Frazzled discards

“Would you look at that?” I asked my husband.

Barry looked at me, rather than looking at where my finger was pointing as he answered my question with a question, “Look at what?” I’ve grown rather fond of this game we play with each other. We keep each other on our respective toes!

Barry chuckled and then turned his head to look at what had attracted my attention. Seeing the rake he said, “That is sad. It looks as though someone was in the act of cleaning up and something took them away from their job.” I nodded and said, “That thought makes me feel sad.”

My spirit lightened and I said, “I envision a prankster planting a rake in a somewhat frazzled mix of human and nature discards.” Barry looked at me, seeming rather puzzled and asked, “To what end?”

I laughed and answered, “The prankster would hope another would be clumsy enough to step on the rake and bop themselves in their forehead.” Barry, obviously not satisfied with my response, said, “That would be mean.” I replied, as matter of factly as I possibly could, “Yes, but I’d rather attach an image of a rake bopping a forehead than a person taken from their tasks.”

Barry pulled me close and hugged me saying, “Your friend just lost someone so dear to her. I understand.” Isn’t that the best part of long-term partnering? We don’t always have to explain our train of thought to be understood.

© Zora Zebic 2016

The Zingiber baby

“It is adorable! It looks like an embryo!” I excitedly told my husband, who came over to look at what I had discovered in our kitchen veggie pantry cupboard. Barry peered in and said, “That’s kinda neat!”

I told Barry about the elderly Chinese lady I’d met in the supermarket. She and I had simultaneously reached into the bin of ginger root (Zingiber officinale) and our hands had touched. I’d apologized and she’d chuckled and said to me, “The one you have is not best. It is good to find one that looks like a person. It will serve you well.” She had paused, tilted her head and then continued to advise me. “You must also always buy organic. Now some places put chemicals on it to make it look good for a longer time. If it is not organic, it is not good for you.”

It was quite some time ago when I was so educated about ginger. I’ve tried to incorporate it as often as possible into my diet. That led me to also want to grow some in my own garden. Doing some research online I learned to grow ginger I would have to choose organic, preferably in the early spring. Earlier this year I’d purchased a sizeable piece of handsome ginger but there was no way to know if it was organic or treated.

Bringing the ginger root home I’d followed further instructions to soak the ginger overnight to leech out any potential chemicals or preservatives. With high hopes I’d cleared a little area in the garden near one of our sheds. To my dismay no life appeared. I had unfortunately purchased treated ginger.

This morning’s find of an embryonic-shaped sprouting piece of ginger root is loaded with promises. It is not spring but it is nice and warm inside the house. I’ll choose a fair sized pot and pick up some very healthy soil to plant this sprouting rhizome and watch this baby grow!

© Zora Zebic 2016

Incredibly edible

“I’ve made lunch.” I called out to husband who had busied himself poking about in his tool shed. He didn’t answer me, not being rude but rather not hearing as he is going somewhat deaf like me. I went out on the patio to get in closer proximity to his hearing range and called out the same message.

He turned to me, hearing this time and said, “Fantastic! What are we having?”

“Everything incredibly edible!” I answered him.

He looked at me puzzled and I laughed then said, “I came out and picked away at the garden. We’re having a salad from my small harvest of lettuce, wild onions, green onions, tomatoes, red basil, green basil, rosemary and a bit of lavender!”

Barry smiled and said, “That sounds very original to me! I’ve never heard of putting lavender in a salad.”

“I sprinkled a few leaves on my last salad to try it. I used very little because it can be very strong tasting. It made my salad pop!” I said.

Barry put down a drill he had in his hand and said, “Well let’s go make my salad pop!”

Nothing surpasses a salad hand picked from the garden.

© Zora Zebic 2016

A sad story

When she put on her shoes that day, I suppose she was expecting a bit of flattery. She didn’t get that from the man she has taken on as her life partner. He is a thief and drug addict and she found it easier to join him in all his activities than to insist he become a real man. She couldn’t imagine life without him; it was a choice of losing him or becoming a loser.

It is so very sad she made this choice. If you could see her you would wonder at her love for him. He is not an ugly man, but there is little about him that is attractive. He is tough, tattooed in every imaginable part of his body. Not that tattoos are unattractive, but the designs he has had etched to cover him are meant to instil fear. She is beautiful. She can turn the head of most men and yet she does not notice any of them now. It is sad.

She stole a young girl’s bike and the girl came in to tell me. The girl was crying and she looked a mess compared to what I’d seen a few minutes before. She told me the woman had hit her. I rewound the video and watched the entire incident. In my opinion, enough for the police to charge the woman with both theft and assault.

The girl called the police, who came and refused to look at the video. Instead, they told the girl they would get her bike back. They shocked me when they told her the woman was related to a fellow cop and things would get worse for her if she charged the woman!

The young girl was terrified. She asked me what the cops had meant when they said that to her. “Did they mean they would make things worse for me, or did they just mean the woman a cop is related to would make things worse for me?” I sighed deeply and answered her, “I don’t know. I do know that a lawyer would consider their statement to be intimidation.”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression, and I thought she was going to faint from the shivering which had taken over her since the start of the theft and assault. “Either way it is bad for me. I’m best to do nothing.” I felt sad for her and I gave her all the support I could offer at that point, a motherly hug.

The girl let me take photos of her injuries, in case she changed her mind. I told her the video evidence would not remain in the DVR memory past 5 days. She would have to make her decision soon. That was more than a week ago and I haven’t heard from her. I can only pray things did not get worse for her.

I have the photos of her injuries that I cannot share. I can share the photo of the shoes abandoned by the abusive thief. A sad story with no ending, yet.

© Zora Zebic 2016

No Nursing Homes, Please!

Two women. One’s about to turn 90, and the other one’s already 91. They’ve lived totally different lives but share something in common. Both are fiercely independent and have no intention of stepping foot inside a nursing home.

My Mom turns 90 on the ninth day of the ninth month this year. Mom’s raised six children. She had a nursing career, becoming a “working Mom” way before it was fashionable. She started off working at a glass factory, then in a doctor’s office and for the rest of her career, in a hospital setting. After she retired, she worked as a foot care nurse.

But, you have to see that when Mom entered the workforce, most other Moms stayed home, baked cookies, and kept a tidy house. Mom managed somehow to always have it under control. She delegated and was fortunate to have a great partner, Dad who shared in…

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