Fail

I couldn't stand sitting still outside yesterday for a whole hour.  I maybe made it half an hour.  Maybe an hour was too much to hope for on my first outing.  I did 3 crossword puzzles in that time and still couldn't ignore the basket of clippings that needed emptying or the weeding and trimming that should be done along the west lot line.  *sigh*  I'll try it later for a shorter time.  I'll take my lunch out there again and then just sit.  Maybe I'll take the camera and see if I can't capture the hummingbird at the feeder.  Maybe having a task to sit still for will help.  We had yoga at knitting last night again.  Hallelujah!  It was so good to be back on the mat after a 2 week break.  I'm more bendy and more able to do things more correctly, even just yog-ing once a week, plus it makes me feel so good.  Ahhh.  We got up this morning and zoomed off to the Farmer's Market.  I took my camera to capture today's Photo A Day which is "movement."  Durwood needed tomatoes and wanted an egg roll.  I got crab rangoons--Breakfast of Champions!--then we toodled around downtown looking at what's torn down (the mall) and what's changed (nearly everything), drove down Main St. to show him where the Ten-O-One Supper Club is (a been-there-forever tavern with intriguing ads for specials in the paper.  See in NE Wisconsin old-timey taverns have dining rooms where they serve a plate supper like broasted chicken or prime rib or fish fry) and then into the wilds of the mill district to scope out the Mill Town Cafe for future dining possibilities (it's a real hole in the wall place that looks like it thrives on regulars and mill workers).  We stopped at Aldi on the way home to pick up some fresh mozzarella to have with our tomato salads with supper, and now Durwood's having his morning nap.  He's a champion napper, just like his dad.  He's addicted to toast like his dad was too.  Toast is important.  At least around here.

June 23--John Marin, Brooklyn Bridge.  On rainy days crossing that bridge looks like you're walking into another reality.  Big drops plunge down like bombs and the soggy pedestrians look like the condemned plodding to their fate.  The rain raised a film of oil that makes the mesh walkway slick underfoot and the river far below is a sullen gray.  The raindrop pock marks make the river look diseased.  No one can imagine a friendly sunny day coming again.  It will always be gray, always be wet, always be slick.  A dreary day on the Brooklyn Bridge is a life sentence.

Are you planning to do something fun today?  I wish I was.  (pathetic enough for you?)
--Barbara