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Friday, May 6, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Last week' s rain showers refreshed the lawn and gave a booster shot to the remaining garden plants. A growth spurt is apparent. Guess what I'll be doing this week?

I discovered some extra baggage in the evergreens. Paul found the worms responsible and armed with a powerful and fully loaded magic squirt gun; he took aim! My hero charged the little cocoon dwellers at their dinner tables and dropped them in their tracks.

Masses of newly emerged fungus erupted from the ground around the big maple where other trees had died years earlier. The fungi comes, stays briefly, then withers and dies, leaving behind a feast for insects. Sometimes I lift the clustered messes out with a shovel or position the foot and kick them in the caboose to ten- buck- two. I can't tell you how many bit the dust around here due to my silly game.

Best of all, there is always something going on around nature's playground, at all times, to; educate, keep me happy and safeguard my sanity a while longer. This is my small, but wonderful world. I praise God for my simple pleasures. He is good!

The little blue house at the end of the road is getting an earlier than usual fall cleaning. A beautiful antique estate ring that I own /owned is missing-dropped off of the face of my earthly space. It is an intricately designed 14kt gold filigreed cameo ring, of value. How could I be so careless? Did my arthritic fingers let go of temporary swelling long enough, while my back was turned, to give the little jewel its freedom? So many questions boggle my mind.

I lost a hand painted screw back earring, one of my first pair, in this yard when I was ten years old. Today, I put the metal detector to good use and think of the day Mom brought my surprise home from G.C Murphy. That brought about a big hug that happened on a sick day home from school. Could be a mole snatched that little, heavily enameled, floral pot metal adornment up and gave it to his lady- love. Nevertheless, the search is on going. Now if I could figure out who pulled tabs off of multiple pop cans and dropped those bent rusty nails that the beeping tool picks up from beneath the soil the grassy carpet. Both lots tend to hamper progress.

My late mother always advised me to revisit the places previously searched. Sometimes that works, but my drawers are messed up and drooping and the couches are tired of tipping. Besides, a dime, a penny, or a needle won't begin to replace my beautiful ring. I've rattled chains, bobbles, and bling, searched high and low and still, no reason to sing.

Last year I lost a channel- set genuine ruby ring and my original wedding band in a supermarket parking lot. The pair of small rings simply slid over the knuckle of my pinkie finger. Half- way home, in late evening, I notice that the companion rings were missing. By the time I talked to Kroger management at the store on Wabash, the parking lot had been swept clean and the debris hauled away.

I'm too old to wear a ring dangling from a chain around my neck. Been there and done that more than once and too many years ago to care.

When I was a kid, a tomboy on the move, my mom often complained about a ring, of another kind, around my neck. She checked that out every day. I can still feel the roughness of the heavy fabric of the hand- hemmed, board washed and sun- dried wash clothes that dug into my skin, when I missed my mark. My made from scratch jewelry was dirt and cheap. Sometimes, this "then" working kid nailed it. The dirt patrol was thorough; she held my hands before her and eyeballed my toes, teeth, ears, and nose. My dear mother curled my hair and washed and ironed my clothes. She fed me well, and worried why; she didn't have to guess on the rib count. I looked so spiffy when she got done with her routine.

I got by without the earring all of these years. I still search out the little lost treasure today. Maybe someday I will give my jewelry box away. I won't have anything left to put in it. I might have a need to move into body piercing. On second thought--maybe not!

Some folks have shown interest in my winter project, the book that I plan to finish. Well, if you who question crossed my path and touched my life in a positive way, why not? Hopefully I can tell the world how special you are, with permission, of course. There will be no reason for anyone to bite their nails or leave the country just because a diamond in the rough is writing an open book about her life! Another thing, you can take what I tell you to the bank. I tell it like it was and is and keep it real. Stay with me folks!

Now it's past time to get back to the usual grind. I see a ring in the cup.

I can be reached at 446- 4852 or drop me a line to 613 North Elm St., Brazil, In., 47834 or by e-mail at pmlsartor@aol.com.