I am sitting by a wide-open window now. I thought it would be a sun filled, air warmed day. The breeze is calculated to delight but still casting a little chill. I should close the window but never mind. It is springtime. Isn’t it?
The Sunshine Season
Yesterday I noticed the beautiful Lungwort/Pulmonaria is blooming once again in my front yard. A friend came by and said, “I love that plant,” so I gave her a cutting. I didn’t realize that Pulmonaria should be divided every few years anyway or it gets leggy. The sunshine reminds me to read up again on gardening.
Company is coming. The house is tidy and the redbuds are beginning to show their pastel pinks. Virginia redbuds form corridors of beauty all over our county. Maybe the corridors will be in full bloom by the time my friend arrives on Monday. What a greeting she will have!
I pruned the crepe myrtle yesterday. I tried to follow the advice of a fellow blogger on how not to scalp the poor thing. Actually, my crepe myrtle is taller than I am, so I managed to do some circumspect pruning among the lower branches.
I still have to put the umbrella back on the deck and tie the cushions to the wrought iron chairs and chaise. My friend will want to read out there.
I am moving winter woolens aside in favor of linen. Those suede boots look big and cumbersome and useless now. Bring in the sandals.
How quickly I forget comforters and gloves, scarves and hats, hot chocolate and cozy fires.
For now, for this brief moment in time, only the sunshine is the light of my life and I am getting ready.
There is a little framed plaque hanging in my kitchen just behind the new microwave and it fits right into a small space I gave it 25 years ago. I have always loved the little lithograph but had become so accustomed to its presence I almost forgot it was there.
The image of a feisty Scottish Terrier proudly sitting on the master’s chair was a gift from my brother and sister-in-law to remind me of our dog’s funny antics and because Pepper used to sit bolt upright on our wing chair too. It was her favorite place and she looked very much like in the picture.
The image is precious but I have always thought the rhyme beneath it completes the whole happy feeling it provokes. I absolutely love the rhyme and once again I walk around quoting the words in my head, “Lots of things in life are junk, troubles never end, but there’s something never palls, a really truly friend.”
I also just noticed there is a reference on the back to the Buzza Company, makers of the plaque in Minneapolis, Minnesota. And of course I looked it up.
George Buzza founded The Buzza Company in Minneapolis in 1907.
Early products included college advertising posters, greeting cards, books and later framed mottos. Buzza was considered a pioneer in his use of color and the variety of papers used in greeting cards. The Buzza Company was one of the best known producers of framed lithographs or gift mottos. Buzza knew that sentiment sold and no sentiments were spared with syrupy verses and pretty pictures for mothers and sweethearts. Other motifs included patriotic and religious writings and illustrations. George Buzza retired in 1917. The company’s stockholders liquidated the company in 1942.
~ From about.com collectibles. Sources: Terry Kovel, Minneapolis Public Library Online Archives
The Scotty plaque occupies such a tiny corner of my house, but it says, “Home.” So, Thank you once again Steve and Viv all these years later. If there is such a thing as the perfect gift, that was it. Do you suppose I am soppy over sentimental syrupy verses and darling images? I never thought so, but maybe so. Maybe so.
I don’t do much microwaving. Warming Tea. Reviving Stale Coffee. Unfreezing Vegetables. Popping Corn. The Usual. I don’t cook from scratch in the microwave. I don’t cook from scratch on the regular range much either.
I am not a great fan of cooking (from scratch or otherwise) although you may recall my friends think I am a gourmet chef.
I am the Great Chef Imposter.
Sometimes I do use the microwave though.
At least I don’t store my socks in there like one bachelor fellow I once knew.
He also stacked his shoes in the dishwasher.
But to continue – - our microwave oven was looking ill. A worn spot developed inside with some unexplainable staining. Uh oh! “Possible extermination of human life,” I thought. “If I stand closer than 6 feet away I might get attacked by escaping nuclear atoms or something.”
“We need a new microwave!” I cried whenever Bill came into view. Bill doesn’t come into view often although we have been married close to forever. He has his desk. I have my desk. Maybe that’s the secret to long-term marital bliss.
Anyway I made a momentous decision and purchased a new microwave! Same brand. Different color.
The old one was black; the new one stainless steel.
At home, as if to say, “I hate this kitchen,” the new addition emitted a horrible plastic-y odor. “Ikkkk!” said I. But as Bill tried to tell me, within a few days the odor was more tolerable. By then however, I developed a bad attitude.
I know it is irrational to dislike a mechanical object but I did.
Not only did the Miserable Micro smell bad, but every time we used it there were visible fingerprints all over the dratted thing! If I decided to murder my husband (or the microwave) the evidence against me would be there on the stainless steel in glaring detail.
Still, I pretended to love Le Mizerable Micro.
In reality I was stuck with a machine I hated and with no good reason to return it.
I think Le Miz knew we were not destined to a life of love, so one morning when I pushed its “On” button, it began to wail!
A truly horrific sound came from deep within its bowels (if a microwave has bowels) and it was a deafening siren-like moan that would send any normal person fleeing. In a dubious act of love (fearing an imminent explosion) and being either stupid or extremely brave, I quickly pulled the plug. I saved the machine – and the day – and we all survived.
But that scream was all I needed to return Le Miz to the DIY Store.
In its place is a new (black) Miracle Microwave that was $2.00 cheaper than the first and has no odor. Miracle Micro is so perfect I have fallen in love. No moaning and no fingerprints either. I think it loves me too as it seems to purr with satisfaction.
Odd but I now believe that horrendous moan was Le Miz’ way of expressing love too, by emitting a last agonizing scream to release us both from bondage. I am so thankful and will never forget that enormous sacrifice.
No, uh, your blogger pal does not require medical attention but has only just recognized the hidden bonds of love that can develop between machines and man (or woman).
Do you have a machine you love?
Do you believe machines have feelings too?