doing flowers...

... at the Botanical Gardens on Monday afternoon. Meeting a friend who signed up with me to show up with odds and ends clipped from home gardens that will hopefully turn into attractive decorations to place on tables, mantles for beautifying the hundred year old farm house. The building where we work and put our creations was donated to the city to be the beginning of local garden spot for the community to enjoy. The quite large house, originally home place of Adams family, was relocated to property that has been planted, cultivated over time to be a very attractive show place, rental property for events and locale of spring and fall fund-raiser plant sales.

This is where I was last Saturday, when painting pumpkins and ghosts on small faces. Again on Monday when I met Shirley, with my bucket full of greenery trimmed from an overgrown loropetalum bush on Eleanor St. in Decatur. Plus two bunches of chrysanthemum blooms purchased to add color to the arrangements. Shirley had lots of blooming things she had trimmed from her garden and yard: zinnias, bright yellow daisy-looking rudbeckia, lavender lantana, something with tiny white blooms she called dragon's breath. Me with my yellow, purple and lime green mums.

We always have a good time when we get together - chatting about family, local events, spouses. I thought I would be finished in an hour or so, but it took much longer than expected. I can usually get there at 1 p.m. and be headed home before three. But I got there early and still was after 3:00 pm leaving. Lots of places to put cut flower arrangements: two large antique dining tables, several massive wooden sideboards/ buffets, four mantle pieces, plus various smaller tables in sitting areas.

stetson...

... makes a man smell really good. I like it and like the way a man smells when he puts forth the effort to smell manly and attractive.Fresh and Clean, and Interested in wanting to smell pleasant.

The two bottles here, one cologne and the other aftershave, were gifts from the daughter to her dad. She told me she bought him a birthday gift, probably delivered to the door from those very efficient people at Amazon who can have it packaged and shipped before you sign off on the credit card payment. I have not been around it in many years, and honestly don't remember what it smells like, though my brain tells me it is quite pleasant, providing nice thoughts of manly men.

She said she bought it due to thinking that was what her dad smelled like when she was a child. Even though The Man Who Lives Here has not put forth any effort to smell attractive in many years - it just reminded her of her dad. He received it when they met on his birthday at Cracker Barrel, and hopefully thanked her for the gift, even though it was only half-unwrapped. The two small boxes rode around in his truck for over a month, before he started in the direction of the house, even though they did not actually come in. Until Friday when I brought the Stetson in from where he left them in the carport. The only reason they got out of his truck was to clean it out before he left for a weekend of cards in Biloxi at the casino.

I laughed when she told me what she was giving him for his birthday, after she said she associated that aroma with her dad. Because I am the one who started buying it for him many years ago. Even more amusing is the reason I bought it: the first face of 'Stetson' was Tom Selleck. The first time I saw his smiling face, complete with dimples was on a big six foot tall free standing cutout in a department store.  Oh, my goodness: Life-size Tom Selleck with a big toothy smile, and a pair of dimples. It was love at first sight. I tried to persuade the clerk in the department store in Valdosta to let me have that very attractive man, even though that two dimensional cardboard cutout did not actually smell like the cologne. Sadly she reported he was already promised to another customer who had also fallen in lust with that very attractive man, so he was not available...

I wonder how different my life would have been if Tom Selleck had come home with me that day???

snowman...

...seen in the garden shop at Walmart when I ran in yesterday. I usually buy gas at the Murphy station in the parking lot, and will reload a Wallyworld gift card to use a the pumps for a 3 cent discount. The balance on the card received as a birthday gift was getting really low, so I had to dash in the store to add twenty bucks. The shortest line is usually in the area with out door furniture, fertilizer and seasonal stuff. Even though it is not yet Halloween, the season has been pushed into December: I had to back up and look again when I saw this guy in the line up of fake Christmas trees... Not sure where creative drops off and tacky takes over - but this one took a lot of imagination.

face painting...

... at Botanical Gardens annual Fall Festival. These are your choices....

Every Saturday in October had something going on. I requested to have the day off from my little part time jobette to be volunteering for some non-paying project every weekend. Botanical Gardens the first and last Saturdays of the month, recycling program with Keep Columbus Beautiful one day. That lost weekend in the woods of Harris County working at the retreat for three days.

I've been scrambling all week trying to find some teenagers to help with the face painting event today. I thought helpers were all squared away weeks ago, when I was at a Girl Scout recruitment and saw a group of girls who were painting butterflies and rainbows on attendees. There were dozens of families lined up to enroll youngsters in Scouts, and a number of organized troops doing demonstrations of all the fun the girls do/have when they participate. Got contact info. for the troop leader of the girls who were painting, and thought the labor for today had been arranged.

But when I called her the first of the week to confirm, my plans went awry. No scouts. I began to contact everyone I could think of who had some connection with teenagers, desperate to recruit extra pairs of hands to help. I have no idea who/how many children will be at the event all day today, for the Fall Festival/Plant Sale. I know how antsy little people get when they have to stand and wait, so have some quick, easy designs for them to choose from. But being the only one doing the painting, no matter how simple the designs would be not be a good thing. All those feelers have paid off somewhat, as I have hopes that two helpers will show up this morning. I'm hoping that being a chilly Saturday morning, a fall festival will get off to a slow start, and there will not be a lot of activity early in the day.

Fortunately my commitment is from 8:30 (set up) until 1, when someone else will come and take the second half of the day, with other Scouts showing up to help in the afternoon. I have my fingers and toes crossed that the teenagers who said they would be there to help will actually show up. Allowing me to leave and not devote my entire day to this project.

when he went...

... on his birthday to meet the daughters for lunch last month,  I am certain they would have been at the prearranged location: Cracker Barrel, his preferred destination. Where I can say without a moment's hesitation he would have ordered the "Uncle Herschel" breakfast for lunch. Three different meats plus eggs and biscuits. That is the Only Thing he orders when he walks in the door at Cracker Barrel.

Plus he will always be early. Making you think you are late, because he is sitting there drumming his fingers on the table top, waiting, with a questioning expression on his countenance when you arrive. Not specifically giving the 'stink eye', just a sense of  'what took you so long?' or 'why did you not leave home thirty minutes sooner like I did?' This Man is always early.

Always! The same one who would get dressed on a Sunday morning, back in the era when everyone wore suits and ties to church, and go sit in the car and wait for me and two children to 'Hurry up! Come on! Get out here!' While I was trying to brush hair, find shoes, tie bows, wipe faces for both of them, plus get me ready. He is sitting in the driveway with the motor running, scowling in frustration at our failure. Forcing him to wait instead of being the first one to arrive and unlock the doors.

So he would have been sitting there at the assigned table, awaiting their arrival. Expecting one daughter, but not the second. I can picture the expression on his face, when they walked in the seating area, and there were two of them. The look of wide-eyed surprise he always makes when something unexpected happens. Amazed at the sight, marveling in wonder. Delighted to see both of them, but especially the older one he might see once a year. What a pleasant surprise!


PS... Go back and read the first paragraph, about his devotion to the Uncle Hershel breakfast. And remember the blog I wrote about a family friend. The man who is a retired physician. When he would be on call at the local ER and have to go in to work at 3 a.m., to tend to an orthopedic emergency - there would be gurneys lining the halls with rotund men, lying prone awaiting attention. They came in when awakened at 1:15 in the morning with urgent chest pains, thinking they were candidates for heart attacks. Unwilling to be proactive and do the things they could to be healthy, expecting medical professionals to magically produce a cure for a lifetime of bad habits and non-compliance. This family friend referred to the steady stream of overweight men in crisis as having a problem with 'biscuit poisoning'.

his idea...

...of amusing from the viewpoint of The Man Who Lives Here. He had a birthday recently, and was invited to have lunch with the daughter who lives in Decatur. She asked if he would be willing to drive for an hour to meet her halfway between where he lives and where she lives. It is not a difficult drive on this end, and one that I have done many times for the express purpose of meeting for lunch, just hanging out, a walk in the park to talk. I will never get over despising the traffic in metro, and meeting half-way after a pleasant drive through the piney woods is preferable to forcing oneself to drive into the pit of hell that describes interstates in Atlanta. Practically no traffic at all heading north on I-185 that literally 'dead ends' on the military post here - amazingly easy traveling with clean landscape: not even one billboard, never any noticeable litter, very few big trucks.

He was born in the years of The Great Depression, which was the worst economic downturn in the history of the industrialized world, lasting from 1929 to 1939. It began after the stock market crash of October 1929, which sent Wall Street into a panic and wiped out millions of investors. These lean years had a profound effect on everyone who lived through that time, both adults and young people who grew up in those years of scarcity.

I don't know specifically how it affected his family, when he was growing up in a town where steel mills were the primary employer, but that crash where banks failed affected the entire nation, as well as others around the globe. I have an amateur/personal theory of how living in a time of financial fear affected him, but that is for another day. He was too young to feel the full brunt of constant anxiety, but overheard conversations expressing concerns, doubts, worries would have had a trickle down effect. The abbreviated history lesson is just to give you an idea of his age, as his birth was right smack dab in the middle of those years.

The daughter asked him to meet her for lunch, on a Sunday after church. His response was something along the lines of 'maybe', with an invisible shrug, even though the invite was issued weeks before the actual day. She asked again, after a reasonable amount of time had passed. His response was 'I'm waiting to see if I get a better offer'. 'Wow!' was my reaction when she told me what had transpired through text messages.

When I returned home and saw The Man Who Lives Here, I told him (after he had been fed!) that if someone liked me enough to say 'meet me for lunch', even without knowing it was a birthday, I would jump at the chance. My response would be to immediately clear my calendar, check to see if my slip is showing, and start putting on  my party hat. The answer should never be 'let me wait and see if something better comes along'. The conversation went on a bit longer, with me trying to understand how he could think an insulting response was amusing or appropriate. It has become obvious over many years that his sense of humor does not align with mine: any number of times I have made a serious inquiry to be met with a flippant answer. Baffling until I remind myself of how thankful I am that God made everybody different!

She later reported that I had 'shamed' her dad into accepting, actually making a call instead of the impersonal texting method. Agreeing to make the drive to meet her an hour up the highway, halfway between her home and his. Without knowing there was a second daughter invited to come along, one he rarely sees, meant to be a surprise when they arrived at the Cracker Barrel for lunch.

amusing stickers...

... on the back window of a SUV waiting at the light ahead of me. You've seen the one that has the silhouette of T Rex, that dinosaur with the hopelessly short front legs making them useless for bringing food to it's toothy mouth. And the accompanying caption: "If you are happy and you know it... oh, never mind" indicating the carnivore has legs far too short to bring the claws together to clap, or do anything else with like self-feeding.

And another one that has the same silhouette of the T Rex, gobbling up stick figures, stuffing them in his jaws with both 'arms'. That caption that relates something about how much this hungry reptile enjoyed consuming your 'stick family'. Meant to be the perfect comeback to all those people who enjoy showing other motorists how many family members and assorted pets live at their house, often dressed as zombies or Star Wars characters.

The one I saw today was a small sticker with that T Rex in profile, but he had some of those mechanical grabbers on both claws, the little gadget you can get a discount store to help you reach things on high shelves, or under the bed three feet away. Used to extend his reach enough to grab any tasty morsel that came along and stuff it in his greedy toothy mouth. All three of these decals on the back window of the same vehicle were pretty amusing. At least that's what I thought when I was waiting for the light to change from red to green....

inexplicable...

... is the only way to explain it. It just sort of happened. In the way I clearly remember my college roommate trying to justify bizarre behavior by saying: 'it seemed like a good idea at the time.' She was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but was so likeable her agreeable personality made up for a variety of other faults. Hopefully she found her niche in life and things have worked out well for her.

This story is of the sort that I have always been seriously reluctant to share. I've never been one to willingly admit to doing dumb stuff, thinking if no one hears/knows about that foolish or hare-brained activity, it never happened. But as I get older, and seem to have honed the ability to laugh more; that skill also includes being willing to laugh at myself. I know it was crazy, but it is history now, so there is no point in telling me that was not smart or healthy or sane. The most amazing part to me is that I did not hesitate, once I had decided...

I spent the night in my car. I could not find the key to the house when I finally arrived at my auntie's house. Stopped at the assisted living facility to leave a paper for the staff, and decided to take advantage of the internet, so I sat a while and typed. When I left there, and drove on into town, I discovered the key was missing. It was late, and I was tired after having a busy day: up at 5 a.m., at work from six until two, then driving for three hours. It was much too late to be calling people inviting myself to be an overnight guest. I had everything necessary with me (except a bed and bathroom), so I just pulled the covers over my head, reclined the seat and went to sleep.

I knew to expect I'd have to get up in the middle of the night as usual, and I did. But went back to sleep for several hours. The lost/missing key problem is semi-resolved as I will meet the auction people shortly to get the key I gave when we signed the contract. I can go and get a copy (or two) made and be back on track. Just lost several hours when I could have been productive - but that's life...

in the dark...

... on the last part of the drive to arrive in Valdosta. Left work at 2:15, did several errands that needed attention, and got packed up to leave town around 5:00. I knew it would be dark-thirty before I the end, but find that preferable to trying to drive down and back in one day. It's possible, but not likely that I would do that much driving in a twelve hour span. I came to the conclusion that making that six hour drive is just tooooo much to try to get accomplished in one day and expect to be able to function at a civilized level the next.

Plus I really cannot entertain myself here in Valdosta very well. If I do not have anything to read, I go to bed too early. I don't want to get out in the streets and walk after dark. I have to put some effort into finding a source of wi-fi in order to get connected with the universe. Sorta' pitiful....

I have been accumulating cardboard cartons, broken down, flattened and stacked in the back of  my car.  Plus the necessary packing tape to turn them back into boxes, large enough to hold bottles and cans that need to be disposed of, and small enough for lifting when full to put in the back of my car. I expect to find chemicals like old cans of paint, insecticides, weed killer and other items that do not need to go into the land fill or ground water. I am prepared to take boxes of these haz-mat materials home to store in my carport until the city has another day when they will take assorted dangerous chemicals for disposal

Yard tools like rakes, shovels, pitchfork, garden hoe, hoses, watering cans. And boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations. I quit the 'paring down' process before opening the first box last week, so have no idea what to expect. Hoping there might be one last stash of those wonderful snowflakes my grandmother crochet by the dozens. I have given all the ones away that trimmed my Christmas tree for years, except for several I put in a frame to hang on the wall, preserving for posterity.

Not really expecting that the cartons of holiday trim stored in the room with junk, chemicals, yard tools would  contain something of such value, treasures from the past. But I know my auntie had many, and have yet to find them. The boxes piled up in the last corner of the last room to be identified and sorted is the only place left to look. There is another generation I would like to share them with, if they surface when I look through those boxes. If those beautiful lace-y hand-made snowflakes do not show up in the last few cartons of flotsam/jetsam/antiquities, they are gone forever: .like a whisp of smoke floating away on the slightest breeze - vanished.

I am trying my best to ignore the possibility that there might be something stored in the attic....

in the woods...

... over the weekend, up in Harris county. Volunteering at the semi-annual Emmaus Walk at a retreat center near Hamilton, GA. The weather was excellent, cooler than it has been. A few rain drops on Saturday, when it was predicted at 80%, but little more than a smattering there in the peaceful little valley where the Pine Eden campground is located. 'Camp ground' is probably a misnomer, as it is a little too ritzy to be considered 'roughing it'. It is often rented out over the summer months by different churches who send youngsters to be immersed in Bible camp for a week. Fully furnished kitchen and dining hall that would probably seat one hundred. A conference room that will hold that many chairs if you don't need tables, and lodging in dorms that might sleep a crowd that size with full amenities.

I asked for the weekend off, to go and volunteer my time, as I generally do each spring in March and during a long weekend in October as well. Lots of jobs for people who have been on the retreat over the years, and enjoyed their time away from the busy-ness of the world so much, they want to make an effort to pass it on. My experience was so gratifying I have been going back each spring and fall for years, being one of those invisible people who devote their time to making the event seem as if it just mysteriously, magically, spontaneously appears: three meals a day, clean bathrooms, all the snacks you could possibly consume. And a series of people who show up to give talks, pre-planned topics in a specific order, with the leeway to add personal experiences to enhance the meaning of the information they provide.

Volunteers can be difficult to find - especially when the event begins on a Thursday afternoon. Folk who would like to support the event, but employed often find it difficult to take the time away from work - at least a day and a half if you can get organized well enough on Wed. night to leave your job and go directly to the camp ground. I just request the time off, and hope it will be approved. Far enough in advance, requests are rarely denied.

One of the advantages of being a part time worker is I can often choose when I don't work. The disadvantage, opposite side of that same coin: the schedule maker can also decide when I don't work. There is an occasional clash of minds, wills, opinions, as when I recently commented I thought 'we live in a democracy'. Mild mannered griping over another part time person getting more work (meaning more pay) that I had been scheduled for. Just making noise, as I know it all evens out...

cotton vs. hurricane ......

... and it seems the agriculture industry in south Georgia was not the winner. I took the photos several weeks ago. Stopping along the highway when I was returning from Valdosta.  Driving south, I saw acres and acres of fully opened bolls of cotton filling the landscape as far as the eye can see. Making for very disconcerting view when the distant fields look as if covered in snow. Your brain knows that is an impossibility in the fall in south Georgia, so you understand your eyes are deceiving you, but still, you know what you are seeing... a really confusing view!

When most of the hard acorn shaped bolls, about two inches in diameter, hanging by stems from a plant about four feet tall are ready for harvest, the boll opens into sections.You can see the divisions if you look closely. Growers contract with crop duster pilots fly over their fields with a defoliant, to cause the green leaves to wither and die, making the cotton fibers easier to harvest. The photos were taken while the plants were still green, before the leaves had died and fallen off. When the leaves are gone, the crop is of greater value, as the end product when baled is much cleaner without trash incorporated into the bale as it goes to market to be turned into cotton fabric.

Gigantic harvesting machines roll through the rows, vacuuming the fibers out, literally sucking the cotton out that is clinging to the now dried plant. Huge bales or containers are taken to the site of a gin that separates the feather-light fibers from seeds, and compacts the cotton into bales that can weigh over five hundred pounds. That is a lot 'o cotton!

What happened here in south Georgia to bankrupt farmers is Hurricane Michael. I thought as I heard weather reports that the pounding rain and resulting flooding would destroy crops. Soybeans and peanuts ready for harvest would be soaked, and possibly standing in water long enough for the entire years' efforts to be for nought. Farmers who had spent month nurturing crops, planting, fertilizing, irrigating would go to bed weeping at the monumental losses incurred by torrential rains.

But cotton? I thought that might survive, sitting in the field waiting to dry out before it could be harvested. The commentator from the state Department of Agriculture reported devastating losses for the southwestern part of the state. Flooding as I had expected, but the wind was just as damaging. Such high velocity wind blowing up from the Gulf of Mexico at hurricane speeds, the cotton fibers were literally blown out of the open boll, and simply vanished. The total value from all the crops lost in the state will be in the billions. Wow! Hard to comprehend.

I was so hopeful when I considered the vast acreage filled with farm land across the south, and knew the damage untimely rains could do to crops those families depended on. Confident those vast fields of cotton could withstand the wet, and would dry out over time, be salvaged while knowing other crops would be entirely lost due to extended rainy period. Never considering the effect gale force winds from a category four hurricane could have on those tiny delicate feather-weight cotton fibers.

down a rathole...

... not a rabbit hole, as when people disappear a la Alice in Wonderland, but a rat-hole. If you pay the least bit of attention to the billboards or other media outlets that advertise the jackpot for the current week of lottery you know it is extraordinarily large. The Man Who Lives Here commented on it recently. Just telling me what a gigantic number the amount has become. I told him if he felt the urge to toss his cash down a rat-hole, he should give it to me,. I assured him I would give it a good home, and promised it would be much more well spent in my hands at the grocery store.

When I carted around small children in car seats we played a game every time we passed a billboard advertising for the state lottery. Talking about what we could do if we were winners. I have yet to purchase a ticket, and do not think they buy them with any frequency if at all. But we still had good entertainment talking about the fun we would have with millions, looking like Scrooge McDuck rolling around in his vault full of sparkling coins, tossing cash in the air.

on the way...

... to donate at the thrift store. Amazed at the things she kept and found too valuable to discard, or possibly that sentimental attachment made her unable to part with the oddments that had belonged to her mother. Lots of small containers, like the pitcher you see in one of the cartons I clearly recall seeing in my  grandma's house. Made of cast aluminum, battered, dented but still quite serviceable.

Things that have so little value to anyone who does not know the history they could easily toss in the trash. The chipped enamel dish pans, of which there were at least three, in different diameters. Still water-worthy, but who uses an actual metal dishpan any more? One even had a little hole, probably from being dropped one too many times - but it had been patched with a small bolt and nut that fit so tightly the container would still hold water for doing the supper dishes before houses were built with kitchens that had sinks. Or any other household purpose someone would need a vessel for a hundred years ago: Washing up on the back porch after a hot day of plowing behind a mule, or sitting in the shade shelling bushels of peas for canning.


Canning jars galore: some with glass lids, metal bails and rubber seals. Some with zinc lids, and some still filled with who-knows-what, dangerous to consume, but the mason jars appear to be still in good condition for another hundred years. Baskets: plastic from the discount store, wicker that likely held gifts, made from oak splints that were fashioned by my grandfather nearly a hundred years ago. With bits of his DNA still attached: how to put that stuff in the donation box for the thrift store?

disordered carport/storage room...

... or gigantic closet, that serves as a backyard shed, full of things not wanted, but too valuable to throw away. We all have some of that, right? Either filling a closet, or junk drawer in the kitchen, where little oddments go to languish until you are forced to sort and discard. Due to moving, or when someone literally dies and leaves other people the task or sorting and eliminating. This seems to be the situation I have been facing for recent weeks, forced to be that person.

When the auntie relocated, very much against her will, about eighteen months ago, I did not have the thought that I would be the person responsible for all her worldly goods. I was so astounded and amazed that she had been pried loose from the place she was established, somehow it never occurred to me who was going to be sorting a lifetime of her belongings. That consideration gradually crept up on me, with 'decision time' now leaning forward, staring me in the eyeballs. I have been there in her house twice since the first of October, emptying closets, deciding, sorting, listing, boxing, loading, hauling, donating. Eight trips to various thrift shops later, plus two loads of boxes filled with books donated to the Friends of Library resale store. One more day devoted to the last of the accumulated miscellanea, and the end is in sight.

The person who owns the auction business has been to look a couple of times, and claims to feel that most of what remains will sell. I am profoundly doubtful, supremely unconvinced that buyers will look at some of the items she proposes to list on an on-line site (Professionalauctioneer.com) will find buyers. I fully expect much of what remains will suffer the indignity the in-between step: being donated to Goodwill for public consumption. I have been pretty ruthless thus far, able to part with many things that do have some value - or would for the person who wanted another 'this' or needs a 'that'. Easy to do when you have no personal investment or sentimental attachment to the article in question.

I believe I can get finished in one more day, will have the bulk of the undesirables donated with another trip to Valdosta. There are several boxes that might present a challenge, as they are cartons stacked high, marked 'Christmas'. I expect they will have handiwork created by my grandmother, and be filled with items that I will not be able to so casually load up for the donation bin. The things discovered thus far that were obviously products of my talented grandma's hands have been relocated to relatives, distributed to cousins who were geographically distant and did not have the hometown connection I did over the years. I have enough of the lovingly, devotedly produced crochet snowflakes and carefully tediously hand-stitched embroidery, monograms on sweaters to satisfy.  If the cousins do not care to own the handiwork, they can do as they please: trash, donate, or pass along to the next generation to decide.

I recall the auntie reporting some years ago that she had been going through closets, cleaning out, sorting and making an effort to get rid of some items she felt should go. I remember hearing something similar from my mom many years ago, referring to an attic that had been filled over fifty years of living in one place. I am thankful beyond words that these siblings did make that effort. Two more trips to donate should wrap this up, now that I am down to yard tools, boxes of Christmas decor., cans of paint and haz-mat products. The chemical items will have to stored until recycle day comes around again, but the rest headed for donation bin. That said: there is still a way to go, to get the auntie's belongings sorted and finish the removal project.

Don't even ask me about the attic in my parents home! A memorial left to the memory of the man who built the house from the hand-dug trenches for a foundation of concrete blocks, laid row upon row all the way to the rafters supporting the now-illegal asbestos shingles and brick chimney. The attic still containing things I continue to ignore. An acre of land he devoted his adult life to enhancing, making livable, a place where he could sit in the late afternoon shade of the pine trees and enjoy his one cold beer...

10-18-1918...

... what an interesting date. I was going through papers doing a little chore I do not enjoy, though when completed, I feel remarkably self-righteous. The responsibility of being guardian and conservator for my auntie is (as I should have known, due to some obscure corollary of Murphy's Law) far  more complicated than anyone realizes before they jump feet first into the mire-y mess of probate. After you have committed yourself to the care and feeding of another adult, you slowly begin to find your life considerably more weighted down by the responsibility placed on your shoulders as more of the details are revealed.

In my case, in addition to the physical care of this other, often obstinate, consistently dis-satisfied individual, there is also the equally weighty burden of conservator-ship: keeping detailed records of all her financial business. I have, on occasion, thought it might be easier if she were destitute with the barest of resources, dependent on the generosity of the gov'mint to provide funding for maintenance. Not a serious thought, as she would not be in the perfectly Perfect facility where she now resides, and would be in dire straits in a variety of ways - none of which would be to her liking. Therefore even though she consistently reports to 'not like being here', I know she is well cared for, kept tidy, fed regularly and safe. All those things that are necessary if not to her liking.

In the process of trying to keep orderly records, I bought file folders, but had no place to file them. Started with a green plastic mesh shopping basket that might have been heisted from my work place, as it was of the perfect dimensions to hold file folders upright. But as things have progressed, as paperwork has increased - meaning I do not know what will be important when questions are posed by probate judge, and I want to be able to produce accurate answers - I have bought more file folders, which require more space to store.  I remembered that the auntie had a two drawer file cabinet in her house - jam-packed full of eighty-plus years of paperwork. It would have to be emptied before I could bring it home to make use of it for orderly record-keeping.

Going through that file cabinet in her house recently, deciding what to keep, papers to trash, documents to shred, I found a copy of my grandparents marriage certificate. Their anniversary is today. Wow. It has been One Hundred Years. Remembering when there used to be a daily radio program by Paul Harvey, telling interesting anecdotes, often footnotes to history that revealed things you never knew, "The Rest of the Story". At the end of his interesting little talk he would often mention some married couple with remarkable longevity: people who had been together for sixty plus years. Amazing little snippets of couples with an unbelievable ability to stick it out. Often a pair of Nebraskans, or Texans who you would know had come up as children and young adults in really harsh circumstances, living through hard times as pioneers in sparsely settled country. Devoting their lives to manual labor of farming or raising cattle in blistering heat or rip-roaring blizzards.

My fore-bears did  not survive the droughty seasons of west Texas or blowing blue-northers of Minnesota, but they did live in Georgia and survive Depression years. Moving to raise a family on a farm so they could grow crops, livestock to provide plenty for four children to eat. Homemade clothing, home grown food put up in a muggy, steamy kitchen in the summer from garden produce. I clearly remember a Fiftieth Anniversary Party, hosted by the four adult children, in  my parents house back when I was still  in  my teens.

But: I thought their annniversary date was October 20. Which is why when I got married, I chose the twentieth for the date I would be wed. And now, after over thirty-five years, I find that the date was wrong? Oh, well, guess I might as well stick it out...

swamped...

... at work today. No one thought to mention it was a 'made up holiday', something dreamed up by Hallmark Cards as a way to get people to run to the store and make a purchase to send greetings and salutations to special people. There is: President's Day, Nurses' Day, Firefighters' Day, Teacher Appreciation Week, Grandparents' Day, Administrative Assistant Day. You probably did not read the fine print at the bottom of the square on the calendar, or you would already know that it is: Boss's Day. Yay for all the people who make the big money and have the sign on their door that says 'The Buck Stops Here', just like Harry Truman.

I am almost certain Hallmark did not overlook it, and there were dozens of choices on the far side of the store where the card selections are located. But no one on my side of the store, where the balloons and flowers are, thought to mention that I would spend about eighty percent of my day filling helium balloons and putting together flower arrangements for people who love their boss. Along with at least half a dozen baskets people ordered to pick up right now filled with fresh fruit and candy, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a big fluffy bow.

It was a busy day, traipsing from the front of the store to the back, over and over. Waiting on customers and feeling like I was getting nothing at all accomplished towards my assignment of making salads. Now that I can sit down, rest my weary feets, and think of all that I did get accomplished, I know it was productive. But sort of like living in a house full of children where you never have a sense of finishing anything you start - you keep plodding away, but feel like you have been swimming against the tide, or walking in quicksand all day. Nothing to show for all your efforts at the end of the day, even though you know, your tired feets, aching back, mushy brain put in a long day on the job.

joy...

... a station on the radio randomly found when twirling the knob, trying to entertain myself while driving. Hoping to stay awake long enough to get to the destination, without ending up dangling from a tree limb should a short snooze overtake me on the road. In my travels to and from Valdosta in recent days, I happened across a syndicated station: JOY FM. Rather than move back to the usual spot of public radio, I left it on the Christian station, even though the music is so 'current' there are not many songs I am familiar with. As if feeling outdated and Old School is not bad enough when I discovered that the music I know and love is now on the Oldies Station: both pop and country, all the things I can sing along too are ancient by today's standards.

I was listening this morning to the DJ chat with a well known singer, though I do not know anything at all about him other than his name. I could google  him, but if you are interested you can do that for yourself. I hope I can remember enough of the story he told to make it even half as amusing as the version I heard today. I am sure they all make the rounds, like having to go to book signings when you have something published. All the people releasing new music must surely have agents that get them into radio stations to talk on air and tell anecdotes to the 'morning crew' and get more air time for their newest songs.

Chris Tomlin was telling these radio personalities about getting started in the recording business, trying to break into the world of popular Christian music. He got a call to go to a small town in Alabama and play his first every concert at a church. He called his mom, so excited he had to share his good new: a paying gig! So he loads up his guitar, and heads to Tuscaloosa. Arriving at the church where he is to play, with the understanding he should expect an audience of about five hundred youth.

He is told the person who would normally handle the sound system is  not available, but there is a substitute who is very capable and knowledgeable: a fourteen year old. She soon proves that she knows absolutely nothing about electronics, is completely incapable of providing the least bit of assistance. Chris is going back and forth between the stage in this large sanctuary and the booth in the far distant back of the room, up and down, back and forth, up-and-down, back-and-forth. Trying to get the sound he is comfortable with, what he knows he is capable of doing.

In comes the minister of music, a much older man that his contact person has advised him is likely to present a problem, as he is a person who is completely opposed to the contemporary sound. The man comes charging up to Chris and asks: What In The World Are You Doing? That Awful Sound Is Completely Unacceptable! You Are Being A Poor Steward Of The Human Ear! (I may not have that last sentence exactly right, but Chris found it so memorable, he could quote with great accuracy!) 

He tried his best to tone it down, but knew he had been hired to play the songs he had written, the music he loved and love to performed. He's getting the sound right, while watching the time, waiting for the youth to start coming in the room. It gets later and later, someone comes in to say that the kids are all at some sort of big rally/festival down town, so there might not be such a good attendance. Finally eight or nine surly teenagers come in, proceed to sit on the very back row of the sanctuary, as far away as possible from the stage and performer. Great Big Sanctuary: Eight teens with poor attitudes, talking, chewing gum, being noisy and disruptive, completely ignoring the guy who is being paid to entertain, who is so excited about his first ever professional gig!

In comes a group of about thirty kids: someone has taken a bus and picked up some students who wanted to attend the concert. They all came from the school for the Deaf and Blind! They either cannot hear  him sing or cannot even seen him up  on the stage! This struggling young musician's first ever contract for a concert.

The radio personalities he was telling this story to were laughing so hard they could not talk. Probably more to this tale of woe, but that was all I heard. Enough to keep me smiling for the rest of the day. I know he is a well-known, successful musician and a popular singer of Christian music - but everybody has to start some where, right? One of the interviewers commented: 'the only way to go is up!'

it's pretty late...

...on Sunday night. I did not expect to be getting to Valdosta at bed time, but really really really did not like the idea of driving three hours down there and another three back in one day, so got started after working nearly ten hours. Had to be on the job at 5a.m., and left there about 4:15, having almost nearly practically worked around the clock. I did stop and go to church this morning, but other than that - a long day.

The produce guys had saved me some boxes, that they flattened, for reassembling with some tape to turn back into cartons when I get started on cleaning out the auntie's carport tomorrow. I wish I had been better organized so I would have all that miscellanea to take the the recycling project on Sat. morning when the city was taking all manner of undesirables to keep contaminants out of the city dump. Lots of pesticides, poisonous stuff, dangerous items that do not need to be casually discarded, put in the trash bin for pick up to end up in the local landfill, eventually going into our drinking water.

I do not want to take it  home and have it sit around in my carport for months before another opportunity to recycle comes around. But holding on to chemicals is preferable to just tossing in the trash. This is, I suppose, why we come equipped with a conscience? To  force us to practice what we preach? Be good stewards even if that is not the easiest solution to the problem of dozens of cans, bins, boxes of contraband compounds.

When I was cleaning out closets a couple of weeks ago, the person who runs the auction business stopped by and wanted to chat. I spent a good bit of time with her, and learned quite a lot about how this thing works. Surprising to hear that she feels like a lot of those items I was boxing up to donate to the thrift store are things she said people would buy at an estate sale. Goes to show how little I know about dissolving a lifetime of accumulated flotsam and jetsam. Some things you might feel are worthless would be highly desirable and other items that you would value seem to be of little worth to anyone else. Sounding like a subset or component of Murphys' Law. Along the lines of 'one man's trash being another man's treasure' and 'beauty/value is in the eye of the beholder'?

book review: ...

... it was so awful, I won't even tell you the title. A book I purchased from the Friends shop at the library, when I needed a supply to take with me while traveling in late September. This one only had about two hundred pages, but it took me two weeks to finish. It was so 'put-down-able' I thought I would never get to the end, while being so curious to know how things worked out, I could not leave it in an airport or seat-back on the airplane.

I cannot say if it was completely made up, a work of total weird fiction or if there is any truth to the tale. About a man with some remarkably good writing credentials who choose to drive across the country with the pathologist who claimed to have been in possession of Einstein's brain. The idea of this item floating about in a large Tupperware container as the drive from the east coast to California makes me a bit queasy, even now, just writing about it. If this is really true, and not a work of fiction, it is inexplicable. I cannot even begin to fathom 'why?'

According to the author, a man who was at one time an executive editor of "Outside" magazine, the man who was in possession of this unusual artifact just happened to be in the right place when Einstein deceased, and was assigned to do an autopsy. The doctor had a theory that brains of really bright people will be different, possibly larger due to higher intelligence, and he kept this body part in formaldehyde for many years until he decided to give it to Mr. Einstein's granddaughter living in sunny California.

 The author did quite a bit of research and talked to a number of people who he felt would have some valid pertinent opinions on this  subject. It is a phenomena in Japan, where people have both a reverence and fascination for all things to do with Einstein. A number of knowledgeable experts are quoted at length in the book, so it is obvious the writer had ample research and personal interviews to draw from. Still, the whole thing is so bizarre. I still have the book and would love to give it to anyone who thinks they might attempt to delve into such an unusual subject.

Now would be an excellent time to report I read a lot of things that, upon reflection, seem so worthless I do not bore  you with details. I occasionally pick up some tome at the used bookstore, or Friends of Library shop, or out of some random Little Free Library that is so terrible you never hear about it. Things that cause me to wonder with great amazement how that got past the editor to make it into print. Those you do see reported here are things I do recommend, found worth reading to the last page, rather than being set aside or returned to the library with the thought "I don't have to finish this. There is no report due, and I won't be graded" so I put it down and never pick it up again.

not precisely...

... the one who will save the planet single-handedly, but feel I am helping in a small way. I volunteered my time today to stand in the middle of the street asking people for shoes. It is not nearly as bizarre as it might appear when you hear the details. All perfectly legitimate, with none of those men in the white coats with butterfly nets needing to be called to wrangle up the escapees.

In the interest of benefiting that organization I have mentioned before: Keep Columbus Beautiful. After receiving a random email about two years ago, I offered myself to be a member of the board of directors. I had no idea what I was getting into, other than knowing their goals were aimed at helping to protect the environment: keeping our waterways clean, public lands litter-free and community free from blight. I've been to a number of board meetings, with other people who desire to be invested in providing support for the betterment of our town. There are scheduled litter pick-up events, tree planting on Arbor Day, various service projects to involve students and encourage them to become invested in their city, aware of dropping trash on the streets, and more environmentally conscious.

The biggest annual organized clean-up is Help the Hooch, with a great deal of media attention, and publicity in the schools.There is much advertising of this one day project, encouraging grade schoolers, scout troops, civic organizations, fraternities and sororities, anyone in the community who would like to help with keeping trash out of the Chattahoochee River and tributaries. Amazing things are removed from lakes, streams, creek-beds and the river bottom each year: appliances, grocery shopping cards, bicycles, old tires, building materials, in addition to the usual bottles, cans, plastic bags and  miscellaneous litter.

I spent my time at the recycling center just off Victory Drive, down near the river. The city was accepting just about anything that could be recycled. All manner of hazardous waste like petroleum products that have long languished in storage sheds and no longer usable: gas, motor oil, brake fluid,  transmission gunk. Old cans of paint, thinner or remover. Tires. Any electronics that don't need to go in the landfill (like the dead printer I donated.) I probably saw more cans and buckets of  paint to be recycled than anything else during my time spent standing in the road today. My job was to hand out flyers and remind people they could take shoes to any fire station in town and put them in the bin to be recycled until the middle of November. I think we collected nearly two thousand pairs today! That is a whole lotta' shoes!

Shoes: hundreds and hundreds of shoes, cleaned out of closets, matched into pairs and donated for recycling. They will be put in cargo containers and shipped to countries where people can wear them. The company who does the shipping will pay 40 cents per pound for used shoes - keeping them out of the landfill and providing footwear for people who will put them to good use. Any size, any condition, any type.

Also offering to shred paper you are reluctant to toss in the trash and not willing to spend hours feeding sheet by sheet into a small home shredder. A commercial outfit that does on-site shredding for corporate and professional offices donated their men and truck for the morning, for people to bring personal and confidential paperwork for destruction. They will bale and recycle the shreds.

the current weather is...

... beautiful here in middle Georgia. I know the reports from recent days made it look like we were in the direct path for devastating winds and rains, with possible flooding. Surprisingly, it was a non-event. Some small limbs down, but actually no serious, visible damage. I expect there were some larger limbs or possibly trees that had been contemplating doing some destruction as they descended, though I have not actually seen any of that in local travels here.

Glancing at the screen on the television long enough to catch a glimpse of the Before-and-After shot taken from the air, of the view of housing along Mexico Beach makes me thankful to not own any real estate in Florida. I'm sad there were deaths attributed directly to the storm. Distressed so many homes were damaged or possibly destroyed by the hurricane, and so many people's lives have been permanently altered. Harsh weather is becoming a fact of life, with people who choose to live close to the ocean especially subject to dangers of weather related calamity.

Talking with a friend at lunch, we concluded this disaster to have some pretty obvious Biblical components. We have been warned about building houses on sand, without a firm foundation. Probably not often taken in such a literal sense, but as more and more people have the resources to build their dream homes on such shaky ground, they need to expect consequences of the risk taken. A snippet from recent radio commentary stated that damages will continue to grow exponentially as more and more construction occurs in areas that are not safe for housing: beach front property, barrier islands, marsh land. It might take ten years, or it might last one hundred, but eventually that land will be reclaimed by nature, to return to it's original state.

going in to work...

... at six a.m. this morning. Not all that unusual, but probably painfully early for some who enjoy that feeling of warm, cozy bed with no employment staring them in the face. Often the work scheduling guy has me coming in at five a.m., which means I have to get up at 4:00 to be relatively civil by the time I clock in an hour later. But today it was from six until twelve: not a bad day, when finished by noon and the rest of the day to do as I please.

Most of the renovations are not readily visible, behind-the-scenes work customers and many employees would likely not notice. Some is cosmetic like a coat of paint on all the walls, which corporate requires periodically to make the store appear clean, fresh and inviting. I think all the cooling equipment in the store has been replaced: reach in freezers on the prepared frozen food aisle, from A-to-Z, breakfast items to desserts have upgrades, to be more energy efficient, and with motion sensor lighting. Dairy products all are in cases with glass fronts, instead of open to preserve cooling and keep temperature more stable, energy saving as well. Much of produce area, ready-to-eat salads and bottled juices are in coolers with glass doors to reduce cost of cooling.

A pretty expensive undertaking when you consider the cost of all the replacement equipment. I asked one of the overnight guys what happens to the things they have taken out: he sort of waffled on the answer, so I am not convinced it is recycled. I'd hoped to hear about donations to some worthy cause like Habitat for Humanity 'ReStore' where it would be sold and reused.

This morning, when I got to work the guys who have been in the building overnight for weeks and weeks were still there. There were three of them working on replacing an emergency exit door in the back corner of the produce department. In a place where we could occasionally pass by and see what was going on. That big metal door disappeared several days ago, and was temporarily replaced with plywood filling in the opening. I am surprised there was not a lake there on the floor, where the ill-fitting replacement had been with all the downpour during stormy weather. Or maybe there was, and they cleaned it up before I arrived on the scene.

When I asked what was going on, seeing them working on a door of a different color (the one that had been there had recently been painted brown, and this new one was gray) I was told the old one opened the wrong way. Apparently it was not possible to just move the hinges. It had a panic bar, was alarmed, with a sign, so obviously only to be used when the store had to be evacuated. I know they thought I was both nuts-o and ignorant when I suggested/wondered 'could you just turn it up-side-down?'

The funny part is that it was still pitch dark outside. And the guys were trying to figure out how to install all the hardware: panic bar, locking mechanism, alarm components. Which they failed to do before hanging the door on the hinges. It would have been so easy to put all the parts together on the metal door before installation where it was on the floor of the brightly lit store and they could see what they were doing. But the three guys hung the door, then stood out there in the dark fumbling around. Feeling for screw holes, dropping parts, bumping around in the pitch dark before daylight, mumbling, using phones for flashlights in an effort to get their task completed before the store opened at 7:00.

When I realized they were putting so much effort into a task that would have been so simple if attempted in the bright indoor lighting of the  store, I reported to a coworker it looked like a scene from the Three Stooges. They finally got it all together, even though the door is the wrong color now. The one that opened the wrong way had just been painted brown a week ago, so I suppose the people who wield paintbrushes and rollers will be coming back around soon in the wee hours to change the color again.

the weather is...

... rainy but not really bad. My only concern is the possibility of trees falling on lines and the power going out. Even if that happens, I don't expect it will be for an extended period of time. Years ago when we first moved here, this part of town was so sparsely populated we did not have full city services. Lacking some of the usual utilities and benefits normally available in towns, we were using propane gas, delivered by a truck that refilled the tank in the front yard. Things that were flushed ended up in a septic tank buried in the yard.

Not really primitive by third world standards, but problematic at times. Like when I delivered a baby during an ice storm. When TheManWhoLivesHere finally returned home, there was no heat. For several days. He decided to camp out in the hospital until the weather changed.

Still in the same house with hundreds more that have been built in the area dramatically increasing the population. We are on top of a hill, so even with massive amounts of rainfall as a result of stalled out storm system, there is no fear of flooding. Though the street did flood recently, preventing travel for several days due to water, no one was really stuck, or trapped by poor drainage, just a bit  inconvenienced. I could be concerned about all the trees here, surrounding the house. Probably a dozen or  more that could potentially fall on the house, and do damage. But really: what can I do about it now?

I know people who decided to eliminate the possibility by having pine trees cut and now live on denuded lots, safe from storm damage.  I would rather take the chance and have the trees. It has not been that long since we put a new roof on. I don't relish the thought of doing that again, but would rather have the trees and a little risk.

Wind and rain is predicted, but expected to clear up as tattered remnants hang around for a couple of days. Flooding will surely happen when the storm begins to dissipate and dump more rain than we normally see. But it will soon be over, and time to start the damage assessment and repairs. One of the most remarkable sights I recall from going to MS after Katrina is trees with no leaves. Giant, ancient oak trees that have stood for generations with absolutely not the first sign of a green leaf. Every one blown off in the gale force winds. Trees stills standing without a single leaf. But surviving...

book review: "Desolation Mountain"...

... by W. Kent Krueger. Published in 2018, so one of the most recent tales. I think I come close to reading them all - at least all the ones I have found in the local library. This one, like most of the others, was read/heard while driving as it was a set of Cds.  The last stop I made before heading out of town was to go to the library to find some entertainment for the road. I was pleased to find another of Krueger's books to keep me company while traveling.

The same characters: Cork O'Connor, retired as a sheriff of a small community, Aurora, in northern Minnesota, and his family who live in the house on Gooseberry Lane. Desolation is the name of a mountain on the nearby Chippewa reservation, and plays a part in the plot when a small airplane goes down under mysterious circumstances.  Cork's son Steven has been having 'visions' very vivid dreams that seem to portend dreadful events, and predicted the crash as Steven described an eagle being shot down by a young boy on the mountain, dropping an egg as it falls from the sky.

The entire nation is stunned by the crash as a Senator who was coming to visit the small town of Aurora was on board with her family. Various security forces from the government get involved, attempting to cover up the cause of the crash, while searching for flight recorder that disappeared as the airplane disintegrated. All those on board were killed, but these different entities seem to be working at odds, keeping closely held information from citizens and  media alike. Everybody suspects everybody!

I've read/listened to so many of Krueger's stories, the O'Conners feel like people I know. Krueger describes small details of their lives to make them seem so authentic, I've become aware of small quirks that follow the characters from book to book. I was surprised to find this talking book on the shelf, and hope to discover others I have yet to read, so this family can continue to draw me into their lives. Though the reading is light and easy, the stories are well written and characters believable.

lunch in...

...Tennessee today. I drove to Decatur on Sunday afternoon, to spend the night. We got up this morning and drove on to Chattanooga for lunch, after I made a quick stop at the store for some fresh flowers to take along. Tomorrow is her actual birthday, but I had a minor conflict, causing the celebrating to be moved up a day.

We have been going for several years, to have lunch and chat/visit/laugh. Last year when asked what her preference would be for good eats, she reported that the most favorite would be eating Asian food at the 'cook it on the table' place - something we did occasionally in growing up years. She just loves Asian food - always requesting going to eat at a little hole in the wall place when she comes to visit here.

We got to TN a little early,  and made a detour to a store you could probably furnish your entire house in if you wanted. Definitely a OneStopShop, with everything except food, and maybe roofing shingles. I accidentally purchased a plastic green house that comes in a box, as well as a couple of big pretty yellow mum plants to sit on the front step that will need watering at least once a day. A few open flowers and dozens of buds that will open in the coming days to add color in the coming weeks when they return home to St. Elmo.

After we returned the (day early) Birthday Girl to her workplace, we got back on the interstate to return to Atlanta. Safe uneventful drive to Decatur, then on back home by about 5:30. A lot of traveling, gas burned, but an enjoyable day. I noticed on Sunday afternoon when headed north lots of pretty blooms in the median of I-185. Great swaths of cosmos in brilliant yellow, as well as spots of white, pink and maroon deliberately planted and watered to provide beauty for travelers. In the way that spotting happy yellow daffodils in the early spring make you smile, I was surprised and delighted by the colorful nodding blooms, and effort put forth to make a mundane drive so cheerful.

the consumate volunteer...

... somehow got dropped off the sign up list for making myself available to help with various events at the local botanical gardens. Got a call from the person who was recruited as a volunteer to manage the volunteer cadre, wondering  why I was not participating? Had my feelings been hurt? Do we have a bogus email address? No,  none of the above...

Apparently they thought I was ignoring them, while I was busily thinking they were ignoring me? I'm back on the email list again, and signed up for various projects in need of extra hands/bodies. One occurred on Saturday, when I went yesterday to help with Pumpkin Painting. And yes, they were actually painting actual pumpkins.

About two dozen people had signed up and paid good money to apply stickers, acrylic paint and tons of glitter to the pumpkin of choice. Some were really cute, clever designs carefully drawn out and sketched on the skin of the fruit, while others looked like an explosion in the glitter factory. The event was scheduled to start at 10:00 and be done by noon. I was walking back to my car by twelve, after sweeping up several good sized piles of glitter that landed on the tables, chairs and floor.

wading through...

... a life time of someone's belongings, when I spent the day on Friday going through closets at my auntie's house. I am thankful she reported several years ago when she was still relatively able (physically and mentally) to do some of the sorting and deciding for herself. Even so: it all has to go somewhere, as we all know 'you can't take it with you'.  Some of the things in her closets were items of clothing she will never wear, as she has been so well fed three-meals-a-day everything she had been wearing no

A room full of furniture was relocated to the assisted living facility where she resides, and will eventually be disposed of when she no longer needs a place to lay her head. But still, that leaves a house full of belongings, some antiques, old well made tables and chairs from the era when people took great pride in their craft.  In reality, now that I think of all she has accumulated, there is nothing new, furniture-wise, in her house. She enjoyed shopping in thrift stores, sussing out pieces she would strip of layers of paint, and refinish, have reupholstered and enjoy living with as refreshed, renewed belongings.

A few things in her home were made by her dad, who was obviously pretty handy with a hammer and nails. A beautiful old pine wood cabinet she said her dad made when the young couple was able to afford a radio: obviously a huge item budget-wise as well as in actuality. The cabinet stands about thirty inches high, with a shelf maybe 36 inches long, providing a space for all the workings to bring the news of the outside world into their home. There is a bookshelf, now relegated to her covered carport that stood in my grandmothers' home for years, filled with cookbooks, with necessary tools  tucked away behind hinged doors on either end. A large cabinet, at  least five feet in height, of unfinished wood I first saw at my grandmother's, standing in a storage shed made to store all the jam, jelly and vegetables she put by in glass canning jars over many years.

All these made by my grandfather, with hand tools, long before anyone even dreamed of electric saws and nail guns. In a little shop filled with tools, some of which I now own, stored in wooden chest he probably also made with those same tools. Hammers, hand drills, saws, planes, awls, everything tediously cut and shaped by his two hard-working hands after putting in his days as a bank teller in a small southern town. He was raised by people who worked the land, made most of their household furnishings, as well as growing much of what they ate either by planting or raising livestock. He was born into self-sufficiency, learned from an early age thrift and hard work. 

All that is now for sale, to the highest bidder. Available to those wanting the farm-house vintage look in furnishings. So hard to let these things go....

semi-accidentally ...

... is what I am calling this day devoted to a substitute teaching job at a nearby elementary school. The explanation for it being 'semi', is that I thought I was signing on to only be there half of the day. As the job was listed on the web-site you can access to search for daily openings, the time indicated was from 7:30 to 12:00. So I agreed, and took the assignment. Then the confirmation email reported that the hours I would work as 7:30 to 12:30 - not all that different, and easily do-able since I was already there.

The time seems to creep by so slowly when you are in a classroom with two dozen bouncy babbling energetic five year olds, I must have looked at my watch forty times before ten o'clock. At which time they lined up to go to lunch, with their choices being Salisbury steak or Buffalo Chicken Sandwich. Even though they were warned that anything with 'buffalo' in the name was going to be spicy, most choose the sandwich. I thought I would be free by noon, so did not plan on eating at the school. We got in the lunch room, they got plates with their pitiful lunches and sat down. Concluding it must be lunch time, I asked if the chicken was really hot, and was told there were some that had not been dunked in hot sauce. I asked to be fed, and ate mine with ketchup on it. Then realized it is only ten a.m. and I've just eaten lunch. What am I going to do for the rest of the day?

It gets worse: after more time in the classroom with two dozen milling talkative little people, I began to wonder when the person I was substituting for was going to show up? It got to be noon, then 12:15, then half past, and no replacement for the replacement. Finally, getting on towards one o'clock, someone from the office came in and asked if I would stay until 2:30. I said: 'uuuuuummmm, yeah, I guess.' When what I really meant was 'No.' But completely unprepared for that question, I could  not come up with an authentic-sounding excuse fast enough, so committed for the full day, when I thought I would be free by twelve-oh-one.

It gets better: while I was sitting with the kids in the lunch room, watching them not eat those Buffalo Chicken Sandwiches because they were too spicy, I read silly, cheezy jokes on their milk cartons.
This is what I saw:
What do you call a male cow who is taking a nap? A bull dozer. (The five year olds would never 'get' that!)
What did the lion say after eating a clown? That tasted funny!
Where do cows go on a date: Dinner and a moovie!

this is what...

... they might have heard when I was trudging up the hill behind trying to keep up. I know I am not as fast as people half my age, but I will get there eventually. It just takes me a little longer, especially when the effort required involves steep inclines or numerous stairsteps. I will get there under my own steam, just not as quickly as we would all like for it to happen.

What I was saying, over and over, my own personal mantra: "keep up,walk faster, don't get left", to help me speed up as necessary. I know they would not have left me there in a foreign country with a suitcase full of dirty clothing. It was most assuredly very frustrating for them at times when I was lagging behind. Occasionally stopping to look in a window, or observe nature, or take a photo for the blog. But often, just not moving fast enough, especially in the city when crossing the street at a light.

I will attribute part of the problem to my bad knee, the one with the brace that always gets special attention from the TSA crew at the airport. There is a metal piece on the side, large enough to set off alarms, alert those responsible for our air safety. I try to put the brace on the outside of my pants, to be able to remove it for an extra trip through the x-ray machine. They will always ask: 'Can  you take it off?' That usually makes the enforcers happy.

When asked about it, if anyone should casually inquire about my disability, I usually' respond: my knees seem to be older than the rest of my body'. I've expected for years this joint would be the first one to fail me as my dad had knee replacement surgery three times (one of the surgeries was not successful and had to be re-done). I assumed there would be a genetic predisposition to problems, and not much surprised that I have begun to have trouble with leg joints. We were designed to wear out, not intended to be immortal with organs, joints, parts that last indefinitely. I accept that as part of life and living here on this planet. Just have to occasionally remind myself to add a little more juice, and catch up before they turn the corner and disappear: KeepUpWalkFasterDon'tGetLeft.

renovating/upgrading...

... in the store where I have been working for years. This work has been ongoing for several months, and apparently seems to be coming to an end. My supposition is based on the fact that there are not nearly as many cargo shipping containers out there on the far edge of the parking lot as there was when the project started. Meaning all the building materials required for the construction have been put in place, all those improvements have been largely implemented. Still some painting and cosmetic stuff needed, and signage replaced, but mostly finished.

The crew that comes in every night at ten and disappears at five a.m. is finishing this particular tour of duty. I have not asked and no one tells me anything, but I assume this construction crew signs on to travel, sort of a deployment for weeks on end as they travel the southeast renovating, moving from one town to another as stores age and need upgrades. A variety of tasks to be done as each store is provided with energy efficient improvements, safety features and new paint jobs.

One big thing that has happened here is most of our refrigerated items are now in coolers behind doors. Keeping the cool in, with customers having to open clear glass doors to reach in and get the products they desire. I assume it will save on utility costs, but that is a lot of opening and closing (with loss of chill power), as well as dozens of doors that have to be cleaned of hand prints. Frozen foods area has also been replaced, though these items were in glass-fronted displays, but now have motion sensor lights, so they are not constantly lit up. Probably more energy efficient too.

I passed a customer yesterday who was muttering to herself, trying to find the items on her list. Asking why it is necessary to relocate everything in the area just because we are renovating. Not understanding why improvements necessitate moving things around when she thought she knew right where her preferred products could be found. I laughed, commiserated and said: "I work here, and I cannot find anything either!" I know there are different square footage and sized of stores, but often hear buyers complain that they cannot find anything in a different store. "They should set them up all the same. This one is not like my store, and I don't know where anything is!"

in transit...

... after a morning spent strolling through Central Park in The Big Apple. Following a week in a land with so little color, it was a delight to see all the wildflowers in glorious fall bloom in the park. All that time touring in on that island with much of the landscape either barren and bleak from volcanic eruptions, or washed of most color due to the early onset of autumn it was such a delight to see bright bloomers as we meandered along the paths of the Park.

My vision of a place surrounded by millions people in a town so densely populated is that every plant growing in the environs would be  perfectly placed, carefully groomed and in mint condition. So it was quite unexpected to see areas designed by Fredrick Law Olmsted, first laid out  in the mid-1800's appearing so natural and casual. We read several signs about renovations and improvements made due to donations by Friends of Central Park. Some parts are neatly groomed, tidily planted with landscaping, well mowed, fenced but other parts are much more natural, with seasonal growth, plants that would bloom naturally in the early fall: asters and ageratum.

Subway riding back from Central Park to Chinatown area where we spent the night, blissfully slumbering after travels across the icy North Atlantic. Lunch on a city sidewalk near the hotel where we stored our luggage. Delicious Italian eats: pasta stuffed with ricotta and spinach, made from scratch sauce, sprinkled with freshly grated Parmesan. Oh, my goodness! Then a ride back to JFK to be herded through the maze and arrive for screening with TSA again, Then more 'hurry up and wait' for the flight to ATL.

Sitting in various airports: with more experience than I would like of the scanners in TSA. Interesting to note that the security people in JFK are part of the Port Authority. I thought that odd until it occurred to me that Kennedy Airport is a port too! I hope I will do a better job in the future when traveling to take advantage of the benefit of early boarding. I have learned that it is most beneficial to have the brace I wear on my knee visible when heading through security check. Now I know it is also helpful to look 'disabled' when I approach the desk at the boarding gate with my request for 'extra time' to mosey on down the gang-way in an unhurried fashion along with moms and small children. As well as a good idea to limp a little when I take advantage of the stall in the WC labeled for the handicapped.

Flight back to ATL was uneventful, though we had too much time to kill before the last leg of the trip from Hartsfield International to Chattanooga. Whiling away hours with our eyes pretty much glazed over from travel, then hearing the flight to TN is delayed for who-knows-why. Finally arriving in Chattanooga, which is thankfully small, so no hike, or plane-train ride to the terminal, or tedious wait at the baggage carousel.  Driving back across town to fall into bed. Now I will drive for four hours to get home and eventually get over that draggy feeling from extended travel.

Still so thankful for the benefits of being born and living in America. Though we are most assuredly a spoiled people who want what we want when we want it, and sadly accustomed to all the choices that come with our consumeristic society, I know it is a blessing to be here. Enjoying the benefits of the US Constitution and traveling with a privileged passport.