Not So Much

Well, our big plans for a day out didn't go so well.  By the time we got to Baileys Harbor Durwood had a bad enough headache that we turned right around and came home AND he let me drive.  We stopped for aspirin and that helped him feel enough better so that we still stopped for a burger (oh, I love you, Joe Rouer's cheeseburgers, I wanted 2 but stopped at 1) but once we got home he conked out and slept until after 7.  I went to knitting.  Ah well, we'll go again when it's not so pollen-y out.  He thinks it was the airborne allergens that got him.  Stoopid pollen.

I think I'm going to bop down to the Farmer's Market for a grab bag of tomatoes for Tomato Boy (he's meeting friends for breakfast) and maybe (who am I kidding, that's not a "maybe") some crab rangoons.  They promised sunshine today but it's overcast and we've got a 20% chance of rain today with a 60% chance tomorrow.  That means the lawn gets it today, and I have to figure out how to plant peppers in an upside down hanging thing.  I'll let you know.  And it's time to get my nails done, I should do that today too.  (god, when do I ever just relax and do nothing? never, that's when, I'm not good at sitting still)

Yesterday was DIL1's 28th birthday.  I'm hoping we'll have a chance to see her tomorrow to give her the presents we have for her.  Life sure it busy.  DS was off "team building" with his new workmates and boss on a fishing trip up North for the last couple days and I think he comes home later today, so we should be able to drop over tomorrow for gift giving.

June 8--Titian, Venus and the Lute Player.  He was just a boy but he looked at her as a man would.  Beatrice lay on her couch considering her evening's gown choice.  Her hair was braided with strands of pearls and arranged like a crown on her fine head.  Mariette would soon come to help her choose a dress but for the moment she lay there listening to the lute player who sat at her feet.  In the privacy of her boudoir Beatrice was unclothed.  It was a hot night, she wanted to sty cool, to not perspire until she absolutely had to.  She noticed the lute player's eyes turned to her.  He usually gazed off, lost in his playing, but today he watched her, drank her in like his first goblet of wine.

Nothing good can come of that, on either side of the equation.  That's what rich girls, or goddesses, get for lying around in the nude, importunate men/boys getting the wrong idea about her intentions.  You have a good Saturday.  I'm going to do my best to have one too.
--Barbara