Greatest Invention Ever!

I’m clumsy. This is an admission I thought never to make.

Hubby, Bob, has been reminding me of this shortcoming for most of the 13 years we’ve been married. I have steadfastly refuted his opinion. I am not, nor ever have been, clumsy.

Today I have to fess up. I love that phrase…’fess up’. Perhaps you have to be Southern by birth and inclination to appreciate it.

Back to the fessing up.

I’m clumsy.

What brought this admission forth?  You may ask.  I will tell you.

A morning state of brain fog is the culprit. Lack of sleep and large quantities of coffee may have contributed to this fess up. Well, not the coffee cause I was on my first cup. Maybe it was lack of large quantities of coffee.

That first cup was sitting on the bathroom counter.

I reached for it. And coffee flew. It covered the counter top. It dripped into the cabinet door. It pooled onto the floor.

And it soaked my phone.

I was a bit miffed, but maintained calm. Surprise!

And I discovered the greatest invention known to man, the Otter Box. My phone, once removed from its purple and teal covering, was unscathed. So I washed the Otter Box, polished the phone, and found myself in business again.

Wow. Who woulda thunk it? My amazement knows no end. Next I’ll try hurling my phone against the wall.

Oh, I did clean the counter, cabinet, door, and floor. Ick.

The pear tree in the back yard amazes too.

The Pear Tree

I stumbled up toward the barn earlier and decided to check the tree for leaves to press.  That tree is still laden with pears. I don’t eat fruit much because it spikes my blood glucose levels, but I couldn’t resist. I reached for a fresh pear, straight off the tree.

The Bountiful Crop

It took about a minute to consume its luscious juiciness. No doubt there was a little dirt and perhaps a smidgen of bird poop on it. I didn’t care. The flavor was delightful, the juice ran down my chin in sticky rivulets. The beauty of that tree registered with me in a meaningful way today. How did I miss this before? It has to be a case of not taking the time to smell the roses.

I may have to go back for more. I certainly have to go back for more. And I have to find the smell of roses more often. It is time to take time.

Zach brought another rose from the garden yesterday, the second one in recent days.  It is now sitting on the kitchen counter in a mason jar.

By Any Other Name

So late to have a rose blooming in the yard. It’s a gift to have this little reminder of another summer still gracing my home.

Bob and I planted three roses early in our marriage. Yesterday was our 13th anniversary. We both forgot.

The New Dawn rose is trellised over an entrance to the center garden space. There are a few brief days in early summer when it blooms outrageously. Once the blooms begin to fade the ground is carpeted with fragrant petals for a while. Contemplating that makes the short days of winter a prelude.

I will endeavor to accept the coming time change in a spirit inclined to enjoy the prelude to a symphony of hyacinths, jonquils, tulips, lilies, and finally roses.

Mozart didn’t stand a chance against Mother Nature. I will admit that his legacy has enhanced the enjoyment of Her work on occasion.

Here’s to Mother Nature and Mozart. Cheers.

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