(Can you hear the camel? I can.)
Not a lot got done yesterday other than dithering around so there are no crafty pictures to share. I didn't even yoga--and that's bad. I can't skip that or I'll start skipping it willy-nilly and pretty soon my yoga mat will be slumped between the treadmill and the chair collecting dust. I can't forget how good this tiny bit of stretching and moving makes me feel and let it fall by the wayside. It's only 20 minutes, for Pete's sake, anyone can devote 20 minutes a day to their physical and mental well-being. Sheesh.
We have an excess of clouds this morning but the sun managed to peek through when I went out to harvest the spaghetti squash. There are three, which I think is a good turnout. I've got to enrich that garden soil next spring or save the money I spend on plants. It's so depleted that I'll bet zucchini would have a hard time growing. The gourds are still bright green and hanging onto their (brown and dead) vines so I'm going to let them stay out there until we've had a frost and their stems are all brown. I don't want the big one to rot before it dries out and I can make it into a birdhouse. This little chipmunk froze when I opened the patio door so I got a picture of it before it darted under that bucket it's next to. I'm ashamed to say that I then went over and lifted the bucket, scaring the crap out of it, and sending it scampering across the lawn to hide under the shed.
October 21--David Stone, Cyclists. Her bike wheels hummed on the asphalt path. Mae wasn't brave enough to ride her bike on the streets so she bought a generic carrier at Walmart and drove to the River Trail. The trail was an old railroad bed that had been reclaimed and paved for about a dozen miles. It ran from the downtown where it was clogged with clerks and office drones on their lunch breaks, through neighborhoods where pony-tailed young women jogged their way back to their pre-pregnancy bodies while pushing space-age strollers. Further upriver retirees took over, walking their arthritic dogs and discussing their various surgeries. Mae always parked behind the old supper club and rode the four miles south to the first set of locks on the river. She rode in that direction because it was ever-so-slightly uphill which meant that her return ride was downhill just enough to make a difference. Her bike was silver with a nice wicker basket for her sunscreen and water bottle and she had a red helmet that she thought made her look like she was going fast even when she stood still.
All scenery and no action. Oh well. Hey, it looks like the sun's trying to peek out. I like that. Time for breakfasting, dressing and going off to keep the world safe from SCUBA diving. Later.