Alone Time

Well, it's another Friday evening in Lloyd and I realized a few moments ago that I have not talked to a soul today. Not with my voice, anyway. 
Do I mind? 
Gosh. No. 
I've probably said a few words to Jack. I don't think I've seen Maurice all day which is a little troubling. I'm sure she's around here somewhere. 

Here's a picture that Mr. Moon sent me this morning.

Canada Geese and sunset. Not bad. 

He sent another picture. This one is his annual shot of his favorite vegetables served by the woman who does a lot of the cooking for them up at the hunting camp. 

Really? They are not his favorite vegetables. He would probably die of a vitamin deficiency before he ate a serving of peas and carrots. Meanwhile, I've had a nice little bowl of peas two nights in a row. 

The folks who attend the Holy Ghost Revival Center next door are starting to arrive. Since doors and windows are open, I'll be able to hear their music which is nothing at all like the music that the staid methodists who used to meet there played and sang. This is another thing I love about where I live. I can hear glory being sung next door if the weather's right. 

This has been another day of wondering what in hell I did all day. I swear, I get up at a reasonable hour of the morning and I piddle around doing this and doing that and next thing I know, it's four o'clock in the afternoon! It's like time becomes a slippery eel that slithers right through my fingers. 
Here's one thing I had to attend to today.

I pulled my favorite overalls out of the dryer to discover that. 
Sigh.
Whoever invented that sort of loop for overalls should be- well, punished severely. They just don't work. For long, at least. 
So I did a little replacement job although to be honest, I didn't finish it. First off, it took me at least fifteen minutes to find something on one of the hundreds of channels we get that I wanted to watch. I ended up with my default which is "Call The Midwife." 
But before I finished stitching the strap back together it was 4:30 which is time to play piano. My schedule is very important. 

I did some weeding in the garden. Things are coming along. Not only did we get that rain night before last, but we got a little bit this morning too. The garden cart rain gauge said that it was a decent amount. 

You could keep a couple of minnows alive in that for some time. 

Everything I've planted has come up. Here are a few of them. 

Carrots.

The mustard greens which have already gotten bigger than the arugula which came up days before. I tasted a little sample of one of the leaves and it is spicy and bitey and lovely. 

It was also a little gritty but that's to be expected. 

The collard plants we put in are looking terrific and happy. I had to take a picture of a leaf with rain drops bejeweling it. 

While I weeded, I was listening to the end of a book that I enjoyed very much. It's not a great work of literature but it's not crap either. 

Randy Wayne White is definitely what you'd call a Florida writer. Sort of like Carl Hiaasen. He wrote a thirty-year long series of books with a main character called Doc Ford. This one is only the third in the series and was written in 1993. There are some excellent characters in it, mostly old Florida guys who grew up in the Everglades, or close to it, before there were any sugar farms or roads or developments or air conditioning or, Disney World, or, well, laws. The people who lived in that area then hunted and sold cattle, fished, made their own 'shine, knew the Thousand Islands by heart, and never once thought that the immense (to them) areas of jungle, oak flats, palmetto scrub, Indian mounds, mangrove swamps, trails, and the intricate channels through the rivers of grass would ever be developed or paved over or drained or poisoned. Whose incomprehension concerning those things actually contributed to them. 
So yeah. I recommend it but like I said- it's not great lit and it's thirty years old so a few things have changed, but unfortunately, a lot of things haven't. 

So yes, another Friday. Clean sheets and martinis to mark it. I know that Mr. Moon fancies himself the best maker of martinis and he may be but my skills are adequate. Maurice has shown up and asked me to scratch her back down near her tail which of course I did. I also gave her some Temptations which she loves. 

These Brazilian Plume Flowers are going all crazy in the camellia bed. Or should I say, camellia jungle? Like every other part of this yard, it needs a thorough weeding and pulling of invasive plants but, oh well, tomorrow is another day. And you know what? When I'm on my death bed, this yard will still be out of control and that's the damn truth. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon