A Mental Note

Currie Dearest. You never wrote back to me. And then I got your letter yesterday. 

Thankfully the sunshine and humidity this summer has raised my spirits some what.  Odd that the makers of sunscreen don't really describe in full, honest detail how to use and apply and re-apply sunscreen. For heaven's sake, who knew this? I sure didn't. Did you? Did you realize that SPF 15 needs to be slathered on again and again and again every fifteen minutes! What a racket.  Anyway, here's my dilemma. The apples are not on the tree. Seriously Currie. There aren't any. And none on the ground either. I looked. That crabby farmer down the tenth line was spewing at the cafe, stating that the early Spring and the walloping cold snap killed the buds and confused the bees. Well, I never. What shall I do with our acres and acres of macintosh trees? 

Write back soon. I did a rain dance last night and slid down the banister five times. I think it may have worked. The screen door just banged. Must go.


Love The Plant Keeper


P.S. I am growing garlic to go with your spices.

Patti Friday, Photojourno, reporting from inside 'The Art Dept.' at the international 'Embassy of Ideas'.

A Mental Note

Dear Currie,

I am so sad. I gasp for air in the night and dream of frogs who jump on my bed. The worst nightmare was of my leg, covered in swollen and sticky barley pearls and little black worms were slithering out from the center of each one. I scratched these moonbeam predators but they would not come off.  I feel panicked most turns of the clock; in a hurry to do what? My joints suffer and I seize my limbs instead of the day.  Has this life been a complete waste of speeding years. I fear that time is running out and the world will miss my entire point(s). Tell me Currie. What would you do if you were me?

Love The Plant Keeper