I am probably drinking ants. I am also the person who will shoo the ants off the table or counter before Honey sees them as he is not quite as forgiving as I am. Plus, ants skeeve him out way more than they do me. I love local honey in my coffee. I gave replaced sugar with local honey a while back. Honey is a powerhouse!! The Egyptians used honey! Honey doesn’t go bad (despite that fake out expiration date that you see on the bottle). Or rather, untouched honey doesn’t go bad. I’m not as sure about the processed honey.
Since the weensy ants came to town, I have to wrap up my honey container in a tightly sealed bag. Yet somehow the little McGuvyers (and even one McGruber!) get into the bag, sometimes under the cap but usually not into the honey itself. Except for the aforementioned MacGruber Ant. He ended up almost preserved forever in the great fountain of youth that is honey, in my bottle. Yee and Ipes. So rather than pass him off as an amber fossil, I took him out with a fork (don’t be fooled…it is a tedious process, such as the process of the honey bee…) and sweetened up my coffee. Unfortunately, I couldn’t save that one and honey is antibacterial…you can use it in wounds, so continue to use it. I’m a freak about some hygienically related things but for some reason, ants don’t bother the old women in my brain that bust a girdle about many other things filed under Germophobe.
I sat training one our budding interns at work, a nice girl…heads down usually. So she really gets a lot done. Across the pod from her was another girl, cleaning out her two bedroom purse. She placed a couple of purple Tazo teabag sleeves on her desk amongst the dresser and Hummel figurines, while rummaging through for an appointment card. I suddenly felt guilty. Tea. I should be drinking more tea!! But I love coffee. I even love the idea of drinking bad coffee. I feel….incomplete without coffee! This gets in the way of my ideas about being in a nice smelling, colorfully decorated peaceful home where I offer tea to my guests. Coffee can get a foot into that fantasy as well but usually that’s reserved for a Tea cameo. I swear that someday I will have that earthy, mystical, quiet, herbal lady type of vibe going on! Well, if I have to drop an adjective, I vote Quiet.
I took my usual two mile walk, peanut and cheerios in hand, the hand also gripping A Year in Provence. The chapter I was on (June) was so far the funniest one. There’s nothing wrong with cackling down the road alone. I saw Mr. Crow and kept up with our usual bargain…I will talk to him, make him sit through a minor photo shoot, set down some food and walk off. On the next road, I found a nice shiny blob of entrails, nice and clean, as if someone planted plastic ones there right on top of a ratty possum carcass. As it was in my path, I subscribed to the train wreck theory and couldn’t really look away as I stepped past it. I thought for sure Mr. Crow & Co. would be all over it. There had been a black turkey vulture there moments before that had flown away with its impressive wingspan. So I figured that the crows probably wouldn’t be much interested in my Fisher Price food when they could have FAO Schwartz. Ah, it’s fun to be wrong (don’t let Honey hear me say that). I went to take photos of this nice stone wall with this tree like bush full of pink flowers. Behind it were a few trees. As I was messing around with my views, I heard the quiet swoop and out of the corner of my eye, saw that I wasn’t alone. And this time there was no mistaking anything random. He sat patiently, inquisitively, quietly. And so, he had his peanuts.
The journey is the fun. How can you even know what the end is until after it’s ended?
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