Pie

If I were serious about losing a few pounds, I probably shouldn’t have chosen the cherry-topped, key-lime pie painting I’m now using as my computer-desktop image. It’s only temporary.

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Fifteen Things

1. Yesterday I put on my dog-walking shoes and my foot found a dead mouse nestled in the toe.
2. I have been in a bit of a funk because I have nothing of consequence to do.
3. Deb and I both bought new drivers in Denver, and I am finally hitting the ball long and straight off the tee.
4. Now my short game has gone to hell.
5. I take a lot of pills every day. That sucks.
6. But I am very very healthy. That’s good.
7. The garden is gorgeous. Come visit it.
8. If the nice weather holds out, I’m going on a long scooter ride with my scooter-riding friends tomorrow.
9. My high-school friends remember high-school details that I have totally forgotten.
10. Every night lately, I want a junior-sized soft-serve ice cream: vanilla dipped in chocolate.
11. May is strawberry-chocolate chip month at Graeters.
12. I’m not sure I hyphenated the above sentence correctly.
13. How much coffee is too much coffee?
14. If I don’t exercise every day…like getting on the bike and riding for about an hour…I get bitchy.
15. And fat.

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Maggie’s Spot Sees My Spot

Remember that red spot on my lip that I told you about? Well, let’s just say that when that damned dermatologist said the cream she gave me would make a “red spot,” she was understating it. It looks as if someone held me down and burned me with a lit cigar. This spot is big and bleeding and crusting and glaringly red. People are beginning to comment about it. I’ve become self-conscious.

My across-the-street, 8-year-old neighbor has a birthmark on her lip and face (she’s very beautiful, and I long ago stopped seeing her mark, but I know she gets teased in school. Woe to those who tease her); I think she’s sympathetic to my spot. She comes over and sits with us on our porch (she has brought herself over for visits and for meals since she was about 3—just walks in the house and asks what’s for dinner); she hasn’t said a thing about my lip, but she sees it.

UPDATE: Maggie asked about the spot. She pointed to her own lip and said simply, “What’s wrong with your lip?”

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I Hammer Just Fine

The last productive thing I did on Memorial Day was to prepare the honey supers for the bees. The clover is blooming in our yard, and I felt terrible cutting the grass because it meant also cutting all those flowers from the clover. We used to hate all those little white flowers all over the yard, but now I hate to whack them off because the bees will turn them into honey. Thank God they grow back so quickly. And absolutely NO PESTICIDES. Bees that come in contact with pesticides die immediately. This whole bee thing is incrementally changing the way I see the world.

Anyway, there I was in the quiet basement nailing together these little frames for the bees. I use little wire nails and a little hammer to construct these things…it’s sort of funny. Don’t think I’m a sissy with my hammer, though. I hammer just fine.

As I worked, I listened to the muted sound of Deb’s visit with our next-door neighbor on our porch…it was a sort of ambient noise. Sometimes I think of all the huge construction projects going on in the world compared to my work with these little frames. But there’s something sort of precious about doing it. Once the frame is finished, I slide these thin little sheets of beeswax foundation into them…everything is kind of small. The bees will build their combs using this wax as their foundation. There are ten beeswax-containing frames per honey super. Once I get the ten frames made, I construct the super that will hold them…those are bigger pieces of wood and I use big nails and a regular-sized hammer.

All around me as I work is the faintest smell of honey from the beeswax. It’s a nice smell.

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Henry’s Roughed Up

Something really big got a bite out of Henry. When we drove up from the airport on Saturday, Henry met us in the driveway…he was sitting there, but he was sort of weaving around, too. And blood was dripping. Oh boy, was he gashed good. Two ugly raw spots with deep punctures. I think a fox got him just before we pulled up. He’s looking rough.

Now we’re tending to him, and he’s very compliant with our ministrations; after he rested up a bit, he was back on the prowl, though. You just can’t keep this cat inside. I’m pretty sure he’ll die out in those woods one day.

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Where’s My Small Town?

You know we’re not going to Italy this summer, right? We thought about it, but the trip never materialized. I don’t know why. For some reason, I just couldn’t get into it. Weird. I can’t really get behind a big vacation this year. I’m much more inclined to head into the mountains and hike or hunker down.

We’ve just returned from Denver, and I found it odd to be within sight of all those snow-covered Rocky Mountains and not be in them. It was a liminal experience (good word, huh?). One day, we drove into Boulder with Kay and Sherry, but Boulder wasn’t what I expected. Several years ago, when we came into a little extra money, we thought about buying some property there. I was sure we’d do it. We didn’t. And now I’ve discovered that I’m not crazy about the place…though this could be the result of very rare overcast clouds and rain…we didn’t even get a glimpse of the mountains. But Boulder was larger than I expected, and I’m on the lookout for a little mountain town. You know what small towns do to me, Reader. And I’m talking really small.

Also, I think I’m beginning to realize that I’m not a person who wants to live in the foothills. I want to live in the mountains. I don’t want to live with one foot in and with the other foot out. I want to drive a dirt road to my door. I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t try it someday. If I could only reconcile myself to all that snow.

At Red Rocks

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The Ball Flies Farther in Denver, Colorado

We’re off this afternoon for Denver to spend some time with our friends, Kay and Sherry. And I guess I’m off to get my butt handed to me on a silver platter in golf. Of course, that statement makes it sound as if these folks are competitive, which they are not. Unless they’re losing. And then they get serious. Not a one of them will lose and like it. I don’t mind losing.

We were all standing together on the tee of the par 3 9th hole at NCR Country Club and wishing for a hole-in-one. I said I hoped to see Sherry (LPGA golfer, golf teacher, golf lover, golf, golf, golf) get a hole-in-one one day. Sherry said she wants to see me get one, too. You know how it goes…standing there together on the tee, we all said we wanted to see one of us get a hole-in-one. The conversation eventually boiled down to this: I’d like to see Sherry get a hole-in-one more than I’d like to get one myself. To a person—Deb, Kay, and Sherry all want to be the one to get a hole-in-one…more than they want to see any of the others of us get one (I think this makes me  the better person, don’t you?).

This attitude is probably why we’re always winning our annual scramble. We’re the only foursome of women in a huge field of foursomes, and we bring home the money more often than not. So, this weekend is a tune-up for our annual end-of-July tournament. I am the lead-off driver. I may not hit it as far as the other three, but I’m consistent. Then everyone else can just let ‘er rip.

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May 17 May 17 May 17 May 17 May 17

I love May. I love May 17th. I love hearing it said and seeing it written. Today is my birthday. And it’s not raining. It’s also not warm…today is quite chilly…right now, I think the temperature is about 40 degrees Fahrenheit (we have some international friends here, Reader…that Fahrenheit detail is for them). It will warm up, but only into the 60s. Cool spell.

When I was younger and living in Texas (where it’s a lot warmer in May), I always begged to go swimming on my birthday. In most of my childhood birthday pictures, my hair is wet from swimming.

And today is Sunday, so there’s no work for me. This all boils down to having a very nice day with absolutely no plans until I meet a few friends for pizza tonight. I love nothing more than a wide-open birthday. And then, I love nothing more than meeting a few good friends for pizza on a Sunday night. This will be a very wonderful day for me. I hope it’s a wonderful day for you, too, Reader. Happy Day.

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Falling in Love with Irvine, Kentucky

Can’t someone turn off this RAIN? Okay, it’s better than snow, but I want to get outside and do something more than cut the grass between cloudbursts.

We spent last weekend at the farm without running water and without electricity. Pipes had burst in the house, and we knew we’d have no water; but then while we were there, a tornado whipped through and knocked the electricity out for a good number of hours as well.  All of this to say that on our second morning, we wanted breakfast out. So we drove to the little town of Irvine (pronounced “ervin”) about…what…10 miles from the farm. We seldom spend time in Irvine…I don’t know why. It’s so Appalachian that we both just love it when we’re there.

Anyway, we found a little hole-in-the-wall joint called the Lunch Box right on the courthouse square, and it was full of locals at 9:00 am, so we headed in and grabbed a little booth. Only men were there when we sat down…men who look old when they are not—wrinkled in the way that comes only from a life of sun and work and tobacco. And I fell in love. I fell in love with Irvine, with our sweet sweet waitress, with all the men in the booths, and with the women who soon followed them. I fell in love with cigarette smoke. I fell in love with bacon and eggs and toast and pancakes and syrup and biscuits and gravy and sausage and coffee.

Soon after ordering our sweet breakfast and falling in love with our waitress, Deb and I looked at one another and our eyes welled with tears. We’re still not quite sure why this happened. I think we just felt so in love with that little town and with those simple wonderful funny sweet small-town people. I think we could actually see ourselves living out our days right there in Irvine, Kentucky. Deb would hang her shingle out on the town square; I would resurrect the quirky movie theatre. We would eat breakfast every morning at the Lunch Box.

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“Two Honey’s” Bee Movie

Here are our beehives in the late afternoon. The taller structure is the more rambunctious swarm hive we inherited from my bee buddy, Chris. We added another deep brood box to it on Sunday because this group is growing and working like crazy. Next door is the calmer hive we installed with the bees and the queen shipped in from Georgia. They’ve been in their new home for only about two weeks.

I like listening to them. (You can hear them, too. Turn the volume up.)

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