Fifth in a Sibship of Six

Mr. Flanagan stopped by and mowed the yard while I was in Athens on Friday.  First mow of the season and we are, all of us, excited about it.  Birds are grubbing, squirrels are squirreling, and all things are made new for Soren Kierkegaard (who has been over every inch of it with a fine tooth comb).

The trees trimming is finally finished in the front yard, and I’ve begun to liberate the bases from the unsightly shoots overgrowth so I can re-mulch.  There’s a lot of digging going on.  And progress. I’ve made a dent now.

Sometimes, even without a discernible breeze, the sway of the porch swing catches my eye.  I half expect to see my Mom there– reading her book, watching me work the yard like she did when she was here.  “This kid is half a farmer, to tell you the truth”.  Mom’s folks, some of them, were Missouri dirt farmers back in the day.  And however hard times were when I was growing up, we never went hungry.  She raised the biggest garden around– pasture sized– and put up corn, beans, tomatoes, okra, beets, and zucchini to feed us the entire year.  She also grew potatoes, peppers and carrots.  Her love was many things, and among the most important, it was practical.

She set a very good example for us, which is one of the reasons I’m so puzzled by The Man In Question.  Then again, maybe it isn’t so surprising.  He really didn’t know her at all.

I met Cousin K in Acworth on Friday.  She said her Dad and mine had something in common besides the surname, which I’m guessing was the shared foe: Ethyl. I’ll be glad to talk more about it.  I hope hers kicked it like mine did.  It changes everything for a kid– no matter what age the kicking takes place.

We met at the gallery that represents Suzanne, for a Poetry reading Tim was hosting.  The owner, who previously had no intention of speaking, stood up to tell us about “An Evening With The Muse”– a poetry reading his step-father started in a village in Africa.  People gathered at a pre-determined time and, because the village was without electricity, read poetry to each other by candle-light.  Beautiful.  There’s more to be said about that, a different day.

Afterward, Paula, Ed, Karen and I met for a late supper at the Marietta Diner.  Who cares what else is on the menu.  There is one draw for me there, and that is the fried feta in a lemon/butter sauce.  I’m starry-eyed about it.  Everything else is a blank.

Today I’m having lunch at Pony’s, and then driving with P to Athens to do some business-planning.  If you can get your work done at a coffee shop, why in the world wouldn’t you?

Tomorrow the digging begins again.  I’m looking forward to it.