Socks!

I bought a couple pairs of socks at Beach People (my favorite shop in Door Co., right after Bargains Unlimited, the thrift shop in Sister Bay) and wore one of each today.  The first pair is fuschia with sloths on it.  See there was this stuffed sloth on a shelf, I took it down, and it was soooo soft and it wrapped its arms around my neck and I knew I needed to buy it.  Then I saw the price tag--$48--nope, didn't need to buy it after all, but right there was a rack of socks so I nabbed a pair of sloth socks for a much more reasonable $8.50.  Next to the sloth socks were peach socks with hedgehogs on them.  I'm intrigued by hedgehogs (I keep meaning to knit one) so I got those too, and wore one of each pair because god forbid my socks match.



This morning I started learning how to use my new Keurig pot.  I've been brewing up a full pot of coffee but only drink a cup a day so the pot lasts and lasts.  Fresh coffee is much tastier than old coffee so I thought about getting a Keurig but couldn't face the thought of putting all those little plastic cups in the landfill.  I've been searching for refillable ones and BV found them last weekend on Amazon.  (didn't I tell you she's good at spending other people's money?)  It all arrived yesterday so I got it set up, peeled off all the tape, and managed to get one of the beads on the end of my "BRAVERY" bracelet caught between the body of the coffee pot and the part that opens and closes to brew the coffee.  I tried and I tried.  I used a tweezers and a clamp and a screwdriver (but only as a pokey thing), but finally grabbed a scissors and cut it off.  So there's a bead with a bit of cord through it rattling around in there but it doesn't seem to have harmed it.  (more and more I'm convinced that I'm channeling one of the Three Stooges every day, I'm just not sure which one)  I think tomorrow I'll put in the right amount of coffee.  Today's coffee was way too weak.





It's butterfly days in the garden.  The milkweed is blooming so there are monarch butterflies everywhere.  This one stopped for a rest on a purple coneflower (echinacea) this morning to warm up in the sunshine a bit.

The day lilies are blooming; this peachy yellow one is lying on the ground but managing to turn its face to the sun.








The stargazer lilies are blooming too.  There's what I think is a nettle growing right next to it so I'll put on a shirt with sleeves and some leather gloves to go out to yank it out tomorrow.

02 August--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

August

Abel had asked me out to dinner, a formal date.  And I had accepted.  Despite the friendship that had slowly grown over the summer and Abel’s invaluable help in my garden, this was our first actual date.

So there I stood looking into my closet trying to decide what to wear.  Most of the time I felt like I had too many clothes; that night I had too few.  I didn't want to wear any of the clothes from before I went shopping with Samara, they were too old lady-ish.  The clothes I bought with Samara's help, my jeans and sweaters, I loved them but they were too casual.

           I wished I'd asked him where he's planning to take me.  That would make this decision a whole lot easier.  A dress is probably a good choice, but which one?  So many of my dresses, okay all of them, are leftovers from working at the school--good, serviceable fabrics that don't wrinkle and don't show dirt.  I have to have something pretty in my closet that I can wear.

           Then I remembered the floral dress I wore to my nephew Jack’s wedding.  I loved the beautiful soft chiffon in a muted tropical print, but not the white eyelet shawl collar that just screamed middle-aged-aunt-of-the-groom.  I pulled it out and took a look at how the collar was attached.  Happily, it seemed to be barely basted on so, just like Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies, I ripped it off and tried the dress on.  Not bad.  The v-neck was a lot lower than I was used to but it wasn't too low.  Maybe I could find a necklace to fill in what looked to me like an acre of bare skin.

Let's see, what time is it?  Damn, nearly six forty-five and he said he'd be here at seven.

           Dear Lord, please let me have one pair of panty hose without a run.  Yes, here's a pair, because my only other option is a garter belt and old-fashioned hose Bert bought me from a catalog once when he was feeling sexy.  I didn't think my budding relationship with Abel was ready for something that racy, at least not on the first date; the second maybe if things went well.  What am I thinking? Gail, get a grip.

I checked the dress one more time for stains, tears and loose threads.  By then it was nearly seven and I was sure Abel would be right on time, even early if his persistence in getting me to agree to a date was any indicator.  I got dressed, searched through my jewelry box for something the right length to fill in my neckline, and thanked God that Mom's old-maid Aunt Eunice had spent her money on jewelry.  I found the perfect thing, a heavy gold chain with a free-form shape set in a few places with mother of pearl and coral beads hanging from it.  It looked just right with my dress.  Gold earrings, not too big, and I was ready.

As I stood in front of my dresser's mirror checking to make sure that my hair was right and I wasn't going to embarrass myself, I heard a car pull into the drive.  Abel, right on time.

I started to walk to the kitchen door to greet him because that's where everyone came in but then I heard him climb the front porch steps and ring the bell.  I walked into the living room and I could see him through the window, dressed in a suit and tie, silhouetted in the sunset light.  My breath caught and I thought about Bert because we'd spent so many sunsets together.  For just a moment, I felt like I was cheating on my husband but pushed the thought away and opened the door.

Abel's face lit up as he saw me and he said, "Gail, you look beautiful.  Here, I brought you this."  He extended his hand and gave me a small white box, a florist's box.

"Oh, Abel, how nice.  You shouldn't have.  Would you like to come in?"  I stepped back and closed the door behind him.  "What is this?"

"You'll have to open it."  He smiled like he had the best secret.

I carefully opened the lid of the box and there nestled in tissue paper was one perfect white rose made into a corsage with baby's breath and a little piece of fern.

"I didn't know what you were planning to wear so I thought a white rose would go with everything."

“Oh, Abel, it's beautiful,” I said.  “I never expected a corsage.”

“Well,” he said, “it's not a very big corsage and I wanted to bring you flowers but knew you wouldn't like a bouquet.”

I had to laugh because he was right.  I wouldn't have been happy if he'd shown up with an armload of flowers, but this was just right.  “Will you pin in it on me, please?”

Abel stepped close and plucked the little flower from the box in my hand.  My hands dropped to my sides and I stood very still while he pinned the rose to my dress just below my left shoulder.  His spicy cologne smelled great and my breath got shallow.  That made me a little lightheaded and I swayed toward him.  He grabbed my shoulders, held me still and said, “There, that's got it.  You smell good, Gail.”

              “So do you,” I said with a little laugh.  We stood there for a moment, eyes locked, and I figured we were each thinking the same thing, I wonder what would happen if I just leaned forward and we kissed?

              Evidently neither of us was willing to risk a rebuff because after a minute his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes dropped too.  He cleared his throat and said, “Guess we'd better get a move on.  Our reservation is for seven forty-five.”

“Oh,” I said, “then we'd better go.”

Speaking of tomorrow, my plan is to haul up some jelly jars and the food grinder attachment for the Kitchen Aid mixer. I'll wash the jars in the dishwasher and grind up the cherries using the big hole plate so that there're nice small pieces of cherry in every bite of preserves.  This afternoon I met ACJ for an afternoon of chatting with a bit of writing and managed to write a 500-word scene for The Seaview that was unexpected but I think will add an air of realism to the novel.  Every word counts.
--Barbara