Happy 4th!

Independence Day.  Seems like we're losing some of our collective independence and turning into ranting sheep these days... but I have faith that the US of A will take a good look at itself soon and shake off whatever craziness has gripped us lately.  I guess this is one of the pitfalls of being a nation of rebels and malcontents.

I wore my new swimsuit this afternoon when I went to a pool party and cookout--and it stayed together once it got wet.  !!!!  This is good.  I also liked the way it fit and felt when it was wet more than when I first tried it on dry.  Oh, I have every intention of tweaking my pattern hack to make it more like what I'd envisioned but I'm not in quite as much of a hurry. (no, I won't be modeling the suit)  I was thinking of what to wear today and realized that I had a red & white Dress no. 1 cut out and ready to sew, so I went downstairs after breakfast and got it sewed up.  I used navy blue binding for the neck and armholes so it turned out to be a red, white & blue dress.  Appropriate for the 4th of July.




 
Before I turned sprinkler on the grass between the patio and the garden I walked carefully over to see what there was to see in the garden.  The most exciting thing is there are a couple teeny tiny tomatoes on the Sweet 100 plant (not really visible in this photo),





next, there're tiny purple flowers on the potato plants which I assume means that there are or will be potatoes growing in the straw,





 
there's a patty pan (summer) squash growing,





and the butterhead and romaine lettuces are thriving in the heat and humidity.


 


I liked seeing this bee collecting pollen on the spiderwort flowers.




 

On my way home from the cookout I swung by DS's to check for eggs.  There were 3!  Guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow--that's right, fresh eggs.  Or great-grand-eggs, since they're the produce of my grand-chickens.

04 July--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

December had come in with a vengeance, cold and snowy and icy, looking like the picture on the Christmas cards I should have been addressing.  To my relief, Clara called one evening,  “Gail, it’s December fifteenth.  Time to visit Santa’s workshop.  Are you free tomorrow?”

            “Sure,” I said, “do you want to drive or should I?”  I had to stop and think when we last went shopping together, and was amazed to realize that it was in October, right after I started watercolor class.  I wasn’t really in the mood for Christmas shopping but I didn’t want to disappoint Clara.  I could tell she was still troubled by all the changes I had made in the last three months.

            “You drove last time, remember?”  she said.  “It’s my turn.”

            So she picked me up early the next morning and off we went to spend money we couldn’t spare on gifts that would probably be returned before the holidays were over.  I thought about suggesting we shop somewhere other than Walmart, but she’d been rather touchy the last few times we’d spoken so I decided I’d go along with the old plan.  As she pulled into a parking space in the vast lot she said, “Do you have your list, Gail?”

            “I have a small one this year,” I said.  “I decided not to blow my budget just to get the family gifts they don’t really need and won’t use.”

            Clara pulled a handful of pages from her enormous purse.  “I think I’ve got everything on here.  Hank helped me go over it last night.  He’s such a good guy.  All the boys would get socks and underwear if it weren’t for Hank.  He talks to our boys, the sons-in-law and the boyfriends too, to find out what they really want, like tools and sports stuff.  That way we have at least a fighting chance of giving them something they’ll really use.  Saves all that returning, too.”

            “That’s smart of you.  Bert never got involved in the Christmas gift buying, not even for me.  He’d pat my bottom one day in mid-December and remind me to ‘get yourself something nice from me, honey.’  I miss him less when I remember stuff like that.”

            “I’ll bet.  Hank better never pull a stunt like that.”

            We made our way toward the crowded store, picking a safe path through the rutted and icy snow.  Just as we reached the end of the rows of cars, Clara’s left foot decided to go its own way.  She lurched, clutched at my sleeve, and started to fall.  I grabbed her, trying to help, and my feet slipped too.  We landed in a heap in the snow.  I must have slowed her down because we kind of fell in slow motion.

            “Clara, are you all right?”  I asked, since she was under me.

            “I’m fine.  Embarrassed, but fine.  Get off me.”

            I tried to get my feet under me but they kept slipping.  I asked her to give me a push, but it didn’t help.  By the time I’d tried a few times, we were laughing so hard we had no strength to get up.  We lay in the snow making a spectacle of ourselves.  A couple of women offered their hands but it was so slippery where we’d fallen, they were in danger of falling themselves.   An impossibly young store manager ran out of the store shouting, “Don’t move them.  I’ve called 9-1-1.”

            We protested that we weren’t hurt, just stuck, but the manager insisted that it was company policy to “activate EMS whenever someone falls at Walmart.”  So there we lay, freezing our butts off on the ice, until a rescue squad screamed into the lot, sirens blaring, and people spilled out carrying medical bags.

            The first person to reach us said, “Mrs. Logan?  What are you doing down there?”  It was Mike Harris.  His mother was a teacher at the school I’d retired from last summer and he had been a student there.

“Clara and I slipped on the ice, Mike, and we can’t get up.  Not because we’re hurt, but because it’s so slick.  Will you please get us vertical?  My hind end is freezing.”  I held out a hand thinking he’d grab it and haul me to my feet.

“Sorry, Mrs. Logan, I can’t.  It’s against the rules.  We have to examine you to make sure you’re not injured before we let you up.”

“Oh, for the love of…” I put on my best school secretary voice.  “Michael Harris, you give me your hand and help me up.”

From behind my shoulder Clara said, “C’mon, Mike, I’m turning into a Popsicle under here.  And I’m wearing my best jeans.  I’m cold and wet.  Now get her off me.”

“Oh hi, Mrs. Simon.  I didn’t notice you there.”

“Mike!” Clara and I yelled together.  By that time we’d collected quite a crowd.

“Sorry, ladies, we’ll get right to work.”  Mike motioned to another EMT and they knelt on the ice.  He squeezed the top of my head and started moving his hands down my body.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to check if you’re injured, Mrs. Logan.  Let me know if anything hurts when I touch it.”

            “Young man, you are not going to grope me in the Walmart parking lot.  I’m not hurt.  Help me up.”

            He ignored me and kept right on feeling my bones, sliding his hands over my jacket, and moving from my hips to my feet.  He sat back on his heels, looking disappointed.  “Nothing hurt?”

            “No, nothing is hurt,” I said through gritted teeth, “nothing but my dignity.  Will you please help me up now?”

            Mike got to his feet, slipping a bit on the ice, and extended his hand.  It took a little fancy footwork on both our parts but I was finally upright.  I turned to see Clara being helped to her feet by a tiny girl dressed in a uniform like Mike’s.  To our embarrassment, the crowd burst into applause.  Clara and I linked arms and took a bow.  We almost took another fall but our rescuers grabbed our arms to keep us up.

            Dusting off our pants as best we could, we made our way into the store escorted by the manager babbling apologies and excuses and headed right for the Ladies’ room.  I was happy to push the door shut in his face.

            “Clara, this shopping trip has to be one for the record books,” I laughed.  “We’ve made a scene before we even got in the store.  Are you really okay?”

            She looked up from washing her hands, grabbed a wad of paper towels and started wiping off her jeans.  “I’m fine, Gail.  Just embarrassed.  I think everyone in town was out there.  How are we ever going to show our faces again?”

            “I wouldn’t worry about it.  They’ll talk about us for a day or two and then something else will happen and it’ll be someone else’s turn in the spotlight.”

            Clara kept scrubbing her knee, “That’s fine for you.”  Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.  “I suppose your new friends would think it was funny to fall and not be able to get up.  Anyway, you’re already the topic of most of the gossip in town.”

            I felt like she’d thrown cold water on me.  “What do you mean?”

            She straightened and pushed the wad of wet paper towels into the trash.  “What I mean is you’ve been flaunting your new look and new talent all over town and everyone’s getting pretty sick of it.”

            I felt my face flush.  “Everyone, Clara?  Or just you?”

            “Well, now that you finally asked, I am getting sick of listening to you go on and on about how your paintings aren’t as good as you think they should be.”  She folded her arms across her ample bosom.

            “Anything else?”

            “Yes, your fixation with Abel Baker is getting a little old.  So he shows up where you are.  So he’s got a little crush on you.  Big deal.  You’re not the only one with a life, you know.”

            I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.  “I had no idea you felt that way, Clara.  I’ll try not to share my life with you anymore since you find it such a burden.”

            We stood looking at each other for a long time.  I spoke first.  “I don’t think I feel like shopping after all.  I’ll just wait in the snack bar while you get what you need.”

            “I don’t feel like shopping much myself.  Why don’t we just go home?”

            “Fine.”

            “Fine.”

            The air in the car was very different on the way home, frosty even after the heater had kicked in.  It was a long ten miles from Walmart to my house.  Clara stared straight ahead when she stopped in my driveway.  She didn’t say a word when I opened the door and got out.  I might have closed the car door a little harder than necessary.  I heard the tires spin on the frozen gravel as she reversed and drove away.

            Anger had kept my lips shut during the drive.  It kept my spine stiff on the walk into the house.  I thought of how long Clara and I had been friends, all the heartbreaks and tears of childrearing we’d endured together, all the pots of coffee or tea we’d shared listening to each other’s troubles over our thirty-year friendship.  By the time I got into the kitchen, I was so mad my hands were shaking.  I made a fresh pot of tea and sat at the table, warming my trembling fingers on the mug and thinking about how this whole emotional mess had started.


I thought about going downtown to see the fireworks but it started raining when I drove home around 7:30 and then I knew that there'd be a bajillion people down there so I'm content hearing explosions all around.  Hope you had a good 4th, I did.
--Barbara