Thursday Needs a New Press Agent

For some reason I find Thursday to be the quintessential nothing day of the week.  Maybe it's just me, maybe it's just the step-child of the calendar but not much noteworthy happens on my Thursdays lately.  Although Thursday June 29 was a pretty terrific day, being the last day I worked at a paying job.


I didn't get around to cutting out patterns until late yesterday afternoon and last night so I have nothing sewing-y to show you that isn't an oddly shaped piece of fabric.  I have high hopes for sewing things together tomorrow.  A concrete truck came this afternoon and sat there roaring and twirling its tank but no concrete came out the chute. (maybe it was constipated)  Maybe tomorrow.



I spied two Sweet 100s cherry tomatoes turning red.  There are a lot more green ones on the plant so I have high hopes of getting to taste a homegrown tomato in the near future.  (I could eat one of the three I've picked so far but Durwood loves them so much I figure I can wait.)



Two more Stargazer lilies were hiding in the bed along the lot line.  There're day lilies in there and milkweed and some thin-leaved weed that I can't seem to get rid of (not that I've really tried hard) but when I was out looking at the tomato plants I smelled them, looked over, and eureka! there they were.

While sitting in the shade on the patio this morning I saw movement below the birdbath.  This Downy Woodpecker was making its way around probing the fake bark looking for something to eat.  I hope it didn't hurt itself.

July 27--Byzantine, Christ Pantocrator.  Ella backed slowly through the crowd around the tour guide.  She wasn't moving backward so much as she was letting the people behind her get in front of her.  Kind of like a particle passing through a filter, she thought.  In the dead of the Wisconsin winter when the sky was a thick gray blanket of clouds for days on end, a guided bus tour of the Moorish influence on Spanish architecture sounded wonderful.  She imagined sun-drenched days, olive groves, and arched fretwork.  Instead she felt like she was on a forced march through every church or ruin the Moors had passed by in their occupation of the regions.  Her feet were tired and she was tired of the others on the tour.  They complained too much.

See?  I told you Thursdays are boring.  Tomorrow will be better.
--Barbara