... by Frances Maynard. Published in 2017 by Sourcebooks, Landmark. Picked at random from the shelf at my branch library. I kept thinking as I read that it must be one of those Young Adult volumes I picked up by accident, but nothing on the spine proved that to be true.
It was never specifically stated in the wording, but after reading well into the story, I concluded the main character, Elvira, must have some learning disability. At the end of the book, in a short blurb about the author on the last page, there was mention the author is a part time teacher of adults with Aspergers or other disorders.The story as it unfolds, does not mention this, but the habits and thoughts of Ellie demonstrate a different perspective, a skewed way of interpreting daily conversations, information, her life in general. Leading the reader to realize she struggles to process everything with a brain that is wired a bit different from the general population.
Ellie lives in a small house with her mother, as her dad was deceased. Ellie's mom is a bitter, argumentative, disagreeable person, who constantly criticizes and demeans her daughter. Knowing that the young adult has problems with language, understanding meanings of conversation, taking every word literally. Reminding me of the children's books written about a nanny: Amelia Bedelia, who would interpret every thing she heard in the literal sense, making for hilarious tales in literature. But trying to function in society with that handicap would be maddening as well as confusing.
Ellie's mom has a stroke, is placed in a care facility, leaving Ellie to fend for herself. With the assistance of a neighbor, new friends she begins to discover she can handle her life and becomes capable and independent. Her mom dies, leaving a trust fund that will provide support, and allow Ellie to continue to live in her comfortable home, surrounded by family furniture and history.
She soon discovers she has a heretofore unknown half-brother, a product of her father's philandering ways. She begins to email, then call, then meet this young man, several years younger than herself. The way she literally interprets all conversations and language are often amusing to read, but would understandably be very difficult for someone who is struggling to fit in, find her place in the world.
Her new-found brother works with her to piece together what they can discover of their dad's roaming, his other family and how he was deceitful, scheming and a hopeless liar. The dad served time for several crimes the two siblings discovered as they researched his history - even the name they knew him by was fictitious.
Here are Elvira's rules, often referred to in the book. They were made up by her, and used as a prompt throughout the story to help guide her as she faced unexpected, difficult or confusing situations:
1. Being polite and respectful is always good.
2. If you look or sound different, you won't fit in.
3. Conversation doesn't just exchange facts - it conveys how you're feeling.
4. You learn by making mistakes.
5. Not everyone who is nice to me is my friend.
6. It's better to be too diplomatic than too honest.
7. Rules change depending on the situation and the person you are speaking to.
And the one she added as she gradually became an independent capable adult discovering she could manage life on her own. Which is Rule 8: Use the rules to help with difficulties, to make life easier to understand what's acceptable to enhance your strengths, but after that, do things your way.
The list, printed at the end of the book, reminds me of the poster you often see in elementary classrooms with 'guidelines for life' by the author Robert Fulghum. He devised a thoughtful, considered list of all the things we should have been taught as we began our formal education in Kindergarten. Where we learned (and likely forgot when our brains began to accumulate too many other facts unrelated to patience and compassion) a number of basic principles of cooperative living.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
cannot recall...
... the specifics, therefore I am unable to report who said it or what they were talking about when I wrote down a snippet of conversation I heard on public radio. But it is so true, and struck such a deep chord in me, knowing my past and the generations of corseted, hat-and-glove wearing, prim-and- proper women who tried their best to instill some behavior in me, I said: Wow. All those women - properly raised themselves in the grandest Southern tradition, who gave it their all in an effort to civilize the child who ran barefoot through the woods, splashing in the creek, climbing trees- did have an impact. They are remembered often and fondly as the forebears who made me who I am.
In addition to attempting to get me to wear skirts with the proper foundations (slippery slips) and the curse of miserably hot and sticky hosiery, comb my hair and sit up straight: they also instilled the distressing way of life that was forced upon them by a male dominated society. The culture, when my grandmothers were growing up, when my mother and her sisters were growing up, and when I was a child expected that women should be "socialized to be compromising and accommodating". We were required to bend, acquiesce, agree to the demands and parameters of a world run by white, Anglo-Saxon white men. The ones who influenced those females who raised me, back in the 'it takes a village' era were Baptist or Methodist or Presbyterian, so you can add the 'P' to the 'W.A.S._' as well.
I am thankful that our society has begun to change. I am thankful that daughters and young adults can make choices that were not available a century, or a generation ago. Young people, especially capable females, moving from the isolated world of education into the larger world of commerce, job seekers and productive members of society have many options that did not exist twenty or fifty or 100 years ago. That's all I am going to say for now.
In addition to attempting to get me to wear skirts with the proper foundations (slippery slips) and the curse of miserably hot and sticky hosiery, comb my hair and sit up straight: they also instilled the distressing way of life that was forced upon them by a male dominated society. The culture, when my grandmothers were growing up, when my mother and her sisters were growing up, and when I was a child expected that women should be "socialized to be compromising and accommodating". We were required to bend, acquiesce, agree to the demands and parameters of a world run by white, Anglo-Saxon white men. The ones who influenced those females who raised me, back in the 'it takes a village' era were Baptist or Methodist or Presbyterian, so you can add the 'P' to the 'W.A.S._' as well.
I am thankful that our society has begun to change. I am thankful that daughters and young adults can make choices that were not available a century, or a generation ago. Young people, especially capable females, moving from the isolated world of education into the larger world of commerce, job seekers and productive members of society have many options that did not exist twenty or fifty or 100 years ago. That's all I am going to say for now.
Monday, June 25, 2018
it was premature...
... for me to even think of invoking murphey's law so early in the day. In the earlier blog when you read the report on how my morning came un-moored, the events of the day caused me to think that It Has To Get Better. Little did I know it would get worse first, making me believe I should go to bed and cover my head with a pillow to provide a cushion when the ceiling caves in.
I got those things previously mentioned accomplished, and was back at home by 10 o'clock. Where I fully expected to get some household chores completed before I would need to be at an appointment in town at 11:15. Running the washer and dryer, hanging up shirts and pants, getting things organized, feeling like I was being very productive. Being thankful for the marvel of electricity, the wonderful abundance of potable water on demand. Charmed by the delights of modern conveniences like washers and electric dryers as well as the blessing of financial stability/resources to purchase all the laundry detergent I can use.
I got distracted and let the time get away from me (blogging again, huh?) and realized I had only fifteen minutes to get out the door and on my way to that commitment. Dashing off to jump into my car, only to discover the keys to the car were left in the house. And: the key to the house was on the ring with the car keys. Stuck. Plus the weather man said everyone below the gnat line should plan to stay indoors today. Heat index is through the stratosphere. Me thinking: I would love to go inside and sit there where it is air conditioned, cooled by the wonders of HVAC, but I cannot get in the dang-nab-it door.
I have thought numerous times in recent weeks about where to hide a key outside. A place that is easily accessible but not obvious. Some where near the front door for someone to be able to get in should an emergency arise, but not so apparent that casual passers-by will be able to come in and test all the chairs and beds a-la-Goldilocks. We will put our heads together, me and The Man Who Lives Here (also the guy who is worried about.... everything!/how someone could get in if I am away and he needs help) to figure this out. Do not expect the 'solution' to appear here....
I got those things previously mentioned accomplished, and was back at home by 10 o'clock. Where I fully expected to get some household chores completed before I would need to be at an appointment in town at 11:15. Running the washer and dryer, hanging up shirts and pants, getting things organized, feeling like I was being very productive. Being thankful for the marvel of electricity, the wonderful abundance of potable water on demand. Charmed by the delights of modern conveniences like washers and electric dryers as well as the blessing of financial stability/resources to purchase all the laundry detergent I can use.
I got distracted and let the time get away from me (blogging again, huh?) and realized I had only fifteen minutes to get out the door and on my way to that commitment. Dashing off to jump into my car, only to discover the keys to the car were left in the house. And: the key to the house was on the ring with the car keys. Stuck. Plus the weather man said everyone below the gnat line should plan to stay indoors today. Heat index is through the stratosphere. Me thinking: I would love to go inside and sit there where it is air conditioned, cooled by the wonders of HVAC, but I cannot get in the dang-nab-it door.
I have thought numerous times in recent weeks about where to hide a key outside. A place that is easily accessible but not obvious. Some where near the front door for someone to be able to get in should an emergency arise, but not so apparent that casual passers-by will be able to come in and test all the chairs and beds a-la-Goldilocks. We will put our heads together, me and The Man Who Lives Here (also the guy who is worried about.... everything!/how someone could get in if I am away and he needs help) to figure this out. Do not expect the 'solution' to appear here....
as the saying goes...
... bad things come in threes, right? I've had mine for the day/week/month. It's just after ten a.m. and I am already able to laugh about aggravating things that altered my plans for getting things done: Tires rotated, gas purchased, on my way. All those did not occur as my intentions had outlined on the to-do list I created to get stuff accomplished.
Starting with the offer of going to IHOP for breakfast with The Man Who Lives Here and a friend who he met while volunteering at the Infantry Museum. He and R. go to eat together each Monday morning if both are available. Travel and doctor's appointments occasionally conflict, but if there is nothing else going on, they will be eating together at 7:30 each Monday morning. He asked me to go, but I said I wanted to be first in line at the tire store to get my wheels rotated.
I knew their hours had changed recently, and was (mistakenly) certain the store opened at 7:30, which was why I declined the offer of a free breakfast. Plus I don't like to eat like that: big lumberjack breakfast with meat, eggs, grits, toast, etc. Too much food for me. A bowl of grits is good, but all that other stuff would make me want to go back to bed and give my tummy a rest.
When I got to the tire store, with minutes to spare, it was odd that the place was still dark, and all the roll up doors to service bays were closed. I got out to go look at the sign and discovered that Yes, the hours had changed from early opening at 7 a.m. But not to the time I had programmed into my brain: they open at 8:00, instead of 7:30. Well, rats.
I thought I would just run up the street to wally world and fill my gas tank while I was waiting - just a couple of miles away. But when I got there, there was only $3.46 on my gift card. At $2.48 a gallon, that won't get me very far. I got about a gallon and a half. Arrgghhh. The store is 'way across the parking lot, and I was not motivated or prepared to make the hike to reload my card to fill up the card to fill up the tank. So I went back to the tire store and got in. With my note cards to write and book to read while the tire guys did their work.
Struggling with: lost breakfast opportunity, mistaken hours at tire store, nearly empty gift card/gas tank. It has all been resolved: I had 110% sugar blueberry pop tart for breakfast while waiting at the tire store, reloaded my gift card and refilled my gas tank. All before 10 a.m. It has to get better: there is only one way to go from here!
Starting with the offer of going to IHOP for breakfast with The Man Who Lives Here and a friend who he met while volunteering at the Infantry Museum. He and R. go to eat together each Monday morning if both are available. Travel and doctor's appointments occasionally conflict, but if there is nothing else going on, they will be eating together at 7:30 each Monday morning. He asked me to go, but I said I wanted to be first in line at the tire store to get my wheels rotated.
I knew their hours had changed recently, and was (mistakenly) certain the store opened at 7:30, which was why I declined the offer of a free breakfast. Plus I don't like to eat like that: big lumberjack breakfast with meat, eggs, grits, toast, etc. Too much food for me. A bowl of grits is good, but all that other stuff would make me want to go back to bed and give my tummy a rest.
When I got to the tire store, with minutes to spare, it was odd that the place was still dark, and all the roll up doors to service bays were closed. I got out to go look at the sign and discovered that Yes, the hours had changed from early opening at 7 a.m. But not to the time I had programmed into my brain: they open at 8:00, instead of 7:30. Well, rats.
I thought I would just run up the street to wally world and fill my gas tank while I was waiting - just a couple of miles away. But when I got there, there was only $3.46 on my gift card. At $2.48 a gallon, that won't get me very far. I got about a gallon and a half. Arrgghhh. The store is 'way across the parking lot, and I was not motivated or prepared to make the hike to reload my card to fill up the card to fill up the tank. So I went back to the tire store and got in. With my note cards to write and book to read while the tire guys did their work.
Struggling with: lost breakfast opportunity, mistaken hours at tire store, nearly empty gift card/gas tank. It has all been resolved: I had 110% sugar blueberry pop tart for breakfast while waiting at the tire store, reloaded my gift card and refilled my gas tank. All before 10 a.m. It has to get better: there is only one way to go from here!
Sunday, June 24, 2018
book reveiw: "The Pleasure of My Company"...
... written by the well known entertainer Steve Martin. Found as a set of four Cd's at the library and enjoyed while driving to SC and back. A delightful story, wry and off-center as you would expect from a comedian who has the knack of looking at life from an odd-ball vantage point.
The main character, Daniel, is unemployed, living in a small apartment in Santa Monica, spends his days dreaming up encounters with people he sees in his neighborhood but cannot overcome various bizarre habits in order to actually meet and converse with others. His life is so filled with idiosyncrasies he cannot function. There is a specific number of wattage that light bulbs in his home must total: if one blows out, others must be adjusted to regain that precarious balance. He has a big problem with stepping off curbs in order to navigate the neighborhood, and walks blocks out of his way to get to places where there are handicap/curb cus. He had a crush on a real estate agent, attempts to manufacture a 'chance' meeting. He has a crush on the Pharmacist at Rite-Aid, manufacturing reasons to shop at the drug store to gaze upon the object of his affection.
If you find Martin's brand of comedy amusing, you will be entertained by the short book. The Cd's are read by the author - making it easy to picture his sitting in his darkened apartment attempting to figure out ways he can capture the attention of the real estate agent showing apartments across the street. If you do not think movies like 'Roxanne' with Darryl Hannah and 'The Jerk' hilarious, you need to find something else to read.
"The next morning I decided to touch every corner of every copy machine at Kinkos", but he has such a problem with the inability to step off curbs he has to walk miles out of his way to get to the copy store. Hopelessy neurotic....
The main character, Daniel, is unemployed, living in a small apartment in Santa Monica, spends his days dreaming up encounters with people he sees in his neighborhood but cannot overcome various bizarre habits in order to actually meet and converse with others. His life is so filled with idiosyncrasies he cannot function. There is a specific number of wattage that light bulbs in his home must total: if one blows out, others must be adjusted to regain that precarious balance. He has a big problem with stepping off curbs in order to navigate the neighborhood, and walks blocks out of his way to get to places where there are handicap/curb cus. He had a crush on a real estate agent, attempts to manufacture a 'chance' meeting. He has a crush on the Pharmacist at Rite-Aid, manufacturing reasons to shop at the drug store to gaze upon the object of his affection.
If you find Martin's brand of comedy amusing, you will be entertained by the short book. The Cd's are read by the author - making it easy to picture his sitting in his darkened apartment attempting to figure out ways he can capture the attention of the real estate agent showing apartments across the street. If you do not think movies like 'Roxanne' with Darryl Hannah and 'The Jerk' hilarious, you need to find something else to read.
"The next morning I decided to touch every corner of every copy machine at Kinkos", but he has such a problem with the inability to step off curbs he has to walk miles out of his way to get to the copy store. Hopelessy neurotic....
book review: "Born on Third Base"...
... written by Chuck Collins, published by Chelsea Green of White River Junction, Vermont in 2016. I had no knowledge of him before the interview on public radio some months ago, but he has several other books listed, most co-authored with others who have common philosophies or goals. The sub title explains: 'A One Percenter Makes the Case for Tackling Inequality, Bringing Wealth Home and Committing to the Common Good.'
Collins was born into wealth, the great grandson of processed meat producer Oscar Mayer (I was surprised to discover there actually was a Mr. Mayer, thinking he was invented like Betty Crocker.) As a young adult Collins had a number of opportunities to experience life that changed his perspective as a member of the upper-crust of American society. He began to realize how fortunate he was to have the advantages that created his inherited fortune. Then he told his family he wanted to give his inheritance away. After his dad made every effort to persuade him otherwise, the funds were put in a grant-making foundation to give it all away.
Collins toured the country with the father of Bill Gates, meeting people and talking about the necessity for an estate tax on the ultra-wealthy, to fund government programs. One of his books was co-authored with Bill Gates, Sr. Others authors he worked with are mentioned in this book as having an influence on his philosophy, lifestyle and writings. He has met with people nationwide in small groups, explaining and discussing his vision: inequities/advantages given to so many as others are born with disadvantages that are often insurmountable.
Middle class citizens are often provided with benefits, passed along by their parents who were able to take advantage of government loans for home buying, free tuition under the GI bill, start up funds at absurdly low interest rates for businesses, and gifts from well-established relatives. They see themselves as 'self-made', without being aware of the benefits of being born into these circumstances. Otherwise they would struggle throughout life like many minorities who were not fortunate enough to have the family support those baby-boomers did. Even the people across the nation working in agriculture, growing crops or livestock benefit from federal subsidies that have been in place for years. Family farms over many generations have long taken advantage of government support - free grazing of cattle/horses, sheep on public lands, payouts for not growing certain crops. Gifts from the Uncle Sam.
Individiuals we often think of as struggling: small business owners, or farmers are the recipients of government loans or subsidies that give them a leg up. Folks who receive a financial advantage for a lifetime then pass along a legacy to future generations. Whereas minorities/immigrants will often lag behind with jobs/skills and income, unable to set aside savings or invest in home ownership. An endless struggle just to break even, provide for families with minimal resources.
Collins did not specifically say this, as it might not be something he ever considered: but I believe much of the inequity in our culture/society is due to the fact that the US Constitution was written by wealthy, class-conscious white men. They were not deliberately small minded, but just the opposite - desiring to give everyone opportunities to be free from the demands of monarchy, successful, establish a comfortable life (by their standards.) But they were men. White men. Men who were the most influential in the nation, blessed with many advantages simply due to their birth circumstances, the families they were born into as English citizens. Men who would never see females as equals. Men who would always look down upon women, as inferior, second class humans.
Being a 'one percenter' means deliberately ignoring the other ninety-nine. Being aware, but unwilling to see the struggles of those who want to change and improve their lives. Collins currently lives in a neighborhood in Boston, where he has a family, employment, and makes an effort to connect. He tries to help neighbors, friends, small business owners: helping them develop plans and methods to have a small but positive impact on society and their world/environment.
"People who are privileged in our society, for a variety of reasons, don't see the wind at their own back, nor do they see the headwinds that other people encounter. If you're like me, judgments toward others run though your head all the time. Why don't you work harder? Why don't you exercise? Why don't you eat better food? In these hasty judgments I often forget all the privileges that have come my way. From healthy food and suburban open space to enrichment experiences, I had a mammoth boost long before kindergarten. But like most people in my circumstances I somethings forget I was born on third base. It is easy to think I got here on my own." (page 60.)
Collins was born into wealth, the great grandson of processed meat producer Oscar Mayer (I was surprised to discover there actually was a Mr. Mayer, thinking he was invented like Betty Crocker.) As a young adult Collins had a number of opportunities to experience life that changed his perspective as a member of the upper-crust of American society. He began to realize how fortunate he was to have the advantages that created his inherited fortune. Then he told his family he wanted to give his inheritance away. After his dad made every effort to persuade him otherwise, the funds were put in a grant-making foundation to give it all away.
Collins toured the country with the father of Bill Gates, meeting people and talking about the necessity for an estate tax on the ultra-wealthy, to fund government programs. One of his books was co-authored with Bill Gates, Sr. Others authors he worked with are mentioned in this book as having an influence on his philosophy, lifestyle and writings. He has met with people nationwide in small groups, explaining and discussing his vision: inequities/advantages given to so many as others are born with disadvantages that are often insurmountable.
Middle class citizens are often provided with benefits, passed along by their parents who were able to take advantage of government loans for home buying, free tuition under the GI bill, start up funds at absurdly low interest rates for businesses, and gifts from well-established relatives. They see themselves as 'self-made', without being aware of the benefits of being born into these circumstances. Otherwise they would struggle throughout life like many minorities who were not fortunate enough to have the family support those baby-boomers did. Even the people across the nation working in agriculture, growing crops or livestock benefit from federal subsidies that have been in place for years. Family farms over many generations have long taken advantage of government support - free grazing of cattle/horses, sheep on public lands, payouts for not growing certain crops. Gifts from the Uncle Sam.
Individiuals we often think of as struggling: small business owners, or farmers are the recipients of government loans or subsidies that give them a leg up. Folks who receive a financial advantage for a lifetime then pass along a legacy to future generations. Whereas minorities/immigrants will often lag behind with jobs/skills and income, unable to set aside savings or invest in home ownership. An endless struggle just to break even, provide for families with minimal resources.
Collins did not specifically say this, as it might not be something he ever considered: but I believe much of the inequity in our culture/society is due to the fact that the US Constitution was written by wealthy, class-conscious white men. They were not deliberately small minded, but just the opposite - desiring to give everyone opportunities to be free from the demands of monarchy, successful, establish a comfortable life (by their standards.) But they were men. White men. Men who were the most influential in the nation, blessed with many advantages simply due to their birth circumstances, the families they were born into as English citizens. Men who would never see females as equals. Men who would always look down upon women, as inferior, second class humans.
Being a 'one percenter' means deliberately ignoring the other ninety-nine. Being aware, but unwilling to see the struggles of those who want to change and improve their lives. Collins currently lives in a neighborhood in Boston, where he has a family, employment, and makes an effort to connect. He tries to help neighbors, friends, small business owners: helping them develop plans and methods to have a small but positive impact on society and their world/environment.
"People who are privileged in our society, for a variety of reasons, don't see the wind at their own back, nor do they see the headwinds that other people encounter. If you're like me, judgments toward others run though your head all the time. Why don't you work harder? Why don't you exercise? Why don't you eat better food? In these hasty judgments I often forget all the privileges that have come my way. From healthy food and suburban open space to enrichment experiences, I had a mammoth boost long before kindergarten. But like most people in my circumstances I somethings forget I was born on third base. It is easy to think I got here on my own." (page 60.)
Friday, June 22, 2018
quick trip...
... to south Carolina today, with a stop at the Quik Trip convenience store in Commerce for my number one addiction: curb store cappuccino. Then veering off to wally world in search of an interesting/colorful plant to take along. I usually take Homer something blooming: an amaryllis bulb to put in a pot and watch grow at Christmas, geraniums in the spring, lantana that will bloom for months in the summer. Something growing and something good to eat: sweet rolls or pastries.
Going to Greenville to visit my pen-pal, as I try to go once a month to see Homer. He seems to be slowly slowing down, not as energetic or peppy as he has been in the past. But he's also not as young to have the energy to show pep. Left Decatur this morning about six a.m. heading north to I-85. With the plan to be well away from the chaotic bedlam of twelve-lanes-wide traffic by the time everyone who was on the wrong side to town tries to right the problem. Uneventful drive across northeast Georgia and into Carolina.
We had a good visit, including me planting some zinnias he had started with seeds he saved from last year. He had put them in a little rectangular plastic tub, with some good dirt and watered often. They were pretty desperate to be transplanted, having grown so tall they were all flopping over. I asked if he would let me put them in the ground, in a little strip of land between his driveway and chain link fence surrounding the lawn. It is a place where he has planted annuals for several years, including some sunflowers that grew amazingly large heads. Such huge blooms the stalks could not hold the heads up, so heavy and laden with seeds they were all facing down, towards the dirt. He won't have gigantic sunflowers this summer, but I hope at least half of the little zinnia stalks we relocated will survive to give him bright colorful flowers all summer. Attracting bees and butterflies in abundance.
When I started back to Georgia, there was a place where traffic slowed to a crawl. Reminding me of the most awfullest ever experience of trying to get back into the metro after the solar eclipse last August. When it took me ten hours to drive 134 miles, me and everyone else in a two-hundred mile radius. This time, this trip: we slowed to seven miles per hour for about ten miles. Finally getting to the spot where two vehicles were pulled off in the median, both banged up, along with a sheriff's cruiser with blue lights flashing. After that: no other difficulties. Then I noticed about four million cars inching along heading in the other direction, all leaving town, highly frustrated by traffic and profound lack of progress when all they wanted was: Home. Meanwhile, us who had been inching for ten miles finally speeding up, heading back towards the city were able to speed up again.
I got all the way back into town before the rains came. A frog-strangler timed perfectly for me to be off the road. Probably qualifies as a flash flood, but I was in the house and done with driving before the drenching started.
Going to Greenville to visit my pen-pal, as I try to go once a month to see Homer. He seems to be slowly slowing down, not as energetic or peppy as he has been in the past. But he's also not as young to have the energy to show pep. Left Decatur this morning about six a.m. heading north to I-85. With the plan to be well away from the chaotic bedlam of twelve-lanes-wide traffic by the time everyone who was on the wrong side to town tries to right the problem. Uneventful drive across northeast Georgia and into Carolina.
We had a good visit, including me planting some zinnias he had started with seeds he saved from last year. He had put them in a little rectangular plastic tub, with some good dirt and watered often. They were pretty desperate to be transplanted, having grown so tall they were all flopping over. I asked if he would let me put them in the ground, in a little strip of land between his driveway and chain link fence surrounding the lawn. It is a place where he has planted annuals for several years, including some sunflowers that grew amazingly large heads. Such huge blooms the stalks could not hold the heads up, so heavy and laden with seeds they were all facing down, towards the dirt. He won't have gigantic sunflowers this summer, but I hope at least half of the little zinnia stalks we relocated will survive to give him bright colorful flowers all summer. Attracting bees and butterflies in abundance.
When I started back to Georgia, there was a place where traffic slowed to a crawl. Reminding me of the most awfullest ever experience of trying to get back into the metro after the solar eclipse last August. When it took me ten hours to drive 134 miles, me and everyone else in a two-hundred mile radius. This time, this trip: we slowed to seven miles per hour for about ten miles. Finally getting to the spot where two vehicles were pulled off in the median, both banged up, along with a sheriff's cruiser with blue lights flashing. After that: no other difficulties. Then I noticed about four million cars inching along heading in the other direction, all leaving town, highly frustrated by traffic and profound lack of progress when all they wanted was: Home. Meanwhile, us who had been inching for ten miles finally speeding up, heading back towards the city were able to speed up again.
I got all the way back into town before the rains came. A frog-strangler timed perfectly for me to be off the road. Probably qualifies as a flash flood, but I was in the house and done with driving before the drenching started.
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