Mystery Seeds

I wave to everyone who passes me when I walk, but rarely does anyone ever speak to me. This morning I was walking by the service station/general store/café when a man came toward me. He smiled and said something about morning exercise. He held out his hand, obviously wanting me to take what was hidden there. He told me what kind of seeds they were, and I made him repeat it twice. I could not hold onto the name to save my life. His thick mountain accent didn’t help, especially when he began to explain what to do with them.

What I understood him to say was, “Take off the little bits sticking out. Use fishing line to string them together to make a necklace.”

As I was thanking him, he held out his hand to shake mine and sauntered off. I would love to have snared him with questions, wanting to learn more about him. Perhaps he has seen me often, since I’ve been walking there a full year now. I wonder if I’ll recognize him if I see him again.

If anyone can identify the seeds, please tell me what they are.

History and Ancient History

You don’t expect history to hit you in the face at a budget motel. We were somewhere, somewhat north of Jackson Tennessee. Nathaniel noticed the sign as GP (Grandpa) was getting a room for us. It said, “December 31, 1862 Upon these grounds Confederate and Union soldiers fought and died defending a way of life they believed in.” He wanted his picture taken with the sign, and I was happy to oblige.

[Bonnie wrote in response to the above paragraph, “There used to be a fairly decent restaurant on the land where the sign is. They had lots and lots of civil war memorabilia throughout the restaurant, much of it gleaned from the grounds. We used to stop there to eat and walk dogs on the way back from an obedience trial in Tupelo. I’ve never seen such a clean demolition of a building.”]

We were killing time until the service began at a Lutheran church in Nashville. Nathaniel had been asleep while we drove through the downtown area, seeing the state capitol and various government buildings. There were also lots of stores and restaurants paying tribute to the country music capitol of the world. He woke up and must have looked at his phone, because he knew the replica of the Parthenon was there. As it turned out, it wasn’t far away. I took a photo of him as he walked back – the figure almost in the center of the picture wearing a suit and a green shirt. John and I were there on a college choir tour in 1964 and remembered the building being open. It is now an art museum, and it didn’t open until well after the church service was over.

The church, built in the 30’s, was within walking distance of the Parthenon. John had seen their web site and knew they conducted traditional services. The pastor had a PhD or so in history, having planned to be a university professor. He chanted the whole service and preached an intellectual sermon which Nathaniel commented on. We felt right at home. The woman in the pew ahead of us was the widow of a pastor. We found out she grew up in Clarksville. The people were very friendly, asking us to join them for fellowship downstairs. We should have gone for several reasons, one being that Nathaniel was hungry. On the drive home, John and I said we must go back to that church the next time we are passing through.

Mission Accomplished

We saw the people we planned to see on this trip, and now we are heading home. John’s Uncle Howard was in great spirits, but we don’t think he remembered we were coming. It took him a while to know who we were and get us sorted out in his mind. He is 97 years old, so he can be forgiven for taking his time. He still has a clear memory of the bombing of Pearl Harbor where he had a ringside seat. There are only two other Pearl Harbor survivors in Memphis.

I rather liked that photo because I knew when I took it that I was visible in the mirror.

I was embarrassed that I nodded off several times. We brought in ribs and barbecue sandwiches from Howard’s favorite BBQ place, and we were all as full as ticks. In addition, we were facing the sun streaming through floor to ceiling windows. The difference between squinting and sleeping was about 1/8 inch. I apologized to John later for not being able to stay awake. He said, “That’s OK. We all nodded off from time to time.”

We stopped in Jackson to see Mary and Joe. Joe and I grew up in the same town, but Mary is the one I keep in touch with. I asked how she heard about Union University where they met, since she lived 5 or 6 hours away. It seems a good friend from her town went there a year ahead of her. She voluntarily promised her parents she would come back home; she would not fall in love and marry anyone far away.

080815 N Mary Cepparulo — Nathaniel and Mary

She started college, and sometime later her dad telephoned her and asked how her love life was going. She said, “There is nothing to worry about. I’ve dated this guy a couple of times, but we don’t have the same values.”

As soon as they hung up, her dad said to her mom, “We’re going to Jackson this weekend. Mary has met the man she’s going to marry, and I want to check him out.”

I think Mary said they have been married 48 years.

While I was enjoying Mary, John was talking to Joe. I doubt the two men had ever spent more than a few minutes together. John learned a lot about Joe’s dad in the war and about Joe himself. Nathaniel said he was tired and didn’t plan to talk. He was quiet, but he became animated when Mary chatted with him.

It was wonderful to reconnect with these dear people. We will drive hard tomorrow so that John will be home for cardiac rehab on Monday.

Missing: A Change of Clothes

We were approaching Knoxville on an interstate when John said, “There is lots more traffic now than the last Friday I came on my way to the train club.”

Nathaniel looked around and said, “But this is Saturday, Grandpa. Traffic wouldn’t be the same.”

“No, Nate, it is Friday.”

Nathaniel replied, “It’s got to be Saturday.”

There was a tense pause. “I don’t have enough clothes. I have only my suit and what I have on. I thought today was Saturday.”

John and I were willing to take the responsibility. John said he didn’t notice what Nathaniel put in his garment bag, and I told him later we should have said exactly how many days we would be away.

Putting a good spin on it, Nathaniel said, “Now you’ve got a good story on me, Gran. You left out the chicken last night, and I didn’t pack enough clothes today. Your turn next, Grandpa.”

We crossed the time zone, putting us back an hour. When we stopped at a fast food place to eat, we were in the middle of the lunch rush. There was a line in the ladies’ room. When a girl came in behind me, I told her she was number three in line. The three of us in the cramped space chatted for a minute. The woman ahead of me said, “There is a sign that this stall is out of order. That’s why it’s taking so long.”

“Oh,” I said, “That must be why they call it a stall!”

That was risky, making a pun to strangers. Luckily, the woman got it and laughed, as did the girl. I didn’t need to turn red and mumble an explanation.

We arrived in Nashville slightly before we told Bonnie we’d be here. After bringing in the cases, Nathaniel flopped on the bed and put a pillow behind his head. That put him right in line with the mirror that cuts off his head when he stands in front of it.

“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed. “My feet are enormous!”

Maybe he saw his feet doubled – hanging at the end of his legs and reflected in the mirror. The way he said it made me double over in laughter. Surely it couldn’t have taken him by surprise, since he’s been growing a long time. He is 6’3″ and still getting taller. The toy camera came out, and I leaned over the bed to take a picture of what he was seeing. The flash marred the first shot. He took the camera, and holding out his arm, took another photo that magnified his feet even more.

We are so blessed to have grandsons with a good sense of humor.

Chicken Potpie without a Cluck

There were three witnesses when I said, “Oh! No!” in the kitchen.

“What happened?” they wanted to know.

Dumbstruck with disbelief, I didn’t answer while frantically pulling the pie plate from the hot oven. “I forgot to put the chicken in the potpie!”

I was wondering how I could get the crust off when John summed up the situation, “You can’t fix it. Just serve the chicken on the side.”

Luckily, I heeded his advice. Half an hour later, we put the warm chicken chunks on our plates and topped them with the creamy veggies and crust. It may have been unorthodox, but it was edible, as shown by the empty pie plate. Thinking about it later, I decided that was as good a way as any to celebrate my parents’ 75^th wedding anniversary. Though long dead, they would have approved my cooking at home and taking sensible advice.

Have you ever omitted a key ingredient in a recipe? I’d love to know, since misery loves company.

Snake!

If you don’t like snakes, close this immediately. I grew up knowing snakes were sharing our property, and they didn’t bother me. We ignored the harmless ones and avoided the dangerous ones. Actually, I don’t think I ever saw a cottonmouth or a copperhead alive. Now spiders are another matter. Those critters send shivers up my spine. That’s a fact, without rhyme or reason.

John and I were chatting after lunch on the porch when he said, “Look there! It’s a snake – a first for us here!”

I couldn’t even see the creature, but I was already rising from the chair to get the camera. Even worse, I opened the door to go down the steps before I was sure it wasn’t poisonous. I’ve given myself a stern lecture and hope I took it to heart. Meanwhile, John was simply watching the black snake poke his head in every crevice of the little stone wall. We wonder if he was looking for our resident chipmunk, hoping that wouldn’t be Mr. Slithery’s lunch. The snake doubled back on himself and pushed into the next open space. At that point, I was watching instead of aiming the camera and saw the black head appear in the middle of the ground cover behind the wall. The old snake must have decided he was safe as he meandered off through the garden. I’m very glad our lunch was more successful than his.

Nathaniel’s Scarecrow

Grandson Nathaniel has been in an extremely dressed down mode this summer. He wears a suit and tie to high school four out of five days a week, looking snappier than most of his teachers. The other day when we went to the Bavarian Restaurant, he chose to wear a shirt and tie. John followed suit. I looked like the bag lady in jeans and a top.

When I saw the scarecrow in the neighbor’s garden this morning, I had to bring a photo home. The scarified gent was wearing a tie and a hat! He may not be more effective than lesser dressed crows, but he had a very jaunty attitude.

Birds and Beer

Birds and beer have nothing in common that I can think of, but both are included in this post.

The hummingbirds have been at war for the last several weeks. Every time one comes to feed, another one attacks. We have two feeders, one near the back porch and one on the side deck. We watch one feeder while we are eating, and I look at the other when I intend to write. This morning I was watering plants when a hummer hovered there, only 12 inches from my shoulder. I froze as he hummed for his liquid breakfast. What a privilege it was to share space with him! This afternoon I happened to see a tiny bit of peaceful coexistence. Two birds drank at the same time. They were nervous about it and soon rose in the air to have a whirling battle as graceful as any ballet duet.

The demented cardinal quit attacking the sliding glass doors after grandson Nathaniel washed them. I was reading the newspaper on the front porch this morning when I heard a whir and a bump. That silly bird flew onto the porch, landed on the floor, hurled himself at the glass beside the front door, bounced off, and flitted away. He must have done it four or five times while I was there.

I think I saw two hawks on a wire over the road while on my morning walk. The fog was so heavy that I didn’t see them at first. I stopped and reached for the toy camera, but they were gone in a flash. The birds were definitely larger than doves, and I had the impression of roundness about the heads. There was not enough light to see any color. As they flew, I noted big wings and squared tails.

Our son heard about a good German restaurant north of Asheville that sparked Nathaniel’s interest. Unfortunately, son $ had to cancel today, but we went on without him. I discovered the name of the place was more specific – Bavarian Restaurant and Beer Garden. What a delight! Nathaniel chose Blauer Engel Schnitzel; John had Münchner Sauerbraten, and I had goulash. As you might guess, I copied the first two names from the on-line menu, because I couldn’t spell them.

[Sorry for the caps. The paragraph looks OK in the draft.] We shared two desserts. We had Bavarian cream puffs and a fancy concoction in a wine glass. There was Black Forest cake in the bottom, topped with cherry ice cream, hot fudge sauce, and whipped cream. We felt sanctimonious stopping at Owl, the produce store, to buy vegetables and fruits on the way home.

Our Broken Landscape

We immediately noticed unsightly streaks on the sliding glass doors when we returned from NY. We didn’t have long to wait to find out what was happening. A male cardinal repeatedly flew into the door, presumably to attack his own image. When he wasn’t ramming the glass, he was sneaking around the corner and clinging to the screen on John’s office window. John tried putting up flags and red reflectors which didn’t deter the cardinal one bit. The hummingbirds came to check them out, hovering in front of them with bewilderment.

We’re not sure how we’re going to break the bird’s bad habits, but meanwhile, my landscape is far from idyllic. The marks on the glass are white, and there is only one white thing I can think of that would come out of a red bird. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Our glass doors are now a perpendicular latrine!

If anyone has a solution to our problem, please let us know.

Beware of Tractors

It was good to be walking in the mountains again, even if they were shrouded in mist until I got home. Perhaps because I couldn’t see far, I noticed a road sign that has probably been in place the whole year we’ve lived here. How could I have failed to giggle at it all that time? The sign was there in plain sight a short way from the creek. The stylized picture of a farm tractor couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. If we had those in Tennessee when I was growing up, I never noticed them. I assumed most people in our rural area would always be watching for tractors on the road. We had more than tractors. From time to time herds of cows were driven through the town! Now that I have seen the tractor sign here, I will redouble my efforts at spotting them.

I would like to ask if anyone else sees “beware of tractor” signs.