Utility Boxes

One of the interesting things that local towns have begun doing, is the painting of utility boxes by the side of the road. Different artists have come up with unique designs. Some depict Mallard ducks, others are paintings of chairs. My favorite one so far is the hand sticking up out of the river. Each time I pass it, it makes me wonder what kind of story goes along with the painting.

Diana's Basket Enhanced

I was able to make a lid for her basket.

Flowers from my Husband

Every Saturday, after going to tennis drills in Clinton, Bill does the week's food shopping. He prefers to go alone, leaving me home, because I like to dawdle and he usually goes through the market at a dead run. It's OK with me. Elaine and I usually go mid-week and take our time reading all the labels. One of the nice things that Bill does, is that he brings me flowers each week. Here are some of the highlights of the year.

Good Eats!

This past Saturday, it was my girlfriend, Rochelle’s birthday. She turned 52. About 2 years ago, she had a stroke that left her paralyzed on her right side. Rochelle was my adventure buddy before her stroke. She lived out in the country on a beautiful lake with 40 acres of wilderness. We used to take her 4-wheeler out on the trails and had many a-venture, with me bouncing around on the back of the vehicle, hanging on for dear life. In the spring, there were thousands of Daffodils that bloomed in one of the fields. We picked wild garlic that was everywhere, and the wildlife was plentiful. On one part of the property was an old barn that you could climb up in the hayloft, and watch the deer graze, just below you. We would sit silently on an old couch that faced the upper open barn door. It was a refuge for her that she often visited, and I was grateful that she shared it with me.

Anyway, on Saturday, we ventured down to Lorman, where there was a country store restaurant that claimed to make the best fried chicken in the state. Rochelle’s mother and her husband accompanied us. The old country store was built in the 1890’s, and still had the ladders on each side of the large room that allowed access to shelves way up high. When we entered the store, there was everything you could imagine, packed on the shelves. The restaurant’s main fare was the buffet, and although the majority of the food was fairly good southern style cooking, the fried chicken truly lived up to its reputation. It was heavenly. The outside was crisp, and the inside was moist and tender, all the way down to the bone. To top things off, we were then serenaded by the very man who made this fabulous fried chicken. He had a microphone, and sang to the customers in a wonderful baritone blues voice. He sang, “My mama, was the corn bread queen.”  He then sang Happy Birthday to Rochelle as well. She was thrilled and laughed aloud. I applauded enthusiastically. This was better than dessert, which none of us could eat because we all over-ate on the fried chicken.

Here a some photos from our adventure. And, oh, by the way, even though she can’t talk as well as she used to, she can clearly still say shit, hell, god damn it, and no! I miss that part of her that went away, but she is still able to make herself perfectly understood.