foggy morning, and blah blah blah.

Soft Sunday morning, waking in mist. Fog is such a gentle  ease into the day. Wrapped in Icelandic wool, cup of Joe, I personally love foggy mornings. matching reality with my  actual shite vision.  do not attempt to adjust your screen- fog is real.

On the fuzzy deck, Raccoons sleep , away from traffic and dogs and anything else that might disturb their slumber. Humans, the worst, deck is  quiet and safe.

I have put my old flower press to task . It takes about two weeks for some of the plants to dry and flatten completely and if the plants are fat, like French lavender , it takes about one month. I vacated what has been pressed from spring, Dusty Miller leaves , in the spring they are tiny and cute. I did so with the intention of making more fairy chairs, out of Russian sage and Dusty Miller. Possibly will use  moss for cushions next time. Not sure I will even hold to this plan, it is fiddly and I am blind. 

I think that I can do better especially if I go to the store and buy patience ,  and quick setting glue.  

I thought I might put a few leaves in an envelope and send them to 
Annie for her  gel plate printing art- though Annie has acres of botanicals at her doorstep, dusty miller is probably the last thing she needs.

What would you do with them?

This is my old flower press given to me  at least 40 years ago ,  Smith and Hawken  when they actually offered handmade quality gardening supplies.  Before China/Target . 

 It is large. It does a good job. It will last at least another 40 years. 

I won't. In case I face a botched execution- I now know what to expect when I am hauled off  in a wagon-There is a list of procedures after Christa Pike's failed execution, that the hospital follows to (maybe) bring her back ,  brain damaged, only to be "executed" again. Jesus- humans are  cruel and Tennessee is a shite state among many. 27  more compassionate states have abolished the death penalty. Bulgy Diaper Butt, Kankles loves executions , attempted executions a fave-  defiant fist -owie on  ear. Great publicity adding to his seemingly  immortal  water- off -a - ducks -back divinity.  Will  kill but not be killed sort of contract.

We  think about death - ways to die. We hope to go to sleep and not wake up, comfortable and cosy under comforters , silk sheets  a gentle breeze brushing our cheek , lifting the Burano lace window curtain. A soft foggy morning...Ideal. Lyrical. 

I was talking with Jan F. about writing our own Obituaries. Serendipitously, just then on NPR, they were talking about this very thing . Write your obit focusing on "being best"- the better attributes that you would like to have achieved- an exercise in creative writing. An opportunity , perhaps, to be an outstanding human of incredible moral character- a no fear adventurer- not too late, they claim, at least in writing.  

I was thinking more to write several  self obits each one more ridiculous than the previous. Mundane or extraordinary .  " She liked jam. She liked  toast.  She excelled in  preparation of sumptuous dinners of Jammy Toast . She will be missed not a lot,  by many" .   You're fine being dead, especially having written your own glowing obit,  but your beloveds  are left  bereft .   So - don't die, is my logic or, if that is inescapable,  make it joyful, leave "post- its" around the house , curious messages,  leave  crumbs in the bed,  plant bulbs, hundreds of them , that will bloom in spring after you have exited. Stick googly eyes on documents , kept in the file, that will only be fished out after you are dead-(the will,  birth certificate- your marriage license)... the left behinders will appreciate your  "adios"  ,  may even even feel a sense of relief after having endured to much  of your  shenanigans.   That is what I reckon , but no one is allowed to die before me, OK. Deal?Pinkie swear! 

Fog lifting-

 Adios.