Yesterday they finally came with their tag-team of dump trucks full of hot asphalt, the paving machine with its pair of drivers, and the hot roller that danced across the newly-laid surface to compact it and make it into a strong, flat street. It's very nice to drive on, especially after weeks and weeks of barricades, ground down and bumpy streets, and the maze of jutting manholes each with its own orange barrel. It stinks, though. Stinks of tar which is only enhanced by the sun beating down on it. I'll take it, even though our assessment for it will show up on our tax bill for the next couple years. (the lawn mowers finally came yesterday too; they should have brought a baler because the grass was so long, now it'll dry in windrows and look untidy until the next mowing *sigh*)
Last night at Friday Night Knitting I worked on the Denim Hankie Washcloth #2. It's a simple pattern that is a two-row repeat, one of which is plain knit, so it's easy to do while chatting with friends.
August 12--Claude Monet, Impression, Sunrise. Clay and Marie sat in their skiff fishing at the mouth of the river. The sun was a glimmer of light in the east, an almost imperceptible glow over the trees on shore. Marie loved fishing, loved the shiny colorful lures, and the elegant rod that felt almost live in her hands. She didn't care of they caught fish, she liked the time on the water away from the craziness of life.
The last couple days and the next few are going to be busy around here so don't get worried if I don't manage to blog every day or at all. Nothing serious, just some demanding guests that consume my attention and prevent me from sewing or knitting or planting. Not complaining, just stating facts. Now I need to go glare at the food in the fridge to see if it will turn itself into something worth eating tonight. I'm fresh outta ideas.