Grandma Called Them Flags

 

I remember when the iris bloomed in the spring Grandma called them flags.  I don't know where that came from but they sure are pretty.  This is the first blossom of the ones that CG planted atop the new retaining wall.








The lilies of the valley are in full bloom too so I picked a few of them so that I could enjoy them and their sweet fragrance.


 


Knitting a few rounds a day has produced slow and steady progress on the Slip Stitch Hat,







and the fourth Stuck-at-Home Warshrag is growing quickly.





29 May--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession. 

            You must dive Red Slave at dawn if you don't have a boat. And even if you do have a boat, dawn is still the best time because that's when currents run slowest. Red Slave is a collection of huts at the extreme southern end of the island and currents run strong, so strong that what anywhere else is a gray vase-shaped sponge grows in a flat fan-shape offshore of the Red Slave huts. There's a lot of detritus around there, mute evidence of just how challenging it is to dive there. Broken fins lay where desperate divers flung them onshore anxious to lighten their burden as they stagger and struggle through the building waves to the safety of shore. If I wanted to dispose of something, this is where I would do it, Manning thought as he sat waiting for Santiago’s boat to appear on the horizon

Trying to walk in the sandy places in the shallows he moved out of the cleft in the ironshore rocks and shone his flashlight at the white fiberglass boat purring on the horizon. Ready with a story in case the dawn light was playing tricks and instead of Santiago in the Santa Rosalia the boat carried the Coast Guard or worse yet the fish police, Manning thought about how he had gotten into this mess. His whole life he had attracted a, let us say, more interesting class of people. His mother, his social-climbing, money-loving mother hated his friends, forced him to live his life in the shadows to avoid her disapproval. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth when he saw the flash of Santiago's smile when the Santa Rosalia reached the edge of the drop-off. Manning waded out, swimming the last few yards. He slipped over the gunwale like an eel, pulled the zippered plastic pouch out from under his shirt and counted out the pile of guilders.

"I said dollars," Santiago said, his smile draining away from his eyes and lips.

“You want me to explain to the bank manager why guilders are not good enough? 'Dollars are what smugglers want, sir.' Yeah, that would be great." The hard light in Manning's icy blue eyes stopped Santiago's complaint.

I mowed the lawn this morning.  The only problem was that I'm downwind from Burger King so every time I turned that way the aroma of grilling burgers overtook me.  Almost made me hop into the car and go get me one, but I resisted the temptation.  It's too close to Monday (weigh-in day) to be scarfing down a cheeseburger, besides I had a McDonald's Frappe yesterday while I waited for Goodwill to open so my weekly splurge was already splurged.  Maybe I'll get a burger on Monday.
--Barbara