Morning Mushrooms

Morning Mushrooms

Most of the country is experiencing record heat. In Florida it’s compounded by humidity. This time of year, I stay indoors. However, last night’s downpour provided some relief and this morning I sat outside, read the newspaper and drank a cup of hot coffee.

That’s when I discovered mushrooms growing in my Geranium plant. The plant is frequently dry and the leaves turn brown, consequently I have been watering it more.

I don’t plan on eating these bright yellow mushroom, but I need help, please.

What type are they?

Should I remove them?

Why are they growing here?

. . . just saying

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Florida Sunsets and Friends

Florida Sunsets and Friends

Today was quiet and yet I’m exhausted. Our grand kids came for Sunday dinner. We have enjoyed the weekly ritual since they moved here in January. Janine prepared a new pasta dish, Rigatoni with zucchini sauce. I didn’t have to do everything just some things and still I’m dog tired and ready for bed, but thankful; I have their support and friends.

People I can phone in the middle of the night and say, “I have a flat tire. Can you pick me up?”

They’d answer, “Where are you?” Then say, “I’ll be there in . . .”

Many of these people I’ve known for sixty years. Others for twenty-five or thirty. Some for only a few.

I’m lucky!

    . . . just saying

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Day Eight Back In Florida

At Denver Airport in the morning, there was no transport person!

There was however, one wheel chair inside the door, which I grabbed away from an elderly woman; took outside, put Bob in and brought him indoors; where I could see him while checking in.

Thank God for Betsy and Bill. They waited curbside looking after Bob and our luggage while I’d been inside. We had a tearful goodbye.

Now the attendant assigned to us appeared. However, he had another person in tow. Before I could blink, he took off for security pushing two wheel chairs. I scurried behind.

I had instructed my husband, to lie about his age going through security and say he is 75 years old, this way he wouldn’t have to take off his shoes or stand up.

Praise the Lord, we didn’t wait in line. The second transport, a woman, was late for her flight and checked her Apple watch repeatedly, as I piled her carry on belongings into bins.

Then Homeland Security was about to wand Bob, and I panicked.

“Don’t do that!” I yelled as I raced to Bob’s side. “His arm is broken!” .

“STEP BACK LADY,” he bellowed with his hand on his gun.

 Bob remembered to lie. But said he was 74, not 75 yrs old. He is 73. Men!

The ordeal had me shaken, but not for long because. . . now. . . “transport guy” was racing toward a waiting train. I realized he was getting on and followed, running, but I couldn’t keep up. So, before the doors closed, jumped in any car. . . and started to spill my guts to a stranger I was now face to face with.

I couldn’t even remember the terminal our flight would leave from, although the tickets were in my hand. I was dizzy, although it may have been my vertigo.

When I caught my breath, I saw “transport guy” in the next car. He waved.

I’ll skip the flight and transport ordeal on the arrival side and simply say we were picked up by our daughter, Janine and grandson, Dominic.

We drove directly to the emergency room of our local hospital and waited six hours before Bob had an emergency room bed. Sometime later, he was given morphine for pain. The next day, day nine, Bob was admitted for surgery. The surgery, delayed due to an allergic reaction, was on day twelve, June 26th, our 51st Wedding Anniversary.

Every step along the way had sidesteps and challenges. He now has a nine-inch rod in his arm and three weeks post operation is doing well.

As Betsy, Bill, Bob and I lamented, this was one hell of a Yellowstone trip.   

. . . just saying

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