My version of stopping to smell the roses

A few weeks ago on one of those super hot days that made some of us nervous that Spring had forgotten all about us - in spite of the lusciousness that surrounded us - not to mention the pollen, I helped a friend out by driving him to a doctor's appointment. Which led me to the unfamiliar sensation of A Honkin Bundle Of Down Time In The Middle Of The Afternoon On A Week Day.

I walked around. I sat and checked email on my iPhone. I got some water. I went out to

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Buckets of blackberries in my future?

The only time "blackberry pickin" has ever been a part of my life was during summertime visits to my grandparents' home in West Virginia. Sally and any of the neighborhood kids who felt like joining her, plus her grandchildren visiting from **somewhere in the Carolinas would go for a 3 mile walk "around the river road" carrying empty bags and milk cartons with the tops cut out to collect the fat, warm, yummy berries that exploded in our mouths as we picked until we grew bored of the activity long before "Mamaw" did. (Most of these memories occurred long before I got all defiant and rebillious and started

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