14 thoughts on ““I Can Not Make”

    • Arthritis in right hand makes bending the third finger – from the thumb – more than impractical…also the little finger was reconstructed when I was 17 after I had a dispute with a Live Oak Tree…which is a tale of folly and futility one day real soon now I may share.

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      • I rather enjoy the rest of the universe taking care for me…not of, for. I have a history of near brushes and suspect the casual disregard is more akin to blind stupidity and an elsewhereish mind more concerned on its inner- and outer-dialog than oncoming buses, blind drivers and the occasional crazed finch madly flinging itself just past my nose as I teeter on a now-crippled (mostly) rocking chair out front by the two bird baths.

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      • So, where’s my flowers, then? He, he. I have been purloining gardenia petals to eat en route to the library: long ago Mom said, J, quit eating those flowers. They may be poisonous. Mom, I replied, not unless you sprayed ’em. And, remember the podocarpus fleshy parts of the seed pods you said not to eat? They’re delicious, sweet and juicy. If I pick a bunch will you make a pie? And another bunch and you teach me how to make a jam or preserves? I showed her the Florida rulebook for wild and ornamental plant edibles and she relented. But my last argument was what convinced her: if Blue Jays and mocking birds eat ’em they can be eaten safely by humans: says so right here – in a wildfowl book I found years before. Never get in an argument with a woman unless you have a book handy – either to hand her so she can check on it herself or to throw at you in exasperation and high laughter – which will spoil her aim. Thass the secret: get ’em laughing and you’re scot-free! Mostly.

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