May is nearly history

I'm not referring to the soon-to-be former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom but to the month itself.

May.

It is never merely May, though, It is invariably called, by the trite and unimaginative, "the merry month of May" and I cannot help noticing the alliteration. Carrying it a bit further, May's full MOON was extraordinarily stunning in a cloudless sky, and the MAGNOLIA trees hereabouts have burst into MAGNIFICENT bloom a couple of weeks earlier than their usual June explosion, accompanied by the pink cloud-puff extravaganza of MIMOSAS.

Yes, May is many things -- merriment, moonlight, magnolias, mimosas -- even at times mushrooms -- but this year for the rhymeswithplague family it has also been something else.

MOMENTOUS.

Even if you think every May is momentous, this one was more momentous than usual for the rhymeswithplague clan.

The ordinary momentousness of May includes our granddaughter Ansley's birthday on the 4th (her 19th), my dad's birthday on the 12th (his 117th if he were still with us but alas, he is not), Mother's Day (this year on the 12th also), our daughter Angela's wedding anniversary on the 15th (her 26th), our own anniversary on the 19th (our 56th), and our grandson Sawyer's birthday on the 24th (his 20th).

This year, however, May was bursting at the seams with several more family events that made this May more momentous than most.

(Note to self: Stop with the alliteration already.)

First, our grandson Matthew graduated from Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. Here he is standing in front of Duke Chapel.

Here he is with his parents and his sister, the 19-year-old whose smile includes the fact that she just completed her first year at the University of Georgia.

There were a few others at the ceremony also (click to enlarge):

Then our grandson Elijah graduated from LaGrange College in LaGrange, Georgia.

Here he is with his mother (our daughter-in-law), who looks young enough to be his girlfriend. His dad was unable to attend as he had the responsibility of leading a weekend retreat in the mountains..

Finally, our youngest grandson, Sam, graduated from high school over in Alabama.

Here he is with his parents, his older brother Sawyer, and Sawyer's girlfriend, Camryn, who was also in the graduating class.

Sam and Camryn will be joining Sawyer at his university in the fall. It isn't really his university, but you get what I mean.

To top off the month with one last momentous occasion, our daughter, who has been an assistant principal at a middle school for the last four years, was offered, and has accepted, a position as a full-fledged principal at a primary school in another part of the state, effective July 1st.

May has been exhausting, but I am smiling.

The Psilocybe Pscare/Psilliness continuePs

The annual May mushroom invasion hereabouts, as we learned last year from our blogger friend Adrian Ward in Auchtermuchy, Scotland, consists of Psilocybe semilanceata in what can only be called profusion. I cannot tell if the invasion is dwindling, levelling off, or only beginning. Here are the statistics for the current follies:

Sunday, May 5th - 6
Monday, May 6th - 13
Tuesday, May 7th - 37
Wednesday, May 8th - 31
Thursday, May 9th (today) - 30

All of them, thanks be to God, have been plucked up and tossed into the garbage.

If only it were that easy with wasps and Carpenter bees.

Sunday, May 12th, would have been my non-bio Dad's birthday and it would have been his 113th. At 117 so far, this year's mushrooms are ahead.

Only your intrepid, slightly demented reporter would think to make such comparisons.

On interacting with the animal kingdom rhymeswithplague-style

Kylie in Australia recently acquired a second dog and has blogged about it in a post entitled "Am I Mad?". The jury is still out but I left the following comment:

Re "Am I Mad?": Probably.

In addition to our Abby, our nearly three-year-old rescue chihuahua-terrier mix, we have now also been unofficially adopted by one of the neighborhood cats, not feral exactly but not tame either. He/She is a grey tabby who sleeps on our patio doormat for hours on end, drinks water I have begun setting out, and enjoys stretching out in the shade of our patio table's umbrella. He/She also seems to want to get to know Abby better and the feeling is mutual. I haven't fed him/her yet even though either God or Satan (possibly both) continues to work on me by recalling to my mind scripture verses such as if you give a cup of cold water in His name you will not lose your reward and the one I'm resisting to date about not being forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unaware.

To recap, I say probably for you, definitely for me.

So while I do not have 2.3 children living at my house, I do seem to have 1.5 pets at the moment. Mrs. RWP is not a cat person basically. I grew up with three male dogs (Tippy, Sandy, Frisky) and a male orange tabby that outlived them all.

Abby has proven expensive of late with vet bills since the first of the month of $59.35, $76.64, and $96.63 (all USD). I don't begrudge the money as she is a member of the household, but I am not, how you say, eager to add feline expenses to the mix as we are definitely on a fixed income.

Your comments and advice are always welcome.

They're baaack!

Not the poltergeists. The mushrooms.

If it's Tuesday May, this must be Belgium Mushroom Land. There are mushrooms in my back yard (British, garden).

Not faeries. Mushrooms.

Day before yesterday there were six. I plucked them up and threw them in the garbage. Yesterday there were 13. I plucked them up and threw them in the garbage. Today when I let Abby out for her morning constitutional, there were 37.

I plucked them up and threw them in the garbage.

I forgot to take their photograph, but below are some of the same type from last year:

The experts (Adrian in Scotland and Michelle in England) said they were the magic kind. I have no reason to doubt them.

Last year I feared I was being invaded by alien creatures. This year I almost look on them as friends, but I still pluck them up. I do not need my dog or my neighbor’s cat to be high.

In summary, I live such a mundane, humdrum, boring life that I now post about mushrooms.

Mid-course corrections are not just for moon shots

I didn't attend a Maundy Thursday service last night. I wanted to. I wanted to take the communion elements with other Christians. But a man was coming around six to determine how much pine straw we would need for the islands in our yard and how much it would cost and I had to wait for him. Also, the church we have been attending since I stopped playing for the Methodists does not offer a Maundy Thursday service.

I will not be attending Good Friday services today. I wanted to. But Mrs. RWP has an appointment at three to get her hair done and I am now the only driver in the house since she decided not to renew her driver's license a couple of years ago. And our church does not offer Good Friday services either.

Something my mother used to say flits across the back of my mind: "The road to hell," she would say, "is paved with good intentions."

When I was young the schools were closed on both Good Friday and Easter Monday, and I spent three hours on Good Fridays, from noon to 3 p.m., at our church in Mansfield, Texas, listening to music, meditating, hearing seven short devotional talks on the seven last words of Christ.

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing"

"Today you will be with me in paradise"

"Behold your son...behold your mother"

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

"I thirst"

"It is finished"

"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"

Someday I hope to hear God say, “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter into the joy of the Lord.” But we also can find the words “wicked and slothful servant” in the New Testament. I don’t want to hear those.

Sloth just might be the other side of the coin called good intentions. You remember sloth. It’s one of the seven deadly sins.

In the meantime, the aforementioned road, the one that leads to you know where, goes on forever.

"Chronic stress and uncertainty during childhood makes stress more difficult to deal with as an adult. "

Ya think?

Nothing is ever quite that simple.

The sentence in the title was written by Christian H. Cooper and is from an article that is way above my pay grade for the most part but fascinating nevertheless. Entitled "Why Poverty Is Like A Disease", it was first published on Nautilus in 2017 and was recommended by Pocket on my New Tab page when I signed onto my computer with Mozilla this morning. I have linked to it for your convenience.

I recommend it too. You may be tempted to give up but I hope you don't. I hope you make it through the whole thing. If I waded through it, so can you. Your comments, as always, are welcome.

A momentous occasion! A new record for the rhymeswithplague household!

That's right! Hear ye! Hear ye!

Hodie Christus natus est and all his friends were finally packed up and put away for another year.

Wait, I'm not telling the actual truth. It was not hodie (today), it was yesterday, April 7th. I know, I know, it's unheard of but it simply couldn't be helped, because, well, er, uh, I have no excuse.

Hello, my name is Bob and I'm a procrastinator.

One year we didn't bid the holy family adieu until March 16th, the day before St. Patrick's Day. One year it happened on George Washington's birthday (Feb. 22nd) and I blogged about it and my procrastinating tendencies here.

But this year takes the all-time cake. April 7th. Hard to believe, but true. Not only are St. Patrick's Day and even April Fools Day long gone, the March Madness that is the National Collegiate Athletic Association's annual basketball tournament ends tonight. The Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, and Final Four are all memories. The championship game will be played in Minneapolis tonight between somebody other than Duke and somebody other than Georgia Tech, therefore I don't really care who they are.

In other news, Starshine Twinkletoes has published a post about her camellia bush and her new chandelier, and when I happened to mention Crystal Shanda Lear, the daughter of the founder of the Learjet Corporation, she laughed in my face with a "You're pulling my leg! Hahahahaha! Nicely done, mind." It cut me to the quick, and it really hurts to go through life with a cut quick.

For those who still doubt, here's incontrovertible proof.