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A younger family member lives at the far edge of town on a beautiful small ranch. Their house has a view out the front of a small lovely pond. To the north of their property a pasture holds a nice herd of cattle and they graze on the rich green grass there.
This family uses the fourth of July to have kinfolk in a reunion to come from a distance away, usually. It is a good time to get to see people we once held close to us but have grown up and moved to cities away from here. The country environment is refreshing to younger ones who must live in towns.
Busily and happily we went about preparing food to take with us. There was Spanish rice,
a huge bowl of strawberries dipped in chocolate, and home made freshly canned beets tucked into a box to carry. We live out a short distance from town where it is legal to shoot off fireworks. For some reason our neighbors this year choose fireworks that are more like bombs than firecrackers. The rushing about to prepare food, blasting noisy booms, and my diabetes all kicked in at once and suddenly there was nothing left of me.
“Take this food out to them,” I told Rod. “Tell them my nerves are shot and you won’t be telling a lie. The recliner will catch me. I know some of their family will bring fireworks and wouldn’t it be a mess if I threw up on their patio?”
“Niece! The strawberries were wonderful. There were so many and I couldn’t stop eating them.” My aunt called a couple days later to tell me how much everyone missed me.
“Her call made me feel so good!”
“Gramma! Everyone loved the food you sent and everyone asked about you.” My granddaughter told me today, and again I didn’t feel so guilty about not going.
“It was too hot for Gramma’s, Sweetie!” I still was trying to excuse myself, but actually the heat was a major issue. One hundred and four or somewhere around that is totally too warm for me,
even if there ordinarily are the breezes wafting off the pasture with the smell of new mown hay
to soothe the weary souls of family who rush off to jobs everyday in the city.
This family uses the fourth of July to have kinfolk in a reunion to come from a distance away, usually. It is a good time to get to see people we once held close to us but have grown up and moved to cities away from here. The country environment is refreshing to younger ones who must live in towns.
Busily and happily we went about preparing food to take with us. There was Spanish rice,
a huge bowl of strawberries dipped in chocolate, and home made freshly canned beets tucked into a box to carry. We live out a short distance from town where it is legal to shoot off fireworks. For some reason our neighbors this year choose fireworks that are more like bombs than firecrackers. The rushing about to prepare food, blasting noisy booms, and my diabetes all kicked in at once and suddenly there was nothing left of me.
“Take this food out to them,” I told Rod. “Tell them my nerves are shot and you won’t be telling a lie. The recliner will catch me. I know some of their family will bring fireworks and wouldn’t it be a mess if I threw up on their patio?”
“Niece! The strawberries were wonderful. There were so many and I couldn’t stop eating them.” My aunt called a couple days later to tell me how much everyone missed me.
“Her call made me feel so good!”
“Gramma! Everyone loved the food you sent and everyone asked about you.” My granddaughter told me today, and again I didn’t feel so guilty about not going.
“It was too hot for Gramma’s, Sweetie!” I still was trying to excuse myself, but actually the heat was a major issue. One hundred and four or somewhere around that is totally too warm for me,
even if there ordinarily are the breezes wafting off the pasture with the smell of new mown hay
to soothe the weary souls of family who rush off to jobs everyday in the city.