When Morning Gilds the Skies

"When morning gilds the skies, my heart awakening cries, May Jesus Christ be praised!"  It is a beautiful morning out here on the prairie.  Sounds like a barn raising is going on behind us, but it is really that last home being built on the last unbuilt lot near us.  The section of Rollingonariver we live in is just about finished.  Soon all the cement trucks and supply trucks will be moving further west. 

I woke up in the middle of the night with a bad sore throat.  That has come to be a sign unto me that I need to take it down a notch and carve out some rest time.  So we played sabbatical on Sunday morning.  Roy went to the suburban church, the gym, and then stopped at Fuddrucker's on the way home.  I am hooked on their salads.  I also asked Roy if he would help me move around some furniture, mainly tables and the like.  There was a day that I would have done this all by myself in a heartbeat...and there you have it, I can't do that now because of a heartbeat.  Now the thing about moving any kind of furniture for me is, I go weak laughing.  I try desperately not to laugh and think serious thoughts while we are carrying a table.  But when Roy used these little side step hops as he guided the small chest to my desired spot for it, I lost it. I could no longer hold up my side of the chest because I was doubled over in laughter.  Roy failed to see the humor.  I've told y'all before about the straw hat Roy bought at a festival he was at with his photography class because the sun was unbearable.  When he showed me the hat I had to deliver the news to him that it was a woman's straw hat.  We have since corrected the sun/shade problem for him and found a manly Crocodile Dundee hat but sometimes when I am really sad, I think of Roy in that straw hat and I have expanded the thought of seeing him wearing the hat in Mustang Sally.  You know where this is going, so while I am laughing I begin to think of Roy wearing the straw hat while moving the chest.  Yep, that pretty much did me in.  I needed time to regroup, recoup and regain some strength.  But the chest and tables in their new places looks wonderful.

This past week I have been feeling a little nostalgic about my mom.  A fun breakfast staple my mom made for us as children was cinnamon toast.  This past week, even with new jams and jellies we ordered sitting in the pantry, I've been making cinnamon toast for breakfast.  You have to get the right ratio of butter to cinnamon and then a delicate dusting of sugar.  My mother's journey to eternal life began at the end of October.  I'm not too sure when it started because my father got his feelings hurt by us and instructed everyone close to him and to me, not to tell me that my mother was in the hospital.  She could not remember how to swallow.  I found out on Facebook that she was in the hospital and close to death.  You see, Roy had asked my dad to call him if he needed things done because physically I did not have the stamina and would ultimately put my precariously balanced immune system and heart health into jeopardy.  My dad interpreted that as I didn't want to talk with him and thus he began the all too familiar silent treatment.  He carried it too far when he knew my mom was close to passing and I was not to be told.  I called my father and we talked.  I was able to spend time with my mom, some very good time, with her and help him through the process once she had gone on to be with the Lord.  I really miss her.  She would be so pleased that I have stepped into the world of gardening.  OK, zinnias and knockout roses but one has to start somewhere.  I planted snap dragons and they have done well, because she and my grandma loved those flowers. The flowers have done well not because my mom and grandmother loved them, they have just done well.  I have pink roses right outside the bird watching window.  She loved pink roses. 

Well, the skies are long past gilding and there are several to do things that need to happen today.  I am starting my Monday errands wearing my faux tennis togs.  Actually, they are not fake, I am the fake because I am not playing tennis.  Thought it would be a very good way to pay homage to HLTA (Houston Ladies Tennis Assoc) and truth be told to be able to wear tennis shoes today.