Appley Apples


Dinner just a moment ago out on the balcony, it’s like my own private Idaho out here. Except it’s not Idaho. Nor private. Chipotle chicken sausage with polenta and a bunch of other items counted as staples- garlic, tomato, cheese, oregano. And then dessert. Appley apples with butter and brown sugar (can’t write it without singing it), cinnamon and awwwh, nuts. Dropped my fork.

Childhood flashback: two little girls down below in the grass stopped and called out to some neighbors across the way, asking if Tanner could play. A voice called back stating she’s already been put to bed. That was the worst. Eagerly rushing through dinner, passing up dessert, just to get back OUTSIDE to continue the fun had before dinner came along and interjected a gigantic pause, only to find that bedtime up and pushed the stop button. Now swinging from the monkey bars, the girls stop all too often. To check their phones. Now ain’t that the geez, Louise? ♦

Yard Sale


A friend’s neighborhood yard sale kept me busy for much of the day. In addition to sale stuff- me with all of two items in the bunch- we were crafty as well, offering up a theme of bars and jars for the sole purpose of allowing her 4-year-old son, Damian (a vowel swap away from an infamous kidly killer), the opportunity to play at selling and serving. Each time he received a dollar, he’d walk over to the toy table that housed an array of items he was meant to give away. Upon careful selection, he’d head over to his mom, item in hand, to pay his dollar. Five minutes later, he’d inevitably call out, “Mom, you got my dollar still?” Ah, selective memory. ♦