Mail and Stuff

My last blog was about hormones and hot flashes. One sharp eyed friend noticed the advertisement immediately following that blog was for a book entitled, "Why Men Leave Their Women".

Well.

I was coming home the other day and I noticed the car in front of me had their windows down. I assumed their air was broken, because it was 88 degrees. Then they shot out their arm in a left turn signal, so I figured their turn signal was broken, too. Except they kept on going, sometimes waving their hand around like they were drying their nails. In just a few, they flew their arm up in a right turn signal. I knew they weren't turning right as there were no right turns to make. And when they finally did turn, their signal worked just fine.

Made me wonder: were they too dumb to realize what they were doing? Had they never been taught manual turn signals? What?

When I got home, Husband greeted me with, "You are never going to believe what happened."

Now, at my house, that usually isn't followed by "I won a million dollars," or "The movies called and want to buy the rights to one of your books, " or, even, "I found a five dollar bill in an old jacket."

Nope. What happened was the mail carrier left a small box and two envelopes at the door. They left the envelopes on top of the small box. Our previous mail carrier, who was darn near perfect, would have slapped a rubber band around those envelopes to keep them secure, but the new one did not. So, when Husband picked up the box, the envelopes slid off. Right to the porch floor and through the crack between the planks, thusly: 

Now, I could have stood there all day (and so could have Husband) and tried to drop something between those planks and never succeeded. And realize, this wasn't one envelope but two. Wow.

So, not knowing if it was junk  mail or something important, he decided he had to crawl under the porch floor.

It is about six inches off the ground where they dropped, which meant he had to go clean to the far end (to your left)and crawl the whole length of the porch with a stick to swipe at the envelopes till he could pull them toward him.

I had two beautimous photos of Husband, one of him before and one after. But they disappeared into mysterious cyberspace, not to be found. He was dressed in a fishing hat, a long sleeve flannel shirt, old britches which were tucked under his socks, gloves, goggles and old shoes. So, just take a moment and savor what's in your imagination.

He was successful, junk mail and a bill.

One has to wonder if it was worth it.

The Good Life

This morning Husband and I sat on our back porch, way up in the trees. We have a tin roof, and it was coming one of those gentle rains that truly does pitter patter on the leaves.

This didn't bother the birds one bit, we could hear several different chatters, songs and calls. The Ruby-Throated Humming Bird drank hungrily from the feeder, then sat right at our faces and shook water off himself. 

The seed feeder had nut hatches, tufted titmouse(s? mice?) and Mrs. Indigo Bunting, who unlike her royal blue husband is two shades of plain old brown. 

There was some squabbling at the feeder, because no one wanted to share, but it was entertaining to us and the cats.

Bonnie, or Dog, had ferociously run off a squirrel earlier. The squirrel had managed to open the top of the feeder and dive in head first. Since the feeder is right close to the screen, he had quite a fright when an 84 pound bulldog came racing out of the house, growling and barking, every  hair turned the wrong way. What a dog!

Husband,birds, rain, pets, perfect temperature, pleasant conversation. Oh, and coffee.

On a beautiful Friday morning, on this Earth, who could ask for anything better?

A big thanks to the Creator for this gift.

Amen.

This, That and The Other

I know, I know. It's been a while.

But I have a truck load of excuses. Let me trot 'em out for you.

I was in bed in a useless shape for about three weeks, then got better with the miracle tape and had to catch up on everything.

There were some commitments I had to fulfill, and had looked forward to.

The serious part of that is I had to shave my legs twice in less than three weeks.

Now, I don't know about you, but my legs are down yonder ways, and they are long on top of that. My back does not appreciate it.

But I was dressing up, and pants just wasn't gonna cut it.

All these big doin-zis has got to stop, so I can at least catch my breath.

I've also been working on my next book, and possibly my next other book, I just ain't sure which is which.

I've read a great deal too. Did you see in the paper the article about the woman who lost her eyesight twenty years ago in a car wreck? Then she fell down a few weeks ago, and hurt her neck. When she came to out of surgery, she could see again. The docs have no idea why, and to top it off, she could see in color. She'd been colorblind all her life, previous to the blindness.

Which reminds me of a story I heard years ago about a woman who was disabled by severe pain of some sort (can't remember what was wrong). Anyway, she was in her kitchen and it came up a big storm. Lightning shot through the window, hit the floor where she was standing and actually put a whole in it. When she came to, all her pain was gone.

We've also been flossing up the back and front porches, making them livable again. I love seeing how they look in the spring after being ignored all winter. I feel like I have added on to my house.

Poor Eli, my Maine Coon cat, was so matted from shedding he had to have more than a crew cut this year. All that's left is his fluffy tail, his ruff around his neck and his long britches down his legs. He looks a great deal like a poodle, and I'm sorry for it.

We've been storming the gates of Heaven praying about a job Daughter has interviewed for. It seems just right for her.. You can add a prayer too, if  you will. Our feelings won't be hurt a'tall.

Oh, and I've had an eye infection. They forget to tell you that the antibiotic drops you put in your poor old eye hurt almost as much as the infection. But it's better.

Well, I guess I've rambled enough for tonight.

I'm gonna try and get regular again.

About blogging, I mean.

Flares!

I admit it, I am a caldiumaholic. 

I know there is no such word, but I am one anyway.

I love plants, and caladiums are my favorite. I read that there are over 1000 variations of their leaf colors, but I've only seen seven or eight.  My favorite one is a medium green with bright red specks all over it. It is hard to find.

I bought coughs, er, some yesterday, along with a Boston Fern and four or five other types of plants.

I have two porches, and I live in the south. I must have lots of plants on each porch, right? 

Of course I'm right.

I didn't see any geraniums, but I'll get one if I run into one later on.

I saw lots of begonias. My grandmother loved begonias. I can't grow 'em, I can only kill 'em.

I even avoid glancing at them at garden centers for fear my gaze will murder them all with one fell swoop.

We brought the truck load home, and of course I had to go lie down because the concrete floors are a no-no for me. (But I have to, once a year, you know - caladiums.)

Poor Husband worked a steady afternoon potting plants and re-potting some that needed attention from the long winter in the sun room.

My porches look gorgeous. 

Come by and sit a spell.

Husband will join us as soon as he recovers. Early autumn is my estimation.

Bringin In the Sheaves

There are many things I love about the fall. I love the changing colors, the cooler temperatures, the way the light changes and how it looks early in the morning and early evening.

What I don't love is bringing in plants off the porches.

Every year I talk myself into believing that I don't have as many as the year before and it will be a piece of cake to get them in.

Lord, help.

It is, of course, Husband's fault. He started with a bromeliad or two, and now we have fifteen or so. When he purchased them, he was told they were verrry valuable, because when the mother plant produced a baby, she died.

HA.

Our mothers have two or three babies and seldom kick the bucket.

It is my suspicion that bromeliad heaven is pretty empty because they are still here, producing madly.

Since they are so verrrry valuable, Daughter will be rich in her inheritance. By the time we die, she should have so many it will be impossible to walk through the house.

Most of the plants I purchased this year were caladiums, which I never bring inside, nor do I save the tubers for next year. They begin to droop in October and I toss 'em.

I purchased one fern.

We have moved plants for two days! The sun room looks like a jungle, which is supposed to be good for you, isn't it? I hope we didn't bring in too many spiders, but you never know. We've also brought in lizards.

Anyway, I thought I'd just drop by and whine a little. I ain't able to do anything else.

Not today, anyway.

Spring in the South

I don't think I ever feel more deeply "southern" than when I'm sitting on my back porch. I think a porch brings to mind lazy days, ice tea, bare feet, wicker, ceiling fans turning slowly in the breeze, and of course, gossip.

Bless their hearts.

I was always a tree climber and sitter when I was a kid, and God has sweetly allowed me to have a back porch that sits up in the trees.

I feel like I have my own tree house.

It's not a big porch, but it's big enough for a little trickling pond, lots of plants, and a visiting bird  now and then.

If I'm quiet and still enough, birds will alight within touching distance. It seems once they get used to you being there, they aren't very afraid.

I've seen a Scarlet Tanager  that just about made me faint. And Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. And humming birds, of course.

I hear the cry of the Cooper's Hawk, the caw of the Crow, the laugh of the Piliated Woodpecker, and the sough of the breeze in the trees.

I smell the forest.

Our God Our Father is everywhere. I can read His Holy Word on that porch and hear Him clearer than anywhere else.

I itch for warm weather so I can get out there to "sit a spell", and I stay until fall gets so cold I have to come in and light a fire instead.

But if you are bored or lonely, come on over. We'll sit a spell, drink some tea and listen. You can take off your shoes, lean back and do nothing.

You know you want to. You know you need it.

Bless your heart.

I've Looked at Clouds from Both Sides Now/Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

How long has it been since you laid down in the grass, put your hands behind your head, and gazed at the clouds, identifying all the amazing things  you saw there?

Or watched the stars, waiting for a falling one, identifying the constellations?

It's been a long time for me because:

a. I'm afraid a bug would get on me  b. the ground might be damp  c. I couldn't get back up d. all the above

As a child, I would do these things alone or with a friend or two when we were so bored we couldn't think of another thing to do for fun.

"There's an elephant! There's a whale! Do you see the bear?  Oh, come on, it's right there! See?"

And so on.

And looking at the stars at night always fascinated me. Like chips of winking diamonds, they seemed alive and secret.

In 1997, when the Hale-Bopp comet was streaking through the skies, we took Daughter to a darker place than our yard to see it. I guess we did that about three times during it's streak. It interested us more than it did her, but it brought back a lot of star gazing memories for me.

We have, over my adult years, identified cloud shapes, too. Usually from inside a moving car where we might have  stretch of road to see the sky.

In this way you can watch the dinosaur lose shape, either turning into something else entirely or nothing at all.

My childhood was spent outdoors a lot, especially in summer. In fact, the door may have been locked during the day. (I kid, I kid, we never locked our doors.)

Before air conditioning, the coolest place was under or up in a big old tree, the adults sitting on the porch, maybe with the floor fan blowing from the inside of the screen door, if you could find a cord to reach that far.

How long has it been since you climbed a tree?

I don't anymore because: a. there might be a bug on it b. the bark might be damp c. I couldn't get back down (well, even up to start with) or d. all the above

But I can still sit on the porch!

And when we occasionally come home late, I lean against the car, gaze up at the sky, looking at my small patch of sky the trees don't hide...

And I make a nostalgic wish.

Today, take a moment, glance at a cloud, gaze at a star.

Even if you ain't laying on the ground to do it.

Porches in the South

I bet when you read the title, it immediately conjures up a particular vision: Wide porches, perhaps wrapped around the house, with fretwork and turned banisters and lots of ferns, palms and wicker.

Am I right?

Well, that's what it does for me, and because I am a Victorian/Country House lover, my porches look like that. At least, eventually.

Winter takes a toll on the beauty of the outside of the house, and this year has certainly been no exception. The pollen was stacked up knee deep. Dead leaves, spider webs, mildew, and a frozen lizard added to the mix.

The good news is the lizard thawed out in the sun and resumed his little lizard life.

Armed with Husband's strong back, Daughter's willingness to sneeze her way through sweeping, and my uncanny ability to supervise, the back porch is a lovely, tree-house retreat.

It is on the second story at the back of the house, and is literally in the trees. If you sit really still, birds come within touching distance. They get used to you quickly, and come to the feeders eagerly. I have a small waterfall fountain, a ceiling fan, the obligatory wicker, ferns and palms, as well as assorted other plants, including my favorite, Caladiums.

The back porch is truly my "God place", where I can go to read and pray and find serenity.

The front porch is about half way there. It's big, wrapping around the bow of the front of the house. Daughter has worked hard all day and Husband moved out furniture so she could have plenty of room to clean.

Right now our  yard looks like we are having a sale.

We don't use the front porch as much anymore because since the evil paving of the road took place, there is faster traffic and more of it. I don't particularly like feeling as though I am on display, which is odd, since I was raised in town, and someone spoke to you every three minutes if you were sitting on the porch.

I guess I got used to being in the middle of the woods.

So when you come to visit, let's sit on the back porch where we can be relaxed, tell tall tales and not worry about the next car driving by.

What time will ya'll be gettin' here?