cats · gardening · travel

no place like home

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‘Mata sandwiches coming. Oh, shucks.

No matter how far I roam, Dorothy had it right, there’s no place like home.

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Miss Ashley wants her grad student-beau-housesitter back.

My cats were waiting. The little girl, like a typical kitty, was indifferent to our arrival. The grad student who housesat was her new boyfriend and she wanted him back.

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The Rose of Sharon blooms in the backyard are so beautiful.

But our faithful little boys, among them our Sylvester-like sentry kitty, wanted some loving.

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Tasty, tasty tomatoes. Sweet. I’m talkin’ sweet!

I was so pleased to see the incredible rain. We didn’t do a big garden this year, but left a few seeds in some raised pots and we now see some tomatoes (two varieties) and cucumbers sprouting (yay! a lil pickling time). The student also left some blueberries in the freezer. Think I’ll get a few jars of jelly or jam out of ’em.

One of the things I love most: no matter how crazy things seem in our country right now, and no matter how we connect (or fail to connect as people), there is something about the southern accent. And how we speak, however briefly, to one another. First time I heard it was when we landed at JFK. Heard it more while we waited in Charlotte for the connecting flight. In fact, as soon as I saw “Birmingham, AL” on the screen at our gate, I said, “First down, Alabama. Roll Tide!” to myself (and anyone else who cared to listen and got a few grins).

There is no place like home. Now, for more peace in this world and let it begin with me. Sweet home.

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