A Saturday Day

That's what it feels like, it feels exceedingly Saturday-like today.  Durwood dozed last evening away while I was at Friday Night Knitting so he was no way ready to go to bed at 11 PM when I was.  When I got up at 7:30 there was a note on the table that said he was up til 1:30 then slept until 6:10 (such precision) and was going back to bed at 6:30-ish (I don't blame him one bit.)  He's been housebound with that exceedingly painful muscle spasm in his neck and I dragged him through Woodman's grocery store and Walmart yesterday and he cooked supper so he was worn out come evening.  I'm sure without my energizing presence (or the level of noise I generate) he dropped off in his chair and stayed dropped off until he got chilled, like you do when you sleep uncovered, just before 9:00 and woke up.  Anyway, it's quiet in here.  I've had my breakfast and read the important parts of the paper (Ann Landers, my horoscope, and the funnies).  I have a mug of coffee and I can hear a lawnmower somewhere in the neighborhood.  After Durwood wakes up, we'll zoom to the Farmer's Market for some tomatoes for his breakfasts, then I'll fire up our mower and plant the last cauldron I found lurking in the shed.  They look so pretty, bright, and cheerful I just couldn't resist getting soil and plants for one more when I uncovered it.  I also need to weed the used-to-have-lavender & lilies & iris flowerbed at the corner of the lot.  I suspect that years of road salt and the depredations of drought have killed all but the hardiest of decorative grasses out there.  I'll take my little kneeler out there later and find out.

I rearranged the trash areas in the garage and made room for the ENORMOUS recycling cart the city dropped off the other day.  Of course they don't provide them, we have to pay for ours and the renter's, but at least they deliver.  And I ordered the small version which I suspect I could fold Durwood up into without too much trouble, I'd hate to have to work the big one into the space.  Of course, now I have a spare empty garbage can (and a wooden rack that Dad made to put newspapers into) that I don't know what to do with.  I hate having it sitting there taking up space.  I wonder if anyone I know needs one...  I'll ask around.

June 15--France, Virgin and Child in Majesty.  "I don't want them to see me," Celia said, "turn them around."  "Oh for the love of..."  Isaac got up, padded to the mantle and turned the old wooden statue to face the wall, then climbed back into bed.  "Now..."  He leaned over to gather her into his arms.  "Can they see us in the mirror?"  She felt cold and tense in his embrace.  "They're not real, Celia, it's a statue."  "Oh, I know, but do you think they can see us?"

Poor Isaac needs to cut his losses and RUN, she might be gorgeous but she's dumb and you can't fix dumb.  No sir.  Dumb always wins out.  D'you think if I concentrated really hard whoever's mowing their lawn out there will spontaneously come over and do mine?  Yeah, I don't think so either.  The moon was out when I got home from knitting last night and it looked so pretty that I tried, once again, to take its picture.  It was behind a scrim of clouds so it's fuzzy but I like it.  Happy Saturday.
--Barbara