Today promises to be one of those "just right" days. It's warm, but not too hot, breezy, but not windy, and the humidity's supposed to wait until Monday or Tuesday to arrive. Ahh. Summer. Gotta love it. It's lawn mowing day and I'd run right out there to mow after this but Durwood just went down for his morning nap and I hate to wake him so I'll just read until he gets up and then go out to mow. Hopefully the breeze will stick around since I can't walk fast enough to create my own.
I had one of those nights last night, you know, the ones where you can't fall asleep, where your brain kicks into high when you lay down and you're hyperaware off every little ache and thump of your aging body, where you hear your beloved's every breath (and grunt and fart) and it annoys the crap out of you that he's sleeping and you're not. Yeah, one of those nights. So I lay there being frustrated for about 45 minutes and then got up and read on the couch until nearly 1 AM. Just after I lay down Durwood got up for his first middle of the night cup of tea, and I fell asleep about 5 minutes later. I was not impressed when I awoke at 6:30 but I was awake and on my feet by 7 o'clock. Bah.
I went out to see if I had a pittance of ripe blueberries for this morning's cereal only to discover that some bird had pecked the two biggest, most beautiful berries that I've been waiting to ripen, damn them. Guess it's time to find some netting to put over the bushes. (DS offered some netting; I think I'll take him up on the offer when he gets home from their weekend jaunt to the Twin Cities. Go, WZ!) That's what I get for moving the bushes so they're in plain view and fertilizing them so they make more and bigger berries. There were about 5 or 6 berries ready to be picked but not those 2 biggies I was salivating over. Dammit. *sniff*
Today is our darling daughter's birthday. She's 32 today (holy crap!), or she will be at 11:55 AM or thereabouts. Happy Birthday, DD! We love you and miss you.
July 13--India, Mughal Shirt of Mail and Plate. The medical examiner stood at the autopsy table. He never liked it when there was a young woman on his table. Doc supposed it wasn't very politically correct of him. He rarely felt the same regret when a young man lay before him but he was from the old school where you protected women. Besides he figured as long as he kept his feelings to himself it didn't matter. His assistant Len came into the room pushing a gurney. "Contestant Number Two will be waiting right... over... here," he said as he maneuvered the body in its body bag onto the nearby table. Doc cleared his throat and reached up to adjust the overhead mic.
My idea was that Doc would find a few links of the mail clutched in the girl's hand but I thought I was ready to fall asleep. Foolish me. Ah well, such is life. Happy Birthday, DD! Make it a great one!
--Barbara, aka Mom