Just look where adventuring gets you.

Bella was investigating the clown balloons for Justin's surprise. Just look where adventuring gets you.

Silver Foxy

So, every year my office has a Halloween party that is centered around one of our upcoming Broadway shows. Last year was Wicked, and I came as Dorothy [image below].

Conveniently dressed in Red, White & Blue for early voting in the Presidential elections.
photo courtesy rachel best henley

Well, this year, we are going with the theme of Grease! starring Taylor Hicks. I, wisely, will be going as the one and only Silver Fox.

Can't believe I could fit all that hair under this tiny, amazing grayness.

Which pumpkin are you?

We walked through the rows of big orange bulbous pumpkins. It was my lunch break and I had scooped Justin up and dragged him to the pumpkin patch.

For the past two years we have gone to the Southside United Methodist Pumpkin Patch. Last year, all the pumpkins were covered in strange spots, and they told us to look for one without them. Spots meant the pumpkins were spoiling. It had been a hot fall, and just like the rest of us, the pumpkins were not fairing well. Within days, our pumpkin had turned into a pile of mush. A weird, sort of sunken, oozing pile of mush.

Anyway, last years failure did not dissuade us from this years hopefulness. We had considered going someplace else, even actually scoped out some new patches, but the Southside United Methodist Patch was our patch. Our neighborhood. Our people [theoretically]. Our patch.

This year, the patch was thriving. I walked and weaved through the rows, looking for the perfect one. I, of course, wanted the largest one I could find, lifting up the large twenty pound balls of potentially edible vegetable to showcase my find.

Justin, however, loves the littler ones. Not the babies [although he does love those], but the ones you might pass over. The ones that don't look big and promising, or ominous, or daunting. He wants the middle guy. The almost little guy.

[here he is actually holding my "large" one, and I am showcasing his lovely selections]

And since this is his time of year, Justin forced to share his day of birth with a holiday that thrives on pretending to be something you are not, and on the end of life instead of its beginning, I give in. Although, I might would actually give in regardless of Justin's birthday [just ask Firman Barksworth III, our last Christmas tree - pictured below]. There is something sweet and honest about not going for the "greatest", but finding the one that's just right for you.

This year we bought four pumpkins. One each for he and I, and two babykins for Marco and Bella. So far, mine is the only one that hasn't survived the once again warm fall.

Just kick your feet up.

Marco has the right idea. Reclined, leg propped up, watching the world unfold before his very comfortably resting eyes.

He may be the coolest cat I have ever known (besides Rumager, the most regal creature to roam the planet, God rest his soul). Or the laziest.

Although, I am pretty sure he could still wrangle this horrifying creature that has taken up its homestead above the entrance to my washer and dryer. Thanks to him, no laundry has been done all week. Maybe it's time to give Marco another go at The Great Outdoors.

Walter Jones Historical Park

It was the first blustery day since summer. The temperature had actually dropped below 65 degrees, the trees whistled the subtle tune of Florida in the Fall. The sky was clear, the air was crisp, the ground was crunchy. I was recovering from a bout of bronchitis, ready to leave the confines of my couch [as comforting and helpful as it had been]. So we took a Sunday drive.

Walter Jones Historical Park is just down San Jose Boulevard, in a place that seems relatively close to me now, here in San Marco, but for some it borders the edge of the city. We took a right, and smack dab in the middle of schools, gas stations, houses, and the Italian American Society [Cha-ching! Checking that out again.] we found the park. It's entrance is unassuming. The parking lot is small and it seems impossible that a park could even fit in there.

However, after taking a few chilly steps down the concrete path towards the St. John's River, it's as if the land transforms. We were catapulted back in time, as their signage suggested we envision, to the late 1800's and the way this land used to be.

We walked along the banks of the river on their splintery wooden boardwalk. We briefly paparazzied the lady conspicuously posing for a few amateur photographers, never able to identify what they could possibly be taking the pictures for. We strolled underneath the slanted Spanish moss, blowing above our heads like little fanfare for what used to be. A long dock stretched out into the river, bringing about bursts of casual reminiscence of ships carrying oranges, strawberries, and other tropical gems to the big city of Jacksonville, a long journey at the time. I swung in a black iron swing while Justin explored the old and rusty property.

It was nice to remember that Jacksonville was not always a land of too many roads, endless sprawl, and the gazillionth strip mall. That, at one point, not even all that long ago, it was a place of natural Floridian beauty that lived off the land and for the land. And that, if you look hard enough, or really not that hard at all, it still is.

The Deadly Donkey

So, its been a really long time since I have posted anything on this blog. I had kind of given up on the adventures of blogging as something mundane and trivial. Somehow the rest of the virtual world had not been lost on me, just blogging.

However, thanks to some extremely well written blogs, many of them local, I am kind of re-inspired. And actually see the usefulness of the structure. Telling little tidbits of the day without any limit to 140 characters or making such hugely plastered statements as on facebook. Just here, in case the world happens to stumble upon it.

A very close person in my life passed away recently. It's been extremely difficult to understand, swallow, deal with, handle. You name it, I basically am not doing it that well, right now.

Today my husband made me some coffee. Usually my morning ritual, but I was feeling the blues and he took the lead.

He gave me my coffee in my "Deadly Donkey" mug. I had gotten it years ago in London, while on my college spring break with a couple friends. Ahh the life of a college student.

The mug reads:

Beware the Deadly Donkey falling slowly from the sky
You can CHOOSE the way you LIVE, my friend
But not the way you DIE

Today, I am back to choosing. I think it's easy to slip into life like an old pair of jeans and get comfortable. I wish I had chosen to be a little more active in my friend's life before he passed on. But as his oh so wise sister said, let's just leave our regrets there.

So here's to choosing. Not letting life slip by you like it's floating down the Ichetucknee. And look, even the Donkey is smiling.