15-Hour Spring Break

We set off for South Carolina, seeing snow on the mountain tops around us. There were even a few cars coming down from higher elevations that had snow icing on their tops. The further south we drove, the more advanced the evidence of Spring. I was shedding layers all along the way. We met John’s sister Chris and husband Steve for lunch to celebrate all our birthdays. As we went into the restaurant, I noticed bushes were laden with Spring blooms.

After lunch we went back to Chris and Steve’s house for birthday cake. I asked them to pose with the cakes, keeping in mind that one friend thinks I stalk people with my camera. Can you tell if they are cringing?

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We were delighted to visit with their daughter Barbara. We hadn’t seen her for perhaps a year. I am not good with time or numbers, but it seems to have been quite a while. The time flew by, and we left a couple of hours later than we had intended. As we were leaving, I included myself in the punishment by asking for a selfie. Chris’ face was photo-bombed by my hair. Barbara was tending to dogs inside and managed to escape being photographed. One of these days I might learn to leave that camera in my pocket.

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The drive home was uneventful until we began seeing snow in the headlights in Asheville. We reminded ourselves to bring in the hummingbird feeders. The sugar water had not frozen, but the ant moats above them were solid ice. If ants discover your feeder, there will be a steady stream of marauders the rest of the summer. To stop them, hang a moat filled with water so that they drown on the way down.

The next morning neighbor Joyce stopped her car to speak to us, as we were walking and she was going to work. She had not taken in her hummingbird feeder. The water was still moving, although there was ice on top. The first thing we did when we got home was to put the feeders out again. Before we finished breakfast, one little bird had his first sip of the day beyond the porch. I took a picture of my deck, with the usual squirrel raiding the bird seed under the hummingbird feeder. The snow will melt when the sun reaches it. The birds have not yet learned how to use this new type of feeder. Perhaps they will be desperate enough to try it.

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We are again waiting for Spring to come to stay.

Post Announcement – Spring!

I think John said it was 49F (9.4C) degrees when we went out to walk. All I know for sure is that my spring jacket had to come off. The neighbors near the stop sign had given me permission to borrow their mail post until I came back from the creek. What life-savers they are! After picking up the jacket, I shed the light windbreaker, too. We may still have a few more cold days, but the post has officially declared it is now springtime.

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Just ten days before, Marla took a photo of my heaviest sweatshirt and knit hat on their post. She had a slightly different angle from the one I took. Many people viewed it on her Facebook page.

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As we ate breakfast, I saw a hummingbird hover by the red crystal in a garden wind-spinner. I jumped up and put sugar water in the microwave to boil. It didn’t take long to cool. When we sat in the same chairs for lunch, a hummingbird stayed on the feeder long enough for me to tell John to look. We both saw it. I also saw one check out the feeder on the deck near my computer. Within an hour, he was back, tasting nectar from all three flowers on the feeder. The flowers share the same well of sugar water. I’d love to ask that bird if it tasted better from one flower than another.

April? Where are You?

We had instantly-melting snow last night, so I didn’t expect to see anything unusual today. The mountains are trying to teach me to take nothing for granted. We set out for Tennessee on the interstate highway. There was rime ice on some of the steeper mountains. It was a bit late in the season to see it, but you can’t argue with wind, moisture, and low temperatures.

We easily found the church in Sevierville that John had discovered on line. We were skipping church in Asheville in cheerful protest. They were having a bluegrass concert instead of a formal worship service. We heard the group last year, and it was excellent. Our complaint was not against the band, but about calling a service “liturgical worship” when there was no liturgy. We were welcomed as we walked in. Glancing at the bulletin, we could see that every part of the service was there. Most surprising was hearing the pastor and congregation chant it. Wow! What a reward for our drive over there!

Neighbor Marla, who used to live in that area, suggested several restaurants we might like. She knows we prefer locally-owned eateries. Holston’s Kitchen was excellent. We ate leisurely and headed home on the back roads through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This was now mid-afternoon, when you’d expect all traces of yesterday’s weather to be erased. We could see whiteness on a distant mountain, wreathed in clouds.

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As we drove upwards, ice from the trees began falling on the car.

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Traffic came to a halt, and we soon saw there were three small bears playing in the woods. Every car paused as a hand extended, holding a cell phone. John dutifully waited for me to aim my camera. Although I had zoomed in, you can’t really distinguish bears from the black spot in the picture. They were very cute, paying not a bit of attention to the big disruption on the road.

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We were heading for Newfound Gap. John drove into a pull-off area so that I could get a photo of the wintry scene. Icicles were hanging from the road sign.

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The last picture was taken from our moving car, showing more of the ice and snow.

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We had not expected a winter’s drive on the 8^th of April, but we enjoyed the beauty all around us. As we came to lower ground, we saw little white wild flowers by the road and clumps of lavender blooms at the edge of the woods. Soon we were again surrounded by blooming red bud trees, tulips, and late daffodils. Spring is coming, as the weather takes two steps forward and one step back.

Free Lunch with my Best Friend

You could have a free lunch with your best friend, too. Here is what happened to me.

One of my best friends and I were texting each other, just chatting really. We talked about enjoying being alone in our houses for short periods, why I examined the meat from the nearest BBQ restaurant, cleaning house (she does, I don’t), cooking meals (I like it, she doesn’t), and eating out with our husbands on Sunday afternoon. John was away for the day, and I had had a very light breakfast. I asked where she would like to go for lunch at that moment. She deferred to me. I chose a restaurant I had read about but not been to. It was The Chef’s Table in Waynesville (http://thechefstableofwaynesville.com). I sent her the link and looked at the menu. I chose the yellowfin tuna for myself and lamb for John, who doesn’t get it nearly as often as he would like. My friend was also reading the menu.

About that time I discovered the place is closed on Sundays and open at 5 pm other days. So you see, technically we met for lunch. It was free because we didn’t eat it. I want to do it again, taking turns choosing a restaurant. Oh, there is one other point. She lives 800 miles away.

Humans Shed Too

As I got out of bed, John warned me it was 41 F (5 C). He clarified it by saying, “You know, not far from freezing.”

I need this kind of clue to know what to put on for walking outside. With the Spring temperatures changing from hour to hour, it’s a wonder we don’t get whiplash. It was just a day or so before that I wore a cotton top with no sweater or jacket. I adjusted my mental outlook before choosing my warmest sweatshirt and lighter windbreaker.

Ten minutes into the walk, I knew something had to go. I was burning up. We stopped at neighbors Connie, Dave, and Marla’s place near the stop sign. To keep us from being totally embarrassed, I asked John to hold the hem of my top so it wouldn’t ride up when I pulled off the sweatshirt. I would never be in the mood to flash half my midriff to any hapless onlooker. I put the windbreaker back on, and we continued walking to the creek.

When we came back, I laughed at the scene. Our friends’ mailbox holder was also my shedding post. John held the sweatshirt while I pushed my lovely hat into the kangaroo pocket. He had a funny look on his face when I said, “You’ve been my lady’s maid today.”

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Easter Fringes

I took photos at the beginning and ending of Easter, with nothing between. I kept an eye on the moon, only one day after it was full. It was fairly dramatic in person, not so much in the picture. I happened to be looking as it slipped behind the mountain with amazing speed.

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From the sliding door, I saw the cows lying in the pasture, all facing East. They must have been waiting for the sun to peek over the mountain for their own sunrise service.

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In the middle of the afternoon, John and I saw horse DW running around the pasture, as frisky as could be. He tried to interest Vixen, who treated him like an exuberant child. DW stamped a hind foot, nudged Vixen, pawed with a front hoof, and took off again. He did that three or four times before wandering to the middle of the pasture to graze, as if nothing had gone on before.

After all the activities had quieted down for neighbor Logan (7), he came over to visit us. I found that it is easier to find non-chocolate items for Easter than for Halloween. He and I had difficulty opening the large egg, but as soon as the jigsaw puzzle tumbled to the floor, he was putting the pieces together. It was a bit too simple for him, but it did keep him occupied for a while. The flash worked for this shot.

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I asked him to pose with the finished puzzle as the late afternoon sun streamed in the window. Bless his heart, he was so patient. The flash was not working as it should have. He waited through six shots taken as I fumbled with two cameras. He didn’t get up until I said I was through. Some day, a long time from now, his family and friends will owe me gratitude for instilling him with photo patience.

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John — Left Holding the Bag

No matter where John and neighbor Logan are, it is game time. Logan threw his backpack on the ground and ran to the light pole and back. As we ambled toward the bus stop, John picked up the school bag. It somehow became a punching ball, a target, and a shield. They didn’t have enough time to formulate rules.

The laughter was from neighbor Marla and John. You won’t hear me, because I tend to hold my breath when recording. I cannot stand hearing my own voice coming back at me. Is anyone else like that?

Fancy Food in a Rough Setting

With no one to please but ourselves, John suggested I look for a restaurant in Asheville to try something new. Late at night I copied eight names from the computer, knowing only that they were fairly close to the church and open on Sunday at noon. We found two downtown, but there was no parking nearby. The others were in the River Arts District, an up-and-coming area near the river. Many of the buildings were old warehouses, as rough inside as out. Gentrification is encroaching, and already poor artists are being priced out of the area. It was a good time to be there. Surprisingly, the eateries were not overflowing, like ones in West Asheville we had passed. Vivian was the name of the restaurant we chose. I’d say the décor was workman rustic or in-progress DIY.

Prices were thoroughly modern. I laughed when our food came, because it looked like the orders had been mixed up. The pretty, dainty souffle was in front of John. He wondered if he should eat the violets, and I said yes. The Newberg sauce on it raised the price to match mine.

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My plate held enough food to satisfy a workman for a full day. There was a large biscuit holding a big piece of crisply fried pork covered with sausage gravy. On top were two fried eggs. Oh, my! What a treat!

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I made a mess before having the first bite. After I made the first cut, the knife handle slid into the gooey gravy. Ugh! I fished the knife out and realized no serving person was in sight. Wiping my messy hands with the nice cloth napkin didn’t seem proper. There must have been a restroom there, but I couldn’t have opened the door without consequences. The food was piping hot. I told myself to eat it and worry about clean hands and a pure heart later. I wrote on a blog today that I didn’t have gut instincts, but that was one, wasn’t it? It was the right one, too. John finished before I had eaten a quarter of my brunch. He agreed to eat some of mine until he hit a pocket of pepper, a food repellent for him. By the time I finished, the gravy on my hands had dried. The napkin did a good job without ending up a disgusting mess.

While I’m on the subject of food, I’ll tell you about our shrimp and grits. I think I have it down pat now, meaning it’s just as I like it. This dish originated in Charleston, SC. If shrimp were left over from the catch of the day, this is what the fishermen ate. I’ve prepared it many times since I first had it about four years ago. If you are coming for dinner and like shrimp, request this. Remind me I said you should. The sausage and hot pepper flakes will be served on the side. You can hold the bacon if you don’t go whole hog.

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Hot Cross Buns

Hot cross buns are traditionally eaten on Good Friday in England, but we always had them throughout Lent in New York. John and I thought of them about the same time. We didn’t find any in the supermarket, so I earmarked a bit of the refrigerator dough for them. Instead of kneading candied fruit into the dough, I sprinkled some on top and rolled it up. The next morning the rolls sat on the counter for half an hour before being baked. I stirred together a little milk and confectioner’s sugar for the cross markings. They tasted very good to us, probably because we haven’t had any in four years.

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When our children were little, I baked hot cross buns to share with the neighbors. We went to four houses, singing the traditional song as we delivered them. I looked for the music and evidently threw away the book. Internet to the rescue!

The words are:

Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!

One a penny, two a penny,

Hot cross buns!

If you have no daughters, give them to your sons.

One a penny, two a penny,

Hot cross buns!

A First, at My Age!

I lost my glasses! It’s a common thing, you say, for the elderly to lose their glasses. Not this elder! I can’t see a foot beyond my nose. That’s why my glasses are ALWAYS on my face or on the bedside table. I’ve worn glasses all day, every day, for about 63 years. This morning they were gone. GONE! My first thought was that I could walk to the creek if John went with me, because he could see to cross the highway. Get practical! Go get John!

John was at his computer and immediately got up when I said I needed his help. Bless his heart, he looked at the table and dropped to his knees to scan the floor. It wasn’t until he moved a bit that the light reflected from the glasses. They were slightly behind the table, next to the bedpost. Ah! My knight in shining pajamas!