Morning Splendor

Every morning, as I sit on the toy chest at the foot of the bed to pull on my socks, I am thankful for this long view--always beautiful, sometimes spectacular.

We haven't tired of the view in the almost fifty years we've been here. It makes the four wheel drive road and the steep terrain all worthwhile. 

 

Missed Opportunities

She was right there! I've tried but failed to photograph the humming birds that visit our porch flowers.

The frog is easier--he stays put. 

Oops, just missed her.  But look at this below--our old crabapple is blossoming on one branch. The times are out of joint.

 

Josie Loves the Library

It's me again. At the library again. It is one of my favorite places. We return the books I got last time, and I pick out six new ones. We will read them at home because there's so much more to do at my library.

There are some other kids there too, and me and this other girl (she is seven) do some coloring. There are coloring books and paper and crayons and colored pencils.  But then she has to leave so I look around to see who else is here.

I talk to a mother who has a very little kid who can just barely walk.

I show her how this stuff works. The little girl is still in diapers but she is pretty cute.

I head for the playground. There are big chimes you can boing and also some drums.

I hope some other kids show up.

They did! A girl who is seven and her little brother who is two. (Meema does not put their pictures on her blog because their parents might not like it.) We run around and slide and climb on the jungle gym till they have to go. (Meema is being very patient because she has a book she is reading while she watches me.)

I draw on the sidewalk with some chalk for a while but decide to go back inside.

The puppets are all over the place and I organize them nicely. Meema says she is proud of me for being a helper to the librarians and maybe I would like to be a librarian someday.

Hmm, maybe. But I think I want to be a kindergarten teacher. They get to play with lots of stuff too.

                                                                                  

To Sail on a Sea of Clouds

                                                                              

Another oddly formatted phone pic--but I really like it because it looks like water (to me, anyway.) 

Perfect for Eugene Field's Wynken, Blynken, and Nod--admittedly a bit soppy for modern tastes but such a beautiful image!

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night

   Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—
Sailed on a river of crystal light
   Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
   The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
   That live in this beautiful sea;
   Nets of silver and gold have we,"
            Said Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
   As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
   Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
   That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—
   Never afraid are we!"
   So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
   To the stars in the twinkling foam,—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
   Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
   As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
   Of sailing that beautiful sea;
   But I shall name you the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
   And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
   Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
   Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
   As you rock in the misty sea
   Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:—
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Mmmm, Gritz! And Stuff!

                                                                             

                           I've always liked grits--with butter, for heaven's sake, not sugar-- for breakfast or with fried fish, but the popularity of shrimp and grits moved them into a pantheon of sorts. I flat love these grits.                                                

The grits--not instant and preferably stone-ground--are cooked in salted water (or if you're feeling opulent, a mix of water and half and half.) When they're getting thick, add butter and grated cheese (whatever you fancy, from Cheddar to Gruyere. I used what the store calls Mexican Mix-part yellow, part white.)

Now for the stuff that goes on top. I sauteed onions and red bell pepper in olive oil then, when they were almost done, threw in some leftover sauteed mushrooms from the previous night's pasta and some (previously frozen) shrimp. 

(The key to cooking with shrimp is to add them at the very end. It only takes a minute or so for the shrimp to curl up and turn pink. Now they're done, succulent and delicious, and over-cooking them turns them dry and tough and makes the angels weep.)

Meanwhile, John was grilling some Conecuh sausage (the BEST) which would be cut up and added into the mélange of goodness.

A salad on the side--spinach, mango, red pepper, gorgonzola, toasted pecans, and vinaigrette--and, yum, it's a meal!

The weird format of the photos is because I was using my phone and didn't realize the setting had changed. By the time I did, the food was gone.

                                                          

Report from Dog World

                                                                                

    Wednesday night, 9:30. Jenny has not returned. She and Otter went off on a toot after supper and she's not back. I text Claui to ask if Otter's come back. Yes, she says, and they can hear Jenny howling. 

I go to the porch and holler for her. A second text arrives. Claui says they are smelling a skunk. 

Great.

I holler some more and pretty soon, here comes Jenny, muddy and smelling pretty strongly of skunk.

It's now 10 pm and John is in bed asleep. I'd like to bathe the stinky critter but it's a two-person job. And it's not the worst case of skunking--probably a glancing blow. I remove her collar and wipe off the mud then Jenny and I and the cats (who are muttering something about Dogs! What can you expect?) turn in for the night. 

Thursday, 1 am: Who knew that a strong smell would make it hard to sleep? I consider (briefly) trying to take Jenny (who is sound asleep on my bed, as are the cats) to the porch and attempt a bath but give it up as a bad idea.

Thursday, 2 am: Ditto

Thursday, 3 am: Ditto

Thursday, 7:30 am: We all get up, some more rested than others, and I release Jenny to the out of doors so I can have my coffee and gain strength for the ordeal ahead.  

Thursday, 9 am: Jenny is back and I have gathered my supplies. One quart hydrogen peroxide, 1/3 cup baking soda, and 2 teaspoons dish detergent. This is a tried-and-true mixture that will abate, if not remove entirely, the skunk smell.  You apply the mixture freely, letting it soak to the skin then wait five minutes before rinsing it off. Then follow with dog shampoo.

Well.

John holds the leash and I apply the mixture. You would think it was battery acid (I am using my bare hands, so I know it isn't.) Jenny leaps and twists, but we manage to get her thoroughly soaked. 

Then the five-minute wait as Jenny uses her best hound eyes to ask why we are tormenting her. 

I have the hose with a shower attachment on it for the rinse. It should have been easy, but Jenny turns into a bucking bronco. We all get a bit wet. John gets scratched. 

When she is rinsed, I make an executive decision--forget the dog shampoo--and we release her to go get dry--which, of course she wants to do in the house. We chase her back outside and use the towels that were standing by to dry Jenny dog to mop up the floor.

Thursday, 2 pm: We all take a nap.

                                                                         

Too Hot To Talk

 

Sun Journey

The sun is finally out of the trees and moving south on the horizon. I'm fortunate to have watched this solar journey from the comfort of our house for almost a half a century.

It never gets old. At least, not for me. 

 

Oh, Petunia!

Once I spurned petunias as too ordinary. But these girls just keep on keeping on, adding their sweet fragrance to evening on the porch. Hummers and bees like them too.

Petunias originated in South America and are part of the nightshade family--along with tomatoes and tobacco.

There's more about their history HERE.

 

New Dogs in the Family

Josie's folks adopted Domino last week.

 She's a sweet Pit mix and is happy to be here.

 Otter is a little miffed at no longer being an only dog but that will pass. Bailey and Bob were happy to meet her--Jenny thinks she is a Bad Idea. 

                                                    

And this is Moxie--Ethan and Aileen's recent rescue. Another Pittie mix. They all came up for a belated celebration of Ethan's birthday and to let Moxie run around off leash and experience some new dogs. 

She was sweet and quite well-behaved. (I wish I could say the same for Jenny who has accepted Bailey into the family but feels that the line must be drawn somewhere.)

                                                   

Moxie enjoyed exploring and meeting new friends.

So much to see and smell and do . . .

                                                                                       

Moxie--before

and after the Farm Experience--which included running around the pond with Domino, chasing cows, and eating cow poop.

 

Moonrise

                                                                             

Re-posting Re-reading

 

A post from a few years back of this. I miss Elizabeth and Birdie and the gang . . . but have no intention of writing another one. Sometimes it's good to know when you're done. 

I can remember nights in my workroom, struggling to meet a deadline, and I can remember when I first realized that I didn't want to do this forever. Six novels seemed like a respectable number. And I wanted to give Elizabeth a break from all the murders. So I did and plunged into researching the Shelton Laurel Massacre for what would be my last novel, And the Crows Took Their Eyes. But it's fun to look back . . .

 I found myself taking a notion to spend some more time with Miss Birdie and read her book -- The Day of Small Things. Of course I've read it before -- many times -- while I was writing it and re-writing it and proof-reading it over and over. But none of these are the same as just reading for fun -- with the writer/editor eye turned off. And enough time had passed that, at times I could forget I'd written it and just read . . .

I was so pleasantly surprised that I picked up Signs in the Blood  and read it. It was better than I remembered, if I say it myself.  Again there was that strange disconnect between reader and writer -- I kept coming across little family jokes and little odds and ends that are parts of my past . . .

As  I always say, Elizabeth isn't me -- but we share a lot -- Little Sylvie's cabin next door . . . the dogs . . .

She and Phillip sat on my blue bench . . .

In Art's Blood - yes, I kept on reading right through the rest of the books -- Elizabeth and Kyra make wreaths in her workshop -- John's workshop in my world . . .  as was, before the fire.

Old Wounds gets very close to my world -- Elizabeth and family live in this barn while they are building their house in 1984 -- just as my family lived in it in 1974 while building that same house . . .

(I hasten to add that, unlike my unruly Elizabeth, I was never tempted by a charming neighbor -- nor by a bedroom-eyed snake handling preacher either.)

Every time I go to town I drive past this brick building that is the home of the enigmatic Troll of In a Dark Season. 

And sometimes I kind of expect to hear mariachi music floating from Justin and Claui's house -- home to Elizabeth's Mexican farm hands Julio and Homero in Under the Skin.

Rereading these books was a surprising experience in that I became  the reader not the writer and I kept finding myself thinking, Why, that's just the way I'd say that or That sounds familiar only to realize suddenly, Well, duh . . .

I also realized that I am now (much) closer in age to Miss Birdie than Elizabeth (who was ten years younger than I when the first book came out in 2005. ) 

It was an interesting experience, reading right through those books that took over six years to produce -- reading right through them in less than two weeks. 

And now, I'm tempted to do it again . . .

Rabbit, Rabbit and The Moon Came Over the Mountain