Here in New England, when the gardens start to overflow, is one of my favorite times of the year. Relatives share their food before it spoils, neighbors leave treats at the door and country roads have home grown garden centers. Beautiful green zucchini for bread, yellow squash for stir fry and beautiful red tomatoes for spaghetti sauce. It doesn’t matter how much they weigh, frugal yanks all across the county are charging ‘two for a dollah’. Our money goes far during the ‘Honor System’ self check-out season. I can’t wait to taste the wonderful meals these beautiful, affordable, local, fresh vegetables will make…
I just need a little help from a friend. “Hon! Richie!? Look what I found doing errands today…!” This time of year my love grows by leaps and bounds.
My brother-in-law will tell you I end up in a lot of photos when we have family gatherings but it’s just coincidence that the lens is always nearby. My husband will say he has a special name for my participation during photographed events on his side of the family, endearingly I’m sure, called “the Donna show”. Both scenarios have nothing to do with the fact that I also enjoy being the product of a good photo bomb.
I recently entertained giving up the practice. I realize I have ruined some good prom photos, beautiful scenery and countless other special shots for people. I think I’m funny but that doesn’t mean others agree.
Yesterday, I walked out of a building that spills onto Boston City hall. The area is ripe for photos with a Faneuil Hall backdrop. I saw a family posing for pictures right in my path toward the train but rather than react on impulse and bomb them, I sped up my pace trying to get out of their way with a “Wait, wait, wait – let me hurry past.” My behavior didn’t seem normal. I chuckled to myself, knowing I was holding back. Then I laughed out loud when I heard, “That’s okay, we don’t mind. Join us!”
The tourist family did not have to ask me twice. I doubled-back, hugged the Mom on the end and spread my arms out wide for the photo. I am pretty sure they really snapped a picture. Hopefully, it wasn’t deleted and I end up in a family photo album on another continent.
A girl has to dream. The photo bomb bug is renewed. It only took a family gathering, a lens and a “Donna show”. I am alive and well.
Getting up early to make our bed is a routine that I enjoy as much as the cats. I tease them with a smoothed ripple that I drift into the pillows or, like today, a disappearing hand under the afghan. The chase is on every morning as I humor them with our play.
Today our black cat, Brother, was particularly determined to catch a wave or an appendage. My hands moved fast as I giggled, watching him try to catch up with my cat-like reflexes. He pawed at me to no avail. I was in charge until I felt a sharp dagger enter my body. I pulled my hand up off the comforter and stopped laughing. My lungs screamed seeing Brother hanging by a finger. Our predicament was similar to a fisherman with a fish hook in his hand but I still had the animal attached. I felt a claw behind my fingernail.
I was scared and so was Brother. A freaked out cat is not something you want dangling from your finger. The decibel of my scream increased as I put my arm on the bed. The movement seemed to untangle us and he sprinted from the room.
Now unhinged, my finger bled instantly spewing forth a red trail to the bathroom. My terror was not over as I put my hand under cold water. I watched our playtime drain away into a crimson waterfall.
My heart was losing blood but also felt horrible for scaring the shit out of our cat. I did my best to apply a bandage and remake the bed. I still enjoyed our playtime but was not humored by the first aid treatment.
I am still lucky enough to spend the day before Mother’s Day with my Mom. I brought her a flower centerpiece, a balloon and an offer to drive her to the local church thrift store.
Hours are every Saturday morning, rain or shine. The weather was overcast and the sky was ready to open up at any moment. The bargain basement is only a few miles away but there’s a long desolate road in the middle called “the strip”.
Halfway to the thrift, we see a man walking along the strip. I beep at him which scares my mother to death. I wave with a smile and my mother doesn’t comprehend such behavior.
“You know him!?”, she finally asks after getting back into her own skin.
“No. I guess I’m like Dad. It was a friendly impulse.”
My mother says more than she does on most trips. She lets out a long, exasperated, disagreeing sigh.
I respond accordingly, “Maybe we should go back and ask if he needs a ride?”
My sweet mother about chokes, shifts in her seat and I can feel her evil eye as I smirk into the windshield. Even though she’s 86, I still love to get her ire up. I am a good daughter but the instigator of the family.
I think I’m funny. My mother does not. At all. Although she was lucky enough to spend a day with me.
Groggily I woke and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom.
I pulled down my pants, looked out the window and got mooned.
I let out a sigh of both happiness and relief.
After an extremely long, cold, snowy winter…
– only briefly interrupted by a windy spring day of temperatures reaching 70 degrees …
– followed by a very wet 30 degree snowstorm of morning commute slush …
This evening our neighborhood men finally reached their winter weather breaking point! Their frustration is clearly visible along our property. The road looks like all the area snowmen threw up!
Man cannot start a new year without Eve nor a new day without Dawn.
For added strength, he relies on Dolly.
Christmas is decorated by Holly and Carol helps him sing onto the Lord.
I went to visit a friend in an assisted living facility today and decided to park in the garage. I observed this scene while waiting for the elevator. Evidently, facilities needs assistance living with the rules.
nestled in my hands & lap –