Mowing the lawn

My husband is old school. At 70, we still mow our own lawn because he "can mow his own damn lawn." I like his spirit, and I like doing yard work alongside him. He mows. I edge.  

We never "edged" a lawn before we moved here. We didn't need to up north, where actual lawn grass is grown. Here in Central Florida, that soft, lush northern grass won't grow. There are specific grasses passing for lawn grass here. St. Augustine grass comes to mind. 

We don't care about the perfect lawn. In fact, we wish it would dry up and blow away. The grass in our lawn grows sideways, not straight up. The blades shoot up, but the plant has woody roots that grow to the side. That's why edging is required. If we didn't edge, our grass would creep over the sidewalks and into the street. The homeowners association and our neighbors would pitch a fit, for sure.

And then there is the hidden cost of "taking care of your own damn lawn" in Central Florida. While mowing today, my husband had a Cuban tree frog jump on him, mowed over a fire ant nest (getting numerous fire ant bites), and was stung by a yellow jacket. 

Florida is not for the timid.  

Never fear, the white stuff is sand blown up by the lawn mower.

I pull this piece of grass out of the ground.  They get really long.

Grass and weeds growing over a square concrete slab.

Buying shoes for the boy

I offered to buy new school shoes for grandson, N. 

I struggle figuring out things like the right size, what's cool, what's appropriate. A couple of years ago I took him shopping alone for new shoes and got shoes that were way too big. The parents had to take them back to exchange them.  

My daughter, M, was supposed to go with N and me to the shoe store, but she was sick. So I took him alone. Again. Surely they knew it wasn't a good idea, right?

As always with N and Grandma, it quickly became a comedy of errors. For some reason (COVID?) the store had removed all the metal shoe measures. Instead, they pointed us to diagrams on the floor where you put your foot down and try to guess what size you are. I don't want to guess. I want to know. 

Twice I kindly asked an employee to go get me the metal measure. He said he would, but he never did. Remember when there were actual shoe salespeople who fit a child for shoes? Not anymore. It's all a guessing game now. No service, no metal measures, no help. Just N and me squabbling. 

N liked the first pair he saw. Adidas high tops. Based on the guessing game, he tried a few sizes on. I went with the smaller size, as he said they were comfortable. We bought them and I took him home.

Surprise, surprise, they were an entire size too big. His father took him back to the store to exchange them. He made N look around and try on other shoes. They ended up getting two pairs for the price I paid for the way too big shoes. N seems happy.  

I refuse to take him shoe shopping alone in the future. 

Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive, July 2022

Yesterday, Tom and I went on the Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive, and then on to the city of Mount Dora for Cuban food. It was a much needed distraction from reality. This is some of what we saw along the drive.

A big guy in the water on a hot, humid day

a cute little marsh rabbit, minding his own business

A shot along the canal, such beauty sustains me

Egret, fishing no doubt

a scrappy female grackle

A raccoon, just walking by

a great egret being chased away by a heron

The heron, triumphant

The big payoff, eating picadillo (me) and grouper salteado (Tom) at the Copacobana in Mt. Dora. There are so many interesting things on the menu, but my heart belongs to picaddillo. I can't bring myself to order anything else.

Expressing sympathy is hard

Any effort to connect and console a person undergoing grief is amazingly helpful. Social media now allows for immediacy and increased contact. I'm not one who thinks that is a bad thing.  I'm one who has been relying on FB more and more.  I will continue to do so.  We appreciated every heart, tear, and caring emoji, as well as the kind comments. It's a beautiful thing, love and caring.

We received a few sympathy cards via snail mail recently. 

In the future, in addition to the helpful immediacy of social media I will also send a sympathy card. I'll stop worrying about being perfect, and I'll just try to connect. I must admit I had forgotten how potent and magically personal sympathy cards are. We live and learn.

I still remember a card we received from our friend Salli back in 1995, when my brother Fred died in a car accident. What will always stay with me was when she wrote "I don't know why these terrible things happen, I only know they do." I'm not sure why that meant so much, but it did. Maybe because it was an honest sentiment?  

We received the following from a friend, Marianne, who has had her share of loss. Some may prefer a more formal declaration of sympathy; however, this was absolutely perfect for Tom and me. This is exactly how we felt about losing our granddaughter, Melanie.  

Scarlet Hibiscus Time

One of our favorite Florida wildflowers, Scarlet Hibiscus, is in bloom.

When a young woman dies in Kentucky

So often when you lose someone to an untimely death you ask why? Right now I'm screaming it from the mountain top.

Tom and I lost one of our grandchildren this week to a car accident. Melanie was one of Tom's grandchildren; however, I claimed her and her two siblings as my mine, too. We both loved her with all of our hearts. We only knew her and her amazing family since 2017, when Tom found his oldest daughter, her mother Robin, through DNA testing.

I first met her at a restaurant at City Walk, Universal in Orlando in July 2017. It was the only time our whole family was together. It was when my husband met his daughter R, and our daughter, M, met her sister. We were all so happy.

Her mother told me (in front of Melanie) that Melanie had helped organize a women's march at her college, and that she refused to wear make-up or shave her legs. I looked Melanie in the eye and said, "You're for me!" She smiled in that Melanie way, that smile that lit up the world.

She was only 25. She was brilliant, a Fulbright Scholar, a feminist, both logical and fierce in her quiet ways. I thought we had so much more time.

Hair

I just read a post by 37th Dream/Rumors of Peace about friends of hers in 1967. She posted their senior pictures. I am in love with the hairstyles from the 1960s. They were so sleek and straight and gorgeous. Think Marianne Faithful or Patty Boyd. I also liked earlier teased (and sprayed) hairstyles with the perfect flip. And bangs. Geez-o-freakin' Pete! What I had to do to make my bangs stay straight for at least half the day, especially during humid summer months.

Naturally curly hair was a cross to bear throughout the swinging 60's. Growing it long and not having bangs helped weigh it down, but it was still too wavy to be cool. I tried ironing it. I used big oversized curlers.  Then Janis Joplin came along. I never struggled with my hair again, and the humid summer months were the absolute best for crazy hair.  

Me in 1969, feeling pretty darn good about my hair:

Falling victim to the plague

Well, I got COVID. First our daughter got it, then I did. Then both our husbands fell victim to this plague. My daughter's children didn't get it for some reason. We also passed it on to Tom's daughter R's husband Ch. They were visiting us at the time. But R didn't get it.What a strange virus, picking and choosing victims seemingly at random.  

All of us are vaccinated and boostered and none of us were deathly ill.  For me it seemed like a bad chest cold, although I also experienced chills. I'm not complaining, having chills meant I could snuggle up in bed with both a top sheet and a blanket covering me. I miss being cold on occasion, especially when I'm in bed trying to sleep. There are only a couple weeks each year that this Floridian needs more than just a sheet.  

We were advised to use Mucinex and DayQuil, both of which really helped during the worst of it. All we wanted to do was sleep. Time stood still.  

I lost my sense of smell, which has yet to return. Not surprising since once COVID petered out and I tested negative, the monster left me with a sinus infection.  

Chewing on a memory

My husband bought a loaf of sourdough bread at the farmer's market. This morning I was lazy, and I didn't want to make breakfast. I wanted to grab something. I grabbed a piece of now almost stale sourdough. So good! As often happens, I chewed on more than just the bread.  

This "madeleine moment" reminded of the book Heidi, which made a strong impression on me as a child.  In this case, I remembered Heidi and her grandfather ate bread and cheese for breakfast. I may have cheese later. For now I'm just eating the plain bread, allowing my mind to wander.  

I may read that book again. There was a strong class consciousness throughout, and it may have been my introduction to class and inequality.  At least to an inequality that was clearly defined. Feelings, fears, and suspicions were justified. I have never been the same.   

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