Still life: Roseville, McCoy, Mah Jongg tiles, a shell found on the beach in Florida, a mini Eiffel Tower, and guitar picks.
Don rarely uses a pick. He’s told me so. Repeatedly.
This raises a question: Why, then, are there picks everywhere in the cottage? They seem to expand, grow, clone themselves. Are they multiplying overnight? Do they have parties when we are blissfully sleeping in our bed, unaware of the activity happening directly below us?
Are the picks, like some mutant strain, going to take over the house?
It gives one pause.
Windy and cold all day yesterday. Windy again today. When, oh when, will I finally be able to pot the flats of impatiens that are now living on my living room floor because the temperature went down to 36 degrees last night? When will I be able to walk around outside without the wind kicking even more pollen than usual into my eyes?
I did manage to get the morning glory and zinnia seeds planted on Saturday.
That my friends, is it. That, and we finished Season Two of Grace and Frankie. And now we’re sad that it’s over until whenever Season Three is released. I’m going to write about that show and why it’s so amazing and rare sometime later in the week. I want to get my thoughts together.
In the meantime, I’ve written a review of The Travelers by Chris Pavone. It’s on Just Let Me Finish This Page today. Excellent, excellent, excellent! Stop by and read about it.