I picked up this ornamental pepper plant
on the last business day at a local plant nursery.
"Wow--last day! You must be so excited to have some time off."
But the nurseryman didn't seem thrilled.
At least not as thrilled as I was for him.
The tiny peppers were all purple, then turned
a lovely, seasonal orange.
I got outside with my "real" camera on a foggy
morning this week. Mist laced every spiderweb
with delicate droplets. As the sun burned through
the haze, it turned the drops to diamonds.
My heavenly blue morning glory vine is finally showing off.
The vines have tangled themselves into a crown studded
with sun-pointing buds. The base of the vine is as
thick as a young tree--amazing.
Side Note:
I've been working on a novella set in midcentury bluegrass Kentucky. I'd love to hear what you think about this scene from chapter 8. Main character, Etta Everman, a curmudgeonly spinster, made it to church early and picked her favorite seat...
The Cedar Bridge United
Methodist Church opened its doors for Sunday services at 9 o’clock. It wasn’t
easy to dress properly, have a cup of tea, and walk around the corner in time
to be early, but always worth the effort. If she’d been five minutes later,
she’d have to watch in the narrow vestibule while the deacon pulled the bell
rope. Witnessing his delight at the slight hop he received from the pull of the
bell on the rope was embarrassing. Where was the dignity of the church elders?
Long gone, that’s what.
Not today, though. Etta rested in her half-pew, third
from the front, on the pulpit side. She relished the half-pew, knowing if she
sat in the middle, no one would be able to squeeze in on either side. She
placed her Bible to her left and her black handbag to her right on the red
twill. Only the pastor’s wife would sit in front of her, as was proper. The new
pastor’s young children would be downstairs singing or praying—or whatever
children did down there.
In her childhood, Etta’s family filled the second row
from the back, choir side on the Sabbath Day. Mama’s favorite stained-glass
panel, to the near right, featured white Easter lilies. After Mama passed, her
father wanted to sit in the back pew so he could leave whenever he had a mind
to. When he’d stopped going, Etta enjoyed attending alone. But she hadn’t
always been alone, had she?
Etta pulled her purse to her lap and
unsnapped it to retrieve a hanky. She smoothed the thin white fabric and
fingered the blue-stitched initials in the corner—T. F. It was one of his, a left-behind, unlikely keepsake. She
swiped her nose with the quartered square. No use thinking about all that mess now,
not when she had this afternoon’s dinner with Claiborne Lee and his family to
consider.
