Summertime...and the livin' is...Well, You Decide, Part II by Margo Hoornstra

Ah yes, the Gershwin song, Summertime from the musical Porgy and Bess. The opening line goes like this. Summertime…and the livin’ is…easy

Last time I wrote on these pages I opened with that, and pointed to those lazy, hazy days of Summer. Warm, tranquil days full of sunshine and fresh breezes. Days, and nights, to sit back, relax and soak in the quiet. Enjoy doing whatever we want, or nothing if that’s our choice.

I championed my Calla Lily blooms...okay bloom...

I mentioned the Adirondack Chairs we purchased for the front yard.

And a glider swing to go with the rocker on the back deck.

Then lamented the fact I only wished I could use them more.

To paraphrase the great Mr. G – I noted, in my world, it’s more like Summertime…and the livin’ is…busy!

With a novella, For Money Or Love...

in the six story anthology, All In For Love...

Promo going on through Author Promo Pal for my own three book anthology, Saturday In Serendipity...

A soon to be given release date for Book One in the Brothers in Blue series...On the Surface...

Nearing completion is Book Two in the Brothers in Blue series...On the Force...

Whew!!

Then....they started digging up our road about a week ago. We live on the very end of a dead end, so getting out and about can be a challenge. What with a ten feet wide, by twelve feet long by fourteen feet deep crater between us and the nearest highway.

This is a picture of the view out my front bedroom window these days.

And that's just the beginning. They are putting in new water and sewer lines. Fun! Fun! Fun!

Then....this morning, we awoke to water dripping, ominously, I must say, down a wall.

To their credit...the plumbers, two of them, arrived within an hour. Diagnostic...estimate...both time and cost. Thankfully a one day, albeit 8 hour+, job and an estimate that won't exactly break us...but...

I'll spare you pictures of their endeavors. Think bathroom sink and vanity removed, drywall as well. More drywall, plus part of the ceiling cut out in the bathroom below. Items under the kitchen sink...didn't know that space could hold so much...gotten out of their way...pipes out...pipes in...pipes out...pipes in. (More in than out, I'm hoping.)

Although I am taking a little time off to attend the Romance Writers of America® National Conference. My husband's going with me. What a sport, huh? I think so.

It'll be nice to get away...

So, tell me. What about you? Are you indulging in a vacation this year? Or are you as busy as the rest of us?

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE

Believe In Miracles!! by Margo Hoornstra

Do you believe in miracles? I sure do. To illustrate, I’ll need to take you back a bit in my Roses of Prose posts. What follows is one I put up here in May of 2016.

***

My birthday was earlier this month. All in all, it was a pretty good day. The kids called with plans for a week end party, my husband bought me a sentimental card and took me out to a very nice dinner. Then he dropped a bombshell I wasn’t expecting. He wanted to buy me flowers, specifically a plant. I didn’t know what to say. Not because I was necessarily touched by his thoughtfulness, although there is that. The fact is, I was truly rendered speechless in an – oh, no, not again sort of way.

You see, I’m horrible with plants. Saying I have a brown or even black thumb doesn’t begin to do justice to the malady that afflicts me. Plants in my care have no chance of survival. Zero. None. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

They may as well shrivel up and die before they even arrive at my house because, try as I might, that will ultimately be their fate. After so many years my husband knows this and yet he insisted. What else could I do but graciously accept? So off we went to find a suitable sacrifice…uh…specimen.

After some offers I absolutely had to refuse – temperamental African Violets, (it makes me shudder to even thing about raising those); fragile Boston Ferns, (the kind my mother used to grow en masse by the way) nope. Finally we settled on a Calla Lily. I had heard of them. This one was purple, my favorite color and seemed to be reasonably healthy (for now, anyway). ‘Indirect sunlight, moderately moist soil and 60 to 70 degree temperatures’ to quote the full color instruction stick. The one which, by the way, also sported the picture of an entire, beautiful bouquet.

Easy enough, don’t you think? For normal plant growers, I suppose. Of which I am not one. 

What’s indirect sunlight exactly? Either the sun’s shining down or it isn’t. Sun beams don’t shine from the side, do they? I mean, the sun would have to leave its position in the sky to do that, which isn’t going to happen. Sunlight, direct or not, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of middle ground on the issue. Sounds to me a little like being somewhat pregnant. Either you are or you aren’t. Again no middle ground.

The only thing for sure I could surmise was that direct sunlight was probably not good.

But back to the fate of the innocent little plant of mine. The center of our living room, aka away from any and all windows seemed to be as indirect, sunlight wise, as one could get. This is where I set my treasure. Then I made sure the soil was moist, even added some extra water because we were going out of town for a few days. Just to be sure said soil really did remain ‘moderately moist’ while we were gone. When we returned, the leaves were getting a little pale, yellow even. Not only that, water sat, yes sat, about a half an inch deep, in the pan underneath the pot. Could this be the beginning of the inevitable end? Apparently my idea of moderately moist and their idea of moderately moist were two completely different moderately moists. We, that tiny instruction stick and I, had something else we couldn’t agree on.

In addition to that whole direct and indirect sunlight thing.

**heavy sigh**

At any rate, I’m trying to reform; I’m letting the poor thing dry out a little and moved it from the center of the living room to a shelf near a window in my office. A little closer to a window, but far enough away, I hope, from any and all direct sunbeams.

Fingers crossed these new arrangements will prove to be beneficial. Please send positive thoughts our way and wish both of us luck. Here’s hoping I can at least grow one measly little plant.

***

That was then, this is now.

As it turned out, the poor little Calla Lily didn’t survive. I watched with appropriate angst as its poor little leaves shriveled to nothing. Heartbroken, I carried its pot with dirt intact, out to the garage with the intention to use it someday, maybe, for some other form of foliage unlucky enough to fall into my hands.

Fast forward a year, and then some. Taking a deep breath, I decided to plant some double petunias for the summer. Nothing fancy, I’d just put a few in an assortment of unused flower pots I had on hand from previous endeavors. As I foraged in the garage the other day for appropriate receptacles, I noticed a grey plastic pot sitting on top of the refrigerator out there behind a cardboard box.

Lifting it down, I discovered the miracle I mentioned up top. That Calla Lily I’d taken for dead was ALIVE! Just look at it now!

Talk about thriving on benign neglect. I have no clue how this happened, but I’ll take it. No flowers yet, either. Those will no doubt take some time.

Right now, I'm simply basking in this bonafide evidence of a miracle. And enjoying every minute.

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE