Oldies

My digital picture folders start with May, 2004. Thought I’d pull some out into the fresh air.

Plumeria
At a park
Same park, hugging on the man.
YsD. I miss her.
…and me, for some reason.

There were a couple of young Breagha, but I can’t.

Loathsome August

I do hate this month so, so much. Here I am, larking about the place… dogs in tow, fire extinguisher in hand… (I’m not a good cook) and 1,000 miles away a fecking great bloody hurricane storms up the Texas/Louisiana border lashing everything half to death with the waters of the Gulf.

It’s not as if I wanted the blasted thing here, but there is an element of… guilt… for some reason. We south Floridians have had so many similar ‘episodes’ that we might be better equipped to deal, if you understand me. We’ve had to rebuild our homes. The cracker box has Cat 4 windows (even if they did install them wrong side around – shhh… don’t tell the man!), a new roof and new doors that Jesus himself, should He decide to come round for a cuppa, couldn’t manage without a key.

A Cat 4 is catastrophic anywhere, though. I’m not looking at the aftermath because I don’t need to – August 24, 1992 is still fresh in my mind. Hurricane Andrew blew in as a Cat 5 and changed the landscape… and many lives… forever. Laura will do the same as those before her.

People ask -as if no one’s thought it before- “why would you live in such a place?” Gee, why would anyone live in ‘tornado alley’? There are many reasons, but most important among ours is money. Will we move when the man retires? I don’t know. There is the ocean, after all…

This is just to say: Feck off, August.

Back Down the Hole

I think this picture adequately describes my mood.

In other news, my long time stylist retired. Yes, I am bereft. Guess my long, stringy hair will remain that way…

It’s My Birthday

One year ago tonight I took Bree on her last car ride.

It’s been a long, bad year. Other than that horrible night I’ve not mourned her, pushing everything down deep.. so far down I couldn’t feel anything. Then a week ago I was cleaning the house, listening to music (some of us dinosaurs still have iPods!) and James Taylor’s Never Die Young started. I didn’t notice, until he sang “…take the sky, forsake the moon…”. And I collapsed into a weeping rag. You could have done anything to me at that moment; I was immersed in grief, not reality.

Younghaven’s Take the Sky, a.k.a. ‘Breagha’

Silly girl.

Guess you’re really gone. At least I can cry for you now. I will forever miss you and forever look for you everywhere, as if you’re only just out of sight.

Poison Ivy

Yep, it got me. Preparation for our new fence led to cleaning out weeds and… rash. But I can’t find the plant. Every year… but I can never find it. How crazy is that?

Meanwhile, I’ve got a massive canna near the front door. Think I’m hoping that it, along with the v. large green thing on the other side of the walk, it will discourage visitors. Let me tell you, Amazon drivers are not easily intimidated by foliage. Thankfully, neither are Whole Foods delivery drivers.

Yesterday we had a Publix delivery… (Of course I’m spoiled now.) Our first smoker. The bags were horrible; they smelled like they’d been sitting in a giant ashtray and someone had exhaled smoke right into them. We almost vomited. My allergies went insane and I was drugged and in bed by 7:00p.

I did contact Instacart and they “unpaired this shopper from all of your future orders.”

The fence went in yesterday, but I’ve yet to get any good pictures.

Later, gators. Must soak my arm in salt water. Oh, hell yes it’s infected! Grrr…

Progress Continues Apace

The Man knocked down the concrete structure yesterday – so quickly I’d no time to film him.

He is now digging out concrete slab. Didn’t need to; just having fun!

I did the pressure cleaning.

In related home news, the bugger behind us has almost completely de-nuded his yard and taken all our shade away.

AND put a dent in our fence. Sigh. Sometimes living on a postage stamp makes me a bit crazy…

Just

…another day in paradise*.

The old, busted chain link monstrosity needed to be ripped up to make way for our new pvc fence. The ficus and areca had grown among the links for 20 years, weaving their roots so inexorably through the thing that even a chain threaded through them and hooked to my Grand Cherokee broke under the pressure of trying to extricate them. Twice.

Our tree guys (NOT our tree guys anymore, even though we’d been good customers for over 10 fecking years!) wouldn’t go near it, not wanting to damage their equipment. Really?

Enter… the Man! He of sawsall, chainsaw and whatever those other saw thingamys are. He did succeed in getting the chain link up but I’m telling you; it was dang struggle.

He assesses the situation and proceeds to dig deep into his tool box.

Things happen, albeit slowly. There is hope. Until… (you saw this coming, right?) the fence lady came by today and told him that the roots had to be removed two feet under the ground.

Enter her tree guy, who is happy to do the work… after they mark the yard for utilities. Bless his heart.

Next time, tune in for the Man knocking down a concrete structure to make way for the new fence. That will occur this coming weekend and I’m thinking of filming part of it.

Everything done, the fence will go in next week! At my age I’m not holding my breath. Whenever is good enough for me, just get it right. Right?

*I am drowning in sarcasm today. Help me.

Remember


I took this early one morning on the beach… many years ago. It’s been living on my desktop, prodding me to remember things I’d forget as the days go by..

Such as… we are not alone -we are never alone. We have family, friends, all the saints in heaven, guardian angels, not to mention the Holy Trinity and our heavenly Mother, Mary.

And it always reminds me that 99% of the time, we have no control… over anything. Drink that in and ponder on how short life can be.. I don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying my time on this rock, grateful for what’s been given and what’s been earned… and even taken away.

Hope you are, too.

We’re praying for those afflicted with COVID and the souls of the departed. Our emergency services, medical staff, military and grocery stores that keep us fed.

God bless us, everyone.

Another Day

Yup, this is me. At 62. The year’s not been good to me and 63 swiftly approaches… probably on the wings of a big, fat tree roach.

Right after a haircut… and red spot above left eye is where the dermatologist burned something off.

Yes, kids, something else to look forward to as you age, apart from mottled, wrinkly skin and ever-growing ears… people cutting and burning parts of you off… roughly twice a year.

I took this because my dad wanted to see my haircut, which is the same as the prior 2, 479 haircuts. Still.

But another day above ground, as they say, is a good day.

My Poor Mother

Look at those feet!

Though she wasn’t my biological mother, I still want my mommy when sick or hurt. She passed in 2005, but the child inside me never gives up the need for her mama. Much like saying a Hail Mary and asking the holy mother for help… but I mainly call on my mom for… food. Do you think she spoiled me a bit?

I slipped a disc early Monday morning. What did I desire more than anything (other than a new spine)? When the man asked what I needed -he is incredible- my answer stunned: “My mother to rise from her grave and make me a pot of chicken and dumplings”.

Rose could make ambrosia out of dirt. She never taught me how to cook; don’t know why, but at least I’ve picked up a few things. One of them is her recipe (not really; she never needed one) for Custard Pie. Simple, with few ingredients, I crave it sometimes. Today is one of those days.

3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1 pint milk
nutmeg

Mix together and pour into an unbaked pie shell. Bake in 300° oven for 1 hour, or until crust is set.

Guess I don’t have to ask her to rise from the dead today. (That feels blasphemous) But tomorrow I might have a hankering for her Liver and Onions…

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