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Showing posts from August, 2013

Outta Words

Unbelievable!  I stared at the stick of a plant both my eggplant and pepper had become.  What in the world is making a night time meal of their leaves?  I am completely baffled as I search in vain to catch the culprit.  It does not seem to be the roaming possum or even the occasional visiting squirrel, and I know for certain there are no rabbits in our neighborhood.  The only evidence are little circular chomp bites, but can something that small have such a veracious appetite? Is it a worm, a grasshopper or some invisible insect, completely dressed in camouflage?  I feel robbed of my summer produce, even though it appears to have left the vegetable itself for me to have.  Outta words, I decide to pluck up the remnants later . . .  I usually have something to say.  Most times, I have find it necessary to speak, to comment, to intervene, to say something.  But not now, I am as naked as my leafless plants.  I'm outta words. ...

Reformation Without Regeneration

Seriously!  Is this really happening?  The carton was oddly warm, as I poured creamer into my morning coffee.  I peered inside the refrigerator and paused, only to find that most things I inspected were of that same lukewarm cold.  Oh great, I thought, our refrigerator is dying.  But it isn't that old, in fact, I think it was purchased within the past five years.  Could it really be on its last leg? Optimistically hopeful, I tried to open all the vents to generate any cold air inside.  The motor still working, the freezer cold, but the inevitable was presented right in front of me.  Our refrigerator was burning out. . .  Plan B.  I had just gone to the grocery store the night before, so I had limited time for a temporary plan to preserve as much as I could.  Thank goodness, at least the freezer compartment was acting like the  refrigerator so I could put in there as many items as possible that would fit.  I topped off ...

Imprisoned Splendor

Breathing in the fragrance, I felt a rush of "dejavu".  I was immediately in the backyard garden of our German neighbors, the Gettmans.  Tall rows of the most beautiful big face roses you could ever imagine filled their fenced in yard.  As a five year old, I often accepted the invitation from Mrs. Gettman to come on over and be with her in the garden.  Ready with a smile and a hug for me, we took our time meandering through the bushes, she never hurried me up.  We would smell the various fragrances of the blossoms, and she would tell me the specific name of each. My favorite was the one that started out with a pinkish bud and then unfolded with rosy yellow, white leaves.  Its name is Peace, and to me, a picture of Mrs. Gettman.  But even in all its beauty, the rose still remains as imprisoned splendor.  .  . I saw his name on my schedule, initially thinking that it was familiar, but not fully recalling anything specific.  Hearing my ...