The daisies are coming to an end as is the bee balm. The purple coneflowers are trying to take up the slack but I think they're fighting a losing battle. They just don't have the same oomph.
In the front of the house Dad's roses are making their second appearance of the season (and no Japanese beetles in sight *fingers crossed*), looking and smelling like roses are supposed to.
I spent a lovely evening with JC and LL talking about kids and grandkids--and the aches, pains, and physical challenges of both ourselves and our husbands. It was way more fun hearing about grandkids and kids than the doctoring we've all been doing. Imagine that.
August 12--Jim Barber, #0110. Jean thought they were a cluster of bowling balls shoved under a library table at the back of the antique shop. They turned out to be globes liberated from their stands, huddled together in the dark. Her first impulse was to drop to her knees to coo at them, trying to lure them out as she would a shy puppy, then she came to her senses and reached in to drag the box into the light. She controlled herself. She thought about whether she really needed a half-dozen stand-less globes in various sizes and ages. She also knew that she wouldn't leave without them. It would never do to let the old man behind the cluttered desk know just how much she wanted them. He looked like the kind of person who made up prices on the fly.
I burned the roof of my mouth right in back of my front teeth on a cob of corn the other day. I don't recommend it. Tooth brushing is a painful challenge right now. Foof your corn, people. Don't let this happen to you. (I tried to put an exclamation point in the above sentences in a couple places but my innerHitler just won't let me. Man, she's strict.) Off to get ready for work and then see about freeing the squash.