Nature at its best and most colorful

             For two weeks now, I have been struck by these beauties: japonica (firebush), forsythia (yellowbell), spirea, pansies, deep-red miniature nandinas, buttercups, heirloom double jonquils, berried hollies, hyacinths, dianthus and the understated pink blooms of loropetalum.

           Yellow coins of dandelions are blooming underfoot, a portent of future infestation, but purportedly bee havens. Hen-bit greens up the yard until the grass begins growing. Stars-of-Bethlehem are also visible in the grass—they may be considered weeds by some—and a couple of stonecrops peek from down low in the flower bed.

          The oxalis foliage is lush. Don’t they remind you of a shamrock? And thrift. How could I overlook the cascading thrift? Also, the redbud (Judas Tree)’s fuchsia is at its peak. And if that weren’t enough, the pear tree has a few blooms.

            An old begonia with several blooms now hangs on a staff outside the dining room window, but the half-dozen African violets with blossoms will stay inside close to the east and south windows.

            Oh, and the Japanese kerria is showing its yellow orbs after a good pruning earlier.

              After the couple of nights in the thirty-degree area this past week, I began moving my "greenhouse" plants outside to the east-facing porch. The concrete windowsills are good for small-to-medium sized pots. Short ladders, metal chairs, and other plant stands will hold the larger ones. I cut a long "arm" off a huge jade plant and stuck it in with another, less crowded plant.

            Nature can show both its sublimity in the instances of plants and birds, and its destructive violence as experienced in tornadoes, strong winds, late snows, and floods. This year, central Arkansas seems to have seen an inordinate spell of gusty winds. Pretty soon, though . . .  

         

             And March marches on.

 c 2018, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR

               

               

Vacation turns into Staycation

Four sisters try to take a "Sisters" week annually

                After too much rain and with more predicted, both here and in route, the planned sisters’ trip to Willis, TX, in a condo on Lake Conroe, two of the four of us—one the condo owner—decided against taking the risk of getting into rising water on the way down.

                Since we live within twenty miles of each other, and since the host has a home with three bedrooms, she invited us to “shelter” with her in Little Rock, then fan out from there on three days of flea-marketing forays. One sister had to be at choir rehearsal on Wednesday night, so our staycation would last from Sunday through Wednesday morning.

                I begged a ride with another Benton sister. When she came to pick me up, we stowed my food, a box of legacy trinkets I wanted them to go through, and she said, “Where are your clothes?”

                “We’re coming back tonight,” I said. “Barb didn’t say anything about staying Sunday night.”          “Well, that’s what she meant,” Carolyn said.

                So, I rushed inside, picked up a small, soft-sided Samsonite piece, which usually holds shoes, fan, heating pad and cosmetic bag. I stuffed two tops, two pairs of jeans, underwear, jewelry already out from the day before, nightwear, make-up pouch, toothbrush/paste, meds, and chargers.

                I’d already put extra food in the cat dish and more water in the bowl. The litter box was clean, the plants were watered, the appointments were re-scheduled, the mail hold cancelled. I guess I could manage for three days.

                We arrived mid-morning Sunday, had brunch, drove to South Main Street where our brother-in-law has a booth in an antique shop. We lucked out—Cliff was there. Was he excited when we all four rounded the corner, smiled and waved!

                I bought a silver bracelet with a purple stone, and a used book of selected poems by Federico Garcia Lorca (published in 1955) with Spanish on the left page; English on the right.

                The next stop was a “junk” shop in Hillcrest. Surely nothing in Hillcrest is junk! Although one sniffed at the place, the others of us were impressed.

A movie was on the suggested activities for Sunday, but we decided to drive a few blocks to Bev’s home and watch “La La Land” for free. The last movie I’d seen was “Sleepless in Seattle” at Dot’s home a couple of weeks earlier.

                Monday’s itinerary included multiple flea markets in Cabot and Beebe. My BFF Dot came to see us when her workday ended. She’d met the other sisters at my 80^th birthday party but hadn’t seen them since.

                 We ended the day at Holiday Inn Express in Searcy. Dinner was at the Rock House.

                Tuesday morning, we found a couple of places to visit in Searcy, then one more in both Cabot and Beebe. Rain was on its way, so we hurried home. That night, we watched a tape of the ending ceremonies of the Olympics, then the Arkansas-Auburn basketball game, all the while continuing our cut-throat game of Phase 10.

                Wednesday morning after breakfast, we packed up, straightened our rooms and, again, before the rain, left for our respective homes. The rain caught up with us, but it wasn’t so hard we couldn’t deposit my boxes and sacks of goodies—blue glass pieces, a pear candleholder, a Haeger pot, 4 silver (looking) candlesticks for the mantel—on the porch.

                Grandson Billy, sole occupant at Couchwood for three days, not knowing when I would return, had locked the screen door! Thank goodness, he was getting ready for work and heard my desperate phone call. “Sorry,” he said. But he was only being safe.

                That afternoon, I took a three-and-one-half hour nap.

c 2018 PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR

Clearing clutter: D. I. Y, or let the heirs do it?

Stuff on one wall of the dining room

One bookshelf full and running over; one cat too many

 Downsizing, articles call it, but since I’m NOT moving to a smaller house, I must call it something else: trimming, shrinking, decreasing in size, or reducing in volume. BFF Dot calls it "thinning.” 

Research says that “downsizing” came into the lexicon in 1986 when companies began shedding jobs. Earlier, in 1974, the word was supposedly coined by General Motors when auto companies began making smaller cars and trucks.

When one inherits a houseful of her parents’ things, PLUS her grandmother’s things, PLUS the stuff one brings to the house when she moves in . . . And when one is getting to the advanced age where the end of life becomes more a reality each day, month, and year, one needs to be mindful of these things.

One day, I scooped up from under the buffet a plastic box that I thought hadn’t been touched since I moved here in 2006. But it had—by me—in 2009. It was full of Kid Billy’s school programs and menus, clippings from the Daily Siftings Herald and the Arkansas Times—things from the five Arkadelphia years.

Many of the clippings had my note “Story” inked in. That was before my first novel had been written but were articles about the history of the 1930s. Those found a new home in the recycling box. I kept columns from Richard Allin and Charles Allbright and one article from the Arkansas Times by Bob Lancaster.

The next day, pleased with my previous day’s “thinning” activity, I ventured into a back bedroom that had become a catch-all when the floors were re-done in the front.  When Kid Billy moved back in August, his extra belongings were deposited there.

I began with an old, yellowed box that held old, yellowed envelopes addressed to a long-dead Couch great uncle whom I’d only heard about. An entire ancient shoebox held his legacy. I Facebooked the family group and asked if anyone wanted it. Youngest brother said he’d like them; he didn’t know Uncle Lewis and would like to. GOOD!

In another deep box lid were myriad letters, school reports, post cards, some as far back as 1905, belonging to Mom’s mother. I sent word to a Tennessee cousin who took an interest in that side of the family’s genealogy that she could have a boxful of Grandma Flossie’s correspondence and even a journal.

Then I hung two collages of family photos and one of Billy as a toddler. Ah! Should I wish to, I could actually sit on one end of the pullout sofa. One of these days, it might serve as a guest room again.

In the meantime, if I get tired, I can relax in an old, Naugahyde-covered rocker and watch a VHS of my choosing. Though I don’t have a working TV, I DO have a VHS player--$50 from the pawn shop several years ago.

                Hope you have a happy March!   

                                              Another view of too much stuff - same cats

 c 2018 PL