I'll Meet You There ...

Saturday, June 1, 2019


About a week ago, while in town, I bought some blousy summer tops (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/05/period-of-adjustment.html); the other day while sorting clothes for laundry I saw that they were ALL hand washables! I never buy hand washables, but I didn’t check the labels on these tops when I bought them – widow’s fog has dulled my senses.


What now? After they are washed … hand or otherwise … they need to be dried: can’t heat-dry them in the dryer, and I can’t air-dry them on my shaded porch because that is not acceptable here at Heron Pointe Park – backstabbing, murderous activity is allowed, but air-drying is not. What to do? I wracked my brain for about 2 hours before thinking of the tall hanging rack Bob had made for me out of PVC pipe for my Bazaar circuit when I was doing that; now that he will no longer be going with me, I don’t think I will continue that. Part of the fun of Bazaaring was doing things together – I designed, crafted, sold, and took special orders - and he hauled bins in, schmoozed and collected $$$ for the hours we were there. I man-handled the rack (that thing is taller than I am) out of the foyer closet where it has been stored for the past 23 months, down the hall, and into the spa tub in the master bathroom where I set it up and hung my finicky clothing.

That rack was the perfect thing for my needs :-D

And I did not even tear up when I saw it up again. Kudos for me. I am growing and learning how to breathe without chest constriction when I see/use things Bob built for me:

Re-purposed Bazaar Rack

To date, the frustrations with Candy aren’t going to go away like Ron is, but I am learning to stand on my own two feet again since Bob isn’t here to run interference anymore – thanks to the new friends I made in the Park recently since the hostile blowout with Candy in the Park Office May 28th. Knowing I have friendly support here is monumental: I don’t feel isolated and left to flounder alone in uncharted waters: several of my near neighbors have knocked on my door … or asked to enter my garden to offer their support following the fallout; and to give me tips on ZFG Park survival.

Apparently living in a Park community is vastly different than living in a normal community – there is more bickering and favoritism. Who knew? Outside looking in, it looked so cheerful and inviting. Bob always wanted to live here, and when opportunity arose (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/06/we-are-moving.html), we bought a nice home here (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/06/new-home-d.html); but neither of us knew 24 months ago that living here would cost his life (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/goodbye-2018-welcome-2019.html).

Beyond frustration.

To deal with the never ending frustrations as I navigate the uncharted waters I have unknowingly been thrust into, I have fallen back on an activity that relieves stress and balances me: walking. Every time I walk around the park, I see something (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/05/get-out-and-walkabout-day.html) that catches my interest and affirms hope that things will get better at some point …

White quartz with brown streak running through it. Interesting.
Second ‘Angel Penny’ found in just as many weeks …

There were lots of blossoms on my patio Apple Trees in April, but all they seemed to produce were 3 apples that I saw yesterday while mulching my garden beds:

Two more apples; if there are more than these 3, I sure couldn’t find them :-(


But everything in the garden boxes are doing very well, and that kinds takes the sting out of the frustrations ;-)

My gardens have always been my “center” – I am totally relaxed, and tend to lose track of time when I am in my garden. But my aching back and knees take perverse delight in reminding me that I am no longer a spring chick, but rather an old gray cow put out to pasture. LOL

Seeing the white feather near the shed door reminded me that to the world at large I may look to be – and feel like – a worthless ‘old gray cow’, but Bob always saw me as his young spring chick, and treated me like the Queen of his immediate domain. I miss seeing, touching, and hearing Bob; and I miss the blessing of his exclusive out-poured love.

Mega frustration. And a want; so strong it hurt, to give him all my love I have for him that now has nowhere to go, overwhelmed me …

Yesterday morning when I sat in Bob’s recliner and glanced out the window at my border garden, I saw that one of the scalloped bricks I had laid atop the bird netting to keep neighborhood cats out of my carrot patch while it is sprouting, had been knocked off the box lip. Hmmm; one of the neighborhood cats (which is supposed to be on a leash; but the Park Rules Leash Law is constantly ignored by the cat owners in the Park) must have slipped and knocked it off:

WTHeck. I know the wind did not knock that brick off the box edge ...


I put the brick back in place when I went out to transplant scallions starts, and mulch my garden beds ....

Later on, in the afternoon when mulching was finished for the day, I noticed while putting the hose away, that the hummingbird feeder I had just filled the previous night was totally empty; and the front porch railing – which is painted white – was covered with, and stained with red drips and spills from the hummingbird feeders hanging above it. I surveyed the situation with consternation, and cleaned up the mess:

Drained Hummingbird Feeder. Half full last night.
I couldn’t believe that hummers were responsible for draining the feeders overnight, or staining my porch railing.
Pretty and greedy things that they are, and sometimes a little aggressive at the feeders, they surely are not strong enough to make such a mess. I am stumped.

I refilled the feeder and hung it back in place: and this morning I noticed that the other feeder was half drained as well, and the railing mess was considerably messier. What in the world?

I filled this feeder to the top yesterday afternoon, and it is half gone this morning.

What has been happening while I am sleeping through the night?

I started cleaning up the mess again, and THEN … I SAW IT … the tell-tale sign of raccoon activity ...

Masked bandit strikes: I have trouble – B.I.G. trouble :-(

I gotta get on top of this or I will have Candy bitching about that too as soon as she finds out there has been raccoon activity at my pad – she is like a creeping snake with its ear to the ground waiting for a chance to strike.

And who knows how the new neighbors will react with a prowling raccoon in the immediate vicinity? An annoyed neighbor is just as bad (if not worse, as we found out with Ron) as a pillaging raccoon.

Migraine headache frustration with a Capital F followed by unspoken expletives.