Humid

Hot and humid, that was today.  Not as hot and humid as in Miami (I know this because I talked to my cousin who lives there this morning--hi, NH!) but hot-ish and humid-ish enough for me.  My car wasn't quite unbearably, suffocatingly hot when I got back into it after my trainer session but I was glad to have the a/c to crank up.

After my workout I drove across town to check the progress of DS & DIL1's Zambaldi Brewing build.  Look!  There are things sticking out of the ground!  DS says those are helical piles waiting to be screwed into the ground to support the foundation.  There was a digger and bobcat working and men in hardhats standing around so I figured that things are progressing apace.





Instead of a bird butt today you get a bird profile.  This male Goldfinch flew to the closest crook to pose, I guess, because he didn't eat from any feeder or get a drink or take a bath.  He few down, posed, and then went back up to the thistle feeder by the fence.





This morning as I walked around the block I noticed these spiky balls on a tree.  I don't know what kind of tree.  It's not a gum tree, I know that at least.  The balls are slightly smaller than a marble and the tree is short with a domed shape.  It's pretty.  Maybe I'll bring a leaf home so I can look it up.  I have a tree ID book, I think, and there's always the interweb.




I was supposed to meet DS's family and in-laws at the Botanical Garden tonight for their weekly concert on the lawn but DIL1 texted me before 8:30 this morning that it was moved indoors due to the threat of rain, lightning, etc. so they wouldn't be going.  Corralling a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old in a crowded room when they're already tired from playing all day isn't fun.  I don't blame them one bit.  And it did rain buckets at the exact time we'd have been sitting on our picnic cloths eating our supper. See?



I had planned to make a salad with some bag o'lettuce, a couple spoons of the slaw I made the other day (which wasn't as tasty as I'd hoped; needs different dressing, I think), some of the chicken left from the other night, a drizzle of honey-mustard dressing, and a few croutons to take to the concert so I made it anyway.  It was delicious.  I'll have the same again tomorrow and maybe the next day.




27 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.

Getting ready for our last class the next Tuesday, I took extra care choosing my favorite red sweater and a new pair of gray wool slacks.  I had gotten myself another pair of boots, red leather ones, with slightly higher heels; I wore them. 

June turned the last session into what she called our “first gallery showing.”  She brought empty frames and invited us to mount the paintings we’d worked on throughout the last seven weeks.  I was impressed that the eight of us had managed to produce quite a bit of art.  Seen all together it was also easy to see which of us were artists and which were dabblers.  Samara’s were the most colorful and Mona’s were the most precise.  (I think she used three bottles of masking fluid during the class.)   June went around the room commenting on each painting.  She tried to compliment and encourage each of us, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she hoped never to see some us again.  She served too-sweet punch and store-bought cookies while she told us how proud she was of our progress.  We knew that the real finale would be our time at the café afterward, rehashing the evening and the class.  Nine o’clock rolled around and everyone removed their paintings from their temporary frames and rushed to get to our usual table.

            I spent an extra minute in the café parking lot reapplying my lipstick so I’d look nice.  I was surprised at how eager I was to join the group and pushed away the hopeful thought that Mr. Baker might be waiting at the table.  I was irritated with myself when I had a moment of disappointment at not seeing him.  I was glad to find that the remaining empty chair wasn’t near Floyd and that sitting in it would put my back to the door.  I don’t want anyone getting the idea I’m waiting for that obnoxious jerk to join the group, I thought as I walked around the table.  I’m happy he’s not here to ruin the evening.

            Since it was our last class together, we stayed later than usual at the café.  Joe Benning had us all cracking up at his impression of June.  Vi and Mona kept asking me about Abel and teased me that we were secretly dating.  I denied it, of course, since we weren’t, but it was fun to be accused of having a secret life.  It was nearly midnight by the time we said our final goodbyes and got up to leave.  Floyd offered to walk me to my car.

As we left the café, a group of shaggy men who looked like hoodlums in black leather, chains jangling from their jeans pockets, and greasy hair piled out of a wreck of a van parked next to my car.  I stopped abruptly nearly pulling Floyd, who was holding my arm, off his feet.  He tottered a bit but regained his balance quickly.

            “Something wrong, my dear?” Floyd said.

            “I’m not sure I want to go to my car right now.  Those men don’t look too friendly.”

            “Not to worry.”  He patted my hand.  “I’ll protect you.  I might not look it now, but in my day I was a bit of a scrapper.”

            I looked down at the wispy, white-haired man hanging heavily on my arm and smiled.

“I’m sure you were, Floyd.”  The men started to move toward the café door.  “We might as well keep going.”

            The men nodded politely to us as they passed by.  Floyd and I called a last goodbye to the other students when we reached my car.

Floyd kept hold of my arm and said, “I must tell you, my dear, I am very impressed with your painting talents.  Perhaps we could plan to meet at my studio and spend an afternoon painting one day soon.”

          “That’s a lovely idea, Floyd.  I’ll give you a call.”  I untangled my arm from his and unlocked my car door.  I turned to tell him goodnight and found myself pinned against the door by his body pressing on mine.  “Um, Floyd, you need to move back so I can get in my car.”

“Oh, this suits me fine,” he said, pressing into me harder and rolling his hips.  His hands roamed up my arms and detoured towards my breasts.

I grabbed his hands and pushed them away.  “That’s not going to happen, Floyd.”  I looked around to see if any of my friends were nearby to help, but the van effectively blocked sight of my car from the rest of the lot.  “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I’m just not in the market for a boyfriend.”

“That’s okay, sweetie.  I’m not in the market for a relationship.  I’ve already got a wife—and a girlfriend.”  He leered up at me and rocked his pelvis against my thighs.  “How about a little tumble?”

“Not on your life.”  I shoved him so hard that he bounced off the van.  “Floyd Marley, you are out of your mind.  There is no way I’m giving you a tumble, ever.  Now go get into your own car before I call for help.”

The old man gave me a disgusted look and began to shuffle away.  “You don’t have to be so sore, Gail.  I was just trying to be friendly.  Women.”  He shook his head and kept on walking.

            I got into the car and locked the door.  I sat there watching until Floyd was in his own vehicle and driving away.  Once my breathing had slowed, I wasn’t certain whether to laugh or cry.  I decided to laugh.  I hope Clara’s still up when I drive by, I thought.  I can’t wait to tell her about this, although she’ll probably think I’m bragging again.

             All the way home, I thought that maybe I’d given Floyd the wrong idea last week and brought his advances on myself.  I’d been so angry when Mr. Baker had been waiting for me at the café; so angry that he had insinuated himself into the group.  When he had draped his arm across the back of my chair, I had childishly leaned away to put a little distance between us.  That maneuver had put me almost nose-to-nose with Floyd.  Then I had shamelessly flirted with the dirty old man.  Of course he got the wrong idea and pounced on me tonight.  My cheeks burned.  But on the rest of the drive home I replayed the scene in my mind, my reaction swinging from horror to embarrassment to amusement.  Oh, Clara’s going to love this.


I sewed the jellyroll race quilt top onto the fish backing fabric today.  What a pain to try to get them sewed together evenly.  I did not succeed but since it's for sitting on in the grass I don't mind.  I dug out a few packages of wide bias binding out of Mom's never-ending supply of the stuff, sewed them together, and I'll pin it on and sew it up tomorrow to be ready when the next picnic opportunity arrives.  It isn't raining now but it's supposed to fire up again around midnight and the weather guessers said that there could be damaging winds so I brought the patio umbrella in.  Hopefully all the rain will make the grass seed grow.  Come on, blades!
--Barbara