies upon my chest, purring.

Putting it simply, he is my boy.

One thing he isn't, is brushable. He cannot tolerate being combed or brushed; never could, even when he was a two pound kitten. The vet says he has very sensitive skin (like someone who is tender headed, I guess.)

The sad and pathetic result of this is matting of his fur. It has been pretty bad before, but this time it was terrible. And letting it ride a couple of weeks too long due to illness and injury didn't help any.

So, today, we went to the vet for mat removal.

After a bit of sculpting by the vet. tech., this is what we left with them. The rest of Eli came home with me.

Looks like a polar bear rug. Or a flattened fuzzy dog.

Whatever.

May it rest in peace.

And may Eli grow a new, shiny, unmatted coat before winter.

She's Everywhere!

I made a joke today on facebook that every time I tried to take a selfie some old woman jumped in the way.

It struck a chord.

Over twenty people (so far), mostly women, have agreed.

We have to do something, people!

This is obviously a psychotic individual who is in dire need of an intervention.

Perhaps she has a diagnosis of being an ego maniacal self centered psychopath.

She obviously has stalking tendencies.

Gives me the creeps.

So, we need a plan.

Any ideas?

My doors are already locked, as are my windows.  I just don't know what else to do.

Wanna Buy a Book?

Selling books is an interesting thing. I've sold 18 in the last week, plus I checked at a store in a near by town and they'd sold 7 of the 8 they purchased from me.

That's wonderful. That's how I get to get another one published. You have to know your books will sell or they won't get published.

But that's not where my heart is. My heart is in writing.

Don't get me wrong, I want my books to sell, duh.

I have limited physical abilities, and I wish to spend most of them writing.

One thing I love about the sell, though, is people. I get to read out loud sometimes, and boy, I love that. I guess I'm a ham. I love to make people laugh (and cry;I admit it). It's a magical thing that happens between the reader and the listener. I've been on both sides, I love both sides.

During our whirlwind company coming last week, Husband took it upon himself to tie folks down and make 'em listen to me read from "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree".

They laughed. A lot.

Whew!

So, if you want me to come read to you I will. There are a few rules: I won't read to you if you are naked (like in the bathtub). I won't read if you are drunk (although singing for a drunk crowd one time brought me wild applause, whistles and a standing ovation), and I won't read if you won't pay attention.

Fair enough?

Then, if you like, you can read to me.

Returning from the War

After eight relatives, one small intestinal blockage, one severe bad back spell and a whiz bang of a time in spite of it all, I'm back.

We've had Yankee Cousin (who flew away home today), two Cowboy Cousins, one Husband's Alabama sister, husband, younger daughter and two chirren we had never laid eyes on for company plus my own, down the road folks.

Mother, once again, decided to get really sick in the midst of some of it and scare us all to death. (She has to stop doing this!)

And, of course, not to be outdone, after standing/sitting in the ER for a few hours (eleven), I couldn't stand up or sit back down without crying like a big old baby and needing help to do that.(Sitting, not crying. I cry by myself very well.)

Yankee Cousin and I had an adventure on our own, as she volunteered to drive me to a chiropractor in the next town up, IF I could get in the car, which I did.

The car decided to get in on the act and I knew something was wrong by the unusual and persistant whir it was making. So we went to the garage instead; explaining our dire circumstances.

Nephew, who I claim as "First Born" because I practiced on him before Daugther was born, declared thirty minutes to repair after parts were delivered. It was twenty minutes before my appointment, which was growing more and more needed by the second.

Gazing upon my crooked and pained self, he said, and I quote, "Drive my truck".

What he did not say was my "honking, four door, six feet off the ground, monster of a truck."

It was almost worth it when we turned the corner and Yankee Cousin gazed upon it. With a tiny voice, she said, "Oh, I can't drive that."

I encouraged her to just sit behind the wheel to get a feel for it, asked First Born nephew if it was automatic (it is), and slowly began the uphill climb into the seat in my pained state.

Yankee Cousin gulped, looked at my crumpled body and said, "I guess I'm driving it..." and away we went.

Even the chiropractor winced when she saw me, and the new tech guy got all giddy when he looked at my back and exclaimed happily about how swollen I was.

Yankee Cousin was ecstatic after her wild adventure of driving such a huge vehicle, and we dubbed her a redneck for sure, now.

She treated me like a baby the rest of the time she was here. Not used to seeing me act like one, I guess it shook her up pretty badly.

Maybe by next week I will be back to my normal every day pain, Mother will be feeling okay again, and we can resume normal as we know it.

Thank God the refrigerator stayed fixed.

Pardon Me

I am in a food coma.

Yankee Cousin said "I want to cook dinner."

I said "Okay".  I'm not stupid, you know.

I felt a little guilty because she's in there cooking and I'm not, and I am the one who always is...

Anyway, I did some laundry, made a phone call, etc.

Then the food was ready; we ate like hogs.

Although we forced ourselves to clean up the kitchen, it was extremely difficult. Sorta like running through water that is up to your neck.

Got her done, though.

But I am barely functioning.

Need a nap. Too late in the day to do so....

I'm in  a food coma, sitting upright.