A slow, do-nothin' kind of day

Mainly I lounged around, refusing to wake up completely until after noon -- and then amusing myself one way or another until about 2, whereupon I thought to shower.

The "morning" dog walk got underway at 3-something and was, consequently, a rather lengthy one. Which is just as well, because the evening dog walk the night before had been conducted around 2 and was brief because I got creeped out by the Sleepy Hollow-ness of wind rustling the trees in my neighborhood. I was up until 4 in the morning, working on a second piece of erotica.

Later in the day, I had a chat with S2 about finding a nanny who can win over S2's shrewd older daughter. The conversation reawakend old memories of a woman named Mrs. Sarah who was our caretaker when I was between the ages of 7 and 10.

Although my mother didn't work, we spent a lot of time with this woman. She was short and gnomish, and if there ever was a living human prototype of a crotchety old witch stooped over a brewing cauldron, Mrs. Sarah was it. She was probably a good woman, but she scared me. I recall spending many hours hiding in the magnolia tree in her back yard, avoiding her so she couldn't make me weed the clay tennis court nearby.

She claimed to know the "actual Colonel Sanders," of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame. She told us he'd lost all his teeth and, "at the end of his life, he couldn't even eat his own chicken." She shared that tidbit several times, and when I finally inquired why, if he was rich enough, he hadn't just gotten some dentures, she smacked me.

Fortunately, there's been no such nonsense in S2's household. It sounds like your garden variety personality conflict. Although I didn't share the aformentioned details, I did tell S2 I'd had a creepy nanny. She asked, "Would you have wanted to be sent to see that nanny who was mean to you or to get someone else?"

I paused before answering, Well, I have a feeling that I just wanted something I wasn't getting anywhere.

The truth is that, creepy and troglodyte-like as Mrs. Sarah might have been, she was better than nothing. That was frequently the other alternative, as my mother at that point had taken to leaving my sister and I at home alone (we were 7 and 8) to care for our two younger brothers, one of whom was an infant when we first encountered Mrs. Sarah.

Sometimes, we would be at home alone for a while, run into trouble -- such as being hungry -- and call Mrs. Sarah to help us. She drove a clunker of a car -- and one of her many cats had destroyed the interior -- but she would come way out to our home in the countryside, pick the four of us up. She'd take us to her grand old house in town, which had been in her family "since before the war," (by which she meant the Civil War), and I'd retreat to the tree.

Well.

Things change. For better or worse.

I wish I had a magnolia to hide in still. One with big, fragrant blossoms. I wish, too, for a long stretch of honeysuckle along my walking route. And for better barbecue. And for more people in my life who like to sit around and tell stories.

Anyway.

After talking to S2, I went to the grocery store and did my shopping for the week. I'm going to make a version of that killer soup The Clairvoyant concocted last night. Everything in my cart looked amazingly healthy. I walked out of the store with a bunch of carrot greens sprouting from my earth-friendly cloth shopping bag. I felt a bit like a cliche of ... something. I don't know what.

At the bottom of that bag, however, was hiding a devilish little item. My new favorite snack? Pink lady apples dipped in macadamia butter. Praise you, jesus, for the fine vittles that cover this lonely planet. Amen.