Despite the Chilly Air Outside

French Broad River Dreams -- a repost

Sometimes a man just needs to be off by himself . . .
Away from the bother of family life . . .
The screaming kids, the quarrelsome wife . . .
Out in nature on the wild river
That flows down to Hot Springs . . . 
And the hot tubs . . . and the hippie chicks
Just off the Appalachian Trail . . .
Maybe looking for a real man . . .

But the river keeps running, not stopping for no one . . .
Bound for Tennessee and beyond . . .
River joining river . . . carefree
Sliding through state lines . . .
Into the great Mississippi, and down to New Orleans . . .
Music and booze, all night long. . . 
And the women . . . wild and free as the river, they say . . .
  

The Options Available . . .

One of my Facebook friends posted that she and her wife were considering different plans for Valentine's Day -- dinner out? dinner and a movie? Fancy restaurant? View and Brew? They decided to go with picking up a pizza locally, taking it home, and watching Netflix in their jammies.

I had to laugh -- something like that's our usual choice for celebrations. Tonight we're fixing a Surf 'n Turf -- filet mignons and crab cakes, along with stuffed baked potatoes and green beans and salad. With expresso chip ice cream for dessert. Quick, easy, and indulgent. And we'll be watching Netflix too -- probably MidSomer Murders - a series we've just gotten into. All that gorgeous English countryside and amazing character actors!

A little bubbly and the spicy scent of the Stargazer lilies that were an early Valentine present from John -- how could it be better?

Hoping that you treat yourself to something special!

Sweet Songs of Froggy Love . . . Ribbet!

Work in Progress

This is what I'm working on now (while I wait to hear the fate of my Civil War novel) -- a loosely connected series of short stories set in my neighborhood or someplace similar. 

Here's the opening of The Carrion Crow:

THE CARRION CROW

Frances packs up her little overnight bag and takes three containers of her special chicken vegetable soup out of the freezer. She is making ready to go stay with Miz Petunia Shelton who is lingering on death’s doorstep past all reason. After two weeks of waiting by their mama’s bedside to be with her at the end, old Miz Shelton’s children have given up. They need to get back to their jobs and their own lives in Charlotte and Atlanta and Knoxville.  They all still work, though they are up in their sixties, and since their mama won’t die, they have called in Frances who used to be an aide in a nursing home and isn’t afraid to change a diaper or clean up a mess.

She looks around her little apartment for the Word Search book she is working on and for her bag of romance novels from the library. A job like this involves a lot of sitting and she wants to be sure to have some entertainment on hand. TV might bother the patient though Frances has been in houses where the TV runs night and day, a winking blue light and a low background noise that some folks get uneasy without. You never know just what you’ll find.

 This ain’t her first rodeo, sitting with the dying when their family couldn’t or wouldn’t do the job. There are some who call her the Angel of Death for her calm and gentle way with the dying one. There are others, and she could name names but won’t, who call her the Carrion Crow or maybe the Carrying Crow and say she does this job in hopes of carrying off bits and pieces that the dying person or their family might give her.

It’s true that folks have given her things. The dying, when they’re still in their right minds, are often eager to be shed of worldly possessions; maybe thinking on the Bible verses about the rich man and the camel and the eye of the needle,  they want to lighten themselves to ease the trip to the other side. Or maybe they just like to believe someone will remember them kindly when they look at the plate with the Praying Hands, or the little microwave that’s been in the box since the grandchildren sent it last Christmas, or the mouse-stained quilt top that’s lain at the back of the closet shelf for thirty years. Frances always accepts whatever it is in the spirit in which it’s given and finds a place in her life for these precious gifts, trying to remember to say a little prayer for the giver every day. 

Sometime she sits in her recliner (a gift from Juanita Sprinkle’s daughter after Juanita passed) and goes around the room, looking at all the mementos and naming and praying for each of the ladies she’s stayed with – and she only stays with ladies any more, after the bad time she had with old man Ray. Who would have thought a feeble old fool on his death bed could have had such nasty thoughts or been so bad to grab?

The Word Search is in the pocket of the recliner. She pulls it out, along with her red ballpoint pen, and drops it in the bag with the library books. Her only houseplant – a jade plant that the late Dessie Randall gave her -- has had its little drink and will do fine even if she’s gone a week or more.

Frances climbs into her cute little blue Ford Escort – the one that started the whole Carrying Crow business when Patsy Ramsey left it to her in her will – starts it up and pats the steering wheel. “Thank you, Miss Patsy,” she says. “I hope you’re resting easy up there.”

Moonstruck

Better Living Through Dirt

The planters on the deck still have a few blooming violets, planted last September. They also have weeds. Aha!  A gardening task of just the right scope . . .

The day was mild and it was a pleasure to be out and have my fingers in the dirt, however briefly. 

And small wonder -- studies have shown a therapeutic value to messing about in the dirt. You see, there's this good bacteria in soil -- Mycobacterium baccae -- that has been found to trigger the release of serotonin. . . and serotonin is a mood elevator and anxiety decreaser. Plus, and this is no small thing, it seems to improve cognitive function.

I feel better already!

See more about this bacteria HERE -- it's being tested as a treatment for cancer, Crohn's Disease, and rheumatoid arthritis.

One Fish, More Fish

Progress Report

Much improvement! I'm cooking and doing laundry and other light chores. Going up and down stairs (carefully) and no longer need to sit down to shower nor to use a cane. I do use a stick on the uneven terrain outside but I've done that for years. 

And I drove to the store on Monday! Pushed the buggy up and down aisles at a good clip! And when I got home, I carried two big bags of groceries up the steps. (John brought the rest. He had accompanied me in case I got too tired but I just felt energized!)  

By the time I put the groceries away, however, I was feeling a tad weary. And all day Tuesday I was as stiff and creaky as if I'd been hoeing corn or some other tiring exercise. Too much irrational exuberance in the grocery store.

However. It's a start. I'm back on the road! Though, as a kind friend here or on Facebook reminded me, it's probably time to put aside that dream of playing in the NFL...

Looking . . .

In the Channel Islands

I find myself doing a lot of re-reading these days -- comfort reads for these perilous times. I'd read The Guernsey Literary etc. a few years ago and, turning to it again, found it even better than I'd remembered.  The vivid characters, the beautiful landscape, the intertwined lives and stories were just the thing to take my mind off the Bowling Green Massacre and other alternative facts.

Guernsey and the other Channel Islands would be a lovely place to escape to . . . though with climate change and rising oceans, for how long? 

I've been intrigued by the Channel Islands ever since I read Green Dolphin Street many years ago. It begins and ends on one of the islands with a sizable middle section set in New Zealand -- another island that has always sounded like a nice place to live.

Green Dolphin Street is another of my comfort reads -- the story is perhaps implausible -- a long distance proposal that results in the wrong sister travelling halfway round the world to marry a befuddled suitor -- but the settings and descriptions are the sort of thing I can fairly wallow in.

I believe there was a film years ago but I've never seen it. Have any of you? And if so, how was it? Also, I read that film in beginning this spring on TGLAPPPLS. Something to look forward to!

Some Quilts

Someday There Will Be Flowers Again . . .