Down to One

I went out to check on the tomatoes this afternoon and discovered, much to my dismay, that one of them was totally rotten on the bottom.  Yikes.  At first I thought it had been nibbled away by a rodent but the whole bottom was rotten.  So I picked the remaining tomato to save it from predation and rot.





When I was out in the garden this monarch came by and I managed to snap its photo.  There was another black and yellow butterfly too but it wouldn't hold still long enough.



 


Again I spent most of the day crocheting pizza slice number two.  I finished the crust and sauce layers, and made pieces of sausage, green pepper, and one mushroom.  I'll make the cheese layer tomorrow and get it all sewn together.  Maybe I'll make another mushroom too.





The Black-eyed Susans, aka Rudbeckia, on the side of the house have started to bloom.  Soon there'll be a whole row of them blooming.




27 July--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's. 

The man stared at her for a beat.  “No, I do not mind.”  Just then the last of the water gurgled through the coffee.  “I am Brady; I am the owner here.  Can I pour you a cup, ma’am?”  Brady stepped forward out of the doorway and uncrossed his arms.  “I believe I will have one with you.” 

“That would be nice, Brady.  I am Fay.” 

He nodded toward the nearest two top, poured some fresh coffee into a carafe, grabbed a pair of mugs and walked around the end of the counter. 

Fay got her purse from the counter and followed him across the room.  Fay sat with her back to the empty end of the restaurant and out of the direct sunlight, so she looked her best.  She figured one day she would stop worrying about how she looked when she met a new man, but today was not going to be that day. 

Brady poured each of them a mug of coffee and sat down opposite Fay.  He took a long sip of the scalding brew never taking his eyes off her.  “You new in town?” he asked. 

Original, she thought.  “Yeah, my piece of shit Honda threw a tie-rod just outside of town a couple of days ago and I just found out this morning that it will cost more than all the cash I have to fix.”  She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe how untrustworthy cars were today.  “Guess that means I get a job and a place to live until I can afford to ransom it.”  She sipped her own coffee, put it down and looked at Brady as much as to say, your turn.

 He looked around the diner, sipped a bit more coffee, then he said, “I guess you heard me fire that kid, huh?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Do you know how to make gravy with no lumps?” 

“No, I do not.  I can nuke a TV dinner or frozen burrito.  That is about the extent of my cooking abilities.  I am a pretty good waitress though.” 

Silence fell between them as each of them wondered what would happen next. 

Brady cracked first.  “I suppose I could do all the cooking myself until I find someone who is not too stupid.  That would free me up from waiting tables.” 

“I supposed you could,” Fay said with a smile, knowing what was coming next. 

“When can you start?” 

She pretended that she had to think about it for a minute.  “Tomorrow do you?” 

He nodded. 

“What time do you open?” 

“At six.”  He stretched a ham-sized hand across the table toward her.  “Welcome aboard, Fay.” 

She watched her not small hand disappear in his.  I had better stay out of his way if he decides to get friendly, she thought.  “Thank you, Brady, I think it will be a pleasure to work for you.”  She spent the next couple of hours, after eating a bowl of Brady’s delicious Cream of Asparagus soup, “on the house,” going over the apartment rental ads in that day’s paper, hoping to find one within walking distance.  She checked with him as to the location and climate of each neighborhood.  One of the apartments for rent was in the cluster of buildings right behind the diner. 

“You do not want to live back there,” Brady said, even before she finished reading the ad. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it is full of low life creeps, drug dealers, and welfare mothers whose boyfriends play that loud thumping music in their cars and smack them around for entertainment.  There is a pack of kids on bikes that amuses themselves by riding down the middle of the street; the little shits will not move over no matter how close you get to them.  And they keep trying to scam me out of sodas.”  He looked as angry as if a gang of gun-wielding robbers had invaded the diner. 

She had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her grin.  “You say a gang of nine-year-olds is trying to hold you up?” 

“They keep coming in here ordering Cokes, drinking them, and then running off without paying.  I followed them one day last week and they ran into the building on the end.  When I talked to the manager, he told me he did not know anything about anything.  Typical.” 

The picture of Brady bulling his way into an apartment manager’s office complaining about nine-year-olds ripping him off finally proved more than she could take.  Her laugh bounced off the tiles and echoed from the frying pans hanging from the rack.  “Maybe you should try making friends with them instead.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, maybe you could hire them to clean the parking lot or take out the trash after school.  You could pay them in Cokes, no need to involve the Internal Revenue Service.” 

He looked unconvinced.  “What good would that do?  They would probably figure me for a chump and make even more trouble.” 

She shook her head at him.  “Weren’t you in the army or something?” 

“Navy.” 

“Well, didn’t you learn anything about yelling at kids?  If you are tough with them but fair, somehow, they end up respecting you.  Give it a try.  Can’t hurt and one of them might just turn out to be able to make gravy without lumps one of these days.” 

“Humph.”  He turned his back on her and stomped into the office off the kitchen to get the hiring paperwork for her to fill out. 

She smiled and circled the ad for the apartment behind the diner anyway.  She would go over there and get herself someplace to live that very afternoon.

Today's toss was two Pyrex mixing bowls that I rarely use.  That filled up the back of my car so I toddled over to Goodwill to donate what was back there.  I'll start filling it again tomorrow.

The fly explosion in the garage isn't slowing down.  I've figured out that I can open the patio door with the screen closed, wait for a bunch to congregate on there, then open the screen about halfway while quickly closing the door, then all I have to do is wait for them to fly away, and repeat.  There are still a few flies in here but not too many.  I'll swat 'em tomorrow.  My aim is getting better.
--Barbara