#1000!

Holy cats, that's a lot of posting! What a gorgeous day. I wish I could close the dive shop and go sit by the bay and just soak up the sun. Maybe I'd grab up Durwood to go walk along the Fox River Trail. But I have to stay here and work. Mrs. Boss just came in to mow the lawn so now I'm trapped working. Oh, like I'd ever get away with cutting out early. One time I went to lunch with a friend, for a mere forty-five minutes when there had been absolutely no customers and no phone calls all morning, but there were three cars, three!, in the parking lot when I got back. Man, did I feel embarrassed. No more playing hooky for me, not even for free pizza.

September 2--Amrita Sher-Gill, The Swing. Even though there were seventeen of us and only that one swing in Grandma's big tree, we never fought over it. Most of the boys were too busy playing war in the pasture or pestering the ant lion spiders lurking at the bottom of their pits in the sandbox. My brothers and boy cousins caught ants to toss into the pits so they could watch the spiders scurry out to capture their prey. The four Carroll girl cousins spent most of their time making clover chains for hair wreaths for playing Mary, Queen of the May. They always were pious little freaks. Uncle Walt's four girls set up their dolls and buggies and cradles on the wide front porch to play house. They're the best mothers of us all. Cindy and Janet were playpen-age babies. That left the swing for me. I'd pump hard to sail high up hoping to touch one of the big catalpa leaves with my feet, loving the wind generated by my flight.

Well. That was an unexpected trip down memory lane or at least a glancing blow of it.
--Barbara