Blossoms and the bees...

I spent some time with my Rose of Sharon bushes ... not thinking......

I liked lying on the grass, looking up at all the blossoms...

The blossoms that are ....

...and the blossoms to be.  Funny how dark they are when all tightly coiled ... before the sun reaches them.

I enjoyed watching the bumble bees collect pollen.

Greedy little guys, finishing one flower vist and looking about for another.

This one was rather tired and took a siesta to recover from all his labors.

Can you see the honey bee in there on the right?  The bumble bees and honey bees were all vying for the best flowers.  An odd sort of chorus, buzzes pitched high and low, soft and loud.

Wild to think that my Rose of Sharons are just beginning their full bloom in August!





There are, sadly, many a blossom lying on the ground unfurled.  Lives cut short.  I wish I could remember if my old, old, old Rose of Sharon bushes-turned-trees ever dropped blossoms like this.  But I don't.

I don't remember things.

Today, at my bimonthly doctor visit, after some listening and some questioning, my GP said that she would like to have me evaluated for early onset Alzheimer's.  Words I wanted to hear for the chance at medications to help with memory.  Words that also felled me, that I hoped would never, ever fall from her lips.

This memory thing ... it's getting worse.
I know it.
I want others to understand.
And I want it to go away.

I learned something this week.  If you give me changes that you wish for me to make on something I have designed for you, changes in the text, you must give them to me in the order in which they appear in the text.  If you do not, I will spend hours and hours and hours trying to find the changes, fail at doing so, and weep in despair.

Sometimes.  Sometimes I wish I were blue-haired and drooling in a nursing home.  Then.  Then folk might not think it so burdensome to talk with me and my muddled, anxious, confused, terrified, insensible mind that sometimes rings clear as a bell just to hoodwink me.

Mary.  Sweet Mary.  She suggested we find a better place for my medication box.  Balanced on the milk jars in the refrigerator.  Perched atop the dishes in my cabinet.  Places I am in every day downstairs, but that would still afford me visual rest on my counter.  Stinking brilliant Mary.

The oddest part about today?  The nurse discovered that I am running a fever.  Given that I don't seem to be ill in the slightest (other than my mind and body falling apart), do you think it was serving the whims of the devil in my dreams that has me so hot???