Our Park

Our park is a hidden jewel, in a small neighborhood not visible from the street, with practically no parking. When you stand in the middle of it, you can’t see or hear the city. It has walkways and benches, a big open field to run around in, and poetry engraved on the walkway steps. On that fortuitous day we discovered it, we couldn’t believe our eyes. It is our own private park.

Winter Plants


After three years of waiting, the camellia is in full bloom.

The pansies are still going strong. Even my oleander and mandevilla, which I didn’t think would make it through the winter, are still alive.


The basil was not so lucky.

Window Shopping

Today I took Lane out to get coffee and browse by the shop windows. It was chilly, but not too cold to play with Preston the boxer, a regular at our Starbucks.

And then run around a bit.

Later she told her Papaw about it. She said (while nodding her head emphatically), “mall…dog…ball…..we go.” Which was, we went to the mall, we saw a dog, the dog had a ball. It was her first story.

She started to put sentences together too. This week she said, “It’s the sky.” And my favorite, “Dirt is dirty. Dirty dirt.”