My weekly gratitude journal, of sorts.
1. Green beans.
2. This cute little doggie store on my morning walk.
3. The amazing ability to remember. What a gift.
4. What we need more of:
5. Robert’s love of fancy coffee … that’s not in a paper cup.
Starbucks this morning.
What’s on your Happiness List today?
A few weeks ago, as HR and I were pursuing the aisles at the grocery store, I spotted up on a shelf, high above the more popular eye-level products, an item that quickly hurled me back through the decades into my childhood—potato sticks!
This yummy (and of course highly processed) treat often found its way into my lunches back in the late 1950’s and 60’s. (Am I really that old?)
I have four brothers. And potato sticks were cheap. But I loved them … a culinary delicacy! (I’m from VERY rural North Georgia.)
Or maybe I’m just reminiscing that I loved them, when in reality I’m nostalgically mixing up potato sticks with the concept of home, Mama and an “everything-is-right-in-the-world” yesteryear cosmovision.
I asked Robert if he remembered them.
“Yes, of course,” he answered, but with his eyes more focused on fancy Utz Chips and Dot’s Homestyle Pretzels ($7.99 a bag, seriously?) I wondered if he really did.
There’s nothing fancy about potato sticks. They are probably rejects from potato chip manufacturing who find their way, smashed, second level, into poor little matchstick-like treats for very rural, backward children who consider them delicacies.
Back at Kroger, I tiptoed up and up and managed to reach them, handling them oh so carefully as I sauntered back down to earth and positioned my old friends like little senior citizens in our buggy. I invited them home.
At the lunch table, a bit nervous, the sticks chose to sit beside another childhood staple, the utilitarian, everyman hot dog.
What a joy it was to reconnect with friends I haven’t seen in decades. We sat there, enjoying each other’s company, until they slowly disappeared into my … consciousness.
The only difference was the packaging. They’re now sold in more modern bags instead of yesterday’s cardboard canisters.
But then again, my packaging has changed pretty significantly over the years as well.
My weekly gratitude journal, of sorts.
1. Stone fruit still life.
And what Robert made with it …
Clafoutis.
“Clafoutis is a French dessert made with fruit covered in a batter that consists of eggs, sugar, milk, and flour. It’s a thick custard that is similar to flan in texture. It is usually made with cherries, but other fruits can be used as well.” prettysimplesweet.com
Oh my goodness! It was wonderful.
2. Grandson Daniel, singing “Come What May” (from Moulin Rouge) with his girlfriend Amalie at a recent concert. Daniel’s last Savannah performance before his freshman year of college.
3. Realizing that every minute is a new beginning.
4. HR and purple.
5. Seeing this on my walk this morning. And realizing that it is a truth that life finds a way.
Even if we are not always happy about that outcome.
May you be happy about the outcome of this weekend ahead!
I love making smoothies without following any specific recipe.
This morn I noticed that our last Banana was on the Brink of Bereavement, so I asked if he would like to go for a final swim with his buddies Pineapple, Strawberry, Spinach, Turmeric, and Cayenne.
“ Yes, let me peel off what I’m wearing and I’ll jump right in!”
Well, I suppose that I am Marveling this morning, but with a side of Moan.
Yesterday morn, instead of attending our beautiful and inclusive Asbury Church here in Savannah, Robert and I played hooky. Since it was an unusually cool reprieve from our stiflingly serious summer heat, I suggested we drive over to Savannah‘s iconic Bonaventure Cemetery and do what we have not been doing much this summer … walk outside.
What a beautiful, old cemetery/park, along a bluff of the tranquil Wilmington River.
We took our time, walking quietly, almost meditatively, under the ancient live oaks and magnolias. A morning breeze (amazingly refreshing for early August!) invited the Spanish Moss to a ceremonial Dance of the Dead above our heads.
About an hour into this Sauntering Sunday Service, I somewhat wearily gazed through the overgrown and dark green “we-bloomed-months-ago” azalea bushes.
And saw it.
“Let’s walk over there, Robert.”
A small mausoleum, circa 1927, darkened and a bit crumbling with age and wear, the small double doors having patinated over the decades into a glorious, deep metallic green.
The Schroder family whispered us closer, even offering me a little sitting of rest (which I desperately needed).
‘Neal, look behind you,” HR quietly instructed.
Someone (who?) had placed a single, long-stemmed, radiantly red rose at the foot of the doors, below the two “S’s.”
(My last name is Saye, Robert’s is Smith, I for some reason thought.)
“Pick it up.”
I obeyed, trying to avoid the thorns.
I have been dealing with some frustrating physical issues (thorns!) lately—causing me to be a bit out of sorts with the world and with life.
73 years come with challenges.
Then again …
And I still crave the rose.
My weekly gratitude journal, of sorts.
1. Our hibiscus FINALLY blooming.
2. This fancy butter at a new breakfast place the other day. (It doesn’t take too much to make me happy.)
3. Robert, sitting outside the new breakfast place, Bread and Butter—inside Auspicious Bakery. With leftovers.
4. Always having enough food to eat. What a blessing.
5. Finding fantastic pimento cheese at a local produce stand.
May you find a Fantastic Something this first weekend in August.
Browsing through the clearance section at Hobby Lobby today, I rsn across this …
“Robert!” I shrieked across several aisles where he was searching for dragonfly figurines in the garden gnome section (Don’t get me started). “Quick! Please! Come take my picture!”
Used to my impromptu requests, HR fairly quickly found me, put down his two garden figurines (which looked more like weird birds than dragonflies to me) and took this photo.
I love the Profound Truth of Twain’s Patriotic Proclamation!
In solidarity with many Americans, I am having a great deal of trouble supporting the current administration’s Dangerous Dismantling of Democracy.
And I wholeheartedly believe that we should and must make our dissatisfaction known.
Walking into our kitchen when we got home, I glanced at the fridge and thought to myself, “Yes, Mark Twain, I know you were being humorous, but you are also so very correct!”
And I make that … Refrigerated Proclamation as a Patriot of my Country, the United States of America.
I’m moaning this Monday over an incredible injustice that happened recently near me here in South Georgia.
The librarian in the middle of the photo below, Lavonnia Moore, was fired from her position at the Pierce County Library.
“Why?” you ask.
Lavonnia oversaw a patron-led display of children’s books with the theme “Color Our World.” One book on display, When Aiden Became a Brother, features a beautifully loving trans young person.
I went to our local library, found the book, sat down with Robert and read it.
A heartfelt rendering of love, care and acceptance.
Here’s a link to an article about the firing injustice:
Add a link to another article about common sense folks who are trying to reverse the decision.
https://share.google/ZQYpEC31wmqtKuA7G
May our artists, poets, librarians, and readers continue to have freedom in these troubled United States.
NealEnJoy 