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Category Archives: Adventures and Discoveries

Flower Delivery

When the weather was sultry, on a day where the sun was suspended high above and blistering the Earth, my beau and I spotted a lonely sign on an equally lonely road: “Shiloh.”  This was a spur-of-the-moment adventure.

We drove along a winding, curving, canopied asphalt road, searching for the cemetery, examining each fork in the road, turning this way and that, until the entrance appeared:

This was a small cemetery, not as old as I imagined it would be, but still peppered with graves as old as 1896 and as new as last year.

Walking alone, I stumbled on a bouquet of yellow silk roses, lifeless on the dusty earth, its jaundiced petals immobile, even in the slight breeze.

Looking left and right, I saw no close-by grave. To whom do these belong?

I picked them up, and at the first grave I spotted – a solitary, lonely headstone – I dropped the bouquet and said a prayer for someone’s mom.

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.

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Passport, Please.

I had just put down a few freshly washed russet potatoes on the cutting board and was stretching for the utility knife, when my beau yanked open the kitchen door.

“Well, that was quick.” I hadn’t expected him for a few more minutes, since he was out to get the mail.

“I didn’t go yet,” he said, practically breathless. “Come with me.”

And out the door I went:

The turtle was huge, bigger than my smaller dog. We guessed it weighed about 30 pounds.

✿●▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬●✿

As my beau was heading out for his walk, he found the turtle sitting in the middle of the street intersection, balled up inside its shell. Worried someone would run over the little guy, my beau bravely picked him up, and walked back in the hot sun to our cottage.

After a few phones calls to the veterinarian and then to the Wildlife people, we learned that it’s preferred that any found turtle be left as is, since it mostly likely is heading somewhere. Good. Now we know.

Yet the funniest part of this story is the conversation, or rather, the questions the Wildlife person asked:

Where was the turtle headed? Sorry, we don’t know. It was sitting in the middle of the intersection.

What was it doing? Just lying there, hiding in its shell.

Was it scared?  Maybe.  It was hard to tell since it was hiding in its shell.

Was it going anywhere? Well, we didn’t ask to see its passport, so we don’t know.

We put the turtle on the lawn. Quickly (yes, quickly), he scurried over to the other side of the street and headed back towards the intersection. We looked in that area about a half hour later, and he was nowhere to be found.

©Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.


Heaven on the Shelves (Part 2)

My beau and I explored a new territory for us of late – a used book store. We recognized that as soon as we stepped across the threshold, we were in a paradise of sorts. Hundreds – thousands? – of dog-eared paperbacks and slightly moldy, fragrant hardcovers sat stiffly straight or lazily askew on shelves that touched the ceiling. Giggling as our eyes bounced from topic to topic, we wandered up some aisles and meandered down others.

Yes, indeed there was that book I’ve been meaning to get, sitting at the top of one shelf, the one that’s been on my Goodreads list for well over three years. It would have to wait for now, I thought.  Maybe there’s something else here I want more.

As I negotiated a stepladder and turned the corner, a double stack of Perry Mason paperbacks revealed themselves. I picked up a couple titles in that sudden discovery.

Then – around another corner and down yet another aisle, there it was: a small, five-by-seven-inch soft, brown leather covered book with gold lettering. My heart leapt when I saw the author, and I carefully opened the cover:


The next page was even more revealing, more exciting, more mysterious:

Phil gave Mimi this Ben Hecht book for Christmas in 1925. And Christmas that year was on a Friday. This is all I know, besides all the questions: Who were they to one another? What were their surnames? How old were they? Where did they live? How did Phil present this gift? How did Mimi react? Did she read the book in its entirely? How in Heaven’s name did this gem wind up in a used book store ninety-two years later?

It’s now on the end table next to my reading chair, ready to be savored.

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


The Flying Lips, or What the—?

It’s true that one can find some of the most interesting things in our world without actually looking for them. When these oddities show up, they become even more remarkable and fascinating and joy-bringing, like a surprise gift on a day that’s not your birthday or Christmas.

Early one morning, when my beau took the dogs outside for their morning business, he popped his head back into the house and called to me.

“I just saw the craziest thing. That moth out there— it has lips.”

I put down my dish towel. “Really? That moth on the back porch screen?”

“Yes. It has, like, avant garde lips. Avant garde. They’re not pink, just dead-looking lips. And avant garde.”

So, taking my camera outside in the foggy air, I walked up to the Moth with Avant Garde Lips.

Here’s the view, looking at its underside:

Fascinating, don’t you think?

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


T-Rex and the Floating Orbs

In my travels, some of the most unusual sights pop up when I least expect them. Mostly, as I go on my merry way, I’m looking for something else, or nothing at all, and wham! there it is.

On a tranquil country road, in the late morning one day, ol’ Tyrannosaurs Rex appeared. Well, it was more like his bleached white skeleton standing frozen in a front yard.

“T-Rex and the Floating Orbs”
(c)2017 Susan Marie Molloy Original Photograph

What become more intriguing were the two floating bluish orbs behind the skeleton when I looked at the photograph later that day. Cretaceous Period meets Preternatural Phantasms.

Logic tells me the orbs are reflections of moisture from the car window.

Or are they?—

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


The Presentation That Wowed Me

We had a little intimate dinner the other night at one of our favorite Japanese restaurants. The occasion was “just because,” the conversation was cozy, as was the ambience.

Our orders placed and hot green tea poured, we continued on our familiar conversation about books, current events, and us. The steaming Miso soup and icy ginger-lettuce salad came and went.

Then it arrived.

My order – vegetable tempura – brought a gasp to my breath and speechless admiration.

“The Presentation That Wowed Me”
A fresh orchid blossom topped my serving.

It was beautiful!

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


Heaven on the Shelves (Part 1)

Taking a break from work one morning, my beau and I headed out on a hunting trip. This type of hunting was looking for bargains at garage sales so that we can save money in furnishing our cottage.

We spent the morning up one driveway and down others, buying a little something useful here and there. I got a copy of “The Widow of the South” by Robert Hicks for barely a song, and I was happy. One can never have, nor read, too many books, I thought.

On our way back to our cottage, my beau and I stopped at a used book store. This was our first venture there, and as soon as we stepped across the threshold, we were in a paradise. Heavens, I don’t know where to start.

At the top of one shelf, I saw a book I’ve been meaning to get, one that’s been on my Goodreads list for well over three years. Yes, that looks good, but I’ll keep looking—for now.

Rounding the corner was a double stack of Perry Mason paperbacks. That was a goldmine for me, and I picked up a couple.   All right!

Around the corner and down another aisle, there was a small hardcover book. My heart leapt when I saw the author, and I carefully turned the pages.

I’ll write about that book and what was in it, when I return to this subject next week. “If books could talk—”, is a memorable saying.

I say, “they do.”

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


Royal Ball

One afternoon, while out running errands, my beau and I stopped by an antique store, just for fun. It was on the way to one of our destinations, so why not?

Oh, yes, there were the usual things: old dishes, toys, knickknacks, crystal, books, and whatnot. Then, around a corner, appeared these beauties:

“Queen of the Ball”

“King of the Ball”

These were costumes made with satin, beads, sequins, faux fur, and feathers. They were listed as “Mardis Gras King and Queen Costumes.” The white satin gown glittered with silver and golden sequins and beads under the store’s lights, while the feathers softly swayed in the breeze from the ceiling fan. The white, gold, and silver king’s cape, trimmed in faux ermine, looked heavy and sumptuous draped across a railing.

The gown was listed at a couple bucks under a thousand; the king’s cape somewhere around nine hundred.

Ah, if money was no object, and we had a castle.  Or a parade float—

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


Shell Pink Ride

It was unexpected, not sought after, just sitting there in the noonday sun when I left the restaurant:  the palest, softest shell pink paint on a vintage Caddy convertible.

“Long Pink Cadillac”


“Shell Pink Cadillac”

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


Eggs-actly

If you took Home Economics in junior high or high school, you may remember the teacher showing you how to crack an egg.  Just as important, she probably told you when you break the egg, you should first put it in a separate small bowl to make sure the egg was good, i.e., no blood, no spoilage, but all fresh and ready to use before you put it in the pan to fry or in the cake batter.

I like fresh eggs from the farm, when I can get them. The other morning, I took out my newly bought dozen I got from the local farmers’ market. I scrambled one for my dogs to share. Then I began to crack four more eggs for our breakfast, putting each into a bowl, one at a time.

By the time I got to the third egg, it was a little hard to crack. By the time I hit it for the fourth time on the edge of the bowl, a putrid odor came forth , and something greyish-black was inside. Take a guess; I’ll bet you’re right about what that was.

I nearly gagged. In a flash, I turned towards the sink and dumped the eggs in the bowl into the sink and turned on the disposal. The rest of the dozen took a trip to oblivion, too. It took a full sink of hot water and lots of baking soda and white vinegar to get rid of the rotten odor.

So, the lesson learned is this: Our Home Economics teachers were right to teach us to first put the cracked eggs in a separate bowl for inspection.

I never dreamed that a fertilized egg (dead baby chick) would be one of the things to look out for.

Read about another eggs-asperating encounter I had last year:  Not Always What It Seems

These eggs, from a later cooking experience, were one hundred per cent good. Original photograph by (c)2017 Susan Marie Molloy. All Rights Reserved.

©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


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