When your marriage passes the 50 mark, you need to celebrate for at least a week. We began by going to the Pisgah Inn on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was grandson David’s first time, so we marked that by taking a selfie on the new observation deck.
John usually takes me by my favorite waterfall on the way home, and that treat was included in the day. David has been there a number of times. He’s always game to get out and look at it with me. I took two shots of him as he explored the falls up close.
We crossed the road to look at the falls downstream. When David squatted down on that high pillar, I took the shot and had to walk away. It gives me the willies to see anyone there, knowing a tumble from that height could be lethal. I saw son John $ sit at the same spot with his legs dangling down. It had the same effect on me.
David and I saw our neighbors on their front porch and went over to visit for a while. Logan wanted to play Old Bunny, a card game based on the idea of Old Maid. A storm was coming up behind us, complete with thunder and lightning.
On our actual anniversary, John didn’t complain when I took a selfie to show us at the creek.
David was the photographer when we had breakfast at The Buttered Biscuit. My hair was still wet.
We tried for a more formal portrait with the balloon David bought for us. As you can see, we are not formal people.
We split a tiny chocolate cake from the supermarket bakery, and John was off to New York to pick up grandson Nathaniel for the summer.
Neighbor Dave, at the head of the street, battles mud that washes down the mountain and clogs the pipes under his driveway. John was concerned about the pipe under ours. Recently Dave came down to look, offering his advice and the loan of his long tool. Grandson David wielded it deftly to bring out leaves and debris.
At the other end, John shoveled mud. We have been here almost three years, and this was the first time he worked on the pipe. It’s wonderful to have neighbors who share their expertise.
A different kind of sharing came from neighbor Bob across the street. He phoned and asked, “Do you like barbecue?”
In the light of his subsequent statement, I would paraphrase that as, “If I bring you some really special BBQ, could you possibly appreciate it as much as I do?”
Bob had no way of knowing that we are FANATICS when it comes to Southern barbecued pork. As he handed it to me, he explained that it had come from a fund-raiser for an upcoming mission trip. His friend had cooked the meat, and the sauce was from a special person, too.
He said, “We had meat left over, and I’ve been eating it. On top of that, my daughter-in-law gave me a plate of food from her food truck [a brand new venture]. I wish I could eat it all, but it is not good for me to have so much.”
I wanted to make Bob realize he had brought his precious gift to the right home. I said, “We LOVE barbecue. Once when we were house-hunting down here, we ate BBQ five or six days in a row.”
In order to commemorate Bob’s generosity, I snapped David’s photo as we were about to eat the meat. I didn’t realize the sauce seemed to have top billing here. The meat was superb, and we left the table with contented smiles on our faces.
Aren’t our neighbors wonderful? It took a while for me to realize that Bob’s sharing was actually sacrificial giving.
Grandson Nathaniel had stunning news today. His teacher asked him to come to the ceremony for the graduating high school seniors in the culinary arts program. He is a junior and has been willing to do anything that special teacher asked. He was totally surprised when they called his name and awarded him a medal for the Most Outstanding Student of the Year. This included a small scholarship, as well. Yes!! That’s our grandson!! You can imagine how very proud we are of him.
Being that kind of grandmother, I asked for a selfie before we hung up.
Son John $ was able to put on shoes and drive his car a week after the gout attack started. Before he left, he was preparing breakfast for himself and offered to boil extra eggs for the family. All of us love egg dishes, but I dread peeling them. After he made his breakfast sandwich, he said the peeling was a snap. He offered to demonstrate with one of the extras. It wasn’t bad, so I joined him, and we soon had them all shelled. Wait. We don’t shell eggs, do we? We peel them. If anything should be shelled, it’s an egg.
John and I have our favorites. He opts for egg salad, and I adore deviled eggs. I asked David, “Would you prefer your eggs deviled or saladed?”
Being careful of my feelings, he gently asked, “Would you mind if I had mine plain?”
That’s how we came to have six eggs three different ways. David’s was easiest, and John’s ranked next. It was good the cook opted for the fussiest.
I’m curious. Would anyone join me in shelling eggs?
We were ready for grandson David’s birthday before he woke up. John bought a helium balloon the day before and hid it in the garage. I had sweet roll dough in the refrigerator and baked it as chocolate coffeecake. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, with the oldsters doing most of the talking. David is as much a night owl as I am an early bird. He was content to sit quietly and eat.
David had to work at 2, so we went to Bogart’s for an early lunch. Son John $ was finally rejoining the human race and went with us. He was in the woods hiking the previous week when an attack of gout started. He soaked his foot in a mountain stream before walking the remaining two miles to his car. Using that foot to shift was nerve wracking, because he wasn’t sure he could force it to move. He managed to drive to our house, which was much closer than his. His days were turned upside down, since the pain kept him awake at night. Medication finally brought it under control so that he could hobble again.
We were ready for a snack when David came home. Months ago he requested chocolate cheesecake for his birthday. We should have weighed it. The recipe began with two pounds of cream cheese, and it was heavy. After John lit the candle, we sang Happy Birthday. $ wasn’t visible, but he was sitting on David’s left telling a story. David was snickering at his uncle’s tale when I snapped the picture.
There is nothing like it when $ is in a story-telling mood. Some years ago, he and a friend had gone to the supermarket, and the friend was bummed out because he had no money left. As the story progressed, $’s accent changed to that of a mountain man. That in itself is amusing. All vestiges of his New York accent disappeared. He wanted to make his friend laugh, so he pulled into a McDonald’s drive-through.
When it was his turn to order, he said into the microphone, “I wont skillet-fried ‘possum.”
The worker asked for a repeat.
“Skillet-fried ‘possum!”
“We don’t have that,” and he began to read some items from the menu.
Before they pulled away, $’s friend and the worker were laughing. Mission accomplished!
We all headed to bed after eating cheesecake. At the end of the day, we felt the birthday mission had been accomplished, too.
The weather may not say summer, but the activities do. John drove to New Jersey to get grandson David. The first photo by cousin Jay is the segue to David’s summer. The college choir sang in Northfield MN, where Kirsten and Jay hosted David and his tour partner Aaron overnight. Cousins Carolyn and Eric were there for the concert, as well, and joined the others for an ice cream treat. (Kirsten and Eric are John’s first cousins on the Norwegian side.)
Kirsten, Eric, Carolyn, Aaron, and David
David always makes me laugh. I wish you could have heard him tell the tale of ripping his jeans on tour. Every year they dare him to climb in the overhead luggage compartment on the bus, and he is still thin enough to do it. He was pulling himself out when he heard a ripping sound. Standing in the aisle, he reached his hand behind him and felt UNDERWEAR! He had to hold his jeans together until he could get to his luggage and change.
Grandson Nathaniel sent us a photo of himself taken in a town near where he lives on Long Island. He, David, and John always dressed to go to the parade on Memorial Day. It was great to see he was upholding the tradition.
We didn’t have a parade to go to, but our neighbors came for a cookout. John found David’s DVD of Arlington National Cemetery, which he had playing mutely on the TV. That was most appropriate. As we sat around chatting, neighbor Bob asked if any of us had relatives who had died in service. Only Dave did. His brother died in Korea 20 days before the end of the hostilities.
Bob, Dawn, Frankie, and Sherm
I always enjoy this group of people, and I was glad we got in some neighbor talk. We have common concerns, after all. The funniest was about carpenter bees, something we all battle. There are as many ways to fight them as there are households. Bob said he uses carburetor cleaner! After the bee makes its tunnel in the wood, he squirts in the cleaner and plugs up the hole. We reached for our can of spray meant for these pests, and Frankie said they had tried it, implying it wasn’t very effective. I think it was Connie who mentioned swatting the bees with badminton rackets. I can tell you this, if there were a contest for bee beating, either Frankie or Bob would win. Bob made a bee bat out of wood. It had a handle and holes drilled in the paddle to let the air through. He claimed the bees taunt him, staying just out of reach. Frankie demonstrated her technique using a net. She went through the motions as she said, “It’s all in the wrist. Twist, throw, stomp! Twist, throw, stomp. I’ve gotten 30 at one sitting.”
Jeff, Connie, Marla, Dave, Bob, and Dawn
Logan (6) didn’t take much time to eat, because he wanted to play with David. They built a tower for marbles with a set of plastic pieces. David said they were going outside, so I presume they flew an airplane and did other active things we didn’t see. When Logan asked if they could play with the Nerf guns, I said yes, not knowing that David didn’t want to. He said it would make a big mess, and it might interrupt the visiting on the porch. I backpedaled quickly, suggesting computer games. The two of them stayed with that until the party broke up. I overheard David suggesting strategy, but he paused the game so that I could take their photo. Both fellows cooperated quickly, putting on their happy faces, knowing I’d then leave them alone. Later I found David playing the game by himself. He must have been exploring the possibilities he had seen when Logan was at the controls.
At different times John, David, and I watched the documentary on Arlington with the sound on. I feel we truly celebrated Memorial Day in a reverent way.
The real end to the holiday came a day later. Joyce, next door, could not come to our gathering because she had company. Tuesday afternoon she texted to see if we were home and if she could come over. She, John, and I had a delightful visit. For me, that was the final touch that made the holiday complete.
Have you seen the video of a secretary who has returned to work after computers came in? If you’ve never used a typewriter, you won’t understand this. She types quickly on the keyboard, copying something on the table. She comes to the end of a line, and her automatic reflex is to hit the carriage return of a typewriter. She throws her left hand across and knocks the big monitor onto the floor. Even that is dated, but it makes me laugh every time I see it. I wish I could have found a link to the video.
I rank right up there with that secretary in misusing a computer. I am an old secretary, after all, and I almost destroyed a monitor using an old reflex. This photo shows my little laptop on the right. The new monitor and keyboard are for the desktop, which, despite the name, is under the desk.
For the past year I used the laptop. I always closed the lid when leaving the desk to put it in sleep mode. Today I got up to take a break. You guessed it! My hand went out to pull that big monitor forward on top of the keyboard! Arrruuuuggghhhhh!
On our way home from an afternoon in the mountains, John asked if we should stop to see if there were any patriotic items we wanted. We use flag-based items from Memorial Day through Labor Day. Our collection includes kitchen towels, tablecloths, spinners, candles, bunting, flags, and lots of mugs. He pounced on the bunting that he would hang from the front porch. When I asked why he got so many, I heard him say, “I might not be here next year.”
I grabbed his arm and shrieked quietly, “WHY ARE YOU NOT GOING TO BE HERE NEXT YEAR?”
You can imagine the wild things going through my mind. Had the doctor told him the cancer had come back? Was the stent near his heart failing? Did he suspect he had brain cancer or Alzheimer’s disease? Why was he going to bail on me?
He looked at me quizzically and said, “I’m not going anywhere. I said this store may not be here next year. It’s in financial trouble and may go out of business.”
Not bad for a blind shot. Bright sun washed out the image on the camera.
He looks perfectly healthy, doesn’t he? I’m glad he isn’t heading through the clouds to heaven yet. I took his photo on the deck at Pisgah Inn where we had a lovely lunch. The food was as good as always, but the weather gave us a real show. The dining room is on top of the ridge. On an ideal day, you watch fluffy white clouds drift by below you. This day there were heavy clouds, one of which slithered up the mountain and engulfed us in thick fog. Rain pelted down, hard enough that we could hear it on the roof. Before we finished eating, we could again see the valleys below. Going to the car, I snapped a picture of a Flame Azalea, its orange blooms a hallmark of this area. The shrubs are found in the Appalachians from Virginia to Georgia.
We headed down the mountain, stopping at an overlook to listen to thunder in the distance. We didn’t see any lightning, but I took a quick video of mist crossing the road.
Continuing down, we stopped at my favorite waterfall. This is the mountain spot to which my heart is pinned. When our son showed it to us years ago, I knew I wanted to live near it. Our house is about 40 minutes away, but John drives me by it several times a year. He’s a keeper.
Not included here is a video clip of the falls. I turned the camera to get as much of the falling water as possible, forgetting that it couldn’t be rotated. You’d have to lie down on your side in front of your monitor to see it correctly. Would you have done that for me?
Peanut butter on pizza caught me off-guard. This rude surprise happened in my own kitchen!!
I wanted a quick snack and got out peanut butter to spread on plain crackers. We store crackers in plastic boxes to keep them fresh and usually have several kinds on hand. I took one bite and wondered why the peanut butter had overtones of pizza. It was totally unexpected. Sniffing the crackers in the box, I knew. The last crackers stored there had been Focaccia with rosemary and olive oil. I remember seeing the box in the dishwasher, but the intensive odor of rosemary still permeated the plastic and inserted undue influence on plain crackers.
I can think of one solution. Sprinkle mozzarella cheese on the crackers, top with pepperoni, and bake in a hot oven. That might be dinner for the next two weeks.
Two different crackers. Same taste due to polluted plastic.
I read an old folk’s magazine, figuring the articles are aimed straight at me. The main thing I pay attention to is news of scams. Some scams are invasive enough to hit the newspapers, but I might miss them there. Within the last month I read about a delivery con game. A truck pulls up to your house, and the driver tells you he has a package for you that needs a signature. He is wearing a uniform that is similar to that of a major carrier. If you ask, he tells you why he is using an unmarked vehicle. You haven’t ordered anything, but you see a box and jump to the conclusion it has your name on it. I forget the explanation he gives for needing your credit card, but it’s almost plausible. He scans your card with a cell phone, gets your signature, hands you a box, and leaves quickly.
Fast forward to the day John left to go to the train club. I was reading the newspaper in the kitchen, and my phone rang. The man said he had a package for me that needs a signature. Immediately red flags went up in my head.
“You are here?” I questioned. I realized I was using my hard voice, one that was very unfriendly to my ears.
“Yes, in your driveway,” he replied.
I had ordered something that I didn’t expect until next week. I knew my credit card had been charged, but there had been no notice that it had shipped. John didn’t tell me he had ordered anything, which wasn’t unusual. In panic mode, I couldn’t remember the details of the scam. Should I call a neighbor to come out and witness this event? No, there wasn’t time. Go out there and be wary. Don’t sign anything in a hurry.
The truck was painted in the colors of FedEx, and the man was holding a device that was not a cell phone. So far, so good. Oh, my! The box he removed from the truck was suspiciously big enough to be a computer. The nice man explained that he called me because there was no car in the driveway, and he didn’t think there was anyone home. He could very well have peeked in the garage, too, and not seen a vehicle. I fell all over myself apologizing, and said, “There have been scams about deliveries needing signatures.”
He smiled gently and said, “I know.” It was nothing new to him. I signed his gizmo, took the box, walked sedately through the front door, and did a victory dance out of his sight. I was almost too excited to be thankful that I had heard the phone and was not still planting Sweet William seeds or taking a shower.
I wrestled a monitor from a closet shelf, hooked up the hardware, went through the start up procedure, signed into Microsoft, installed a free anti-virus application and ran it, downloaded a free word processor, installed Dropbox, and stopped for lunch. If I did nothing else, I would be satisfied. The next day I installed financial software, and I’m using the machine to write this message. This has to have been one of the easiest transitions of my life. I’m so glad I didn’t tell the FedEx man to go away.
For those who want to see neighbor Logan again, here he is playing a wicked game of checkers with John.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
