That's the thing about those Monday holidays, nobody knows what day it is for the rest of the week until we get to the weekend, which is a sort of "reset" button for our internal clocks. Last night before bed Durwood carried the trash can out of the bathroom and I had to remind him that our trash day is delayed a day because of the holiday. In the morning yesterday I made an appointment with my mechanic to meet about writing his business history and he called within an hour saying he couldn't make it because it was Tuesday, not Monday, and he had an appointment, so we'll meet on Friday. And I'm just glad I remembered that I have to work today and tomorrow. Next week's paycheck will be smaller but that's okay, I got to transplant the blueberries on Monday and didn't get rained on, until yesterday. It's supposed to be rainy all week but next weekend the garden needs to get planted, come Hell or high water. I don't mind getting dirty but if it's really raining and I'm clomping around in the freshly tilled garden the mud builds up around my shoes (or feet) so that I end up with Herman Munster feet.
I was convinced when the weather guy on the TV news said it wasn't going to rain this far north so I just wore my hoodie and didn't carry an umbrella when Skully and I walked yesterday. D'you want to know how wet we got? Very. My hoodie wasn't dry yet at bedtime. Good thing it wasn't too cold or I was too hot from walking in the wrong shoes (Sketchers Toning shoes, they killed me) because I was drenched by the time I got to the car. I love the rain. When I'm indoors.
It was so still when we walked yesterday, no wind, no rain (until we were halfway back to the cars), and no other walkers. We stopped to take a picture of a place that looked a million miles away from a city and realized that, apart from the distant hum from the highway, it was nearly silent. My ears aren't accustomed to silence, they didn't know how to act, and then there's the constant buzz I have so okay, it was silent-ish. Still pretty good as far as a mood elevator though.
May 29 (29!!! Already? Can you believe it?)--Roman, Cypriot, Pourer Flask. Sunlight glinted at Stella from the bottom of the hole she'd dug in the garden. All she wanted to do was plant some blueberry bushes and now there was that shiny thing in the hole. Over the 35 years she'd lived there she'd found broken glass and pottery shards every time she had dug a hole and each spring she collected a double handful of glass when she tilled up her little garden plot. This looked different, unbroken. She very carefully scraped away the dirt and pulled out a small glass pitcher that fit neatly in the palm of her hand.
Meh. It sure looks like it's going to rain any minute. I wonder if I need to Goggle plans to build an ark. Anybody p----d off the Almighty lately? Nevermind, I'm going to eat Cheerios and go to work.