Photo Challenge

This is the last picture I took with my cell. We swapped out the mirrors in the master bath for mirrored medicine cabinets. I sent a photo of them to a consignment store.

Brian, at Bushboy’s World had the great idea of posting the last photo of each month from his SD card and phone. He offers no explanation and does no editing.

Lots of us have joined in, sharing our own last photos.

Here’s what to do if you’d like to join in as well:

1. Post the last photo on your SD card or last photo on your phone for July 2020.
2. No editing – who cares if it is out of focus, not framed as you would like or the subject matter didn’t cooperate.
3. You don’t have to have any explanations, just the photo will do
4. Create a Pingback to Brian’s post or link in the comments
5. Tag “The Last Photo”

See The USA Going To Jackson MS.

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Jackson, Mississippi

How many of you are done with not traveling, social distancing, and wearing a face mask? Me too! I am going to Jackson, Mississippi, virtually of course.

I can hear Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix singing the song in Walk the Line and then Minny (Octavia Spencer) teaching Celia Foote (Jessica Chastin) how to fry chicken in Crisco The Help.

“[Crisco] ain’t just for frying. You ever get a sticky something stuck in your hair, like gum?… That’s right, Crisco. Spread this on a baby’s bottom, you won’t even know what diaper rash is…shoot, I seen ladies rub it under they eyes and on they husband’s scaly feet…Clean the goo from a price tag, take the squeak out a door hinge. Lights get cut off, stick a wick in it, and burn it like a candle…And after all that, it’ll still fry your chicken.”

The scene is memorable and Minnie says Crisco in such a way that made me want to see the area.

(FYI words appearing in blue are links you can click on. To tour Pensacola, click on the arrow.)

 

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The movie currently is under scrutiny for its recent popularity on Netflix. . . but I am tired of sitting at home.

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Author Eudora Wetly Museum

Jackson is the state capital and there are many sights to see, although like all cities the coronavirus pandemic has left its mark.

King Edward Hotel and Lobby

The distance from my house to Jackson is728 miles and a 13-hour drive. So I’ll spend the night or a few days in Pensacola Beach, but the first stop is Gainesville. probably for lunch. Gainesville is the largest city in the region of North Central Florida and home of the University of Florida, the nation’s ninth-largest university campus by enrollment. What impressed me about the area is the trees. The aerial will give you a good view. There are some YouTube advertisements that you have to wait through. It is worth the wait if you want to travel virtually. Remember the benefits of virtual travel; it cost nothing, you are never stuck in traffic and is enviromentally smart.

Unlike the beaches on the east coast, the Gulf sand is pure white in color. The water smothers the shoreline with a butterfly kisses.  You may want to visit  Apalachicola  it is near by.

Please watch the above virtual tour. She does an excellent job of telling travelers about the area. Have a good time.

 

                    . . . . just saying

 

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What Have You Been Thinking?

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Baby Breath

I have not been thinking much. I could call it brain fog or fizz, however, I prefer pause. My brain is on pause. There is no debate on whether handshaking and hugging are things of the past or who will win the next presidential election. I avoid watching the news and skim the newspaper. What I do ponder is; who invented dental floss and when did fast-talking become acceptable? Hopefully, it is aging and not a yet to be identified dementia.

I searched online.  Evidently, ancient ruins reveal chewsticks and horsehair as floss has been used for a long time. In 1898 Johnson & Johnson patented dental floss.  I did not know that.

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Pickled Beet and Grapefruit Salad

I have to stop imagining a virtual Thanksgiving dinner, so when I sat down to eat lunch thought; are there many vitamins in the beets?  There are; manganese, iron, vitamin B9, vitamin C, potassium, and betanin.

According to Jim

Manganese

“Manganese is a vital nutrient found in veggies and fruits. Beets have a lot of manganese which directly promotes bone health. This mineral is essential in the development of bones. When combined with other nutrients, manganese helps in maintaining a healthy bone mineral density.”

Iron

“If you have always wondered does beetroot contains iron, you are not alone. I discovered a beetroot source of iron and found my replacement for the pan-fried liver. Iron is vital for your body to keep diseases like anemia at bay. Beets iron also helps with boosting the body’s immune system function. The iron content in beetroot juice also helps in boosting hemoglobin, reducing fatigue, and improve concentration. Iron improves your sleep pattern as well.”

Vitamin B9

Vitamin B9 or “Folate assists in the formation of red blood cells. It is also a core nutrient in the synthesis of DNA which determines our human attributes. Combined with vitamin C, vitamin B9 promotes gut health and helps the body absorb proteins better. If you are into fitness, red beet vitamins can help you bulk up faster.”

Vitamin C “is a common ingredient in our meals. It helps us fight the common cold by boosting our immune system. As a water-soluble vitamin, vitamin C lowers stroke by 42%. Vitamin C is rich in antioxidants which slow down the aging process. This vitamin also helps in reducing inflammation and staving off cardiovascular” disease.

Potassium

Potassium “is also one of the vitamins and minerals in beets. It reduces the risk of stroke and hypertension. Increased intake of potassium also promotes the excretion of excess sodium via the urine. Potassium is also good for heart health.”

Betanin

“Betanin is the food additive that gives beet its red hue. As one of the beet juice vitamins, Betanin has antioxidants effects on the body. It promotes skin health and reduces the rise of free radicals in the blood. Just like other beetroot vitamins, Betanin also helps in regulating blood pressure.”

I did not know any of that and now glad I eat beets.

My search for fast-talking revealed nothing about the practice. You know what I am talking about. People speed speaking. I can hear the sounds, however, can not process the content.

Hopefully, it is aging and not a yet to be identified dementia.

What have you been thinking?

                        . . . .Just saying

 

Who Or Whom Are We Protecting?

Who Are We Protecting? Or, Oops, Is It Whom?

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Friday night, we invited friends over for pizza. I had put an extra leaf in the table and after everyone was properly distanced and had removed their face covers the conversation turned to masks. Should they be mandatory and who, or is it whom, were we protecting anyway?

We sat and talked, two males and two females married to each other. Oops, that is not quite right. The girls were married to the guys and the guys were married to the girls. Well, you get the picture, two old white married couples. Oops, I did not mean to imply only white straight people stay married.

So, forget about gender, race, age, or sexual orientation. Four adults sat around the table talking.

“I wear a face mask to protect me.”

“Really? Doesn’t my wearing the mask protect you?”

“They should be mandatory. People in the grocery store aren’t wearing masks. I got yelled at the other day.”

“You weren’t wearing a mask? You came to our front door wearing one.”

“No, I was yelled at for wearing a mask. What about my First Amendment Rights?”

“Well, it’s hard to believe a piece of fabric really protects us. What about gargling with Listerine?”

“My mask prevents molecules from the transmission into the environment. I’m protecting you.”

“But you don’t have the virus.”

“I don’t have the virus yet.”

“Right. Your mask protects you.”

“We wash our hands. Why not wash out our mouths. We should be gargling.”

“Would public gargling be considered a First Amendment Right?”

“Why isn’t the media reporting on gargling?”

The discussion was interrupted by television coverage that a statue of Calvin Griffith, a former owner of the Minnesota Twins, was removed for racial comments he made in 1976.  Other incidents of statues being taken down flashed across the screen. Many of them not peaceful. In Seattle police questioned who, or is it whom, to protect when activists injured and killed two fellow protestors. Police across the country faced similar challenges. Who to protect?

The conversation resumed.

“So, who, or is it whom, are the police protecting?”

“They were protecting them.”

“No. The police were protecting US.”

“Shouldn’t they protect everyone?”

One of the men put his head in his hands and like the grandfather in the movie Moon Struck lamented, “I’m so confused,” and then ask, “why can’t we watch baseball?”

“It’s not on.”

So, is it who or whom?

Who is the subject of the verb and whom is the object.

In the sentence, who/whom are we protecting? The subject is we. Are is the verb. Therefore, the answer is; whom are we protecting? Oops, that is right unless it is wrong.

  . . . just saying

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Is Today Friday?

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Monday morning, as soon as I was out of bed, the day felt like a Friday. The newspaper indicated it was Monday, June 1st. But, seeing the day and date in print didn’t help. It clearly felt like a Friday.

Tuesday, the next morning, did not feel like a Saturday. Why had Monday felt like a Friday?

By Wednesday, the week seemed to be on track until, my husband said, “Boy this week is going fast.” Then Wednesday adopted a few nuances of Thursday.  

Finally, on Friday it felt like Friday, probably because we had pizza for dinner.

Has any of this ever happened to you?

I asked,  Google; Why does it feel like Friday?

 “Fridays are associated with the ending of work/school, so people are happier and go to parties, bed later, etc. See, if you associate something with the day and it doesn’t happen, it can feel like a different day.”

It is a stretch. . . But if Monday is associated with work, and I am retired, therefore, work did not happen; the day might feel like a different day. Logically, however, the different day,  should have been Saturday. I have to assume they missed my notation about pizza for dinner.

According to Google, People also ask;

  • Why does the day feel so short?
  • Why is the day dragging?
  • Why do days of the week feel different?

These are questions I frequently ask, along with other questions, i.e., What is cow tipping?

Asking the right question is more important than finding the right answer.

Why can’t every day feel like Friday?

What do you think?

. . . . just saying

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Perturbed

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     When I overheard someone say the word perturbed recently, the word danced around in my head until I put pen to paper and wrote this vignette.
 

Perturbed

The police station hugs the railroad tracks in this rural New Jersey town. I contemplate retirement most mornings and especially today, as I skip over rain puddles to the precinct door. When I climb the steps, an umbrella pokes my neck. Inside I turn around and observe a woman hiding a closed umbrella in a corner. Then she walks toward me, her hand extended and says, “I’m Dolores.”

Usually, I am not quick to shake hands, but do so automatically and introduce myself.  “Officer Hawkins. How can I help you?”

“My husband went missing last night.”

Her voice is raspy. Her long jet-black hair parted on the side, frames the opposite eye. I wish I had gotten a haircut, or at least trimmed my mustache.

I respond. “Standard procedure is to wait twenty-four hours,” then stomp my feet on a rug, “your guy will probably show up before that.”

“Officer Hawkins, it’s so unlike Steven.” Her doe like brown eyes fill with tears.

“Well, file a missing person’s report if you want.”

I walk behind my desk, and search for the appropriate form. Dolores eases into an interview chair uninvited, and slips off her raincoat, to reveal; what my ex-wife called, a sweater dress.  She trembles at the sight of the paper work, reacting as though it is a hot potato.

Reluctantly, I complete the form for her. She describes Steven as tall, dark, and handsome. Then quickly produces his wallet. The contents spill out. She gathers the singles and worn scrapes of paper with her hands and almost perfectly manicured red nails. The index finger nail is broken.

I say, “Tell me what happened last night.” Her lips purse together before she responds.

“I was perturbed.”

Her pronunciation; emphasis on the first syllable without ignoring the rest, grabs my attention. I confirm her intent. “Perturbed. . . As in annoyed, agitated, or troubled.”

“Yes,” she studies the ceiling, “so. . . I took the dog for a walk,” she pulls nervously at a sleeve, “when I got back, Steven wasn’t there.” She tugs repeatedly at the dress to cover her knees. “I was perturbed.”

I mimic what she says, “You were perturbed?”

Now her doe eyes light with anger as she contains her passion. “Yes, perturbed,” she slips into her coat and stands, “what don’t you understand? Surely you’ve been perturbed, Officer Hawkins.”

She is guilty. But of what, I do not know . . . yet.

I watch her leave the building perturbed.

. . . . just saying

 

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Mind Your Own Business

 

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Happy Mother’s Day to all Mothers. The Coronavirus has changed the way we will celebrate the day.

I am fortunate. My daughter is with me. So, no one has to wear face masks, or wave from a vehicle to say, “I love you.”

My mother died last year at 96 years of age. She worked until she was 85. She had eight children; all surviving, and will be missed. The holidays centered around her even for those of us who lived miles away. I never heard her complain about changing a diaper or cooking a meal. She had a great sense of humor, but also a temper and I knew when to stay out of her way. This is one of the memories I have of her and me, or is it she and I?

Mind Your Own Business

After being told to go to my room, and think about what I had done, I ran away. I was three years old.

We lived in a Cape Cod style house in Levittown, Long Island. The bedrooms were upstairs. By the time my mother realized one of her children was missing, I was long gone.

She went looking and asked a neighbor wearing penny loafers and Bermuda shorts, “Have you seen a little girl?”

He stopped mowing his lawn. “I did,” wiped his brow with a cloth handkerchief and said, “I asked where she was going and I was told to ‘mind my own business.’ ” (Actually I said minch your own business because I had a lisp.)

My mother said, “That was her. Which way did she go?”

Mind your own business is a phrase I have used frequently during this stay at home virus. Until my daughter informed me. “Mom, it’s get off of me.”

She’s afraid I am getting old, and wants me to be on Instagram.

Shortly after, her dad, my husband stood in my way and asked. “What’s that?”

I held a legal-size paper in my hand. Befuddled by his question, I answered. “A piece of paper.”

He continued his inquiry, like an FBI agent. “What’s on it?”

He still did not move. I wondered if he had a concealed fire arm and thought he might flash a badge.

Exasperated I said, “Claire’s banana bread recipe.” Then circled behind him to file it in my baking folder.

I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but said, “Get off of me,” in too loud a voice.

Happy Mother’s Day.,

. . . . just saying

 

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What Are You Thinking?

 

Bings Landing, Hammock Florida

A friend phoned to invite me out today, I declined saying I was hoping to have a thought, something to write about, as Sunday is my day to post. I had not had one yet, and explained that these days I have to jumpstart my brain, and in addition, my sister had been visiting and we had been sightseeing. The pictures above were taken at Bings Landing where we had lunch at The Captains BBQ and enjoyed the view.  

The conversation caused me to think about thinking, or my failure to. I take that back, I think but not quickly and grab paper and pencil to write down my thoughts, so I do not forget. It didn’t used to be this way.

Before turning 70 years of age, I could keep a thought or idea in my head to be retrieved later. It occurred to me that maybe there is no more room in my head for new thoughts and perhaps the reason we keep thinking old thoughts, i.e., when I was young milk was 25 cents a gallon is because we have accumulated too many thoughts, many of which are dated.

Is there a way to get rid of old thoughts? Head concussions and strokes cause memory loss although these measures would be drastic. Perhaps we can delete or compress some thoughts to make space for new thoughts by viewing old thoughts from a new perspective. For example, can stale bread be made into bread pudding?

The Daytona Beach News-Journal article, ‘Luckiest guy in the world’ reported on the 100th Birthday celebration for Howard Turner a volunteer ambassador at Daytona Beach Airport. When asked about aging he said, “I’m lucky to be walking around. I don’t have a cane. I’m not in a wheelchair, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” Who could argue with him. He did not talk about memory loss and says he looks to the future, perhaps that is his delete button.

We know the body slows down and the mind becomes stale with aging, but should we throw the loaf of bread out or make bread pudding?

I am thinking of standing on my head, it is just a thought.

What are you thinking?

. . . . just saying

 

Bike Week ‘Jewel For Sale?’

 

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We did not go to Bike Week this year but have before. These pictures were taken ten years ago, and yes everyone was and does look younger.  We did not stay away on purpose, simply had other plans.

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We get to hear the roar of bikers sitting at home. They travel The Loop, a scenic ride along A1A down Old Dixie Highway in Ormond Beach and down Beach Street then across International Speedway bridge and back on Main Street, Daytona. There are state parks and protected acres of land along this route.  However changes will be coming to Daytona Beach. The front page headline, ‘Jewel’ For Sale? by reporter Eileen Zaffiro in the News – Journal reads, “City leaders are quietly working behind the scenes to get state restrictions on downtown riverfront property removed so they can ink deals with private developers interested in public land.”

What happened? If this is public land, how did it become private? It was Rick Scott and his Cabinet who lifted all the deed restrictions on 97 acres in Daytona, before leaving office in December of 2018.  A sneaky move, I my opinion, when the public was not looking.

Moving here I was perplexed by this mystery Floridians call, “the powers that be,” but now I get it.

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This year, the hub center for bikers was moved to Rt. 1, where The Iron Horse and many other biker bars are located, because of construction.

Brown & Brown is constructing an office building for their Insurance company in downtown Daytona. Hyatt and CiCi Brown have offered to donate 15 million dollars to beautify Riverfront Park on City Island, one of the properties who’s deed is now State unrestricted and awaiting City determination.

The historic Jackie Robinson Ball park and a county library are on the 22 acre island  public park, and if “the powers that behave their way, could be surrounded by high rise condos and hotels. It is a very beautiful spot.

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So who are these powers? They are not named in the article but City manager Jim Chisholm is quoted, “We had meetings with the City Commission when it was talked about. It was not a secret. Everybody who was paying attention knew about it.”

Residents of the area Mary Anne Jackson-Trumbull and Mary Welch who rarely miss Commission meetings say they did not know about the push to snuff out the deed restrictions. Go figure!

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The area is changing and too fast for residents to protect 97 acres from the drastic results. Please know when there is new construction here the property is stripped of all trees to lay electrical, telephone and irrigation lines underground. It is ugly and environmentally wrong.

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Mr. Wonderful says this is a great picture of me, but I am feeling very very sad.

. . . . just saying

Errands, Errants or Creative Excursions

 

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The other day after announcing I was going out to get a few things, my husband inquired, “Where are you going?” I drew upon my friend Claire’s wisdom and answered, “To do some errands,” and was out the door before he could ask, “When will you be back? Did you make a list?”

His questions were simple, and deserved simple answers, however, it seemed tedious to explain; I was going to deposit empty egg cartons and a wad of plastic bags in Publix Market’s recycling bin, then instead of having a colonoscopy was dropping a stool sample off at the lab, swinging by the hospital to leave dated issues of Southern Living Magazine in a waiting room and probably get gas, to which he would have responded, “You can’t get gas at the hospital.” 

A discussion as to why I was not discarding Styrofoam cartons, plastic and old magazines in our recycling, and why not have a colonoscopy, it had been ten years, would have been lengthy, and besides he would predict I would be back in an hour, leading to another explanation as to why that was not necessarily so. That would lead to a discussion of the differences between us, and how we manage to stay married, neither one of us knows.

Eventually, it would have come out that I might possibly check out the Hospital Gift Shop because you never know; get coffee, and walk on the beach, or stop at an antique store, a small table would be nice in the guest room. I was not just going out to do errands.

Which got me thinking about the difference in errand and errant; an errand is a task, duty, chore or job; a short trip somewhere to do something on behalf of somebody else and an errant is wandering from an intended course, not reaching an intended destination, looking for adventure; wayward, sinful, naughty, misbehaving, delinquent.

Therefore, the difference in errand and errant is bigger than d or t and in the hope of maintaining a happy marriage, now will be called a creative excursion because although my going out is task orientated I an still looking for adventure.

. . . . just saying