Folks, here I am again in the old blue chair. I draw a long breath and gaze over there, at that place where the brown rolling hills meet the sheer blue sky. And, I start down memory lane once again.
Folks, here I am again in the old blue chair. I draw a long breath and gaze over there, at that place where the brown rolling hills meet the sheer blue sky. And, I start down memory lane once again.
It’s these cool nights and mornings that brings it on. One has to know old man winter will soon come a knocking. So one starts to thinking about what is left to be done, soon! The old timers are again, predicting an early winter.
There in that little country village where I once lived, the residents would seem to quicken their pace in getting ready for these long days of winter.
Pumpkins and winter squash, left in the garden to winter harden, must now be moved to the barn.
Golden sweet potatoes must be tucked into a bed of loose hay for safe keeping.
Big, red apples picked, even today, must be taken down into the cellars and, grandmother’s cherished.
Oleander plant has to be put down in the cellar for protection from winter’s cold and brought out only on warm sunshiny days.
Now, I am remembering that January I spent in Las Vegas. I flew out shortly after Christmas. It would help me survive the first winter without my husband. And, too, spend some time with a first cousin.
We were raised as sisters, since she was an orphan.
I remember spending a lot of time on her back patio, with the book I was reading. And, wonder of wonders, there was oleander shrubs used for landscaping all over her neighborhood. And, there was even an olive tree, sure enough! It was right there in her neighbor’s yard.
I first saw the ground covered with olives and then I said to myself, “Well by George, that is an olive tree!”
Now, at this time of year we must say that poem.
You know…. “The frost is on the pumpkin and the fodders in the shock, and we hear the kyock and gobble of the struttin’ turkey cock, and the clackin’ of the Guiney’s and the cluckin’ of the hens, and the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tip toes on the fence. O, its then time a fellar is at his best, with the risin’ sun to greet him from a might peaceful rest, and he leaves the house bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, when the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodders in the shock.”
Well, so much for that. I was told you can tell when she has become a little old lady when she tells boring stories with no point to them. And, when she wishes Ma Bell would come back and make phones work again. And, when she tells grandchildren stories until everyone’s eye’s glaze over. And, she wears sleeveless dresses long after her arms have started to flap. And, flick on her signal 20 blocks before she makes a turn. And, repeats the same story one hundred times.
Bye for now. Bye for now. Bye for now. Did I tell you bye for now? Oh, dear!