Wreck

I searched for another word for accident but couldn’t find an adequate substitute.

Early this month an idiot ran into Mike on his way to work. The turnpike was shut down, parking lot style. Not moving a’tall. Enter maniac, who must have been texting or trying to extricate his head from his stupid ass.

The Gray Ghost

So, Ghost was deemed totaled and Mike still can’t sleep lying down. It’s muscular, because the ER did an MRI ($28,000!) on his spine and it looked fine.

It’s difficult being a one car family, so we bought the object of Mike’s affection, a Wrangler.

No, I’m not going outside to take a bloody picture.

He loves Wranglers, I love Grand Cherokees. This time he gets his pick.

I loved the Gray Ghost and miss it, but who knows; I may learn to love this as well.

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Beautiful Mess

Florida might be a hot, wet mess, but the unexpected beauty smacks you in the face sometimes. Does it make up for the gators and skeeters? No. Hell no.

As shot

As shot

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Orange Sky at Night

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. Does orange mean sailors should get drunk?

All as shot.

Looking west.

And in the east, an orange palm from the reflection:

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Black Thumb

I love the smell of lavender, but obviously cannot grow it.

Edited to add: this is not my fault. As soon as we passed through the sliding doors at Home Depot it started browning. Dying. Simply because I removed it…. from what could not have been its home for long.

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How and Why?

Pot roast and kabobs are out, since we don’t eat meat anymore… (cry for me!) so I cruise the net for meat-less, wheat-less, sugar-less, tasteless recipe items that somehow resemble normal food.

This looked promising. A small potato, two eggs, half a cup of greek yogurt, half teaspoon baking powder. That’s not hard. They are supposed to look like ordinary buns. Instead, the buggers came out resembling – and tasting like– hard cooked eggs.

I give up.

Whist I bemoaned the outcome of my hard work, the man tried to put a good spin on it. Trust me, he doesn’t want me to stop trying. ‘It’s not bad, just bland’ and ‘maybe with some steak sauce?’

I’d walked into the Florida room (away from the mess) and heard him say “Let’s leave this shit and go to Taco Hell”.

For some reason the man and I laughed for 20 minutes solid.

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Serenity

Deerfield Beach is just north of us and their cams have sound! Ours don’t… So I visit every morning… virtually.

6.1.26

There’s nothing like the sound of surf, so I also visit some nights to lull me to sleep. Reminds me of the beach house.

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It’s Time

Yes, they’ve finally bloomed and the obligatory proof must be offered. Sorry.

Promise there won’t be 1,000 images of bloody lilies this time. No, really. I’m too busy trying to stay out of the heat to tarry for a good shot. Once the dog finally passes going outside will consist of running to the car then running into whatever destination. Anywhere with good A/C would do, really.

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Clarity

While no one can truly love their wrinkles, infirmities and seemingly endless doctor visits… the distance age provides can be healing. I’d rather be young and firm, but peace that comes from understanding is its own reward.

To wit:

I left my horse on the farm with mom when I moved out. A few months later she’d sold the horse and all the tack.

‘Rage’ is too calm a word for the feeling I nurtured for most of my adult life. The newer saddle had taken me months of saving to buy! And my horse! (The one I hadn’t even been back to visit because I was too busy.)

What did I expect?? This old woman with rheumatoid arthritis was supposed to toddle across the pasture to the barn to feed and water the horse? Well, no feed in the summer.

She did what she had to do, what she’d done every time I looked away from some possession. Sell it or give it away. Birthday and Christmas gifts came with the understanding that I lose it and everything else if she wanted.

So I grew up not prizing things. They’re temporary. Easily taken away. I prefer a small amount of possessions, just enough to fill the smallest UHaul. A stark contrast to my hoarder husband.

Anyhoo, I forgave my mom and I hope she forgives me for being a shit about everything. Wherever she might be…

She was 43 when I was born; already tired of bullshit.

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