This is October

 

              This is October

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I took advantage of a break in the drizzle and had a chat with my Azalea. “This is October,” I said. “October. You do not bloom until December. That is the rule. Understand?”

She thumbed her nose at me and showed me yet another emerging burst of white flower. Sheesh. Children. What can you do?

I pulled my baked potato out of the oven, steamed a handful of green beans and had breakfast. I’m at the point in my life where I eat what I want and when I want. No rules. Like everything else around here.

Drizzle, indeed. October is a dry month. Plant corn and harvest cane. Drizzle. Splash. Drizzle.

Yesterday was so grim and gloomy that I stacked up the fabrics I had laid out to make a shirt and a cap and dumped a puzzle onto my cutting table. I can do what I want and when I want. No rules, right. Well, up to a point. I do have my standards.

 I have all winter to sew my projects. Today I want to play.

If play means I bake a mango pie, that’s how I play. In July I froze a dozen bags of mangos from my tree. Pie is play.

Since I’m breaking rules, my dog Lola should benefit too. Yesterday I drained a cup of whey from my fresh batch of yogurt. I use whey when I bake bread. Today I drenched Lola’s dog food with the whey. Oh, yum. That did not take long to go from yum to gone. Licked her bowl clean.

I think I’ve spotted the papaya butterfly. There is a butterfly that attaches a cocoon like a cotton ball to the underside of a papaya leaf. Two cocoons are on the ground and a pair of middle-sized butterflies I’ve not noticed before are flitting around the area, playing and feasting on flowers, especially the aloe flowers. There are more cotton ball cocoons so I’ll keep on the lookout. I’ll name them Papaya Cotton Butterflies.

There is a stunning snail in my menagerie. The shell is elongated, close to three inches long, an upscale motorhome, the snail even longer when stretched on the go. Another newbie in the wet neighborhood.

The toads are out in force. These toads exude a substance, I am told, that drives dogs bonkers. My Lola is not a toad licking dog, at least I’ve not seen her stoned, but she loves to roll in their road-flattened carcasses. That is her delight.

Today is another day to play. I’ll bake that pie, read a book, work on the puzzle depicting book sales in a park along the canal. My neighbor will likely show up for an hour of puzzle time. It’s a good day to play. No rules. Ask my Azalea. Sheesh.

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

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