Thursday, May 16, 2013


The end of magnolia season.
Another Spring day in the green belt, but this one had the threat of heat underneath it. The kind of afternoon that makes you want to ... wait for it ... nap on the screened-in porch. Although I did not. I worked, returned Storm of Swords to the library (made it through 31 of 39!), did a spot of gardening, made dinner, walked Albert, talked to Mom a couple of times, and had a sweet and pleasant evening with M, getting caught up on some thangs. 

And tomorrow is another day. 

Albert and I got in a couple of short walks. M is concerned that I am not familiar enough with the perilous poison ivy and tomorrow will walk with me and Albert to point out the places we walk where I might not see it. That will be good as it is fast becoming flip-flop only time. Back to the shifting of the seasonal clothes. And time to figure out my plans for getting to Schroon Lake next weekend. Not. Driving.

I really need to fix the doorhandle on my bedroom door so that the kittehs stay shut up when I put them in there. I just went upstairs to replenish their food and give them some treats and here is Cooder again! 

I am falling behind in my reading schedule! I still haven't finished the last two books for my reading group and the next one came in the mail today: The Brothers Karamazov! Fortunately, I only have to read the first 150 pages by June 6 and given that I will be on the train for five hours or so next weekend, i do believe I can knock out a substantial portion of that.

M gave me an intense book she read for her library's Farm To Table reading group, Crazy in the Kitchen by Louise DeSalvo. DeSalvo is a fierce writer and the images jump off of the page and into your brain. I'm going to curl up with that shortly and hope that I fall asleep soon, too!!

But back to Night and Day which I really must finish! Only 140 pages to go!!

"... she would come back to find a new person awaiting her, in whose sould were imbedded some grains of the invaluable substance which she still called reality, and still believed that she could find."

"Aunt Eleanor showed promonitory signs of pronouncing an opinion. Although she had blunted her taste upon some form of philanthropy for twenty-five years, she had a fine natural instinct for an upstart or a pretender, and knew to a hairbreath what literature should be and what it should not be. She was born to the knowledge, and scarcely thought it a matter to be proud of.

'Insanity is not a fit subject for fiction,' she announced positively."

The iPhone could not capture the depth and detail of the sun in the leaves here.

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