At least that's the accepted math around here. "Imperfect" is the Photo A Day theme today. First I took pictures of the stargazer lilies that just opened because part of the bud turned brown so there are brown places on the petals; they're still beautiful and smell great but they're not perfect. Then I took a picture of the Dad's rose that's blooming because Dad was far from perfect but I loved him anyway. But then I realized that Durwood and I are imperfect people, but together we make one perfect couple. Well, we think we're perfect, no other votes count. So I asked him to stop crossword puzzling for a minute so we could take our picture. He reached up to smooth his hair, I explained about today's theme, and he frowned. I hurried to explain that I meant that he and I are imperfect separately, but when we're together we're perfect. That was okay then and he agreed, both to the "imperfect X 2 = perfect" idea and to push the button to take our photo. It wasn't busy at work yesterday so I web surfed and knit and read a free novel on the Kindle. The blurb and the reviews sounded better than the writing turns out to be, but while it's not Cannery Row or even The Hunger Games, it is marginally engaging and it was free. Beggars can't be choosers. We did have a few rainy times throughout the day and into the evening, though, which while it makes it feel even hotter and more humid, makes me happy because it has been so dry. So dry that the lawn was a uniform tan color. I took my 10 finished quilt blocks out in the backyard to take their picture all together on Sunday and I was amazed looking at the pictures how really not-green it was. Overnight a miracle happened and it's green again. The funny thing is... our next-door neighbors watered their lawn religiously every night for nearly a week and their grass stayed determinedly brown, it rained over the last 24 hours and it's green. So, rain is not equal to hose water, evidently. (hot flash. I thought those were over. oh well.)
June 19--Edgar Degas, Portraits at the Stock Exchange. They look so very French in their frock coats, top hats, and pince nez glasses on a ribbon. Even their beards and mustaches identify their nationality. It's like a team shirt they wear. You couldn't possibly think they were anything but French. They're sharp in their dealings too, those stock exchange men. Even French women have heads for business. You might be tempted to wonder how Degas could shift from ballerinas to these stock brokers but they aren't so different from each other. Both are driven to work hard to reach their goal. Both evidently worth the price of paint to depict.
Okay, I think I'm getting progressively suckier at the prompt writing portion of these posts. I'm not going to quit doing it but it's hard not to when my instinct is to stand in front of them shielding them from public view. I blame the art. I'm off to meet Skully for coffee at Panera Bread because it's too hot and humid to walk. So there.