Poppies!

I have the voice of the Wicked Witch of the West in my head right now.  Do you?  Remember that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion were trying to get to Oz and the Witch put a field of poppies in their path?  They all fell into a deep sleep until Glinda appeared to wave her magic wand over them.  That scene, right there, is probably why I love growing poppies, that and the "alien testicle" look of the buds. 

CG arrived this morning at 9 o'clock and worked alone all day until 4 o'clock when his partner came to lay more of the first course which takes the longest because it has to be level so there's lots of shoveling, then mallet-ing, more shoveling, and final placement of each block--for 120 ft.  He said they should be done by the end of the week and will get the lawn reseeded and he'll even bury my garden hose for me.  I paid him half of the quote today.  He hadn't asked for any money yet but I insisted.  I figure that he had to pay for the supplies so I gave him half.  I'll pay the other half when it's all done, as we agreed.  This is why I hire people I know to do work for me, despite what HH said on Friday night.  We were talking at Friday Night Knitting about service people and she said that she never calls people she knows to do work because she thinks that they charge her more because they know her.  ???  I didn't say much because I think she goes into things already on the offensive and so does get less than excellent service.  Ah well, I'll do it my way.  (hey, someone should write a song...)



When I went out for the paper this morning look at what I saw on the driveway.  There weren't any eggshells around it so maybe she changed her mind.  I don't think she was there long enough to have raised a brood.





I spent part of the afternoon downstairs finishing the black floral Dress no. 1.  I'll wear it tomorrow evening at the memorial service the hospice is having at the Botanical Garden.  They took such good care of Durwood and me that I want to go and thank them for all they did for us.




Finally, the never-ending pink Reynolds Wrap leftover from Mom is gone.  I found a WW recipe for breakfast wraps, picked up the ingredients the other day, and made them this morning.  I think my favorite part of the recipe is that it has you spread a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese on the low-point tortilla before spooning on eggs and sausage, then rolling it up.  I had one for breakfast, it was yummy.  The rest are frozen.  I was always a little envious of Durwood having those breakfast burritos I made for him but I made them with full-fat cheese and sausage so they weren't exactly WW approved.  Now I have some that are.  There was just enough pink wrap for the five I put in the freezer and now it's gone, never to be seen again.  That stuff lasted forever.  Mom had four boxes of the stuff--yellow, blue, green, and pink--and they've lasted for 7 1/2 years but I only used them to wrap burritos so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

It occurred to me this morning that I have three small people to knit toys for, not two.  Then I thought that the smallest doesn't have the dexterity to turn the chrysalis to the leaf and butterfly side so I'm knitting him a Happy Mouse/Sad Mouse toy out of the same book.  It's a flattened ball with feet, arms, and ears that has a happy face on one side and a sad face on the other.  Very cute and perfect for a person who isn't quite 18 months old yet.  I am loving the colors of this yarn.

10 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

             I was rinsing my breakfast dishes in the pale, early morning light of the kitchen when the phone rang.

            “You ready?”

            “Just about, Clara.  I’ll pick you up in five minutes.  Give me a minute to fluff and flush and I’ll be right over.”  Hanging up the phone, I grinned in anticipation.  For the last fifteen years, this Saturday in October had been a standing date for us.  Today was the biggest flea market of the year, held at the Veteran’s Arena in Simpson.  Being big bargain hunters and incorrigible antiquers, ne an ither of us would dream of missing this day.

            As we drove through the wide spot in the county highway that passed for downtown Kingman, I smiled at the statue of the founder in the little town square.  I’d always thought that Edgar Kingman looked too crabby to have been the founder of a town renowned for its neighborliness.  Residents had always been willing to lend a hand in times of trouble and, according to the town history published by the Kingman Historical Society, Edgar was a generous and helpful man.  Since the Society consisted of three of his great-great-granddaughters, I supposed they wouldn’t very well print something less than flattering, but it was a nice story to teach children.  And I decided it should be true anyway.  This was just too nice a place to live to quibble about the man who started it.

            We pulled into the parking lot and, as we had in previous years, gave each other a run-down of what to look for.  We always split up, then met around noon to grab lunch and compare purchases before plunging back into the melee.

            “I’m looking for some nice, every-day dishes for Dale and Kayla.  Since they’re just starting out, they need almost everything,” said Clara.  “With Dale still in college, they’re on a tight budget.  I miss the old days when families lived closer together and would just pass stuff around.”

            “Me, too.  Phone calls and letters can’t take the place of those good old-fashioned Sunday suppers.  There’s nothing like the family grapevine to have things just show up without your having to ask.  That’s how Bert and I furnished our place when we were starting out.  Mom put the word out, and in no time at all, aunts and cousins had shown up with pots and pans, dishes, kitchen gadgets, and all kinds of things that are so expensive to buy new.  I’m still passing on some of that stuff after all these years.”

            “With seven children, all the things passed on to us like that are still making the rounds, but I’m sure one day they’ll move back into the rest of the family.  What are you looking for, Gail?”

            “Picture frames.  I need picture frames for my paintings.”  I looked up at her and she was shaking her head as if to say “all she talks about these days is her painting” but I kept on talking.  “I can use any size from four by six inches to eighteen by twenty-four.  I’m hoping for wood, but metal might work for some of them, too.  They don’t have to have glass or anything.  I just need the frames.  Got a tape measure?”

            “Right here in my pocket.”  Clara patted her jeans.  “And I made a copy of my list for you.  Here.”  She handed me a piece of paper with things marked “Want” and “Need.” 

            “What kind of prices are you thinking of for your “Need” category?” I asked.

            “Oh, let’s say nothing over ten dollars.  That way you won’t get stuck paying out too much.  I thought we’d make notes of anything more expensive and then go back after lunch.  How about the frames?”

            “I’m hoping not to pay more than two or three dollars for any of them.  I’m not interested in any of that overpriced and over-decorated stuff either.  I’m looking for nice, simple ones that will showcase my art.”  As I said ‘my art,’ I flung my head back with my right hand over my heart. 

            She drew in a breath and I looked at her.  I could see her frown, then she got control of whatever was bothering her, and smiled.  “You might not think it’s art right now, but one of these days I predict that people will fight over your paintings.”

            “Clara, I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.  Hey, they just unlocked the doors.  Let’s go.”

Tomorrow I have to go out and start evicting the violets from the garden.  They're taking over.  No more procrastinating because I missed two asparagus spears which are now too tall and too tough to eat.  Dang it.
--Barbara