TOMATOES, HANDWRITING AND GRANDKIDS

          Don’t you just love fresh tomatoes right off your tomato plant. I don’t know how many years I’ve been growing tomatoes, but it’s many many. In the last decade or so, I’ve bought my starter plants at Swanson’s Nursery in Ballard. They seem to have a very wide stock with signs that provide the information I need about the plants I decide to purchase. This year, Swanson’s was visit by appointment only. My friend Claudia and I usually go together, but this year we had separate appointments.

          I always try to purchase two “Tumbling Toms” for my hanging baskets. This year, even before the end of June I had about six ripe tomatoes that went right into my salad. I think I’ve a few more yellow ones that are ready. This year, I expect my tomato harvest to exceed previous years because the pots are in the driveway on the asphalt which should keep them warm and happy, provided I make sure I water on a daily basis. I’ll just have to wait and see.

          This morning I was preparing Arayli’s birthday card. She’s going to Alderwood Mall with her mom and aunt. I’m going to drive up there and hand over the card with some money to aid in her shopping. When I was writing a note in the card about how I would miss our annual sushi and shopping trip together, I realized once again just how terrible my handwriting has become. I noticed John’s handwriting had become almost illegible over the last few years. I’m now wondering if failing handwriting is another sign of old age???

          Instead of thinking that, however, I’ve decided that the reason for the bad writing is because I rarely write anything anymore, and maybe that was John’s problem too. My bills get paid via computer, I don’t have to jot down any phone messages, and all my correspondence is done via the computer and a keyboard. So, perhaps it’s the lack of practice that’s making my writing so ugly and poor.

          Do any of you remember learning to write in grade school? I learned in the elementary school in Idaho and I didn’t go to kindergarten because they didn’t have one. There wasn’t any day care or preschool way back then either. Anyway, I remember it was called the “Palmer” method of handwriting. You were to keep your pencil (or pen) on the paper on the ruled line and write the entire word before lifting your pencil  from the paper. My handwriting was never as beautiful or well rounded as that of some people I knew then. When receiving “sympathy” cards after John died from the older folks in our lives, some of those people (usually women) had absolutely gorgeous writing, even after so many many years.

          So, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t pick up some ruled paper and spend a few minutes a day practicing my handwriting. I’m wondering if it would help or at least make it look as though it hadn’t been written by some old lady with palsy. Probably not, because I’d rather play the game on my I-pad, write for this blog, read a book or watch TV.

          As long as I’m typing about handwriting, how about printing. My handwriting over time became a mix of printing and writing. There are some people who have excellent printing. The words on the page are straight, the letters the same size and it almost looks as though it could have been done by a machine. How did they learn to do that? There was never a “Palmer” method of printing, at least as far as I can remember.

          Then there are people who have mastered the art of calligraphy. Every year, I receive a Christmas card from someone who has an assistant that prints out every single address using calligraphy. Again, the address lines are perfectly straight and the letters all the same size. It’s actually a piece of art in my opinion. I once bought a calligraphy set which I’d forgotten about until Haley and I found it in a box in the garage attic (so that’s where it went). I tried way back then, but either didn’t have the eye or the patience to practice until I became an artist in calligraphy. And even if the ink hadn’t dried up in that old set, I’m not interested in trying again.

          Back home from Alderwood. Arayli and Xander have both grown so much in the last four-plus months. I’m not sure I would have recognized Xander with his boy haircut, wearing a mask and sunglasses. The desire to sweep them both into my arms and hug them until our ribs were almost cracking was so strong, but we all maintained our distances. I really should have used my phone and taken some photos...now I think of it, damnit it anyway. Arayli was pleased with her card and gift, and I asked her to please send me photos of her purchases since I cannot be there to see for myself.

           Next month is Xander’s sixth birthday, so I’ll get to see them all again…so looking forward to that....maybe I'll remember to take pictures. And, even while I’m not expecting anything much to change, perhaps then I can give them both HUGE hugs. Anyway, seeing them mask-to-mask made me happy rather than sad.

ALSTROEMERIA, GRANDDAUGHTERS AND FEAR

          A previous boss very kindly gave me an Alstroemeria start many years ago and I’ve tried everything imaginable to eliminate it from my garden once I realized just how invasive it is. I planted it in one area and it began to take over that spot. Then, the roots tunneled beneath the sidewalk to where the majority of my lilies and dahlias reside. I even found it in the far corner of my yard, but managed to eliminate it from that spot, a spot I really don’t care much about.

          This year, I decided I’d just let it go and it’s gone, believe me. I have two huge clumps in two different areas and I’m sure it’s going to try to creep even further into places I do not want it. I love the color, but the stems aren’t very strong and it ends up laying down on other plants. The wonderful man who gifted me this plant eventually had his yard professionally turned into a Japanese garden which contains none of this plant…lucky guy.

          Well, my Wednesdays with Haley have come to an end. She has a job which requires her presence eight hours a day, Monday through Friday. When she called to tell me, she said she could come on Saturday or Sunday, so we’ll see how that goes, and at least we accomplished probably 98% of the needed work.

A friend of her fathers works for a construction company and last year they hired Haley to spend early mornings watering the new landscaping at the newly built homes. This year, the development they have or are building is adjacent a hill with lots of trees. To make the area even more forest-like, as well as stabilize the hill I’m assuming, the company has planted lots of plants. I think Haley said it’s something like five acres, so she’s going to get her exercise pulling hoses around and going up and down that hill.

          Today is also my other granddaughter’s 12^th birthday. This will be the first birthday I’ve missed since she joined the family at the age of about three. I plan to call Thor’s phone and ask for her so I can sing the birthday song. I’m also debating about putting a card with a check in the mail or actually driving to Snohomish to drop off the card with real money…most 12-year-olds don’t have a bank account. I wouldn’t get out of the car or go into the house, but I could at least blow kisses and see her open the card. As I’m typing this, I’m still debating with myself.

          Finally, what’s really at the top of my mind since I watched the first 20 minutes of Good Morning America is FEAR. Yes, I don’t go many places or associate with folks who aren’t taking this pandemic seriously. Yes, I always wear a mask. Yes, I keep hand sanitizer in my pocket ALL the time and use it ALL the time. Still, watching the reports this morning about how this is still the first wave and how many other states and people are falling ill with the virus terrifies me.

          It also makes me quite angry at the people who won’t participate in wearing a mask. They are extremely stupid, and hopefully, this is Mother Nature’s way of eliminating Darwin-challenged people from the gene pool. Unfortunately, the virus doesn’t pick and choose who to inhabit, so the gene pool is also losing some very good people. Seriously, I don’t have a Ph.D. or any kind of college degree, but you don’t have to in order to understand just how grim the pandemic statistics actually are.

          If that isn’t enough horrible news, then you have the reports of shootings and killings and protests. I don’t have a problem with people protesting peacefully, but why does anyone have to bring a gun to or drive through people at what is supposed to be a peaceful protest. It seems as though the world is becoming even more divided, ugly and forbidding. Is this the kind of world in which my life will end eventually???

          How hard is it for anyone to understand that if you treat people the way you’d like to be treated at all times, all of us would be so much better off. At my job, when I was a supervisor, that’s exactly how I treated my staff and how I wanted my supervisors to treat me. When I was complimented on a project one of my people had accomplished, I suggested the person saying nice things to me say them to the person who actually did the work. Then, I also shared what that person had to say about the job, just in case they didn’t follow through. I believe I had a happy staff and they always met my expectations.

          A perfect example of this was someone retiring. After the send-off, my boss was talking to me about the event and I said I was extremely happy that person had left because I didn’t like her/him one bit. My boss was surprised to hear my comment because I had never provided a negative indication about my feelings for that staff member. My response was that I was the supervisor and my personal feelings had nothing to do with the way I needed to treat that employee. I was just glad I’d never have to deal with her/him again.

          Perhaps my viewpoint is too simplistic. Perhaps people can’t deal with their envy, greed, negativity, or whatever it is that causes them to act in a way that is so hurtful, divisive and irresponsible. I, of course, haven’t said anything about or alluded to the IDIOT in the White House. He is the prime and premier example of what people shouldn’t do or say to each other. If the President of the United States can be that way, it only serves to encourage others to be like that.

          In any case, I’m not feeling particularly hopeful about the next few years of my life. It’s a good thing I do like me, myself and I because it’s entirely possible that may be the only real companionship in my future. Today, I’m feeling frightened and sad. Tomorrow’s post will, hopefully, be more uplifting.

SQUASH BLOSSOMS AND NOTHING ELSE

          Squash blossoms are big and beautiful. I've read and been told that you can take the blossoms, dip them in some kind of batter and then deep fry or pan fry them They are supposed to be delicious and perhaps I’ll go on the internet and see if I can find out how to prepare the blossoms.

          As for any further posting for today, I was so busy doing stuff yesterday that I never once sat down at this computer to write something. I couldn’t believe it this morning when I realized I didn’t have a post prepared. So, I’ll just have to work extra hard on tomorrow’s post. Y’all have a wonderful day y’hear…and be careful out there.

FOXGLOVE AND IDAHO

The flower for today is the Foxglove. Past summers I’ve only had pink ones, but somehow this year I also have a white one. My friend on Cape Cod says she cannot grow these. I sent her a bunch of seeds years ago, but I don’t remember if she was able to get them to grow or not. I try to be very careful when I cut them down because I swear, every single seed sprouts into a new plant. When that happens, I have to pull them as though they are weeds.  

I opened the first box of photos from the 1940s and began to look at them. I thought I had put the names of the people on the back, but there are a lot of them that don’t have any writing. I guess while I’m doing this, I should write down who’s who or when the kids begin looking at these, they won’t have a clue, not that they will anyway because with the exception of me and my sister, everyone else has entered the great beyond.

This first picture is the back of the house I think we lived in when we first moved to Idaho, although it seems much nicer from this view than I remember it actually being. Just remember though that I wasn’t even three years old yet, so memories from that time might be fuzzy. If you look closely at the back of the house, you can see that it protrudes over the river. The reason for that is because that protrusion was the bathroom.

Okay, it wasn’t a bathroom as we know bathrooms today. The walls were board and there was a bench that contained two holes. Why two, I cannot imagine because who would want to go to the bathroom with someone else. I do remember that bathroom because the holes were HUGE and I wasn’t all that big. How my mom and grandma managed to potty train me, I have no idea. I do remember my grandma being in there with me and rubbing my belly, probably because I was constipated. I also remember the remedy for that and it wasn’t pleasant.

Burke Idaho

Once mom married dad, we moved from Burke Idaho down the valley to Gem, and a nicer house. I don’t believe it came with a bathroom because I remember my dad and uncles installing a toilet, bathtub and sink. It was pretty exciting because they took the back wall of the house off in order to do that. Our plumbing fed into a cesspool located beside the house beneath the kitchen window. It in turn drained into a septic tank in a field adjacent the house. Every once in a while, something would happen and my dad would have to open the cover to the cesspool. It was horrible and he would gag and gag and cough from the smell released when the cover came off…quite disgusting.

L-R, Me, Deena & Kate

There was a little house out in that field in which an old man, Mr. Pendergast, I think his name was. Beyond him was the Walker family. Mrs. Walker had given birth to 18 children, four of whom died. So, this was a family of 16 people. Mrs. Walker rarely left the house because she was a horribly fat woman and it was difficult for her to walk. I was best friends with two of the daughters close to my age (Deena & Kate). They loved using my bathroom because it wasn’t an outhouse until one of them stopped the toilet up one too many times and they were forbidden. I loved using their outhouse until the day I ran and opened the door only to find Mr. Walker sitting there. He was scary anyway and when he yelled at me, I think I probably had to go home and change my panties.

Gayle w/bow & Moi

I know growing up changes how you view things, but when I lived in Gem, there was room to park a car in front of the house before the road went by. Across the road was a big rocky field with the river on the other side of that. There were houses on the other side of the river and you could get to them one of two ways; use the footbridge that an old man on the other side kept in repair using whatever pieces of wood he could find or walk further down and use the bigger and more sturdy bridge the cars  used. I hated the footbridge because there were always areas where the boards didn’t meet or were missing and the whitewater river gushed beneath. I held tight to the rope whenever I had to cross. For a time, my uncle and his family lived on the other side, so I crossed often to play with my cousin, Gayle. She and her mother left my uncle some time in the early 1950s and I have never known what happened to them.

The river was horribly dirty due to the tailings from the silver mine in Burke. That’s also where my daddy worked and whenever the big whistle blew, it signaled there had been a cave-in in the mine. My daddy always came home and the only person I remember being affected by a cave-in was the man next door…he lost his foot. To make the river even dirtier, once a year, the oldest sons of the Walker family had to clean out the outhouse. What that entailed was shoveling out wheelbarrows full of excrement, trundling it across to the river and dumping it over the side. That’s also where the Walkers (and maybe everyone else in the neighborhood) dumped their garbage. Really disgusting.

Some time around 1972, John and I drove back to Idaho and went up the canyon to Burke and Gem. I think the silver mine was still producing then. We stopped at what had been my house 20-some years before. It was amazing how small it was and the garage was gone. The owner had let the snow build up on the roof and it had collapsed. If you jumped out the front door, you would be in the road and I swear John could have spit in the river from the road. It or my perception of it had shrunk a lot in the years I’d been gone.

I went and knocked on the door of the neighbors we’d had before moving. Mr. & Mrs. Rose still lived there and invited us in for a visit. John and Mr. Rose talked about the river and how the EPA had made the mine clean it up. The river was once again crystal clear, but Mr. Rose said the holding ponds that became loaded with sediment filled the air with dust when it got windy…solve one problem, create another.

One thing I was really looking forward to was a glass of ice-cold water. When I lived there, the water came to our house from a spring up the road. Every spring, the men in the neighborhood would go and clean out the little springhouse. For a couple of days, you might get some moss or a worm when you turned on the faucet, but the water was delicious. Just the year before my visit, they had eliminated the old system and installed one that was more modern and cleaner and the water was tepid. I was so disappointed.

When Haley and I went to Glacier National Park three years ago, we took a trip back up that canyon. Burke doesn’t exist any more, the mines are closed and it appeared most folks living up the canyon from Wallace Idaho were most likely fairly poor. Wallace, on the other hand, has become a tourist destination with a museum, restaurants, and other amenities. 

That's today's trip down memory lane. I'm ending by including a photo I found of my grandmother and grandfather, my mom and uncles. I'm not sure which one is my mom and three of the girls I've never heard of or met...they must have been my grandfather's daughters from his second wife. Also a photo of mom with me and my brother and sister, Donnie Ray and Mary Lee. Look at those hop vines growing on the front of that house.

Moi, Don, Mom & Mary

Grandpa Jack Lay, Grandma Ada

My Uncle Beeler must be the baby.

The littlest girl must be my mom.

CALLA LILY AND GENEAOLOGY

Today’s flower is a Calla Lily. If memory serves, this plant was here when I moved in eons ago. Since then, I have divided and moved it to a few different places in the yard, but, it has also crept into other places without my assistance. I assume that it sends out roots (really long ones)   beneath the ground and then pops up. I have attempted to removed it from at least one location and no matter what I’ve done, it still comes back.

I heard somewhere that this lily is considered the death lily or the lily people would send when someone died. I don’t know if this is true and don’t care enough to do any research to find out. I do know that when you try to dig it up, it has all these little knobs that fall off and back into the soil. If it is truly the death lily, then whoever gave it that name got it wrong because in my garden it doesn’t die no matter what.

          Genealogy is going to sort of be my topic for today’s post, mainly because I heard from my third/fourth cousin about another individual who’s trying to trace family through 23 and Me. Now I joined 23 and Me I don’t know how many years ago because I wanted to find my biological father. I did everything I needed to do, only to find out I wouldn’t be able to trace him unless a male on my biological father’s family were to join 23 and Me. At that point, there were no relations listed that would meet that criteria. So, I gave up.

          Some time later, I received emails from two women who were related to me as third/fourth cousins. I responded that I had stopped my genealogy research and why. I included the name of the man purported to be my father. One of the women pointed out to the other that there were Churchwells in the research she had done. Thanks to the two of them, I did find my biological father. I’d been unable to find him before because he went by his middle name and I didn’t know his first name.

In fact, the one cousin Sharon, is a genealogy wizard. She has traced her family back to the signing of the Magna Carta. That was over five years ago, so she’s probably gone even further back. In any case, the three of us met up in Oregon and Sharon had made copies of information for me and the other cousin. She had also pulled out the entire section on the Churchwell family.

Back home, I sat down and composed a letter to the person who just might be my half-brother. I explained who I was, how I thought we were related and told him a bit about myself so he wouldn’t think I was a nutjob. I mailed the letter on Wednesday and the following Wednesday, my half-brother Ricky called me and we had a very nice chat. He was more than willing to submit his personal spit to 23 and Me to see if we were, indeed, related. And yes, we were.

This was in May five years ago and I decided I would go to Tennessee in September to meet Ricky and whatever family wanted to meet me, the long-lost, but totally unknown daughter/sister/niece. I know how things work in the south and had to politely and firmly insist that I would drive myself to the little town where Ricky lived and stay in the local motel. I wanted to be sure to give each of us breathing room just in case we weren’t compatible.

Brother Ricky & Moi

It was an amazing visit. Ricky held a fish fry for me on the Sunday after my arrival. All my father’s brothers and sisters in the area attended. My older half-brother wanted no part of me, however, so I never met him. His ex-wife and two daughters came though and I’m still in touch with one of the daughters. My father’s best friend even came, so I got to meet him too. My one aunt who lives in Memphis made a copy of the genealogical work she’d done for me to take home…what an incredible gift.

Ricky’s wife Tomia put together a photograph album with pictures of family that she had copied and identified who everyone was…another incredible gift. Ricky and Tomia drove me all over the place while Ricky identified the various locations and who had lived there, i.e., grandparents, great grandparents, and told me stories about the various individuals as well as our father. They also took me to the Churchwell cemetery which was just across the road from the business my father and then Ricky owned.

I was also introduced to another cousin Billy who is related to my cousin Sharon. It was because of her research into that family that she found the information about mine. Billy and his wife joined the three of us and we visited Billy’s family’s cemetery and had lunch after. I took a bunch of photographs which I intended to send to Sharon but never did. As a result of the email earlier this week, I asked Sharon if she’d like to have them as well as a copy of the Churchwell genealogy my father’s sister had compiled. Of course, she said yes which is why when I went to get the photographs out of the closet, I gathered those up first and why this post is more toward the end of my life than the beginning. I did get those photos out too, however, so there’s more to come.

On Monday, I’ll go to the UPS store and have the Churchwell genealogy copied…too much for my little printer. Then, I’ll package it all up and send it on with a little note. I’ll end that note by asking Sharon just how far back she’s traced relatives now. I know there’s all kinds of information out there and genealogy is fascinating. I also find it quite confusing and wish Sharon lived nearby so she could mentor me. Without that, I think the genealogical information I now have will be as far as I take it. Maybe one day one of my kids or grandkids will find it and decide they want to know more.

HAPPY JULY 4TH

Happy Fourth of July!!! And, of course, this post will have to do with past celebrations. I don’t remember much about July 4^th when I was a kid growing up. I remember having sparklers, but I don’t remember any huge fireworks shows or the neighbors having fireworks to blast off on that night.

I think my first July 4^th memory was when AJ was still small enough for John to piggyback him around. In those days, the public fireworks were held at Green Lake in Seattle. John’s dad lived close by the lake and we parked in his driveway because parking was at a premium. I remember AJ walked down to the lake where we found a place to sit and watch. Afterwards, he was way too tired to walk clear back to the car, so John gave him a ride. I wonder if AJ remembers that?

John loved fireworks and I don’t remember just when he began to order them from some place back east. This huge box of (illegal I’m sure) fireworks would arrive the end of June and we’d have a huge party with family and friends every year. Most of the neighbors back then usually left to go to their summer places or on vacation or, espeically if they had kids, came to our party. Only Mrs. Johnson who lived on the corner would be home and she was a crabbypants.

At some point during this time, a friend of John’s knew someone who put on those huge fireworks shows held on Elliott Bay and Lake Union. I remember John and several of his friends going to see this guy. They couldn’t believe how casual this guy was about the fireworks he had in his home. They were stacked all over the place and he SMOKED cigarettes without a thought. Anyway, John bought some of those big ones that blow up and look like a chrysanthemum in the sky. They scared the absolute heck out of me, but we never had an accident. John would put the launcher for those in the back yard away from everyone so he was the only person in peril if something went wrong.

We still laugh about the year Mrs. Johnson called the fire department. There we are, all out in front of the house. I believe Thor was about two or so and we had him and his cousin corralled in a playpen. The fire truck comes driving up the street and has a few words with John and some of the other guys. It then proceeds up the street to turn around. That’s when John lit a cherry bomb. Everyone is laughing, especially AJ who was maybe 11 or 12. The fire truck returns and the driver says, “Who set that off?”

Without missing a beat, AJ turns and goes, “Dad, they want to talk to you.”

Yep, he turned his own dad in. John got a stern talking to, the fire truck left and we proceeded with our celebration.

We eventually stopped having parties and went to our friend’s farm instead. I remember one-year John took one of his huge flower fireworks. He and our friend set it up and lit it off after dark. The entire valley echoed that blast for what seemed like forever. If we hadn’t been in the country, the police would most likely have shown up.

Not once did we ever go to Lake Union or Elliott Bay. The closest we came was to go to a friend’s house that was on the hill above the freeway just south of Northgate. From there we could see the show on Lake Union. I cannot now remember if we were able to see the one on Elliott Bay as well. I do know there are places in Seattle where you can see both shows simultaneously.

For the last however long, our friend Ken would have a July 4^th potluck and picnic. We always went, but there were never any fireworks and we returned home long before dark. John usually went to bed before it got dark enough for the firework shows on television. I’d sit up and watch them, changing between channels to see what was going on first at Lake Union and then Elliott Bay. This year, I haven’t heard anything about any sort of fireworks show, but if there is, I’ll watch it on television as I’ve done for many years now.

And, may I say how grateful I am to have the memories I’ve recounted here. There are many more of the people who came to our parties, the food we made and ate, the people at Ken’s celebration and the yummy food there.  So, fireworks or no, I’ll make sure I eat very well today and enjoy the memories stored in my file cabinet. I’ll also, most likely, curse all the fools out there who are lighting firecrackers and fireworks until early morning…I absolutely do hate that.

DAHLIAS AND TOMATOES

Imagine my surprise when I went to the south side of my house and found these dahlias blooming. They are the first ones for this year, and judging by the appearance of the others, this dahlia will remain in first place for some time to come. I don’t dig my dahlias up every year, but wait until the plant is sending up far too many stalks. Then I dig up the huge clump, replant a portion and give the rest away to whomever would like them. Also, the south side of my house is sort of out of sight, out of mind, so it never gets the attention it requires. It does get attention from my cat and the neighbor’s cat since they use it as their personal toilet space…maybe another reason I don’t garden there often.

Thursday seems to be another gray day and while my preference is to tuck myself back beneath the covers to get warm and sleep it away, I’m up, have done my PT, and it’s just about time to go walk. I think my mood is just about as gray as the day, but perhaps walking will energize me and change my attitude. If that’s the case, I’ll get some stuff done and; when I return to finish this post, maybe I’ll have something to actually write about.

Well, I actually did get some stuff done after my walk. I discovered that my zucchini plants (black zucchini??) are making little zucchini. I may just pick some in a couple of days to eat in some kind of stir fry. I like them when they’re small. I thought the plants would vine, but so far that’s not happening. I also asked Haley to move my tomato baskets to the front of the house when she was here. So, this morning I found a couple of long S hooks so they can hang lower. They haven’t been getting the attention they deserve out back and really need to be watered every single day which I wasn’t doing. Still, look at the few tomatoes I’ve harvested already…and at least one of them was ready before June 30^th…the earliest I’ve ever gotten a tomato.

I also spent some time judiciously spraying Roundup on weeds as well as pulling the bigger ones out. Also cut off the tops of the spent lilies and it seems like they bloomed way early this year. The front yard got done, but it was beginning to rain…really???, yes REALLY…so I put my tools away and came in to finish this for you to read today.

This gray stuff is really annoying the heck out of me. I suppose part of the annoyance is due to the fact July 4^th is Saturday and I’ll be here all by myself, as will millions of other people…well, not with me here, but alone. I always loved the 4^th picnic and seeing people for the first time since the year before. And, of course, the food we all brought was soooooooooooooooooo GOOD. This year there won’t be any of Supa’s spring rolls, yummy crispy ribs, Ken’s special sauce he either learned to make or orders from the east coast, plus the various great dishes that other guests would bring. I always ate a lot and left feeling as though I wouldn’t need to eat again for a week. I almost always made a fruit salad and packed it into the watermelon rind. Then, a couple of years ago Ken’s brother brought a fruit salad in a watermelon that looked like a shark. That’s when I handed off the fruit salad to him. Last year I think I took veggies and they were definitely not the hit fruit salad always was. Ah well, maybe in 2021.

Maryanne and Claudia are supposed to join me on my deck for lunch today…we practice social distancing. Of course, if the weather person is wrong about the weather, we may have to cancel. I don’t yet know what we’re going to have to eat because no decision has been made. Whatever we have it should be delicious just because I won’t have to cook it myself. Maybe I’ll even order in for Thursday...I've really been wanting cheese tortillas with rice and beans.

There is an idea in the back of my head. I’m considering digging out the photobooks and pictures from my growing up years. Perhaps they will bring some happy memories to mind about which I can blog. If I do that, y’all can take a stroll down memory…long term memory…lane with me. I’ll see if I can’t bring it from the back to the front of my mind and actually do something about it.