All is well in the little blue house at the end of the road this dreary Sunday afternoon. An assortment of clocks are ticking and one is chiming.
A sleepy man and his sleeping dog are lounging on the loveseat watching, "Treasure Island," obviously a treasured favorite, four or five times since! The faucet is starting to drip and there is that constant ringing in my ears, but other than that; all is quite on this front.
Hopefully, the weather will improve soon. The grass is rapidly growing beneath our feet. The garden is plowed, but not planted. The seeds are on hand, and the plants are dying to stand proudly at attention, in Dad's old garden spot.
The next time I touch base with you, I'll be telling you everything is down and looking up.
My eye doctor informed me that my cataracts should be removed soon. I will wait until after the yard work and social activities slows to have the problem corrected.
I plan to wait until fall for a much needed visit to a podiatrist to address my foot problems.
It is no wonder that I am slowing down.
I read on the Internet that older women should not wear stilettos or a two piece bikini after thirty-five. A pony tail doesn't fly after a certain age, either.
I am in trouble. My crippled feet are finding it difficult to fit in any shoe style, flat or sassy. These rusty pins support misery these days.
Now about that little bikini -- mine is buried in history in Mission Beach, California. At 71 years of age, I settle for old pictures and no hopes for more.
This half-dead pony tail works for me at home, especially while doing outside work. It slides through the opening on the back of my visors with ease and moves about from side to side in the wind. I like that, without reason.
Sometimes I think that some people try too often to determine what is right and wrong for older people, often without regard of what we want or what gives us a lift.
Lucky for me, my loved ones let me be me, such as I am!
As for Paul Baby, nowadays, if he wants to see red lips, a healthy blonde mane, a youthful face and a red silky bikini on a lean body, Lady Gaga fit's the mold!
Marilyn Monroe is dead and what can I say?
If they ever have an award for "Sag-A- Lot of the Wabash." I will win.
Just kidding! Now, enough of that!
I wish you could have tasted the pineapple upside down cakes that I baked last week.
The beautiful fruit was from a fruit of the month club. The other ingredients were sky-high priced staples and fresh fruit from the hens.
Today I will harvest rhubarb from what remains of a patch that has been on the Lynch home-place as long as I can recall.
I have always enjoyed the taste of rhubarb. I have been known to eat a raw sampling of the "biting" plant.
I, fondly, remember the many pies my mother made from the sturdy green stalks of the rhubarb plants that grew beside the above mentioned garden spots and just west of the coal pile.
The oven in the coal range sure did get a workout in those days.
We worked the land and it seemed to enjoy the attention. That four-acre parcel just kept giving to our tiny family of modest means. We didn't know how rich we were.
More than that; we were taught how to survive in this world. Those tools handed down to us so long ago surely are valuable now. The land still loves my attention and I thank God I can give it what it has earned -- my love and respect.
May 7, 2011, Shirley Ann Michael Young of Oakland City died. She was 74.
Shirley was a native of Brazil. Her mom and dad were the late William and Grace (Hamm) Michael. The family lived in our neighborhood, on Ashley for a while.
She and her siblings, Ladonna and Lewis were schoolmates of mine.
Shirley was a teacher in the east Gibson School Corp for several years, and earned her masters degree with a special education endorsement. She is survived by her husband of 56 years, Johnny Young, two daughters and a son, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, many friends and extended family, some still living in this area.
I send my condolence to her loved ones.
I can be reached by phone at 812-446-4852 or by email at email@example.com.