Monday, May 12, 2014

baby kudzu and tiny corn

Here I sit at an ancient desktop Dell while Rome is burning and all I can do is keep on keeping on. Despite what the GOP says, global warming is real and it's already hot'n'humid in West TN, the ass end of tornado alley. You know it's summer when the kudzu manages its' way up through last years heap to prosper once again. Fortunately there's only that one bank or else we'd all be in a big mess with dead bodies being dumped and such. That was according to one of my favorite writers Joshilyn Jackson in her book " gods in Alabama." I seriously doubt we've got enough for bodies but you never know what will happen when summer comes. The farmer actually mows it or it would be everywhere.

Corn is popping up due to plenty of sunshine and rain and the tiny little strips of green amaze me since I know that by July there will be a "children of the corn" feel to our house. Great photo-ops with the barn surrounded for the first time. Poor Pride will just be fertilizer! There's a patch of sweet corn hidden for the neighborhood which is always a plus side to country living. Mom and Daddy's new neighbor Aunt Molly is having a huge reunion of their family on the very site of Son's house only this time it's a nice double wide. There's a patch of trees where the farm equipment stays right about where the hen houses were. He and Ms Lockie were my favorite childhood memory. Daddy says that Son actually helped build the silos by the dairy barn in the 20s.

My house was built in 1918 as the farm manager's place I suppose, thus the cute little side porch to call those hands in with a dinner bell. I imagine fried chicken served in that dining room on special days along with purple hull peas and new potatoes. The spirits of those before me here are amazingly active, most especially Mrs. Council because of the floral gifts that she left. 60 years later, I still have peonies. If I'm not mistaken the Ferguson farm operation even shipped asparagus and peonies country wide. Oh, and lots of chickens....the fancy kind. The owner made his fortune selling rain gear to the US government during WWI and from what I hear it was quite a showplace. Huge concrete slabs remain where the livestock lived. The dairy barn itself has been restored and shines like a beacon to me each day I spend coming and going.

Today was orthopedic day in which cute doctor told me that the only cure is six weeks in a sling following surgery and I asked to defer that decision until the waiting list at work thins out. He advised gentle physical therapy because up to 50% of cases will resolve with proper care and exercise. And yes, I am right handed which is how I fell on it twice, dammit. Freakin' winter of 2014 'about killed me.

Tomorrow is pap smear day where we take one for the cervical care team so as not to die of cancer. It's down to twice a year in the "observation" phase of a very slow moving dysplasia so I'll take my chances with that too. Like I said, sometimes I know too much.

Off to enjoy an afternoon whatever I damn well please ^j^

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