This afternoon I am resting from the usual grind.The pace has been hectic lately. There is so much to do, now as summer swiftly and smoothly slides into fall. Warm days, cool nights and little rain make work around here enjoyable.
Last week, we shook up and dressed down the old apple tree. Then the sweet corn needed our attention. The little bantam rooster and his excited little red hen pulled it, our ears of corn, that is. There is nothing left to do, but watch fall turn the stalks to fodder for the bonfire.
Yes, we, not the deer, harvest what amounts to a lion's share. The mix of loose kernels that I dumped from the bottom of the Ball fruit jar geminated and produced, nearly all.
Best of all, those annoying deer will not even have need orreason for a game plan or a pep session from the buck, before they enter my playing field. The ball is in my corner this time around.
I hope that the obstacle course that they might face will continue to detour them. I want the same to apply, if and when, they attempt to mess with my green beans.
Yesterday I made some thick salsa. The tomatoes from my hardy plants were of average size, firm and uniformly ripe.
Wal-Mart furnished the onions (red and green) great garlic, spices, vinegar and mild peppers. That party animal, Paul Baby brought home the chips.
Tootie Mae and I stepped out for a walk. "Toot" showed me the way to Restlawn, the place that I know so well.
We visited the folks, my siblings and other relatives and friends.
I told her about "Little Paul," the tiny son that came into our world, Sept. 8, 1960, and died four months and five days later of complications associated with birth defects.
I knew she did not understand all that I poured out, but I was alone, thinking about my deceased baby and cradling Tootie Mae in my empty arms. During those few moments, I was a young mother once more. My son's birth and brief life, again, passed before me, vividly.
I felt the warmth that only a mother can feel at certain quiet times like that.
We stood there before the little curly haired angel's cold gray headstone for a while. Sadness overwhelmed me. I relived the agony, as I often do.
I felt cold on a hot day.I thought about all that could have been, if only.
I knew this precious little gem and I must move on and temporarily away from the bittersweet memories that I have carried with me each day of my life, since.
We walked to the back of the well-kept grounds. We stopped along the way to visit the gravesites of old and dear friends and neighbors that touched my life.
I noticed that honeysuckle took over another section of the wrought iron fence that borders the homestead property. The thick vegetation is pulling the fence down.
"Paul and I will sink posts and secure the fence with wire tomorrow" I planned without the benefit of voice or consultation, with the boss. I knew he wanted to run that noisy, but powerful wood chipper in the pasture and more.
I put Tootie down. My mind was filled of work and worry and the body was suffering from a senior moment.
It was clear to me that Tootie and I needed to go home and get a stiff drink.
We headed out toward the gate and north to the little blue house at the end of the road. Tootie was anxious for that stiff belt of the stuff that I mentioned. I allowed her to run along side me, then, I picked up the pace.
Her already shiny black coat shimmered in the noonday sun. Her CZ studded lead sparkled like the lingering dew. She held her pencil thin tail like a true show dog. Her ears moved like butterfly wings.
I panted like a fat dog on a racetrack. I could feel my tired old ponytail swishing from side to side. All I could think about then was the bottle.
Toot slowed down to check out an odd shaped bug that was moving along the roadside. She wanted to stay longer and play with the black creepy crawler. Thank God, she left her big appetite at home.
I tried inserting every key on the chain into the backdoor's keyhole. Finally, the right one opened the door. I felt shaky I needed to feed my drinking habit.
Toot made a run for her puppy pad and I hit the fridge.
There before my eyes were twenty-four bottles of ice-cold Nestles purified water.
I drank from the bottle. The little dachshund lapped-up a slug or two from her bowl. Then she headed for the couch to sleep it off, leaving me to kill the bottle and smile awhile.
I sure hope that little girl of mine lives a long and happy life. She deserves it!
You can reach me at 446-4852 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.