but I wasn't, I took a few days off to be in a bad mood, but I'm mostly over it now, so it's back to business as usual doing daily writing and posting.
Did you have a good weekend? The weather here was beautiful and spring-y, and I got the big weeds dug out of the garden. I bought some herbs at Stein's, and one big dark red dahlia I couldn't resist, so I'm hoping to dig or till this week and get them planted. I goofed and put the pile of newspapers from the last weeks out for the recycling on Tuesday and so I don't have enough to use as groundcover in the garden but I can get Mom's I'm sure. We won't be ready to plant until next weekend at the very earliest anyway so I can collect them in the meantime.
May 16--Kizhi Island, Russia. Stefan pressed himself into the shadow alongside the gatehouse set in the wall around the memorial. He glanced up and behind him at the putty-colored onion domes of the Church of the Victory over Sweden thinking what a stupid name it was for a beautiful building. Socialists are always such creative types, he thought. The domes looked like an Escher lithograph of cascading shapes, one emerging from the other. Way too modern looking for something built nearly three hundred years ago. He listened to the loud American tourists straggling back to their tour bus. Their pace was slow and erratic, not fast and focused like the bald guy who had been chasing him all across Asia since Stefan had been unlucky enough to see the thug plunge a knife into a man he had pinned in the corner of a gallery in Moscow. Stefan wanted to tell the bald man, who looked like Mafia, that he wasn't stupid enough to even tell the authorities what he had seen, but he was too afraid to let himself get too close for fear that the bald thug would kill first and talk later. Better to keep running and hope to slip away in a crowd and be safe. Maybe he could blend into the tourists...
Not bad, not great, but not bad. Enjoy your day even though it's Monday.
--Barbara
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