Blabbering and Dabbling

I never knew I could be such a blabbermouth. I guess I DID know it - I’ve just been in denial.

My friend Kay is staying here at the lake house with me while recuperating from foot surgery, and I keep bending her ear (youch). She’s a great listener AND conversationalist, but if I were in her shoes (um, literally one shoe and one ice pack) I might be trying to figure out how to discreetly escape the nose-to-nose chatter flowing freely from my mouth: artesian jabber. In this sardine-can-of-a-house there’s no hiding place except for the itty-bitty-circa-1961-bathroom that is hardly a desirable place to hang out, especially when rubber-tipped crutches get all skewered up in the rug. Her foot is in no shape for walking, let alone running away, so I guess she’s just stuck with my squirrel chattering. Or actually, just picture Woodstock doing his little muffled megaphone-sounding thing: “wah-wah, wa-wa-wa-wah, waaah.” Yep, that would be pretty close to what I must sound like.

Yesterday we flew the lakeside coop for a little change of scene and a spin around the sunshine-dappled southwest Michigan countryside. The projected destination was my currently favorite small town hot spot, Decatur Daily Grind. My thought was to just sort of dabble our way along as we drove there, no schedule or timeframe allowed, and watch the Queen Anne’s Lace nodding and bowing to us as if we were royalty on that red-carpet-of-a-county-washboard-style, spine-jarring road. Actually that court of Queen Anne blossoming-heads-of-state descended from a long line of Queens, perhaps extending way back to the original Garden and the King Himself. It hit me (briefly) that we were just blabber-dabblers in comparison, the ones who should have been paying homage to the magnificence and splendor of all those many lace-frocked Queens.

Lunch at the Grind was superb in quality and taste, presentation and service. Kay treated me to a “Tree Hugger” sandwich in accord with my disposition toward fresh vegetables. I do love Eating Green as long as I can keep away from tastebud-abductors like SUGAR. We dabbled and blabbered our way through lunch, accompanied by a silent yellow parrot perched in his corner cage, a troupe of saggy-looking, in-and-out teenagers, and a handsome black mutt-of-a-dog whose face and cocoa-brown eyes reminded me too much of my beloved, deceased Tyler – ohhhhh, those EYES.

Once back home, Kay kicked back in the recliner to snooze and I ceased from blabber. No, that’s a lie. A big, fat one. I just shifted to typing the blab out on the computer screen – which is totally legal, although it confirms my blabbermouth tendencies.