Mistaken Identity

I was talking on the phone to a friend when I spied a yellow flower up on top of the retaining wall.  I got all excited thinking that it was a lily, so I grabbed my camera and went over to take its picture.  It was a dandelion.  I took its picture anyway because I thought it was a perfect example of the flower/weed.  I read someplace recently that people a hundred years ago used to take out lawns and put in dandelions.  My, how times have changed.


I mowed the lawn this morning.  It's a big lawn.  Sometimes I'm sorry that I cancelled the lawn mowing service that Durwood insisted we have.  All the time I'm sorry that I let Dad talk us into building the duplex off-center on the lot so we'd have more lawn than the rental side.  Thanks a lot, Dad.



The only other thing I have to show you is my little brown bird, Mr. Wren.  I think he has found a lady love because he's stopped frantically nest building and his songs have slacked off some.  I hope there's a little female in the birdhouse.  I noticed that he doesn't hold his tail up when he's sitting on the shepherd's crook (maybe he needs it for balance) but he's so quick I was lucky to get his picture at all.


Yesterday a male Hairy Woodpecker stopped by for just a minute, not long enough for me to get a photo, but I got to admire him while he was here.


Today was the last neighborhood Saturday Farmer's Market.  The mushroom man was there with morels so I got some for DS and DIL1 as a "congratulations on reopening" gift.  I got a bag of apples and a guava empanada for me.  Starting in June the neighborhood Farmer's Market will be held on Thursday afternoon because the big city market is on Saturdays in summer.

23 May--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon Jack woke up to answer her last question.  “Okay,” he said, and he rubbed his hands together. 

            I never knew people actually did that, thought Mona. 

            Jack when on.  “Manning and this spic guy, Santiago…” 

           “You mean Hispanic, right?  Or Venezuelan?” 

            He flapped his hand at her, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Anyway, Santiago’s a fisherman and he got a line caught on something so he talked to his pal Manning and took him out there to scuba dive to see if he, Manning that is, could retrieve his fishing tackle.  Manning says when he got down there, he could not believe his eyes.  There was a shipwreck, and not some modern one either, an old one, a real old one, just rotting away down there.  Manning says he fanned away some of the sand and saw something that looked like a cannon stuck in the reef.  He unhooked Santiago’s fishing gear from where it was stuck and went up to talk about what was down there.”  His face was flushed, and he sounded like a kid.  Mona had never seen him so excited about something, so jubilant.  “Hey,” he said looking at his empty wrist, “what time is it?” 

            She leaned back to look at the kitchen clock.  “Six-thirty.  Why?” 

            He reached out to smack her leg again, but she moved it just in time. 

            He looked surprised.  “Because I told Major George and his missus…” 

           “Susan.” 

            “Yeah, whatever, that we would come to some gallery opening that Susan is all hot over.  Ya know, schmooze with the island big shots.”  He scooted off the chair and started into the bedroom.  “You coming?” 

            She smiled and lifted her nearly empty glass.  “All I have to do is change again.  I will finish my drink, dress, and be ready before you.” 

           “Will not,” he said with a shadow of his kid like smile. 

            “Will too.”  She smiled into her glass.  Isn’t that just like Jack, she thought, just when I am ready to chuck him, he turns back into a nice guy.  She drained her glass, set it onto the table alongside the chair with a click and followed Jack into the bedroom. 

             She was right.  She was ready before Jack was even out of the shower, so she went back out onto the patio to enjoy the last of the sunny afternoon.  Even in the shade of the palms it was warm because like it had done so many other days since they had arrived, the trade winds that cooled the day died as the sun went down.  She heard the phone ring and Jack picked up the extension in the bedroom.  From the tone of his voice she could tell who was on the other end.  She shook her head and refilled her glass with rum punch from the nearly empty pitcher.  She turned to face the sea and concentrated on the restful blue of the barely moving water.  Palm fronds whispered overhead as Mona waited for Jack to come out of the house. She knew he was on the phone with Manning. A faint scratching behind her caught her breath in her throat and she whirled to see if someone was creeping up on her. No one was behind her. What had she heard? Her eyes caught slight movement on the trunk of the nearest palm. A green and rust lizard slid up it, looking for supper, an opponent, or a mate. 

          When she had finished her drink and Jack still was not off the phone she stood and walked around the villa.  Mona stood looking through the pickets of the back gate. The pickets themselves were in good repair, excellent shape for wood in the tropics actually, but the flimsy gate represented much more. On her side was cool clay tile, laid with precision and well-scrubbed every day. Outside the gate was another story.

         Weeds and flowering vines grew rampant in the vacant lot, trash blew and heaped against the rusting wire fence, fronds and tiny brown cones, detritus from the palms and pines that grew there, piled up to be sorted through and rearranged by the wild donkeys that roamed the island. Mona looked at her manicured nails, her perfect makeup, her styled and sprayed hair, and her rigidly chosen outfit and thought she looked like she was on the correct side of the gate. But her eyes were drawn to the flamboyant mess outside the gate and she couldn’t help wishing she belonged there.

I think I'm going to be able to sleep with the window open--if the dog across the street stops barking.  The people are gone for the evening and the dog isn't happy about it.  I hope they come home soon.
--Barbara