Mint Take-Over

Two springs ago I planted three types of mint along the edge of the garden closest to the house because LC and OJ like to eat leaves from the garden so I figured the leaves should taste good.  The mint liked it there and started colonizing the entire space.  I need to go out with the clippers and cut it back, then yank out the mint that's growing between the bales and in the blueberries.  I have come to the realization that mint is the cockroach of the plant family.  After the zombie apocalypse the only living things on the planet will be roaches and mint.  

That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.





JZ grilled brats for supper yesterday.  HZ sent four of them home with me.  There are two left.  Man, there's nothing like a grilled brat.  I learned from GZ to put coleslaw on my brat.  Yum.  Guess what I'm having tomorrow.  That's right, brats!





Tonight at knitting I diligently knitted around and around and around on the Afterthought Everything Socks.  In about an inch I can knit the cuff and then the fun begins.  I have only once used waste yarn to hold a place then pulled it out, catching the stitches as I went to add a thumb to a mitt.  This should be an adventure.  Want to bet I'll blister the paint with my "frustration"?





When I got home from knitting I powered up the iPad (opened an app where the pattern is most easily followed) and cast on the second Fair washcloth.  Aren't these cool colors?  This is such a quick and easy pattern, here's what I knitted in a hour.



  

05 July--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.  

              My untouched tea had cooled and tears were flowing down my cheeks.  I hated to argue and it seemed like I’d been at odds with Clara for the last three months.  I was surprised at her for being so angry, so hurt, so petty over a few pairs of jeans and a haircut.  Okay, I suppose I had been waving my new life in her face.  Had been doing the middle-aged version of skipping around the playground singing “I’m better than you are” when I shared my frustration with my painting and Abel Baker with her, but she was supposed to be my best friend.  She was supposed to be on my side, be happy for me.  Instead of sympathizing with me, instead of laughing with me, she kept bleating about how I had new friends, was bragging about my painting, and only thought Abel was pursuing me to make myself bigger and better than her.  That thought dried my tears.  Ooh, she made me so mad sometimes.

            She was my oldest friend; I thought she knew me better.  I loved her and I wanted her to love me--warts and all.  I supposed I’d have to figure out a way to apologize, although I didn’t feel like I had anything to apologize for.  She was the one who got angry and said all those hurtful things.

            I was working myself up to calling her, to figuring out what to say that would tell her, without apologizing, that I still wanted to be friends, when I heard footsteps coming up the back steps.  I heard the screen door open, and got up to open the back door.

            “Oh, Gail, I’m so sorry.”  Clara’s tear-streaked face was pinched white with cold and snowflakes covered her hair.

            I pulled the door wide.  “Get in here before you freeze.”

            She sat down in the nearest chair and put her hands over her face.  “I’m sorry, so sorry.  I don’t know what came over me today.”  Snow fell from her shoulders and head as she shivered, making a ring of melting white around her.

            “Good grief Clara, how long were you outside?”  I stood up and went to the bathroom to get a towel.  “Get out of that wet coat and let me hang it up.  Here’s a towel to dry your hair.  You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

            “I don’t know how long I stood out there.  I just couldn’t go inside and face Hank.”  She sat back down, twisting the towel into a knot.  “You know he always wants to hear about my day and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I did.”

            I poured some tea into a mug and shoved it into the microwave to heat.  “For heaven’s sake, all you did was speak your mind.  It wasn’t World War III.”  The microwave buzzed and I handed her the mug.  “Here, drink this before you shiver yourself off the chair.”  I reheated the untouched tea in my own mug and sat across from her.  “So, what was all that about?”

            She sipped her tea.  “Mmm, this is good.  Thanks.” I could see color beginning to come back in her face, then she said, “I don’t know.  I guess I got to feeling that you’re changing everything about yourself and I’m not changing anything.  I’m the same old boring Clara I’ve always been—fat, plain, and dumb.  You’ve gotten a new hobby, well I guess you’d call it a passion, and I’m the same.  You’ve got all new clothes and a snappy haircut; I’m the same.  You have all these different friends, young ones, old ones, and I don’t know anybody new.  You’ve got two men interested in you and all I’ve got is Hank.”

            I knew I had to stop her before she compared herself right into suicide.  “Clara, you’ve got a terrible case of the winter blahs, that’s all.  You’ve always been an interesting person, you’re active in the community, you love your kids and Hank, right?”

            “I guess.”

            “No, don’t say ‘I guess.’  I’m right.”  I reached to hold her hand.  “You’ve always been the one on committees, active in sports booster clubs, doing volunteer work.  I’m the one who sat around here staying the same all these years, keeping to myself, and never a part of the community.  So in reality, I’m just catching up, that’s all.”

            “Hey, now that you mention it, you’re right.”  She put down her mug and smiled.  “What took you so long?’

Tomorrow's Saturday, right?  Yeah, it has to be, I went to Friday Night Knitting tonight and there were other people there so it must be Friday.  Either that or there are five very confused women on the west side of Green Bay, WI.  Maybe I'll go to the Y tomorrow.  I for sure am going to extend my morning walk tomorrow.
--Barbara