I have not posted much this week on the blog because I have been hard at work…
FARMING!!!
I am now a farmer!
Well, I actually have a sweet little garden big a postage stamp. No, it really is an 8×10 red Georgia clay area rug.
I had given up all hopes of a garden. Way too late to plant anything. (for sane person)
And then it rained and rained. When the rain finally broke on Tuesday, I went out to look at the patch of weeds that I killed…. GASP!
My nice brown patch of dead grass was once green again — a thriving crab grass colony. Curses! That made me mad.
I got out the shovel and started getting after that bad, bad evil invading crab grass. All of a sudden, no matter how late, no matter how pathetic, I wanted a garden to tend this summer — even a hopeless, Charlie Brown clump of dirt.
And this is my garden …
I have peppers. Yet, something (or someone) is eating the dickens out of them. Infuriating!! They look as they have been straffed by some Stuart Little imposter tormenting my peppers in a mini MiG — several times. Day after day, I spray and spray stuff on them. Still Swiss cheese. I will not show you a picture of them till they improve. Too sad, really.
My corn. Lovingly transplanted from blue Dixie cup.
My squash.
My Okra. (or is this the squash?) Oh dear. Poor thing looks rather thirsty.
An eggplant. Not that I really wanted an eggplant but this was the healthiest looking thing lining the garden department at Lowe’s this late in farmer Brown season.
So I am now eggplant farmer as well.
Lots of watermelon and 3 tomato plants.
That’s it… Pray for no deer — for certainly the great plans I have to fashion a chicken wire fence will never take place.
Pray for rain and pray for those poor peppers. And pray for me — I really have high hopes for our little plot.
Would love to hear about your gardens..Funny, all the vegetables look kind the same right now. But hopefully, I will keep them alive and we will have a crop — about Halloween.
Darn. Should have planted pumpkins. Back to Walmart. A farmer’s work is never done.
And I really need to stop and go water that poor okra. They depend on me, you know.
Okay — Lincoln Brewster. I love this guy. A fantastic musician raised in Alaska for goodness sakes.
“Today is the day You have made
I will rejoice and be glad in it
Today is the day You have made
I will rejoice and be glad in it
And I won`t worry about tomorrow
I`m trusting in what You say
Today is the day.”
I snagged this from his website bio..
“One afternoon, he received a phone call from Steve Perry, former lead singer for Journey. Perry invited Lincoln to audition as lead guitarist for his next solo project, For The Love Of Strange Medicine. Lincoln accepted and began songwriting and rehearsals for the album. Following the completion of the project, Lincoln married Laura. He also joined Perry for a nationwide tour that spanned from 1994 to early 1995. During this time, Lincoln noticed a large number of hurting people in the audiences. “I just knew that when you get that many people together in one place, you’re going to find people with hurts and needs,” said Lincoln. ”
Today with the gray clouds returning again..I needed a little Lincoln.. “Today is the Day.” This is one of those songs that I can’t listen to and not feel lifted.
I hope you are lifted up today…I hope your spirit is buoyed beyond the earth and clouds.
And I freely admit… I just love boppy music. Have a great day.
The children would not get out of bed. No one wanted to eat breakfast. They were dressing slower than then line at the DMV.
My sink was full of dirty dishes from night before. The washer full of clean ones. One minute before the drop dead time to leave for school, I realize I haven’t packed my daughter’s lunch. (I know some of you have your second grader trained to fix own lunch box. I’m not that evolved.)
But unlike yesterday, when the same tardy drama was unfolding, I didn’t stand at the kitchen sink on the verge of tears and screams, “WHY ISN”T ANYONE LISTENING TO Me? Don’t you care if you are LATE???”
No. Of course, no one cared except me. And so I stopped caring about being late. This one time, this one morning.
It dawned on me. You aren’t going to pull this off.
No use screaming. An erie peace settled over me. I calmly spent 20 minutes looking for shoes. Calmly made the lunch. Calmly fixed my children something to eat in the car… Very weird. Who was this woman, at peace in utter chaos even when realizing that her car was going to pull up very late a vacant Primary School drop off…
She acquiesed. This stranger in my skin. I let the morning madness — gooooo.
We got out to the car – after time tardy bell had clanged. I realized my daughter had left two biscuits with honey I fixed her siting on the back of the sofa by back door. Calmly, I mentioned this to her. Calmly, I watched her get out of the car taking her sweet, merry time going into the house to retrived her breakfast.
WOW. I like this gal. Pulling out of the driveway awash in tardiness and lateness.. I hit the CD.
And, “1, 2, 3
Turn it up..” And I turned it up…Getting lost in the music..
Sometimes you just have to dive into lateness and just swim or float — but don’t fail or struggle. I’m not perfect. We’re not perfect.
Sometimes best just to accept that and accept the pure goodness of a perfect D-C+9-G chord progression.
Turn it up, get lost in a riff, forget perfect and Have great day!!
I love fresh vegetables. The Easter Bunny agreeing that a Victory Garden would be good idea this summer brought the children lots of seed packets in their baskets.
Visions of a large vegetable garden swam in my head. I killed a bunch of grass for a spot to till. Then my appendix tanked.
Busy with life, I kept postponing our grand planting session.
My children took matters into their own hands. Lately I’ve been noticing that our garden was indeed planted. Just not like I planned.
This is our corn crop. The green in the blue cups. Please look past the pink geranims in the plastic pots. They’ve been hanging out waiting to be repotted for about a week or so. But I have dragged the potting soil out to the demolition site.
Or I thought that was our corn crop. Till I spied…
This. My little can-do evergreen from Christmas. It is now sharing its flat with three corn plants. (Please over look tired pansies in neighboring pot.)
Isn’t that like life? Told to bloom where we are planted…then reaching mid-life, you find yourself sharing a 2-inch clump of dirt with a pine tree. How am I supposed to bear fruit like this?
But it’s funny. I love my garden. I love the little sprout out by my marigolds that I thought was a sunflower, but now it is bearing very unsunflower like leaves. It maybe a watermelon. In amongst, my tomatoes, peppers, marigolds — I think my little gardeners started a watermelon crop.
I’m excited to see how this turns out.
Be excited wherever you find yourself. Raise your face to the sky, bask in the sunshine and be thankful for the rain.
Grow, be fruitful. Dig your roots down deep.
Even if it is a tablespoon of dirt in a Blue Dixie cup. Trust in the Master Gardner’s plan.
“Somewhere in my youth and childhood, I must have done something good.”
That is me and I don’t get it. How on earth the world’s most hopeless daughter-in-law ended up with one of the best mother-in-laws to exist? EVER.
Twenty years ago, I married Nancy Miles’ son. Twenty years and she still thinks I am the greatest. I’m not the greatest. I’m more bottom-rung, bargain basement daughter-in-law material.
Each year all the Miles families gather at the beach for vacation. Her son-in-law and other daughter-in-law spring up and down as popcorn. Jim, the ever ready lifeguard and child wrangler, is forever grabbing flashlights for nighttime crab hunts and tirelessly, patiently undoing tangled fishing lines. After fishing with children for 15 minutes, I fashion myself a fish line noose. Then there’s Jenny doing loads of laundry, emptying sinks full of dishes, wiping countertops, preparing food and sweeping the floor. It’s seems exhausting for the poor girl, though I enjoy gazing upon her ever-present flurry of attending songbirds and forest bunnies.
I’m best helping Poppa finish his crossword, taking three hour bike rides in bright sunshine and staying hard at work prematurely aging my skin at water’s edge. For who could do that better than I?
You’d think a tight-lipped suggestion, shake of the head or smallest sigh of exasperation might escape Nannie’s lips. Never.In 20 years, there’s been no barging in unannounced. She’s never disparaged needing a machete to cut a pathway through the clutter while visiting. She begs to take the children and remains the biggest fan of my writing. Like the song from “The Sound of Music”, somewhere along life’s beaten footpath, I must have done something good to deserve this unadulterated, unmerited affection.
But, I haven’t. It’s just plain old, selfish me; a simple soul with often the best of intentions, but not the strongest follow through. I’d be mortified for you to know how few times I entertain my dear mother-in-law, do thoughtful things or mention her in this column for pity’s sake. Yet she loves me so. It defies explanation.
Other than grace.
In Christian circles, “grace” seems to be the phrase of the moment. Though I tend to buck against popular platitudes du jour; in this case, I’m stumped for any other reason. Grace: adoration, affection and admiration so undeserved. A gift from a love-filled heart.
Dear Nannie, your devotion to me (as to all your children, in-laws and grandchildren) is hard to grasp. Like grace from heaven – basking in that kind of acceptance only softens and expands my soul. Two words seem woefully insufficient, but it’s a start.
Thank you, Nannie. Written with great admiration and love from the one clinging to the bottom-rung. Happy Mother’s Day to all.
But faith in human nature, our creator and our savior, I’m no saint
But I believe in what is right.
Kid Rock from “Amen..”
Okay — I must confess there was that time in law school. It was really late and I took a roll of toilet paper from the Emory Law Library. I just didn’t want to stop at the store at 11:30 at night on the way home.
But it is best to follow the eighth commandment.
Disclaimer — There is one somewhat-colorful, vulgarity used that neither Southmainmuse or Jamiemiles.com condones in anyway for there are so many other more wonderful, descriptive terms in the world of language.
Wow. My first disclaimer. All those tens of thousands of dollars spent all law school did have serve a purpose. 🙂
A. Talc is a mineral, produced by the mining of talc rocks and then processed by crushing, drying and milling. Processing eliminates a number of trace minerals from the talc, but does not separate minute fibers which are very similar to asbestos.
Q. Why is talc harmful?
A. Talc is closely related to the potent carcinogen asbestos.
1. Clearly with or without asbestos-like fibers, cosmetic grade talcum powder is a carcinogen.
“We’re so glad to see so many
of you lovely people here tonight,
and we would especially like
to welcome all the representatives
of Illinois’ law enforcement community…..”
Maybe it was the gray clouds hanging, hanging down on top of my head? Maybe it was a slight remembrance of The Office last night and wanting my own Dunder Mifflin Disco/Cafe?
Maybe it was just the laundry, dirty dishes in sink, unmade beds?
I just needed a little music and looking over my vast, terribly ancient CD (shhh. Don’t tell I still play CDs) collection; I moved a few things at the very bottom was a blue jacket cover. I saw it and smiled.
I put that Blues Brothers CD on and halfway through “She Caught the Katy..” things became fun. Bustn’ some fav moves “Shaken my Tail Feathers”. Must make it a goal to learn all those dances. (Watusi, the Pony, but the Jerk — I got that one).
It is important to set goals in life.
And it is important to share my fun with you…. so here it is. I even tried a cartwheel. (Okay, that was a fib, but I promise to put my sunglasses on and try one when the grass dries).
And remember — everybody needs somebody to love… Have a great day!
Yes — gathering a following Twitter style has started to matter to me. ;-0. How embarrassing. But one of my TweetPeeps just posted this great article on the “7 Ways to Gain Followers on Twitter.”
Takes time and effort. And just be plain nice to people. Imagine that.
My corn. Lovingly transplanted from blue Dixie cup.
An eggplant. Not that I really wanted an eggplant but this was the healthiest looking thing lining the garden department at Lowe’s this late in farmer Brown season.
My car. My life. It was one of those mornings.
