If spiders cause revulsion to well up in you, read no further. I almost hit my limit when I was researching webs and pulled up a page with an animated spider crawling about the screen. *shudder*
A two-story web was near enough to the road for a close shot. Wonder if it’s a mother/daughter dwelling.
Even closer is a photo showing a messy web. The spinners couldn’t all be teenagers.
What started my looking was a field of webs on a misty morning. This appeared to be a suburban development that used the same architect. On a day with low humidity, the webs were not visible like this.
If anyone can identify this type of web, please share your knowledge. The only one that looked similar to my eyes was the cup and saucer web or bowl and doily web, said to be in North and Central America.
The wicked wisteria vine finally redeemed itself. We were disappointed in its blooming for three years, beginning with the year we bought the house. You’ll say I expected too much of it. You could be right, since it wasn’t due to bloom for another month that first time. I watched for blooms the next year and saw none. Last year there were a few miserable little clusters hanging on the underside, like they were hiding. I had it in for that invasive plant. It frothed green all summer and looked like bare bones the rest of the year. All it was good for was taunting me to trim it. Murder was in my heart. I wrote about it five times last year, none of it complimentary. It grabbed neighbor Logan’s airplane, attacked an innocent butterfly bush, mocked me when former neighbor Amy added a nice bench and a lovely birdbath under it, and exploded in wild growth whenever I wasn’t looking. Oh, yes! I had it in for that creeping monster. This year buddy, this year OR ELSE.
I looked at the wisteria and walked outside to examine it. There were suspicious growths on the ends of sticks. Five blooms came out, followed by a hundred or so the next few days. I’m not going to recant. I meant every ugly thing I said about it, but I’m willing to put that in the past. John and I are looking out the kitchen window whenever we pass and commenting on its beauty. The final blessing came when a rainbow arched over it.
Although the brown-headed cowbird is a year-round resident of North Carolina, I didn’t see it until this year. The unpopular bird ate seeds on the deck long enough for me to get a photo. It is a black bird that looks like his head was dipped in brown paint. I won’t begrudge him one dinner out at my expense. The bird is disliked because it lays eggs in other birds’ nests. What a freeloader! The cowbird frolics, carefree, as the foster birds hatch and feed the interlopers as if they were their own. The only thing I like about the bird is that it takes advantage of others without forming vast bureaucracies to oversee the program.
According to various sources on the internet, the phrase “how now brown cow” was used in elocution lessons. It’s only as old as I am and just about as relevant. Has anyone else ever heard it?
As we backed away from the house, John said, “I hear something dragging.”
I hadn’t noticed, but we both got out to look. A piece behind the front bumper had dropped down and was scooping up gravel. John was wearing a suit. It would have taken me half an hour to get on the ground, and there was no guarantee I would see how to fix it. Getting John to church to sing in the choir seemed impossible. You could probably have heard our brains grinding three feet away. I voiced the quick solution – let’s see if Bob is home. Shawn was watering their lush grass, and she relayed a shout for Bob. Superman couldn’t have changed his clothes and been on the spot any sooner. He took one look, dropped to the gravel, and pushed the piece back into position. Adding washers would hold it more firmly.
He said, “I’ll do it in the morning. Take our car to get to church.”
Wow! Neighbors like that don’t grow on trees! You can see why we think they are super special. We got in their sleek car and sped to Asheville, arriving in time to rescue the pastor. Rescue is the wrong word, but I suspect someone backed out of reading a section. Pastor McFarland greeted us across the Narthex as he hurriedly thumbed through the bulletin. He found the place where the choir was to sing, saw that John could be in the congregation when he needed him, and asked John to read the question parts of the bidding prayer.
The congregation was asked to enter the sanctuary silently for the service, giving John time to scan the reading several times without interruption. I thought he did it well. The choir sounded good, too. In many church choirs, women’s voices overpower the lower parts, but I could hear the four lines clearly. All this was thanks to Shawn and Bob’s generosity. I’d like to give them the Golden Hero Cape award for their quietly spectacular rescue.
The church looked somber, draped in black. I never saw details of our last church, because I was always in the choir loft. Here the crosses, altar, baptismal font, and pulpit were covered. We left this solemn service in reverent silence, knowing the greatest rescue of all time happened outside Jerusalem over 2000 years ago.
Neighbor Logan (6) had no school this week, and we wondered if we would see him. He had been in Tennessee two days and came over about 1 in the afternoon the third day, saying he could stay until 2:30. John and Logan played basketball outside for a while. We hadn’t had lunch, so I fixed popcorn for a snack to tide us over. We eat late, anyway. When the boy found out at 2:30 that we hadn’t had our meal, he thought it would be a good idea if he stayed to eat with us. His dad agreed he could stay. We had half a ground turkey pie that would feed three easily. Knowing how picky children can be with vegetables, we asked what he liked. Butter beans. The photo below shows how he concentrated on spearing about six at a time on his fork. He even volunteered to finish the ones left in the serving bowl.
Logan was ready to leave the table in jig time, not being used to our leisurely meals. When he asked to be excused, we suggested he stay on the porch with us. That was insurance that he wouldn’t watch too much TV. He said, “Let’s have a spelling test.”
Have you EVER known a child who wanted a spelling challenge? John gave him a short word which he spelled easily, but he wanted something harder. He spelled strawberry for me. John asked for Pullman, and I gave him daffodill (his spelling). Crazy was too easy. When we couldn’t stump him, he asked to be excused. In two seconds he was climbing on my exercise bike, which was still way too big for him. He is getting better at it, though. He kept his feet on the pedals, but he had to let the handles go with each down stroke. Watch his tongue. Do you think he could ride the bike with his mouth shut?
The fellows played checkers while I took a nap. John is not a game person, but thankfully he does like checkers. The game snack, which John prepared, was a bowl of mixed nuts and raisins. At five John sent Logan home, because he needed to get ready to go to choir rehearsal. It was great to have a big chunk of time with our favorite neighborhood child.
I made a mental note last year that the hummingbird arrival date should be about the middle of April. I would peg it to sis-in-law’s birthday and tax day. Easy. Having just signed our tax forms before the deadline, I knew the time would soon be here. Meanwhile, the regular birds were still feasting on seeds just beyond my computer screen. Yesterday, when daylight was fading fast, I caught movement above the seed dispenser. There was no time to focus on it before it disappeared. I convinced myself the movement included a bit of hover. Maybe a hummingbird came three days early, looking where its feeder was last year.
I’m not sure I believed the hummingbird was here yesterday, but I acted like I did. I boiled sugar water in the microwave before we went walking this morning. There wouldn’t be many birds yet, so I did only one cup. After breakfast I put the two hummingbird feeders out, one near the back porch and the other on my deck. If the birds were coming, they would find a feast prepared for them. Around noon a bird lit on the feeder, a male flashing his ruby neck. For once, the toy camera was not in my pocket. It was across the room. I began reading blog posts with the camera now on the desk by my hand. Reward! He came back for another round of drinks, making his way to each of the four flower tubes. The males arrive before the females, and this one could be heading further north.
Ruby Throated Hummingbird, first of the season 4/12/17
There were things my mother did when I was growing up that I swore I’d never do. For one, I never wanted to brush a daughter’s hair out of her eyes. I don’t think I ever did that, though Lise or Kate might contradict me. There are other things that didn’t matter, and I found I wiggle my fingers to turn a ring around just like my mom. I presume her rings were a little too large, as are mine half the year. In the summer, mine fit. You find yourself saying things she said such as, “We’ll see.” I’m guilty there, and Lise hated it. Do fellows do that? Do you avoid doing something your dad did or said and find yourself following in his footsteps?
I laughed at myself when I realized I was turning into John’s dad! I was reading the AARP Bulletin, which has slippery pages with a pinked edge. It is almost impossible to turn those pages that tend to stick together and hang up on the ragged edge. Though written for retirees, it is NOT old-age friendly. Dad is the only person I ever saw who blew on papers to separate them. At my young age, having had no problem turning pages, I told myself I’d never do that. Guess what. It is quite effective! When you can’t get a grip on two pages, blow on them at right angles, and they will magically separate. I’m ready to thank you for that, Dad (now in heaven), but I hope no one ever sees me do it.
This photo from 1984 shows my father-in-law, Mom, and ALL their children, spouses, and grandchildren. We were celebrating his 70th birthday. I’m hiding behind the pink dress, probably standing on something to appear taller.
Our visit this week was to South Carolina. We wanted to celebrate the birthdays of John’s sister Chris and husband Steve. We were planning on a long day of travel punctuated by lunch in their town, but they made it easy by offering to meet us halfway. Our arrival was within 15 minutes of each other. Requesting a quiet table, we settled in the back of Olive Garden and talked non-stop for two and a half hours. If there had been anything scintillating to relate, I wouldn’t write about it publicly. Don’t worry; you didn’t miss anything. We were interested in hearing about their latest trip, the things going on in their church, and family news. I meant to tell them that SC had decorated its interstates in pine trees and dogwoods, whereas Tennessee had redbud trees.
Our last stop on the college roommate tour was to see Carolyn and Jim. The last time we saw them was in a larger group. This time there were only four of us to chat. No matter what subject came up, we seemed to view it from the same angle. That’s amazing to me, since we lived in different areas of the country and didn’t see each other for decades.
Roommate, sophomore year
That is not to say it wasn’t exciting. Carolyn is a twin, and their triplet grandchildren were there with a guest for spring break. I’ve never been around so many multiples. As we drove into the farm, we saw the pre-teens in the pasture with three horses. A bit later the two girls were throwing a football The four had lunch quietly in the kitchen as we ate outside on the porch. Later it was fun watching them climb into hammocks high off the ground. I was impressed with their good manners and respect for our conversation.
There are four bodies in and among the hammocks. This was taken from the front porch.
I asked how Carolyn and Jim found the farm, and she said her grandfather bought it over a hundred years ago. I noticed an angel on a gatepost, and she said, “You must have missed seeing the large angel statues in the family graveyard. I took special note of them on the way out.
Carolyn showed me their wedding album, which I was thrilled to see. I think theirs was the only non-family wedding I was in as a bridesmaid. They married two years ahead of us. Carolyn disappeared into the house for a little while and served us big bowls of homemade chicken salad –just as tasty as it was beautiful. You know you are in the presence of a fantastic cook when she says, “It was just….” Yes, of course. They had a big family of boys and now a passel of grandchildren. She is probably the most experienced cook I know.
Jim is as involved in church work as John ever was. I don’t know all that he does, but he takes care of finances, produces the bulletin, and took a phone call about grounds maintenance while we were there. I enjoyed hearing his praise of a Baptist preacher who has coordinated charity work in the community. The man has a database that other ministers plug into showing names, amounts of money involved, and what was given to people.
The little toy camera was determined not to miss out on the action. Carolyn groaned, that being the classic reaction to the appearance of a camera. She followed it with a brilliant remark. She said, “I might not like my picture today, but in three years, I’ll love it.” I have the feeling I’m going to quote that many times. One of the triplets took a photo of the four of us.
John, Anne, Jim, and Carolyn
We had to head home, because John was slated to do the chanting for our mid-week service. We traveled at a lovely time of day. Tennessee’s interstate highways were all lined with miss-named redbud trees. The sun made the lavender blooms glow against a dark green background of evergreen trees.
We were with friends who have known each other for 68 years. I realized they have known me longer than anyone else on earth, aside from my brother. That is history! There are others who fit that description, and we wished they could have been there. We sat in Linda’s living room and let the memories pour out. After an hour, I thought I was on overload. How could I remember all the things we talked about? I couldn’t, but I can share a story or so.
We were last together in 2012. Since then, Linda went to the brink of death and back, and that’s what I wanted to know about. The president of our (public) high school class sent out a call for prayer for her. That’s part of having grown up in the South, something I took for granted until I moved north. This group will talk openly about faith. We got reports about her having an aneurysm in the brain and surviving the surgery. She didn’t mind talking about it and described how she woke up feeling odd. It was only two months after the death of her husband. Her children rallied around to care for her until she was back on her feet. She remembers only sketchy things about those first days. She knew the surgeon was going to try to repair things in the middle of her brain and was told many people don’t survive the surgery. If they live through it, there could be great damage. Linda says her inherited stubbornness made her determined to be a survivor. She came through that well, only to find out there were two more aneurysms nearer the skull that were subsequently operated on. Becky said she went to the hospital during the first round, and Linda remembered seeing her there. If I hadn’t been told of this near catastrophe, I would never had guessed it by seeing her now.
I wrote recently about the Arp Consolidated school near my hometown, and I found that Becky had a connection to it, as well. Back in the 60’s she was assigned to teach there for a couple of years. She had followed in her parents’ footsteps. Her mother was the home bound teacher, going to children’s homes when they couldn’t go to school. There were children needing long-term help, as well as those with a broken leg or temporary impairment. Her dad was the principal of one of the schools in the area.
Becky mentioned that her grandfather had been a circuit rider – a Methodist minister who rode about an area having church services in places where there was no organized church. She wondered aloud if he had ridden a horse. We all agreed he must have. In the recent past, she was invited to speak at a church where her granddad had served. No one was old enough to remember him, but it was a very special occasion for her.
I didn’t know Linda and husband William had an antique business for years. They had a booth, and later more than one, in an antique mall. We were glad to have an expert with us as we walked through this shop. Her house is full of beautiful antiques, lots of clocks, and untold numbers of old books that William wanted to own. Linda said they first learned the value of things from books and experience, since that was before the Google age. I thought the experience part was amusing. Linda said if a group of people came in and one snatched up a piece before the others could see it, she knew for certain that it was valuable.
Restaurant inside an antique store
I was grateful most of my stories seemed to end up where I wanted them to. There was a bathroom incident that shook me up for a few seconds. Becky found a restaurant for us that was in the middle of an antique shop. The door to the ladies’ restroom was a front door with an oval insert of glass. I locked the door and thought nothing more of it until I was half undressed on the inside. Eek! Can people see me? I waved a hand to make sure it was a mirror and not clear glass. This probably would not have occurred to me if I didn’t have recurring nightmares about bathrooms that are not very private. You are privy to my secret. I expect to see this one again in a dream someday (or night).
Becky noticed signs for coconut cake, denoting it was something special there. Before we ordered lunch, she told the waitress we’d share one piece for dessert. From experience, I knew to cover my clean knife with my hand as my lunch plate was removed. The cake was divvied up, and we dug in.
The afternoon ended too soon. If we had stayed longer though, I feel precious memories would have been shooting into the air for lack of storage space.
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?
