TALES OF ASHEVILLE

to be delivered at a later date, Dear Reader, provided that we (me and the one with whom I've been traveling*) are delivered from destruction while on our journey home from this charming and mountainous area, where the days have been sunny and idyllic,  the mountain tunnels numerous, the mountain waterfalls so lovely, the mountain flowers so exquisite, the mountain trails so steeply breath-taking, the mountain views so high and panoramic, but the weather reports and the weatherly news reports of nearby areas so severe and disastrous!**

*for, lo, the latest year and four decades
**whole neighborhoods flattened by Wizard-of-Oz style tornadoes

......

BLOGGA BLOGGA BLUE

I'm still thinking of you
Reader Dear
But ennui has been heavy
Vacant apartments not few
The chickens have been a'scratchin'
What's a poor girl to do


?!
....

AFTER

the ham and lamb,

things went something like this:

...

*The Easter Bunny (I happen to know) had to bring buckets rather than baskets  this year to my little-guy actors.  It was due to procrastination.  At a certain point (I happen to know), Easter baskets can not be purchased anywhere, in spite of hopping to several store-places!  Waiting until the day before Easter to attempt to procure baskets (I happen to know, Reader Dear) is not such a good idea!








......

IT'S KIND OF A

Roll-Me-Up-and-Smoke-Me-When-I-Die type of an evening,  Reader Dear.



(Willie says it best)
...
...

I AM SAYING THIS

with some trepidation, Reader Dear, because I've been leaping to false conclusions so often in the past few weeks, and this time I want to get it right:  Spring has arrived!  

This time I've got warm, soft facts (do they always have to be cold and hard?! I think not!).  Today the grass is green!  The sky is blue!  The clouds are white!
It's got to be spring--The Yard Man is wielding a chain saw!  He is pushing a wheelbarrow, using a rake!  He is burning limbs and twigs!
And two of my actors, spending the day with the Yard Man and me,  are clamoring to perform outdoors!  

The Tiny Actor, in particular, is enamored by the season, and the chance to explore nature on foot (Why on earth did I lay around all springtime long, last year?!  I'm sure he's thinking)  He's wild about the little creature with the funny ears and the four feet, who runs about, and speaks a strange language.

 

Meanwhile, the Little Actor has found a five-trunk castle in which to play.  (I get a brief stint as Queen, which lasts right up to the point where I feel the accommodations beneath me are a bit beneath me.  Argh.  I am in need of a King to help me out of this awkwardly-imagined throne!


[Unlike the Little Actor (playing the Little Prince) who exits the castle with ease!)

......
Okay.  Now.  If there's any lingering doubt about the season,
Viewer Dear, allow me to offer my triumphant final proof.

Oh, hallelujah!  It's springtime all right!

.....

D.W. WASHBURN,

if you don't get out of that gutter
before the next big rain,
D.W. Washburn,
you're gonna wash right down the drain!

(So sang the Monkees on Saturday morning.*)
Now I'm picturing D.W. gasping as he gurgles away into the sewer.

 

Yes, Reader Dear, on this nineteenth day of spring, here in my neck of the woods, we are getting a cold, dark rain!
It's just a rough guess, but I believe we've had either snow or rain on eighty-seven percent of the days since the Vernal Equinox arrived here!

I keep buying yellow and orange flowers, trying to import psychologically-induced sunshine into my kitchen.

And I keep washing my car!  On three separate occasions, the sun has come out and the sky has cleared; I have clicked my heels and taken my (relatively) new car to the car wash, optimism running high.   Each time without fail,  the sky has grown clouds and rain fell for hours.


All I can say is:  D. W. Washburn, if you've managed to hang onto your spot in the gutter, I promise not to wash my car again until we've had a solid week of sunshine, with nothing falling out of the sky except...uh, bird droppings!

......
*video clip to follow, Viewer Dear.

NOTHING OLD

about this news, Reader Dear.   It was this very morning that The Yard Man woke me early to prepare for a trip to his Uncle Jesse's memorial service. 

We stopped at a minute market and bought gas, two bananas, and two cups of truly awful French Vanilla coffee. 

And then we set out for the two-hour drive that would get us to the Beautiful Valley.





We put The Monkees* in the Cd player, cranked up the volume very loud, and had a fine sing-along.  The cloudy weather didn't seem quite so cloudy.  The time zipped by.  Before we knew it, we were at the church.

Because we had left home so early, we were some of the very first to greet Uncle Jesse's family.  We had two more hours to fill until the memorial service was scheduled to begin!

So we left the church and went out and shopped for food.  "I've got to get some whoopie pies and moon pies while we're here in Belleville," said The Yard Man.










And we shopped for drink.  "I want to stop at that winery!" I had said, as we drove past it on our way to the church.








By noon we were back at the church, in time to watch the story of Uncle Jesse's life in pictures (It might look like Santa, but it's Uncle Jesse!)

The memorial service featured some very fine music by a few of his grandchildren.

And the meal in the church basement, following the service, featured some very fine coffee!
(The scalloped potatoes were pretty yummy, too)

The final photo that I took,
as we drove out of the beautiful valley and headed home with our moon pies and our Alexander Red wine and our heightened memories of Uncle Jesse, features a yellow-topped Amish buggy.

  "Now if I were ever to be Amish," I told The Yard Man, "that would be the buggy for me!"

......
In an attempt to stay current, I suppose I must carry this tale to nightfall:
By the time we arrived back home, late this afternoon, that heavenly body that makes the earth glow had broken through the clouds. The Yard Man snatched up the last of the light to hitch up his loveliest horse--his best worker, the horse that readily obeys his every command*--and set about cleaning up fallen limbs from the long, hard winter.

**A person, with the very same name as the one that horse is called, set about posting a blog entry.
It features some very current news!
......
*Courtesy of the Post Master

WHEN I SAID

"more salmagundi later" I intended to add to my concoction the very next day.  But, ah, it went the way it tends to go. My intentions hid behind the mixing bowl, then ran away. Procrastination moved right in, made itself at home, put its big ugly feet up on the counter--the very spot I planned to set my laptop (wouldn't you know!) 

All the while, the catch-up stuff was growing...well, older.  Some of it another year older:

  (Er...when The Small Actor had a birthday party with his peers a few days prior, the birthday song was likely livelier than this age-old old-age rendition by his elders!)

You can bet your birthday balloon, I took a picture of the cake!  (The tower was requested by the little guy, and created by the big one that I call Only Son)
 

                     








......
And then, The Tiny Actor, he keeps on growing older, too.  And taking steps toward acting his age:

......
(The rest of the ketchup has gotten too old.  It's starting to form a scum on top.  Bleeck!  No more additions to this catch-up mish-mash)