Just a quick check-in

Every Friday Olivia and I have been hitting the rummage sales—okay, I call them rummage sales, you call them garage sales, some people call them yard sales, and when I was really little my mom called it bummin’.   She brings her purse, has to have Something from each sale and I’m trying to teach her a little about money management…hahaha.   One week she immediately grabbed up a rock-em-sock-em robot game, and was gonna carry it on home.  I said, no, it’s too much money ($2).  She said, but I’ll just give them 25cents…  I wish it always worked like that.  By the way, she did put it down with a little coaxing and found a wonderful Barbie computer for only 50cents.   See?  money management.   Usually we have lunch somewhere after the sales, but today we’re going to pick up some something to bring back to PawPaw and see the construction…

Casey’s been working non-stop on the porch, starting early and pushing on until the sun is on the west side of the house.  It’s going to be put together by the time he goes back to work next week, but there are a million little things to finish up after:  paint and more paint, some trims, the ceiling fan, onandon…

I didn’t get pictures downloaded of day 4’s accomplishment:  doorway on north end.  We had, or I had, a brief panic when our local box stores didn’t have the screening, but I got it ordered Tuesday and FedEx delivered yesterday, thank-you.

Mark your calendars, ladies and gentlemen, for the visit of the E’s…  Emma, Eliza and their mom, Melissa, will be flying into Nashville 7/8.   There’s a feis in Columbus wrapped around a visit to Lola Sonya in Indy 7/11-13, and they’ll be at Sonnystone non-stop from 7/14-7/24.  More details later, but I hope many, many of you can visit.

Gotta go, the good stuff’s gonna be taken….

and the plan is no plan


I’m sitting here drinking my second cuppa, trying to get going…  Trouble is, I can’t focus on what I should be going to do…  The garden is being well-hydrated by the rain gods and the plants don’t need me.   I spent a lot of time doing housework last week and I’m not so much excited at the prospect of doing more (though there’s more to be done).  I am reading a Perry Mason that is a lullabye-book, easy to put down.  Casey is working 10-hour days, so I’ve got some time on my hands and it’s not nice to waste it…what’s the plan?

ooh-kay, how about we hit the road with a camera and see what comes up?  How about I stop griping about the weather and get out into it, defy it, show it who’s boss?  Maybe I could scour the countryside for  places I’ve never been, set out without a plan, just a vague direction that gives my restlessness a chance to act out.

Or I could just sit here and think…think about people and relationships, about bills to pay and appointments to make;  think about the grandkids and the kids;  think about tomorrow and fall into the memory of  yesterdays.  Or I could Not Think:  This season is great for going outside and listening, letting the sounds of the birds, tree-flies, frogs, even the triple-peep of the turkeys drive all thought from my brain.  Out by the campfire ring, I sit on the picnic table and simply breathe, no thinking…  Though I’m silent, I feel like I’m part of the choir.

But that’s not a plan, is it?   I think I’ll clean up and get out.  I’ll let you know it turns out…




Blow up your TV

Despite the glorious morning sun coaxing my mind toward peace, the news and the internets is full of hateful people spouting their vile bile…   What ever happened to Peace, Love and Rock -n Roll?   I will NOT respond to it, will not allow my Peace to be Shaken.

Sis and I are headed over to Henderson for the Garden Walk.  We learned long ago to only talk about those things that are lovely, true, honest, pure, and worthy of praise.  In the meantime, take the sage advice that John Prine gave us lo those many years ago:


Stream of consciousness: 21 minutes

Writing 101 assignment:  Unlock the Mind.  Free write for 20 minutes (which I changed to 21 so it’s divisible by 3) ..no editing…

6:39pm –

I woke up this morning from a dream:  I was in a room of people, shadowy.  recognized J.  from high school and we were somehow communicating, talking?, D. walked in wearing suit and tie and smiling at me until he saw J, then J left and I walked away, studiously ignoring D. and sitting down in a chair to view him on the bed, shadowy people were still there when J came back and brought me a blanket and as he was wrapping it around me I noticed that my breasts were bare and they were my young, perky breasts not the saggy, crone-tits that I have now and I demurely covered them with a peasant blouse and looked at J and woke up.  It was raining, misting, gloomily damp and the cat had given up on waking me at the normal time of 7am and was sleeping at the foot of the bed.  It was 8:30 or so and I lay there for a few minutes saying my morning prayer:  I thank Thee, my heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ Thy dear Son, that Thou hast graciously kept me this night from all harm and danger and I pray that Thou wouldst keep me this day also from sin and every evil, that all my doings in life may please Thee, for into Thy Hands I commend myself, my body and soul and all things, let Thy Holy Angel be with me that the evil foe may have no power over me.  Amen.  Then I thought about the dream and wondered if it meant anything and wondered how people from high school can still show up in a person’s dreams even when they’re 61 years old and so over it, or not?  No, really over it, no doubt at all.  And what should we do today, since it’s raining we’ll have to come up with something inside.  I talk /think to myself all the time and often refer to myself as we, especially when I am questioning and it is my honest, sincere belief that God Himself is  my “other” voice, though I certainly don’t think it’s not me, or maybe I do and should be institutionalized.  I wonder about that a lot, though, as I go through the morning routine, feed the cat, half of a can of meaty bits, not shreds or filets, dammit, meaty bits, and add just a little water while he meows impatiently, then grind the beans, get the coffee brewing and head for the shower.  I try not to notice all the physical changes, the cellulite thighs and gut and I clean it up and shave it off, brushing and swishing the remaining teeth and getting dressed.  Put the half-and-half in the coffee and bring it on in to the  east room which I like to call the morning room because the rising sun shows just above the trees outside the window where I sit in what Casey calls the Captains chair, then open up the laptop and check in with the Outside World.  2 mailboxes, 1 facebook account, check the blog stats just to see if someone’s noticed, read the local news online.   Today I have a mess in the front room that needs to be cleaned up, so I empty out 3 drawers of file cabinets and put most of it upstairs in another file cabinet, then begin to load dishes back into the hutch cupboard that belonged to my Aunt Bernie.  Many of the dishes also came from Bernie, but some came from Mom and others are mine and I think about each one as I replace it.  I love to arrange shelves, and rearrange shelves, and then move things around some more, and I pull cookbooks out and move them to the kitchen, then move some cookie jars and signs and salt and pepper shakers onto the decorative shelves of the hutch, then sit and admire them while I eat a turkey sandwich, and open windows and it rains and rains and rains, and I run down to the consigment shop and buy an office chair and use all rolling chairs around the table and put the others upstairs and sit admiring it with a strawberry sparkling water when Casey gets home.  I cook supper, chicken, asparagus, mushrooms, watch some Rifleman, talk with Casey, and write for 21 minutes whatever I’m thinking.