Not Yet, But Soon

I stopped down at Zambaldi to visit DS today and look at what was in the brew house--pallets

of bottles.  Half are in the grain room and the other half is right there on the floor.  In the way of brewing more beer.  Good thing he's got lots of beer brewed and a pallet jack to move them out of the way.  The guys are supposed to come to set up the bottling line next month (fingers crossed) and then they can make bottles of beer for people to buy--in stores and everything.  Way cool. 

I'm a sucker for bees on mint flowers.  I have to take their picture and have to put it on here.  I refrained from taking another rose and Japanese beetles photo.  You're welcome.

The tomatoes are ripening.  They are another thing that I have to take a picture of and have to put on here.  I know you understand.

August Preemie hat #5 got finished today.  I like the crooked little stem on top.  I hoped to be able to tie it in a knot but didn't make the stem long enough.  Oh well.

The black-eyed Susan's are blooming nicely...

and the yarrow has spread into the (not-growing) grass.  It's been so dry that even the weeds are barely growing.

 

 

 

25 August--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's. 

Back in the diner, Fay and Naomi moved to stand closer together until their shoulders touched.  Each of them felt the need for physical closeness in the face of such a shocking invasion of a place they had felt safe in only moments before.  Naomi’s eyes followed the trail of dirt from the booth to the cash register desk, which stood empty.  She craned her neck, reluctant to take even one step into the room for fear of destroying a clue, and saw the cash register itself lying on the floor, its drawer pulled out like it had been gutted.  A few coins glittered in a stray shaft of light as if to emphasize what the vandals had been looking for. 

Fay’s eyes traced the line of dirty footprints the other way down the diner where she saw tables and chairs overturned, salt and pepper shakers strewn about, and napkins grabbed from their holders and stirred into the filthy mess on the tiles.  The buffet had been overturned and all of the beverage dispensers had been opened to add the milky, cola-y, orange pop-y juiciness to moisten the mix.  She could smell a nauseating mixture of potting soil, coffee grounds, and sour milk that made her gag until she clapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the back door to heave her bowl of Oatie Ohs and skim milk into the dumpster behind the diner.

Fay wiped her trembling lips on her apron and then stood with her arms folded protectively across her stomach as she listened for the sirens that got closer, eventually screaming into the parking lot.  She crept around the side of the building to see what would happen, not wanting to walk through the kitchen, not wanting to smell that awful sour earthy smell that she would identify for the rest of her life with a feeling of exposure, invasion, and not being safe.  Three squad cars had stopped willy-nilly in the lot and from two of them emerged an impossibly young policeman, gun drawn, to crouch behind the open drivers’ door of the vehicle.  From the third squad car unfolded the tallest policeman Fay had ever seen.  He looked to be about fifty years old, comfortably paunchy, and graying.  He stretched once he was on his feet, his fists digging into his lower back, and his leather gun belt creaked like she was sure his bones did too.  He glanced scornfully at his fellow officers. 

“Oh, for god’s sake, holster your weapons, you two.”  He shook his head as if he could not believe the stupidity of the young.  “The call said the perp was no longer in the diner.  That means the bad guy is not here.” 

When the two younger men did not move, he stepped around the front of his squad car toward them. 

“Robinson, Davies, put the guns away, I said.  You are making us look like fools.”  He waved his hand at them as if swatting flies off a cooling pie.  “We have enough trouble with credibility in this neighborhood without the two of you gracing us with your Barney Fife impressions.  Geez.”  

He looked to Fay as if he wished he were anyplace else but here, then he tugged a notebook from his shirt pocket, flipped to a blank page, and started toward the front door.  Just as he reached toward it, he thought better of it. 

“Davies,” he said over his shoulder, “get out the digital camera and take shots from every angle of every detail, every piece of broken glass, anything that might give us a hint to who did this.  Robinson, you get out the crime scene kit and dust the door handle for prints.  I am going around back to talk to the owner and the help.” 

He turned toward the corner where Fay stood leaning on the concrete block wall.  She squeaked as he got nearer and turned to scurry back into the relative safety of the kitchen and her friends.  She knew she was being silly, running from the police, but she was more spooked than she had ever been in her life and suddenly wanted to be standing in Brady’s bulky and comforting shadow when she spoke with this Jolly Green Giant of a cop.  No, she thought with a stifled giggle, he would more properly be a Jolly Blue Giant, or maybe Jolly Black Giant, she really had not paid enough attention to the color of his uniform. 

Today's toss was a crate of Childcraft books.  I had them when I was a kid and loved them but LC and OJ were unimpressed so back to Goodwill they go.  I don't mind.  They can even keep the crate.

Yesterday was weigh-in day and I passed the 40 lbs. lost mark.  I told DS and he said, "That's how much OJ weighs."  So, I've lost the equivalent of a 4-year-old.  Pretty cool.  Think I'll have another M&M.

--Barbara