Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Tomato Plants

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic
Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers

Today, I'm showing you photos of the Mama's tomato plants.  She has one huge tomato plant growing in her squash patch. That's it in the above photo. She says the plant has two tiny fruits.

The Mama has four tomato patches in various parts of the yard. The tomatoes all started as seedlings in this box. In other words, these are the plants that did not get transplanted else where.


All the patches of transplants are quite healthy. Here's one of the patches.


Then, there's my tomato plant. This was supposed to be a pot of milkweed for the monarchs. Ha! A week ago, the wind blew the tomato plant's container on its side breaking off the branch. The Mama, fortunately, came along and stuck the branch back into the pot. The tomato plant just might make it.


It's ABC Wednesday. That's where I'm linking up today. Click here to check out other participants with me.



Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Here We Go Again


This morning, I put on my orange tee-shirt, grey yoga pants, mismatched socks, orange Converse shoes, and red fingerless gloves, which I topped with my old don't-mess-with-me (in my mind) orange jacket. Tilda-Hilda was happy to see me again.

Today made two days in a row for Tilda-Hilda and me. Twenty-minute rides, more or less. I puffed and gasped as I went up slopes and whoo-hoo'd with glee as I coasted down them. My knee twinged a couple of times, but not enough for me to turn back home. And, when I pedaled across an open field, I recalled again what I like about riding bicycles and was ready to take on another hill.

I haven't pedaled Tidla-Hilda since the beginning of the year. A friend asked me why not? Simple. I got lazy, which meant I lost all my muscle tone and gained back nearly all the weight I lost. Five months of laziness is enough. Tomorrow morning Tilda-Hilda and I will go out for a bit longer of a ride. Slowly and surely, we'll get back to taking those long rides on the back roads again.

Monday, May 25, 2015

Memorial Day


Memorial Day
by Helen Leah Reed

        No warrior he, a village lad,
                needing nor words nor other prod
        To point his duty; he was glad
                to tread the path his fathers trod.
        Week days he worked in wood and field;
                with homely joys he decked his life;
        The sword of hate he would not wield,
                nor take a part in cankering strife.
        On Sunday in the little choir
                he sang of Peace and brotherly love,
        And as his thoughts soared higher and higher,
                they reached unmeasured heights above.

        A cry for Freedom rent the Land -
                "Our Country calls, come, come, 'tis War;
        Together let us firmly stand;"
                he answered, though his heart beat sore
        At leaving home, and kin, and one
                in whose fond eyes too late he read
        That life for her had but begun
                with the farewells he sadly said.


        A half a century has passed -
                and more - since all those myriads fell;
        For he was one of those who cast
                sweet life into a Battle's hell.
        The village has become a town,
                brick buildings the old graveyard gird;
        Of him who fought not for renown,
                no one now hears a spoken word,
        But on the Monument his name
                in gold is lettered with the rest.
        Without a sordid thought of fame
                he to his Country gave his best.

        Strew flowers, then, Memorial Day
                for him, for all who for us fought.
        With speech and music honors pay;
                teach what our brave defenders taught.
        And now our sons are setting out;
                the call for Right rings to the sky,
        "Our Country! Freedom!" hear them shout,
                re-echoing their Grandsires' cry.


Sunday, May 24, 2015

The Bean-Leaf Chomper


"Someone ate all the bean sprouts," the Mama said in April.

"The birds ate them," I suggested. The Mama looked at me like "Yeah, right."

The other day I was in the garden with Molly the Cat. I learned something new about Molly. She likes the taste of bean leaves. Purrrrrrrrr.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Random Scenes: Don't Slam the Door!


Don't Slam the Door!
by Su-sieee! Mac
S-L-A-M !!
 

“ALESSA!”
 

“I’m sorry, Ma,” said the tiny young girl. “I forgot.”
 

“One of these days, Alessa, something terribly awful will happen when you slam that door,” said her mom.
 

“Yes, Mom,” Alessa said, thinking that was just too silly of an idea. Still, it did frighten Alessa a little and she stopped slamming the door. 

Then, one day she forgot.

S-L-A-M !!

The building shook.

Things tumbled off the shelves and walls.

The trees and the houses rocked and rolled.


The bridges collapsed.

The roads crumbled.

The cities fell apart.


The water in the bay shook. 

The mountain tops blew off.
 

All over the world, the crusts moved and shook and sunk and rose.

The earth spun off its wobble.


It bumped into the moon, next into Mars, and then into Jupiter.

Earth bounced back towards the sun, sucking up all the other planets of the solar system.

The sun and all the planets exploded and swirled into a swirl, swirling, swirling, swirling and collapsing into a black hole.

Everything was pitch black. Silent.

Please, please, please.

Don’t slam the door.