How often does that happen anymore? It is rare for me to receive a call. I keep a house phone simply for the convenience of the answering machine. I give out my home number when I am asked for one by a business or individual I’m not familiar with.
Every month, on my cell phone invoice the minutes used are minimal. Everyone I know texts. My daughter and one of my sisters are both great at calling. And my dad, one of my aunt’s, my granddaughter….. Ok, maybe it’s a few more people than I first thought.
When my cell phone rings, it’s like getting a call in the middle of the night. I immediately picture chaos and mayhem.
Tonight, as I was leaving work my cell phone rang. Halfway down the stairs, I began to shift my lunch bag so I could dig through the suitcase I call a purse in search of the vibration tingling my hip. Just as I pulled it free from the tangle of phone chargers, lipstick etc., it stopped ringing.
I smiled when I saw it was my sister. I immediately returned the call. She answered and said, “Hey, I haven’t talked to you in a while and wanted to see how you are doing.” Then she waited for an answer and actually listened for a response.
It was an amazing thing! A real conversation, listening, talking and listening some more. How lovely is that!
With a smile on my face and well caught up on the family news, I said goodbye to my sister and tossed the phone back into my purse. Immediately, I felt it vibrate once again.
This time it was my daughter. After a too brief conversation, I hung up smiling even more broadly and declared it to be “The Night of Phone Calls!”
A lovely surprise which I highly recommend! Maybe I should try it myself occasionally!
When my Dad called to say he wanted to come for a visit, we decided to rent a cabin for a couple of nights at the lake. Knowing the cabins would fill quickly over the 4th of July, we made reservations months ago. My dad loves to fish, which is obvious from his nickname “Fishhook”. We made sure to get a waterfront cabin so he could fish as much as he wanted. I’m not a fan of water and I don’t have the heart to go fishing, but Dad loves it!
In anticipation of our time together, we postponed our Father’s Day celebration. We decided to celebrate Father’s day and my birthday together. (my birthday falls on the 6th of July).
My daughter, Kat planned to swing by and pick up the boys, (my grandson’s) and my Dad. They all live about six hours away and although Dad is perfectly capable of driving here himself, at 82 I hate for him to be on the road.
We reserved the cabin for Thursday night and Friday night. We planned to drive to Corpus to see my older sister Saturday morning. She and I share a birthday even though we are three years apart. My Dad wanted to visit both of us on our birthday. Rarely do she and I have an opportunity to spend time together and it’s been years since Dad was able to join us on our birthday.
As often happens, our plans went awry. The boys had rehearsals for their community theater production and couldn’t get away. Dad lost his critter sitter and didn’t want to leave his dogs. He was also feeling a bit under the weather.
We thought about cancelling the trip and just gathering at home, but decided against it. The cabin was only 20 minutes or so from our house, but tucked away among the trees and nestled on the bank of the lake made it feel worlds apart.
We left for the cabin on Thursday, picking up my goddaughter, Dez and my son, Rich on the way. Dez, loves to fish and had eagerly anticipated fishing with my Dad. Rich on the other hand has never really enjoyed fishing as much as his sister does. My daughter was bringing her fishing gear and planned to arrive Thursday evening. She and Dez would be our fisherwomen for the weekend.
The cabin was very basic. It had five beds, an air conditioner and a trail leading to a shared shower and restroom facility. It also had a beautiful view of the lake, fresh air, an outdoor grill and a picnic table.
During the weekend we played games, rented a canoe, ate too much food and created unbelievable memories. My son discovered an enjoyment of fishing (much to his surprise), my daughter discovered a slug in her tennis shoe and a June bug in her swimsuit cover-up and my granddaughter, Jilly discovered a beetle in her nightshirt.
I discovered the delight of sitting in the middle of a canoe, lightly rowing and watching my Kat and Dez cast their lines. We laughed so hard trying to launch the canoe we almost didn’t get in the water. Even when the wind picked up and the rain fell, we laughed and fished and rowed.
Father’s Day was celebrated on Thursday night. We celebrated my birthday on Friday night, with Kat and Jilly surprised me with a cake and everyone sang happy birthday.
Saturday morning we were supposed to leave by noon but no one was ready to leave. Anticipating failure, but deciding to try anyway, my husband went to see if we could stay another night. Our cabin was already booked but the one next door was available. Rather than make us move, they switched the other guests next door. After a wonderful breakfast and lunch, my husband and I went to pick up a fresh bundle of firewood from the front office. When we arrived, they let us know the family that was originally booked in our cabin was insisting that we move and give them our cabin.
Since our reservation had been impromptu and it seemed to be important to the other family, we willing agreed to move. I rushed into the cabin to interrupt the current game in process and let everyone know we were moving. We had 5 beds stripped, suitcases moved, dishes and food transitioned and all our outdoor gear moved in about 15 minutes. By the time the new guests arrived we were already seated in our chairs next door planning our dinner meal.
I decided that if we ever have to go on the run or leave in a hurry, we definitely have the skills! Slightly sunburned, a few pounds heavier and a heart full of sunshine, we went our separate ways. It was a wonderfully fulfilling weekend with many stories left to tell…. Like the raccoon and the hotdogs and the snake in the reeds…. All stories for another day.
It might be an aroma or a quick glimpse of something that triggers a memory snippet. For me, it is often a smell. Fresh bread baking immediately finds me standing in the school cafeteria with a tray in my hand waiting for a delicious hot yeast roll to land beside my mashed potatoes.
Last night, I was in the kitchen putting away groceries, when my husband placed a bag on the counter. It was a bag of fresh Fredericksburg peaches. They had been picked three days earlier. Without moving closer to the bag I began to smell the peaches. Not the ones on the counter, but the fresh ripe peaches hanging from the limbs of the two peach trees which grew in my childhood backyard.
The smell of those peaches brought a kaleidoscope of memories. In the heat of the day, my mother would send me out to pick a few peaches. She sliced the warm peach in half, removed the pit and poured cold evaporated milk over the peach before sprinkling it liberally with granulated sugar. I think she invented sweetened condensed milk long before Eagle Brand marketed it!
I can’t even remember how it tasted, but I remember the anticipation and the contrast of the warm peach against the cold milk. Yum! I haven’t thought of eating those cream soaked peaches in years. My husband has brought in peaches countless times and laid them on the counter. I’m not sure why yesterday triggered the memory, but I’m glad it did.
It made me think of my Mom and smile. A momentary sadness tugged at my heart as I miss those days with my mother but it was soon replaced by happy memories.
My thoughts followed the path to other memories of time spent around and under the peach tree. My friends from next door would stop by and we would sit under those two trees. We invented fairy tale worlds and planned our future. You know important stuff, like who would we sit by next year in school and how would we fill our days next week.
I also thought about my mother telling me to behave or she would switch my legs with a peach tree limb. Now those trees had thin pliable limbs that could sting like fire. Not that I would know! The threat of having to go cut a peach tree limb and bring it back to my mom was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. I’m pretty sure I was never spanked with one, but I remember the dread well.
After dinner last night, I pulled a peach from the bag on the counter. I rinsed the peach and bit into the crisp fruit. As juice dribbled down my chin, I closed my eyes. For the moment I was ten years old, sitting beneath the peach tree, playing make believe with my siblings.
I have always loved reading. When I was very young, I remember going to the public library over the summer. I’d get lost in the books and spend hours selecting which I wanted to read. The Edwards Public Library in Henrietta, Texas was approximately 10-12 blocks from my house. A few times my mother allowed me to walk to the library if my older sister was willing to accompany me. Most of the time, my mother drove us to the library because she loved books and reading as much as we did. I signed up for the book worm reading club each summer. Reading one hundred books over the summer would earn us a small orange striped pin in the shape of a worm. I pinned that worm proudly to my t-shirt when the librarian handed it to me. I doubt if I ever wore it again but I was so proud of earning it. Reading one hundred books was not a chore for me and I would have easily read them over the summer without any incentive.

One book I remember checking out from the library was The Bully of Barkham Street by Mary Stolz. I don’t remember much about the context of the book although I remember I enjoyed it when I read it. I vividly remember the book because it was one of those hundred books I read that summer when I was eight years old and because of the letter that came in the mail afterward.
I finished my reading list and received my coveted book pin. About a week later my mother received a letter in the mail.  The librarian said I had never returned The Bully of Barkham Street. I was devastated! I treasured books then as I do now. I couldn’t imagine being so careless. I assured my mother they had made a mistake, but she still had to pay for the book. I had never owned a book before and I hated to pay for one I didn’t get to keep. With five children and a one income family it wasn’t in the budget for my parents to pay for the book. However, my mother paid for the book and never made me feel bad about it.
A few months later I went out to my favorite reading hide out. My grandfather had built a handmade camper shell to fit in the back of his 1950ish pickup. When it was off the truck, I monopolized it for reading. It was private, comfy and quiet. I stretched out on the cushions that served as one of the beds and felt a lump under the cushion. Yep! The Bully of Barkham Street was wedged under the cushions. It was a bit warped. It had been sat on and moisture in the air had made it’s way into the camper shell damaging the pages.
I debated throwing it away without telling my mother, but I just couldn’t do it. I carried it in and showed my mom. She just shook her head and sighed as she handed it back to me saying, “Well, it’s your’s now.” Dejected, I carried it to my room. I’m not sure what happened to that book, but I’m pretty sure I never returned a library book late again.
The first new book I ever owned was a Bobbsey Twins hardcover. I have no idea which one, because I eventually read them all. I was in the hospital for about a week and my Aunt Carol came to visit. She brought me a pair of pajamas with orange fish on them and two Bobbsey Twin books. My dad bought me a pair of pajamas with Cowboys and Indians on them trimmed in red rick rack. Yes, those are very vivid memories for me even years later.
Being the middle child of five, I felt spoiled and very special! My brother and sisters stood outside my window and we both cried. We had never been separated before.
I think the two incidents above cemented my love of reading and book ownership. I have a hard time giving up a book once I purchase it. At last count my book collection was well over 1500 and growing. I routinely decide to downsize my collection and cull a few books, but before I know it, they are replaced and more are added.
When I retire, I’ll stick to my plan to downsize but for now…. I think I’ll go read a good book.
Cooking dinner with my children is a favorite pastime. I enjoy preparing meals more than sitting and eating together. Kitchens are less formal and more relaxing than most dining areas.
Both my children are wonderful cooks. I taught them to cook and let them experiment when they were younger, but their culinary skills have far surpassed mine. Now I normally watch them cook instead of cooking myself.
Recently my son was chopping lettuce as I leaned against the kitchen counter. He remarked, “As soon as I wash this knife, I use it again!” His knife is not special nor expensive, but he has an emotional attachment. As I listened to him, I smiled.
I was reminded of a knife I purchased for my mother years ago. I was a newlywed and found myself browsing through a department store happily perusing the kitchen section. I pawed through everything from small appliances to cloth napkins.
I spied a wooden handled knife with a sharp point and narrow blade. The knife appeared sturdy and capable of handling my cutting needs. The name on the packaging read ‘Granny’s Boning Knife’. The price was reasonable, so I bought one for myself and on impulse grabbed a second for my mother.
Excited, I dropped by my mother’s house to give her the knife. My mother refused to take the knife unless I accepted payment. She didn’t mind me buying her a gift, but she was a strong believer in superstitions.
She explained, “If you give someone a knife it will sever your relationship.” I smiled as I took a dime and happily gave her the knife. We loved those knives and often discussed the many ways we used them.
After several years, the wonder wore off, but I still loved the knife. I moved to another state and didn’t get to visit with my mother often. During a long awaited visit, my mother reached into the kitchen drawer for the knife only to come up empty handed. She frowned and commented, “My knife isn’t here!”
Mom’s sister who lived down the street had borrowed the knife and apparently not returned it. I suggested Mom call her and ask if she still had it. When Mom called her sister, she asked, “Do you still have my Granny’s Boning Knife.”
I saw Mom’s face break into a grin and heard a giggle. She laughed into the phone and I wondered what might have set her off. As she began to talk again I understood.
“No,” she said. “It’s not our Granny’s knife. It’s a Granny’s Boning Knife. That’s the name.” She explained I bought it for her. I listened and laughed as well. My aunt thought since Mom had the knife for years, she should share. She explained to my mother she didn’t have any mementoes from their granny and it was a great knife.
I have to say that knife is still my favorite and I always think of Mom and Jeanette when I use it.
Today, Sunday June 7th, 2015; I have been given the gift of relaxation. I’ve decided not to work at my day job this weekend. We are in the process of a major software implementation. I am woefully behind and next week promises to be jam packed with tasks. But I need some recovery time. This is the last weekend before training begins for our fall marathons and soon we will begin summer hours at work. 10 hour days, four days a week.
Yesterday I cleaned house. I mean actually cleaned! I scrubbed, mopped, dusted organized and polished. This morning, I made pancakes, hash browns and scrambled eggs for breakfast. With the help of my family, the leftovers are put away, the dishwasher loaded and I find myself sitting at the computer with a full day to write.
I fiddled through my email, opened my current novel in progress, and reviewed and edited some short stories. I recently rescued the stories from an old computer I am going to retire. Making a mental list of writing tasks on my plate, I contemplated what I should do first.
I decided to move outside to the deck to write. Moving outside required digging up an extension cord for the laptop and my phone charger. Check, I’m hooked up to power and ready to work.
It’s already hot outside, but the deck is still shaded by the overhead oak and pine trees surrounding it. Just as I’m thinking how cool it is, I realize I should be preemptive and put up the umbrella before the sun shifts and I start to sweat. Now if I could just remember where I stored it last summer. Maybe it is in the front hall closet. I pull coats and bags aside to search and I am not having much luck. Pushing the door closed, I couldn’t think where else to look, so I give it one more try. I found it! It was tucked in the back corner, shorter than I remembered, so it had been overlooked on my first try.
Now, I’m golden. The breeze is cool, I have power and a wonderfully cold bottle of water. I’m watching the cats play while my husband is digging weeds and adding another raised bed. Our garden rarely produces much, but we are quite successful at feeding the deer and the rabbits.
I think I should go help him for a while. We need to decide what to put into the new garden space. Perhaps today is a day to enjoy small victories and random tasks. Maybe I’ll catch up with writing later….. I’m off to the garden center.
Keeping my promise to get serious about fitness this week, I attended my first “Power Yoga Class”. What an experience! I haven’t been to a yoga class in five years and my weekly boot camp class ended several years ago. True to the description, this 45 minute class with Vinyasa flow sequencing and the addition of cardio bursts to get your heart pumping and your muscles moving, got everything moving! Sweat ran in rivulets down my back, face arms, well, everywhere.
Not so much the next day. Nothing was moving very fast! I know it was good for me, but my muscles were grumbling.
Tuesday I scheduled a run to give my sore arms a break. 4.25 miles at 5:30 PM in Austin, TX meant lots of heat. At 86 degrees even the ancient oak trees lining the streets couldn’t block the sun’s rays. At least my arms felt less sore!
Wednesday found me back in class for a Yoga/Pilates fusion class. One thing I didn’t learn from Monday night’s class was when to arrive. I always try to be punctual and strive to arrive 15 minutes ahead of schedule to allow for unforeseen traffic, etc. That put me front and center, directly facing the instructor. Next time I will arrive on time and move to the back row! This class focused on core strengthening to make my yoga practice stronger and my tummy trimmer. The intent was to tone, refine, and strengthen from deep in your core. The first half hour was core focused and the second half hour Yoga focused. That should have sent me running back out the door, but I blithely tossed my mat on the floor and prepared to tone and refine.
The first 15 minutes of the class went remarkably well. We lay on our backs while we incorporated leg lifts, shoulders off the floor etc. I patted myself (not literally) on the back thinking this isn’t too bad when we kicked into high gear.
I’m not sure which poses we did, but I dripped as I watched the clock and waited to transition to the second half of the class.
I don’t know why but I thought the second half would be a rest. I was definitely mistaken! I dropped into plank position while everyone else smoothly transitioned through plank and back into downward dog.
I valiantly plowed through the rest of the class, slipping into child’s pose as needed for a quick rest. After the class, the instructor seemed concerned as she watched me try to get feeling back in my arms. As I attempted to fold my mat, she asked “Are you okay?”
“Sure”, I lied and tried not to limp as I walked away.
I stepped outside and realized it had started to sprinkle so I pulled on my jacket. My car was parked a few blocks away at the office. As soon as we stepped from under the awning, the rain began to pick up. A few more steps and we were starting to get wet. Suddenly, I felt like a kid playing in the rain. Wearing my sandals and carrying my yoga mat, I started running. Rain soaked and laughing we made it back to the car at a sprint.
If all workouts could only end with this much fun, I would work out every day!
Now I just have to keep the momentum going. Wish me luck!
My husband has been in search of a classic older pickup for years. Recently he has become a bit more serious in his search. His criteria is a bit loose. Somewhere in the 1963 to 1972 range, preferably a Chevrolet, but he would consider a Ford.
We had an appointment in San Antonio on Saturday afternoon and while we were there we planned to look at a 1971 lilac pickup. Yes, it was painted lilac, but it was the right price range and the right year model. Then he discovered a 1969 blue Chevy in Waco. The ad for the Waco pickup said, runs good and well it wasn’t purple. So even though Waco is about 100 miles north and slightly East of Austin and San Antonio is approximately 80 miles south and slightly west of Austin, we decided we had time to see both vehicles.
We arrived at the dealer in a small town just outside of Waco a few minutes before it opened. We wandered over to a Walgreens to kill time. As we were passing the dealer we were glancing at the cars on the lot, when my son said, “Hey that Jeep has a bench seat on it.” Literally, someone had welded an actual bench on the back of a Jeep. Hmm, you don’t see that every day.
In Walgreen’s we roamed over to the clearance aisle, past the “as seen on TV aisle” and on to the toy and candy sections. I took a minute to check out all the pens and pencils. I love shopping for new pens and pencils but I managed to resist purchasing anything except an extra-large bag of M&M’s and some birthday and graduation cards!
Back at the car lot, we parked. While my son and husband got out to look at the truck, I waited in the car. I watched a pretty blond “girl” inside the building. She was wearing cut off shorts, a black tank topped with an unbuttoned white shirt. She stepped up to a mirror, gave her boobs an upward push while pulling downward on her tank top. Smiling I watched her fluff her hair and saunter out to the pickup. I’m sure she is very good at her job and knows a lot about cars, but she couldn’t quite get the hood to open and it wouldn’t start…… She wasn’t able to open the passenger door but she did have a beautiful smile. After a few minutes, one of her male associates came to assist but still the pickup didn’t start.
About 30 minutes and more patience than I would have had, my husband and son finally said thank you and stepped away. I asked if they were sure the vehicle had gas and was informed that yes, the plastic tank sitting in the bed of the pickup had plenty of gas. Uh, oh my! We left that pickup behind.
Bluebonnets in Bloom
To get to San Antonio we took Highway 190 over to 281 which is a lined with beautiful Texas wild flowers and is much less congested than Interstate 35. Along the route there is sign after sign proclaiming numerous ranches. We briefly debated what is required to call your home a ranch. Just outside of Kempner, TX a sign proclaimed miniature donkeys for sale. When I commented, “Look, we don’t have one of those!” My husband and son said in unison, “No! And we don’t need one!”
As we passed through Burnet, TX we spotted a sign for a farmer’s market. It was a small market with probably ten vendors, but it looked like it might be worth stopping in. We started browsing the stalls when we noticed the wind was picking up. Just as we stepped in front of the Texas Herb Company and Crafty Threads, a huge gust of wind lifted the canopy and flipped it upside down behind the tables. Handmade soaps and other craft items were scattered all over the ground. Everyone rushed up to help. No one was injured and the table was righted with crafts stacked atop. I was amazed no one was injured by all the flying products and was heartened how quickly everyone rushed to help. Still willing to try shopping, we wandered to the Sage Creek Farms booth where we bought a lovely mahogany rolling pin. It turned out to be a successful stop after all.
When we got to Marble Falls we started searching for somewhere to eat. I spotted a food trailer that looked promising. Lee’s Food Trailer sported ads for a philly sandwich, gyros, catfish dinners and more. It seemed as if I wouldn’t have any trouble finding a non-meat food option.
I had the Falafel gyro, my husband had the beef and lamb gyro. My son had a classic philly sandwich. Lee’s did not disappoint. Everything was delicious! As we drove away completely satiated, my husband proclaimed, you know if you ever wanted to double back there to eat, I would go! High praise indeed.
Somewhere along the backroads of Texas, I discussed my funeral plans. All my nephews should be prepared. I requested they all show up with 1980’s shorts, tanks and sweatbands as I am laid to rest in my running clothes. Seemed fitting to me! I also learned that if you are going to honk at someone, you should always use the Chicago honk or just don’t bother. You should hold the horn down for at least 2 minutes.
We arrived in San Antonio finally, laughing and talking. After our appointment, we checked in on the lilac truck only to find out it was not on the market anymore.
So we have to start over on the pickup search but since it was mother’s day weekend, I was treated to a buffet at India Taj Palace where they have tasty dishes and serve warm from the grill naan bread made after you arrive and carried immediately to your table.
It was a wonderful day of meandering! I look forward to many more days just like it.
Last Saturday I had three things on my “must do” list.
Make homemade ginger ale
Make some peppermint sugar soap bars
Make some French Toast to use up some day old French bread slices
Sounds easy enough. I didn’t have any other obligations or specific plans. Saturday morning I decided to go the resale shop in search of a used crock pot or sauce pan to use for the soap making. I thought I may as well look for a new soap mold since I was out and about anyway. I found a small crockpot at Goodwill and a silicone ice tray at T. J. Maxx that would work great. Score! On the way back to the house we drove passed a Baskin Robbins and it just sounded so good! So yes, I diverted again and it was delicious!
Finally back home, it was 4:00 PM and I was about to start making the ginger ale. Then I got an invitation to go to the theatre and watch the Avengers. Hmm…. What to do?
Okay, so I did hesitate briefly but not long. Avengers won out of course. I organized the supplies and then headed for the shower to get ready for my movie date. I did watch a video on how to make a box out of cardstock on my way to the movies, so I was somewhat productive.
I vowed to finish at least one of my projects when I returned home after the movie. Nope, never happened. By the time we arrived back home, it was after 9:30 PM and my thoughts were filled with mutants. The last thing I wanted to do was stay up late and be creative.
Up at 5:30 AM on Sunday, I started the ginger ale first. Water boiling, ginger root peeled and lemons juiced, I was off to a good start.
While the ginger mixture simmered, I pulled out my soap supplies and added the melt and pour pieces to my new “old” crockpot. I lined up the sugar, essential oils, coconut oil etc. Woohoo! Things were coming together.
Time to start on the French toast. Naturally I decided to try a new recipe. After I beat the eggs and milk together, I stirred in the warm honey. (I had to warm the honey, because it had thickened too much to pour.) The honey clumped as soon as it hit the cold egg and cream mixture. Oops, not what I intended.
As I pondered the best way to handle the honey, I noticed my soap mixture was melted and it was time to start mixing it together to pour into the molds. There was no way I could finish the French toast in time for breakfast and get the soap into molds at the same time. I turned the soap off so I could finish the French toast. I warmed the mixture slightly, beat it with a fork to incorporate the honey and then promptly added chopped, frozen cherry pieces to the mix for flavor. I really should have realized the cold cherries would solidify the honey, but, well I didn’t.
Just in case the toast wasn’t edible, I quickly mixed up some pancakes as well. Breakfast was ready, everyone was up and pancakes disappeared much faster than the toast.
After breakfast, I poured the ginger ale into mason jars and refrigerated for later. After cleaning up and putting everything else away I finally made it back to my soap. Unfortunately, melting the soap base and then allowing it to cool and set made it difficult to reheat and melt. I spent most of the afternoon trying to salvage the soap. I finally got it all mixed, oils added and poured into the molds. The soap didn’t look anything like the picture, but it set well, smelled nice and was pretty when packed in my handmade white box!
The ginger ale was delicious, the toast edible and the soap unexpectedly “soap”. I guess two out of three ain’t bad.
I joined a new running group last week. I am very excited to have a group and planned training run each week. Last Sunday we ran 6 miles and it was one of the most enjoyable runs I have had in a while.
I woke up Monday with a scratchy throat. Mold pollen was off the charts in Austin, TX that day, so I assumed it was allergies. By Tuesday, I was running on fumes and my throat was extremely uncomfortable. I felt like I had a beach ball in my throat!
Beachball!
My day was filled with meetings, so I sat through them, waiting not so patiently until I could head home. Once I got home, my throat was on fire and I could hardly swallow. My temperature was low grade, about 99 Tuesday night but was gone by morning. I went to work, but after a couple of hours decided to run to the doctor, get some meds and be back within the hour.
No such luck. One look at my throat he said, you not only have strep but you also have a peritonsillar abscess. A fancy name for an abscessed area near the tonsil, which can swell and impede the throat opening and make it difficult to swallow. My primary care doctor sent me straight to an ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat)
I couldn’t return to work. I had to go back to the doctor daily for a few days to ensure the swelling was going down and I was forced to relax and stay indoors away from people for a few days. I finished a book I received for Christmas. I dusted my bedroom and sat in the floor to go through clothing to discard.
Saturday morning, I wandered into my garden to discover my first summer pepper and a couple of ripening tomatoes hiding at the base of the plant.
TomatoesPepper!
Then I sat on the deck, and enjoyed the occasional drops of rain that fell from the overhanging trees, freshly bathed with an early morning shower. I made notes for my novel and worked through some sticky plot points.
On the Deck
Saturday morning, after three days of relative inactivity, I was desperate for a diversion. I made a quick trip to the garden center for plants to refresh my hanging baskets. I filled one with lavender and the other with jalapeno pepper plants. I was tired.
So I brewed a cup of espresso with steamed vanilla cream for a lovely vanilla latte. And now I think I may just follow the example of my feline companion and take a nap!
Naptime
Sometimes being forced to stop and smell the tomatoes can be a very good thing.
Nana's Apron Strings 
