You’d Stoop to Pick Up a Nickle, Wouldn’t You?

Pecans.

They’ve been raining from the trees for the last month.

More so than I remember in recent years.

Or maybe because I’m seeing more folks out picking them up off the ground?

This must be the way they harvest them in those irrigated professional orchards.

 

But in a small town built in the middle of a pecan grove, this is what you see.

White buckets.

People use them.

 

 

 

 

 

Dogs use them.

 

Okay, I think those are technically walnuts with the Goldy but you get the idea. White folks, black folks, young or old  — people have been seen around town stooping to pick up nuts.

Michael stopped my the house the other day to see if I needed any thing done.

My garden was in sore need of weeding and I wasn’t going to get out there anytime soon. Before he got to work on my weeds, we got to talking.

“Someone’s been getting your pecans,” he said.

“Yes, lots of people have come by asking to pick them up. The last one was my pastor,” I said with a laugh.

“You know,” he paused to put a piece of pecan in his mouth, “I used to be the only one in town picking up buckets full and everyone used to laugh at me. Now everyone’s doing it.”

 * * *

Out walking the dog this afternoon, I turned down a gravel road.

I saw an unfamiliar car parked and a white bucket off to the side of the road.

The farther I walked up the clay road, a woman, man and teenager came around the corner with bags full of pecans.

“You are going what I need to be doing,” I joked — in small towns it appears impolite not to engage conversation on a gravel road when you are the only parties traveling it.

I think she mistook my comment – for she asked if this was my property.

I said no and that I wasn’t sure whose it was.

The next few minutes were spent discussing the price per pound folks within a 50 mile radius were paying for nuts.

She explained they pay more for the big round ones.

“Every time I pick one up I think — there’s a nickle,” she said with a laugh bending over to pick up a nut.

When I got home I unleashed the dog and got a bag.

And picked up a bunch of Thomas Jeffersons.

Do you stop to pick up a nickle? A penny?

 

 

Linking up with Greta @Gfunkied and Julie @Mamamash for another Wednesday’s iPPP.

GFunkified

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He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. #garden

Failure.

Sometime we feel as if we have failed, even though it might just be a change of life phase.

It became increasingly clear to me that I need to stop trying to have my large garden. I couldn’t give it all the attention it needed and I couldn’t afford to pay someone to help.

So I removed the fence posts and reduced the size of my enclosure to a fourth of the original size.

Fail.

But I thought if I somehow could get this mini-me garden planted on my own that would be a minor hurrah.

I borrow a friend’s tiller.

A killer tiller.

I was excited to learn how to use one. Even though this was a much smaller garden than I had before, it would be my garden. No help from anyone else.

I got behind the beast and turned it on.

It bucked and rolled and I tried to get it under control.

I was so busy trying to figure out how to contain this bouncing rotor that I didn’t notice a man on the other side of the fence.

“You need some help with that?”

“No. I’m fine,” I answered. I didn’t know if I was fine but I wanted to do this myself.

So I continued to jerk and lurch behind the machine all the while this person watched.

“I can do that for you.”

“No. I’m fine really. I want to learn how to do this.”

He stood there. You know how annoying it is when someone is watching you do something you can’t really do.

This gentleman who rode up on a bike decided to take matters into his own hands. He came on inside the fence and showed me how to control the tiller. Under his manhandling the ground was breaking up.

He made me an offer to do the job that I couldn’t refuse.

I gave Michael the reins of the tiller and let him have at it.

I went and bought more plants.

Spinach, collards, turnip greens, broccoli, romaine lettuce and cabbage.

After Micheal pocketed his earning and rode off into the hot afternoon, I got in there and finished tilling a bit myself. Just to get the hang of it.

 

 

Then I planted all my new babies. That was a lot of work. But not nearly what it would have been if Michael hadn’t insisted I pay him to till the yard.

I wanted to do this garden myself.

I did.

Most of it anyway.

I finally got my fall garden planted.

Maybe not how I had planned it — but it got done none the less.

I’m learning to let go.

That turning loose of expectations is not a sin.

I have a much smaller garden. I did not till that garden.

Romaine lettuce knowth no difference.

What about you? Any fall gardens out there?

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Musing on attitudes at the pool. You look Marvelous.

“Hi, Andy.”

Andy is a huge Alabama fan and the last time I swam in the afternoon was the day of National Championship game.

“Congratulations,” I said. For in the South we congratulate people if “their” team wins as if they were in uniform on the field throwing the ball around.

Then I had a bit of panic.

Did Alabama win? They did win didn’t they?

I couldn’t for the life of me remember if they indeed won.

“Yes, they did,” Andrew replied. “Quite handily.”

That’s why I was at the pool. If I needed to dunk my head in water to clear the fog — I might as well get some exercise.

I got in my lane and did my workout.

The older guy to my left was smoking fast (for an older guy.) Then to my great relief I saw he was wearing huge scuba-type fins.

There were two older women to my right. They exercised up and down the lane.

I’m not by any means an extroverted swimmer, but if I’m kicking with the board and make eye contact with another pool participant, I only think it civil to smile, nod, or give some recognition that they are another human.

I swam and tried to enjoy it. Tried to squash thoughts how my shoulders will never rotate like they should on the backstroke and how my chest never seems to pop out of the water like the aqua queens.

I got done and went to the locker room.

While getting dressed, I heard the two older women come in.

And one remarked to the other, “That was Marveloouusss.” The word went on for about 10 syllables and was as rich, deep and melodic as a banana split on a July evening.

Her marvelous resonated over and over in my head. I wish I had it recorded.

I’d play it and swim in it.

She didn’t look like she was haven’t all that much more fantastical fun than me. Heck, even pokey me lapped her constantly. (Yes, I live to lap octogenarians at the Aquatics Center.)

But she was having a marrrveelllouusss time.

So am I — next time.

For it’s up to me you know.

 

 

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Madison, Georgia 2011 HOLIDAY PARADE. Video musing…

Wow. Christmas is taking a toll on my blogging but today was a SUPER day in Madison, G Aay.

First, was the Christmas Rush Road Race and then the Christmas Parade.

When we found our spots on the Square, my eight year old asked for the camera.

I gave it to him.

What follows is his interpretation of the parade. (He did super.)

My only addition were photos of former running partner Kim Sitzmann plugging a promised run date with me on her smartphone. After I hurt my knee (which Praise God has recovered) she moved on to younger, prettier running partners.

I WANT HER BACK.

Sit back and enjoy — small town at its best.

Waves, smiles and horse manure.

Merry Christmas, ya’ll.

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Musing on Sunday School. Laura Margaret I’ve got your back.

As child, did you go to Sunday School?

No. That’s not the right question.

Maybe the way to approach this would be to ask…as an adult, have you ever taught children’s Sunday School?

Help.

Meet Laura Margaret Burbach. I’ve blogged about her before, but one thing you might not know about this special high school senior is that she teaches the Kindergarten – Second Grade class every week at church.

 

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I taught three-year-old Sunday School class at Peachtree Road Methodist. Actually it was more like Children’s Church during the eleven o’clock service.

There I learned two things.

* If you teach, your child will then become possessed a demon vomiting pea soup. (And be the only child that has to be sent out to sit in the hall.)

* And if you continue to feed your young charges, they sit there quietly. I don’t know how many Sunday lunches I ruined by letting children stuff themselves with Cheez-Its. But I didn’t care.

 

  *    *    *

Today they acted up a little. But for the most part, they were just cute kids learning about Joseph and how he provided grain for the nation of Israel.

 

 

Look at this hair....love it.

 

 

Then it was time to make some Thanksgiving napkin holders.

I tried real hard to stay in the lines when coloring my Indian corn.

This was Sydney's. She was quite the perfectionist corn colorer.

 

It was taking Sydney a long time. She asked if I could help her.

I said, “No way.” I had my own napkin holders for Thanksgiving dinner to worry about. Where did she think I was? Church?

 

Working away...

 

 

 

Done.

Laura Margaret had to leave early to head to Atlanta for the Georgia Youth Assembly.

I only let go of her ankle  halfway down the hall after the sight of me sobbing and pleading “Don’t leave” was upsetting the babies in the nursery.

So with her gone, I entertained the kiddies with a rousing game of Thanksgiving charades.

They loved it.

I had them spellbound.

But the best surprise of the day was how good my son acted.

He actually said he loved having me there and wants me to come every Sunday.

I don’t think so. I think I kind of peaked today.

Thanks Laura Margaret for volunteering your time with the kids each week.

Do you teach Sunday School? What are any tips…rather than just keeping them eating?

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Musing on the Mag Ladies. The Magnolia Garden Club Invades Madison’s Le Petit Jardin.

Today the Magnolia Garden Club swooped in on Madison’s Le Petit Jardin.  

Our November meeting was held at this lovely garden nook and Rosemary, Elizabeth and I brought the vittles.

Mine's in the middle.

 

We Three SoupMakers made  butternut squash, kale with carrots and I brought chicken noodle. It was terribly hard opening up all those cans and dumping them in my Crock Pot. I suffered a nasty flesh wound on the tip of my right index finger.

We also provided sandwiches. Ham, chicken salad and I made pimento cheese. I got a little crazy and tried a new recipe with cream cheese in addition to mayonnaise.

It was unbelievably yummy. Sometimes my good luck surprises me.

Debbie, the owner, treated us to a demonstration on decorating with succulents.  Say that six times fast.

 

 

It was really lovely to be in such a perfect looking spot.

All full of holiday cheer.

 

Made mental note of this display. This is exactly how my dining table is going to look this Christmas. Without the deer. Sans the lovely balls. Well, without most of it -- but I do have a stash of magnolia leaves.

 

I wanted to take this big guy home -- but he refused to leave his mate.

 

The lovely Jules Speyer looked over the display.

 

 

The past few weeks, I've been dying to pull over and pick some cotton. But I think it's pretty much gone from the fields now.

 

 

Shelley called the meeting to order. This usually takes some threat of violence. It's a crazy, wild group.

 

Seems Ann was paying lots of attention to the program.

 

We sang the best, most forgiving mother-in-law in the world "Happy Birthday."

 

Then we adjourned for the wonderful lunch. Mary I'd be careful displaying such unbridled enthusiasm at these things -- the nominating committee is always watching. I'm thinking our next president?

 

Great fun was had by all.

If you are in town, head to Le Petit Jardin. I made note that she is getting fresh lettuce in..I need to plant more.

How do you keep your gardening interest piqued in the colder months?

Besides hanging out with the Magnolia ladies.

 

 

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Musing on the Premier of “Cold and No Bleachers. Morgan County @Greene County.”

Okay. I didn’t take enough pictures of the defense. I didn’t take enough pictures of my daughter. I took too many pictures of Coach Huff. 

These were some of the observations by my children after watching my video repose of the Bulldogs visit to Greene County Friday night.

Morgan County won 35 – 7.

Yay.

Regarding the complaint about lack of defensive pictures, there were very small risers on visiting side because the stadium was undergoing renovations.

I shot what I could ground level.

So there are photos of Astro Turf.

No lanes on the track.

The band sitting on folding chairs.

Cheerleaders.

I guess I got a lot of Coach Huff. But I thought I was getting him and Coach Malone.

Go Figure.

Basically whatever was on the sidelines —  I got great shot of.

And then my son. It was his last regular season game for high school. EVER.

Great season Bulldogs.

Can’t wait to head to Augusta for first round of playoffs Friday night.

Are you going?

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Musing on Plants I killed this Summer. #PPP

 

One of my favorite people and renown (in these parts) Master Gardner, Flossie Dodge asked if she could put one of these large placards in my yard.

The Morgan County Master Gardeners are having a plant sale to raise money for projects — one being a heirloom medicinal garden (funky medicine plants from last century) at Madison’s Heritage Hall.

As fellow Magnolia Garden Club member, I was thrilled to help out.

There are Master Gardeners and then there are people who should be thankful there isn’t a Department for Potted Ferns and Begonia Services.

I’ll try to identify the charred remains of the potted plants decorating my yard.

 

 

A petunia. I think.

 

 

 

No idea. I think too much water killed this. Seriously, I better poke a hole or two in bottom.

 

I think this was Flossie’s favorite.

 

A vinca.

 

No idea what this was.

 

 

To avoid any confusion after looking at these specimens, the sale is NOT AT MY HOUSE weekend after next but on Hancock Street in Madison behind the old jail.

And how did your garden grow this summer?
iPhone Photo Phun

 

 

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Musing on Shoeless Joe.

I am at the Chick-Fil-A in Madison — hopping on their WiFi.

Had nice chat with Burns who runs the best CFA in the universe of fast food chicken spots.

My modem is still dead. My under arm wound is healing nicely since the new deoderant cap incident. I only have to change my dressing twice daily.

Yesterday, Joe and I showed up at Wal-Mart.

No shoes. (Don't look any further into the car.)

 He didn’t  have any shoes. There were no shoes in the car.
 
Confession.
 
As a first born, I am an obsessive rule follower.
 
I determined I was going to not worry about any rules saying “no shoes, no shirt, no charcoal.”
 
I learned something.
 
You can spend all day in Walmart with no shoes.
 
Not sure about no clothes.
 
Maybe we’ll try that next week.
 
 

 

Buzz Lightyear?

 

No. Buzz too baby.

 

He went with the skull and crossbones.

But we still shopped with nary a shoe. Because we could.

When I got home..this was in the front seat.

 

So his shoes were with us the whole time.

I’m glad we didn’t know.

I would have never learned the freedom of walking shoeless through Walmart.

I’m taking my sandals off right now. Burns won’t mind.

Have you ever showed up anywhere without shoes?

Without clothes?

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