Grrr!

First and most important, I got a call from the computer fixit guy late this afternoon.  The USB is deader than a doornail, data unrecoverable.  Gah!  So I'll spend the weekend going through all the Prose files and old thumb drives but will probably end up having to rewrite it.  *sigh*


My assistant and I harvested all of the carrots this morning.  He wasn't interested in staying out in the chill wind scrubbing them in a bucket so I spent a few minutes tearing the tops off then scrubbed them in the kitchen sink.





We also picked all of the red or reddening tomatoes as the weather guessers talked about frost tonight.  I brought in the sensitive plant and the bay leaf, just in case.




 

I conceded defeat in the sock knitting department this evening, frogged the tiny, pitiful beginning of the Tipsy Toes sock, and cast on my standard plain-old-sock in the beautiful, autumnal yarn I'd dug out.


September 28--Edouard Manet, In the Conservatory.  Their hands almost touched.  His forefinger stretched out toward her ever so slightly.  Her fingers were relaxed, not reaching for him.  Neither spoke.  Have they said all there was to say?  People gave their bench a wide berth.  They were in their own world, no one wanted to intrude.

I'm half-convinced that I'm going to get all of the colds I bargained away so I didn't expose Durwood but in reality I remember using my pocket hankie to wipe OJ's nose last week and then forgot and used it on me too, infecting myself.  And I don't really mind all that much.  Ain't love grand?  Grandkids are the best.  Especially mine.
--Barbara