Tomato Day

 Today was tomato-picking day.  Once the morning's rain had ended I went

out into the garden to pick the two red tomatoes.  They looked so pretty with the droplets on them, like on a commercial.  The one above the ripe ones is changing color so it'll be the next one ready to be picked.  But I've got a few days to eat these before it'll be ready.

It rained all morning.  It was supposed to rain all day but it quit after lunch and the sun came out.  Yesterday's rain turned the grass (and weeds) in the lawn green.  I'll probably have to mow the lawn on Monday now.  It's been so dry I haven't had to mow in weeks.

After a week off, one of the Stella d'Oro lilies is blooming again and another one has buds ready to open.  I'm getting a lot of flowers on these clearance plants.  Good value.

This afternoon I cast on another toe cover/cast sock.  I meant to use that self-striping yarn again but this pink and gray stuff called out to me so I went with it.  I've only got about six rounds to go on this one but my hands got tired.  I'll finish it tomorrow.

 

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

“…last night?” 

She heard only the last words of Officer Bates’ question.  “I am sorry, I was distracted,” she said.  “What was the question?” 

The policeman sighed like his day had already been too long, even though it was barely seven-thirty in the morning.  “I asked where you were last night.” 

“Oh.” 

“And…?” 

“What?” 

“Ms. Taylor, are you purposely trying to be dim?”  Officer Bates slammed his pen down on the desk and pushed himself back as if to stand up. 

“What?  No, I…oh, last night I went to the mall with Naomi, um, Ms. Cushing, and we walked around K-Mart for a while and then went to the Safeway to pick up a few things.   That is what I did last night.  What did you do last night?”  Fay looked at him as if to dare him to answer her.  When he did not say anything, she dropped her eyes and became very interested in picking at her chipping nail polish. 

He sighed and pressed the heel of his left hand to his forehead.  “What I did last night has nothing to do with the vandalism of Better Than Mom’s.  What you did last night might.”  He paused as if he expected Fay to say something, when she did not, he picked up his pen, bent back over his notebook, and asked another question. 

“I understand that you live in the apartment complex behind here.  Did you happen to notice anyone in the parking lot or hanging around when you returned from the mall?” 

“No, I did not, but then I was not really looking for anyone.  My apartment does not overlook this place, you know.” 

“No, ma’am, I did not know that.” 

“Besides, you and your buddies out there should have found stuff like footprints to take casts of and fingerprints and stuff, haven’t you?  On television, they solve even cold cases with a lot less and in only an hour.  You had better speed things up here.” 

Officer Bates was beginning to think he would have been happier at a desk job or as a crossing guard.  “Yes, ma’am.”  

Everyone either watched too many cop shows on television or they watched one of the many CSI versions and felt they had all sorts of insights into crime and criminals that the real police had somehow missed learning in their training.  He closed his notebook and looked at Fay. 

“I think I have all I need for now.  Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Taylor.”  He stood up and opened the door for her. 

Fay walked out into the kitchen, blinking in the bright florescent lights as if emerging from a cave.  

Behind her Officer Bates leaned out the door and said, “Mr. Gallagher?” 

Even though he knew he would not be opening the diner that day, Brady still was working on making soup.  He stood at the counter chopping celery and carrots and onions, just like he did every day. 

When Naomi had tried to tell him that he did not need to make the soup that day, he said, “Someone will eat it.  If I have to drive it over to a homeless shelter or the women’s abuse shelter, I will.  Someone will have fresh homemade soup today.  It will not go to waste.” 

When Officer Bates called his name and indicated it was his turn to be interviewed, he wiped his hands on his apron, picked up his coffee mug, and walked across the kitchen. 

Naomi looked at Fay and said, “How was it?”  

Fay flapped her hand.  “No big deal.  He asked a bunch of questions that did not seem to have anything to do with the break in.  Then he got huffy when I suggested that those detectives on CSI every night solve crimes with a lot less clues and in a lot shorter time.” 

Naomi hid a smirk by concentrating on cutting carrots into exactly the same size dice.  “I can not understand why he could have gotten irritated at that.” 

“Me neither.”  Fay busied herself making signs to put up on the sheets of plywood that Art from the lumberyard had nailed up over the broken windows. 

Today's toss was three dozen canning jars for DIL1.  I know she likes the wide-mouth kind so I texted her about them and she said they're hard to find.  Excellent!  I'd rather they went to someone who can use them.

I got a haircut yesterday and was smart enough to pinch my mask over my nose when she was cutting the front so no hair drifted between the mask and my face.  I didn't do that last time and it was like I had a mustache in  my mouth.  Yuk.  Yesterday was better.  Wearing a mask is starting to feel okay.

--Barbara