Here

Just very busy.

'Tis the Season.

Stephen

Hallmark

My lovely wife has for the last week or so been tied to the Hallmark channel. She loves their Christmas shows.

A few moments ago I made the comment it might be nice if the writers made a few changes I would, perhaps, watch one. She asked what changes. I replied, well, cast a few normal actors. Perhaps an ugly bucktoothed fella or girl and make them poor. Have them live in the country, chew tobacco and pack rifles and handguns with a hog pen in the backyard.

Why make all the characters beautiful, wealthy, with castles for homes and a staff of twenty.

She turns to me and said, "Last week one show had a poor mother of two. She did not have a job and lived in her car. So there."

Tick, tick, tick...then I smartly said, "Yes, but she was still beautiful."

She gave me 'the look.'


Stephen

Distracted

So when you're distracted what do you write. My mind is, again, blank. Picture me in deep thought. Wait for it...


The holiday season is underway and I can't seem to find my spirit for eggnog and mistletoe and holly berry flecked door wreaths. The jingles and jangles of Christmas music leave me empty. Still, I have children in my life.

The local school pack that each day walk along the sidewalk in front of my shop on their way home from the elementary school stopped this afternoon, as is their way. They always ask to visit inside my business, which gives me pause. One must be careful with children so I always leave open the door...and again, today they asked permission to visit. Seems to thrill the little boogers. Imagine a pack of second graders, each in full scream, bouncing off the walls as I stand and hold my door. Fifteen seconds, in and out.

Anyway, I'm normally all smiles when they leave. One or two will ask for jobs and when I hire them how much 'monies' will I pay. The standard answer is one hundred dollars an hour which elicits screams of pure joy. The first time I told the children their hourly rate one little boy ran, in full scream, down the street, "One hundred dollars an hour. Wait until I tell mommy." Oops....

This afternoon they each left with a piece of bubblegum. They seemed satisfied. At least until tomorrow.

The one little boy that ran home and informed his mother of his new job and hourly pay hasn't forgotten and reminds me each day he's ready for work. He told me his mother said she'd pack him a lunch and wants to know when she should expect him home after we close shop.

I'm willing to bet this young man isn't a future democrat.

Ah, there it is...my holiday spirit.

Stephen

 

The Day in Pictures

The day trip went well. Sweet Wife is happy. Last evening, when we arrived home and as we walked inside she turned to me and said, "Wasn't it a nice day." She's easy like that.

The true purpose of our trip, as it is every year, was flowers. 

The cemetery is old, and many acres in size. This cemetery holds the spirits of Spanish explorers of which my wife is a descendant, and as such, her family has the honor of a large plot set aside for their eternal rest by the local Village government. Sweet Wife has lovingly informed me I shall rest here, too, when my time has expired. I think not but that's another story. 

Now, allow me please, to explain this picture.

Her name is Elizabeth. She became an angel in her twenty-first year of life.

Many years ago, after my father-in-law's death, we made monthly visits to his grave. My wife, as you might expect, was in deep shock; her father after all. Each visit required fresh or artificial arraignments. With each removal of the last token of her love and remembrance the flowers were placed in the trash. I thought this a waste, yet never hesitated in my wife's wishes. It was, after all, a sad period in her life.

Then, Elizabeth came into my life. Her grave was located upon a rise just north of my father-in-laws stone. One cold sunny afternoon as I waited with Sweet Wife, discarded flowers in hand, I noticed Elizabeth's marker. Her grave is within a granite fenced plot. Her parents watch eternity alongside her. The lack of care and visitation was very obvious. For some reason this bothered me and so I walked over and without thought placed the flowers at her marker, flowers destined for the dump had new purpose.

I wish I knew Elizabeth's story. 

I like to imagine her beautiful, perhaps with ringlets of brown hair and dark eyes with a constant smile of deeply red lips. I imagine her tall and well read, intelligent. Until those last few days of her life (Influenza, I'm sure) I like to imagine her happy with life.

I've placed flowers at her grave for the last twelve years.  In all this time I've never witnessed evidence of other visits. It's possible her descendants have joined her. In any case, she'll not be forgotten as she's now my Elizabeth.

In the above photo Sweet Wife prepares a Christmas arrangement for her father's grave. She'd kick my butt if she knew I'd taken and posted this picture.

The cemetery, like I've said, his huge. Its filled with ancient trees and as its close to both river and ocean there is a constant breeze and the Spanish moss is thick and ever in movement. During summer's intense heat the sites deep shade is a relief and of course it chills under winter's winds. When we visit I always go walkabout.

Once, on one of my walkabout's I discovered a plot of graves all with the same appearance. Each marker engraved with the same date of death. A garden of nuns, sweet wives of God. All died of influenza. Ten all together. I always walk over and say hello. Ten plain little stone markers of simple sisterly names and dates gone now these many years and I'm sure each died while giving help to another sick soul.

Yesterday I walked down hill and paid my respects to the 1st Florida Infantry Battalion. These good men lost their lives in service to our country in the Spanish-American War.

The above picture: the graves of the 1st Florida. I never taken a count of the markers. There are many grouped in the shade of old palm trees.

I snapped this photo of Alvin's stone as it had recently been cleaned. I believe the war was fought in 1889. Correct me if I'm mistaken.

We left the cemetery and made our way into the local village for seafood. It was a chilly day and Sweet Wife was ready to eat. I went along for the ride....

I love the way she waits...her hands almost always crossed in front, delicate like...

The evidence of our meal is printed on the place mat. We were, after all, in a fishing town famous for its shrimp and seafood festivals. I ordered shrimp with a side of oysters. First things first which means iced sweet tea.

Then, my meal. When the cold winds blow the oysters turn sweet and tangy and firm fleshed and when fried they require Tabasco...

I have a silly habit, as I wait for my meal, of paper flower construction. I use the papers from the straws. I always make them as a gift to my wife. I know, silly but still she smiles. Once upon a time I'd make two.

She has such delicate and tiny hands.

After lunch we parked the car and walked the village. Our day was made for a stroll. The church in the above picture is St. Peter's Episcopal. The church dates from 1855. I like it...

We ducked into an antique market. I believe it was my friend, Sandy, that left a comment on my post of yesterday in which she mentioned I'd probably not find any camping gear (Coleman) in the local antique market. Sandy, this is for you. It's a World War Two pressure gas stove used by our men to cook their meals while on the battle front. Its dated 1944 and held a price of seventy-five dollars. I passed. But still...

I know, the picture is awful hard to read. I really do need a new camera. I only use my Blackberry and it just isn't suitable for the task. I really wanted this little stove but upon close inspection I felt it needed far more work than the price justified. They offered me twenty percent off but I passed.

I also like this fifties vintage Westinghouse radio but it was pink and the price was fifty-five dollars. The price and color wasn't worth losing my dude membership admission card.

See this structure..its the local post office...kinda neat.

My favorite bookstore. Prior to the Internet and the subsequent crash in the first edition's market I'd never fail to visit. Yesterday I didn't even crack the door. How times change...

Now, some random shots. Please be warned...I'm not a good or even close to fair photographer...so deal with it.

As my wife shopped I perched outside on the many benches placed just for men like me. I sat and read or watched the pretty ladies stroll along the sidewalks. These views were taken from the many benches.

Enough.

We drove home along the coast line as the sun slowly set and offered us views of the marshes and river and many boats tied to the homeside docks. I must have counted twenty hawks, ospreys and one eagle. We crossed the long bridge as daylight passed into darkness. It had been a good day.


She fell into sleep with a smile on her face.

Stephen


  









   

We're Off

I believe it was Bilbo Baggins who yelled the famous line, 'I'm off to an adventure.' We're about to leave too and I sincerely hope it's an adventure. Never the less, it's a day away.

I shall make an attempt at photography.

Until later,

Stephen

Content

It's obvious I've been away for almost two days. To tell the truth my work days have been long and tiring. The morning after Thanksgiving I was back at the shop at zero dark thirty, then again today. It's funny to see the surprise on the customers faces when they drive by, brake, and walk inside...almost all say they thought I'd have been closed. I remind them I have democrats to support.

Late this afternoon, after my shop was locked, I came home and took the left over turkey and as the new age chefs like to say, 'deconstructed' that sucker. Then I built a nice stew. It met Sweet Wife's approval. It was served with garlic toast made from a baguette of French bread. Contentment in a bowl.

Tomorrow after church we shall drive north and place a Christmas arraignment on the grave of my father-in-law. Then, after Sweet Wife has a few minutes with her father, we'll walk around a quaint little village and visit a few antique stores. We'll have dinner at a local seafood joint and then a peaceful drive home. Like I said, we're content.

It's been a nice quiet Thanksgiving. I hope yours was the same.

Stephen

Pecan Pie and Coffee

I'm stuffed. As such I was forced, made to eat a slice of pecan pie...matter of fact Sweet Wife almost had to beat me with a stick and force it down my throat. She even forced a cup of fine coffee on me.

She's mean that way.

But let me tell 'ya, Southern Pecan Pie and an excellent cup of coffee sure hits the spot on a late Thanksgiving afternoon.

Time for a nap.

Stephen