Lady in Green

Lady in Green
By Leslie Noyes

sitting all alone in a bistro at noon, she was beautifully wrinkled, a smile for the ages.

Similarly alone, yet slightly less wrinkled, I claimed a seat in a nearby booth.

Waving my fingertips to catch her attention, I complimented her vibrant style,

Told her that particular shade of green suited her well, that she looked lovely.

She blushed an innocent shade of rose, saying, “Then I will wear it every day.”

We ordered, then discussed the importance of kindness as we munched our separate

Salads. I asked if she’d let me take her picture. There was that blush again.

After wiping a smudge of ranch dressing from the corner of her mouth she nodded permission.

It didn’t occur to me until I’d left the cafe that I should have asked her name.

I shared the picture of my anonymous lunch companion in a snapshot post a few days ago. The more I thought about her, the more I knew she needed her own poem. 

My suggestion to my readers–find someone and tell them they’re lovely. Watching them blossom will make you feel lovely, too.

Peace, people.

Mayhaw Festival

I’m a big fan of festivals. All festivals. I don’t care what’s being celebrated or honored or paraded, if there’s a festival within easy driving distance I’m there. After all, every festival needs a queen. I’d love to be queen.

This past Saturday while Studly was playing golf I drove about 35 miles east to the Mayhaw Festival held at Golden Acres ranch just outside of Monticello, Florida.  I had no idea what a Mayhaw was, but it sounded vaguely Southern so I couldn’t wait to see what this festival was all about. 


In my excitement I failed to check event times and arrived just about the same time that the various exhibitors were setting up. Oops. I wandered around and visited with folks, but there wasn’t a lot going on. 

However, the morning weather was absolutely gorgeous without the heavy humidity and heat that would set in later in the morning. Maybe early was better after all. My chances of being named Queen increased significantly with me being one of the few women present. 
  

This gorgeous rooster and I kind of bonded. He followed me around like a little lamb. But My name isn’t Mary and he was no lamb. I think he wanted me to join his harem. I respectfully declined. I did ask him if I could be Queen of the Mayhaw Festival. He just said, “cockahahaha!”

  
This baby Pygmy goat was three weeks old. Her name was Daisy and she was a big hit with the few children in attendance. When I asked Daisy what my chances of being named Mayhaw Queen were she said, “baaaaaad” 

 
I bought a couple of items. On the left is a jar of salsa. I’m opening it tonight. On the right is a jar of Mayhaw jelly. I asked what a Mayhaw was before making my purchase, after all I’m not a complete idiot. Mayhaws are small red berries that resemble cranberries. The sample taste was pleasant–tart and rich. 

  
As festivals go this one was pretty laid back. Maybe if I’d stuck around the activity might have increased. But, the temps were headed up into the 90’s on Saturday, and I’m such a delicate little flower that I headed home for a nice long (three hour!) nap.

Festivals are common in this area during the spring and summer, and I’ve started looking for one to attend next weekend. I’d really like one willing to name me Queen over the proceedings. I’d ride in the parade in a lovely   gown of fuschia or purple or lime green and wave at all the little people.

Peace, little people!


Monticello, Florida

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Yesterday I drove 50 miles northeast of Tallahassee to administer tests to tiny tots in Madison, Florida. On my way home I stopped in Monticello, Florida, for lunch.

I’ve passed through Monticello before. It’s a quiet little community centered around a lovely courthouse (pictured above). I have a fondness for courthouses. In my hometown of Floydada, Texas, the courthouse (pictured below) once housed the library where I enjoyed much of my well-spent youth.

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I understand that the library has been moved from the marble-halled courthouse. That just makes me sad. I loved climbing the stairs to the third floor, running my hands lovingly along the bannister until I reached the pinnacle where my precious books were waiting for me.

Was it the place that made me revere books, or the books that made me love the place? Heaven knows the Floyd County Courthouse wasn’t beautiful like the one in Monticello, FL, but it was heaven to me.

Peace, people!

Side note: there are 16 towns named Monticello in the U.S., but just one Floydada.