Sun, Vegetables and Soap

I started today with a rush, dashing off to the eye doctor and more than a little afraid. My eyesight seems to have been getting worse of late, and I was terrified he would tell me the diabetes was affecting my eyes, even though I’ve been working so hard to keep my blood sugar under control.

The wonderful news is that my eyes are fine and even healthier than in the past. Previous conditions have cleared up and there is no scarring. The new eye doctor feels that he can even get me back into the contacts I love — the ones I can sleep in. All that is required to end my blurry vision is one drop a day in each eye of a new over-the-counter medicine. Did I mention it is cheap as well? Amazing. I get to start back in my contacts tomorrow. I can already see better. All I have to do now is to find my computer glasses. Of course, I’d see much better if I didn’t stare at the computer for something like 18 hours a day, but that isn’t likely to change any time soon.

Adding to the stress of the day was my need to fill out some paperwork that had me very nervous. It was a registration form for a writer’s conference. Yes, I have decided to pitch my novel. Considering how I react to stress, this is probably going to be rough, but it needs to be done if I’m ever going to get past this stage in my writing career. I took the list of agents out to a local beach and sat on the sea wall and had a little talk with Jesus. It was a precious time and I got the registration form in the mail without any major nervous breakdowns. On the way home, I saw a sign that said, "eggs."

After my recent thoughts on the cost of an egg, I was curious what the cost of a comparable farm fresh egg would be. The farmer said a dozen large eggs were $4 where the medium ones were $2. So, the $2 box of eggs came home with me — 17 cents/egg, an increase over the 10 cents/egg at my local grocery story. The medium ones from the farmer were the same size as the large 10 cents/egg from my store. I don’t know why I feel that eggs purchased from farmers where I can see chickens are any healthier than eggs from a grocery store, but I was thrilled with my box of mixed colored eggs. The dozen is in all shades from white to dark brown, and I felt so blessed to get the last dozen he had to sell today!

On my way home, I decided — now that I had fresh eggs — to stop off at the local produce stand. AH! What a treasure trove! Fresh vegetables and hand made goodies abounded. I walked past a display of hand-made soap. Hm. I’d been thinking of making some and would love to try some well made soap. I checked a fancy brand — the scent was (yawn) boring. No, no need to buy THAT. Then I saw another basket. This soap was a little larger chunk and one bright red bar called to me. Cinnamon — and other scents. The maker called it "Farm Kitchen" which does nothing to describe the beauty of the scent. I set it aside. Can’t be spending money on frivolous things like that! I gathered a rich selection of fresh vegetables and then found the display of milk with cream.

One of my sons’ doctors had once told me that modern milk is no good for you. REAL milk, he assured me, has cream floating on top, but modern people freak out at the stuff in their milk. This dairy sells milk with cream on top in glass jugs. And their chocolate milk is rich and luscious. Of course, I had to get it — not for milk, but for ice cream! (Remember, I’d been sitting on a sea wall and the afternoon in the sun made such a sweet treat too good to pass up.)

At last, I went to the counter and laid out my purchases. Then, I made a mad dash back to the soap. That bar of soap HAD to go home with me. It is so pretty and smells so good…the whole bathroom smells delightful! As the clerk was ringing me up, she smiled. "I made that soap," she said softly.

We then enjoyed a delightful conversation about soap making, choosing scents, fresh vegetables, and the joy of hand-made products.

Art comes in many forms. She was as timid about her soap as I am about my novel. I can only hope some agent finds she can’t go home without the treasure of my creativity.