crazy fun
Today, I searched high and low for something, anything, to write about. About which to write. About.
I am also resolved to not end any sentence with prepositions. Seriously, I have nothing better to do with my time. With which to do with my time.
Oh wait. I actually wrote that correctly.
My muse was my photo-file, which is filled to the virtual brim with strange and silly shots. Also: shots that evoke pangs of sweet longing for the way things were around these here parts, not that long ago. a season or two seasons ago, in fact. Remember? I don't think you do.
Allow me to dredge it all up. To up-dredge it all. Up.
Green grass. Freshly-mown hay. The long shadows of a summer evening. The yellow of a sunflower that takes my breath away.
Oh, for the long, warm days when I considered dill a weed. Please forgive me, dill. You can grow in my garden wherever you please next summer. Even smack-dab in the middle of the curly-leaf lettuce. Dill, you are a clown.
This is the view from the side porch, early autumn. The boat and the camper have been tucked in for their long winter's nap. Friend #12 is rummaging through the back garden for carrots. Florets of broccoli. A kabocha squash. A stray bunch of spinach. Who knows what. She will make a salad, side dish, or jam from her gleanings.
Some days, she is my hero.
Was this really the view from the side yard? Or is this a painting from the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection?
I have plenty of pics of food in my files. If we only snapped photos and shied away from eating all this stuff, we would be a sight more skinnier around here. Ask the couches. They will tell you it is so.
Every day, she is at it. You don't even want to know how many field of sugar cane and wheat were ravaged to satisfy her appetite for baking. Her mother really needs to get control of her excesses.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you good-bye. But I leave you with the following, inexplicable photos from my colorful and slightly kooky bucket o' fun. And pleas. PLEAS.
Return my rings and purse.
Thank you.
I am also resolved to not end any sentence with prepositions. Seriously, I have nothing better to do with my time. With which to do with my time.
Oh wait. I actually wrote that correctly.
My muse was my photo-file, which is filled to the virtual brim with strange and silly shots. Also: shots that evoke pangs of sweet longing for the way things were around these here parts, not that long ago. a season or two seasons ago, in fact. Remember? I don't think you do.
Allow me to dredge it all up. To up-dredge it all. Up.
Green grass. Freshly-mown hay. The long shadows of a summer evening. The yellow of a sunflower that takes my breath away.
Oh, for the long, warm days when I considered dill a weed. Please forgive me, dill. You can grow in my garden wherever you please next summer. Even smack-dab in the middle of the curly-leaf lettuce. Dill, you are a clown.
This is the view from the side porch, early autumn. The boat and the camper have been tucked in for their long winter's nap. Friend #12 is rummaging through the back garden for carrots. Florets of broccoli. A kabocha squash. A stray bunch of spinach. Who knows what. She will make a salad, side dish, or jam from her gleanings.Some days, she is my hero.
Was this really the view from the side yard? Or is this a painting from the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection?
I have plenty of pics of food in my files. If we only snapped photos and shied away from eating all this stuff, we would be a sight more skinnier around here. Ask the couches. They will tell you it is so.
Every day, she is at it. You don't even want to know how many field of sugar cane and wheat were ravaged to satisfy her appetite for baking. Her mother really needs to get control of her excesses.And now, ladies and gentlemen, I bid you good-bye. But I leave you with the following, inexplicable photos from my colorful and slightly kooky bucket o' fun. And pleas. PLEAS.
Return my rings and purse.
Thank you.
posted by thisrequiresthought at 3:16 PM
5 Comments:
That sign! Oh, that sign! Where did you take that picture?
Oh my! Reading this may have been the most hilarious part of my day!
(Well... it's a close second to ease-dropping on a hilarious kid-logic kind of conversation between my kids today, anyway!)
abbi: county route 47, bewtween our house and the Moulton's.
Lovely pictures, Nancy.
"Dill, you are a clown." Is this by any chance a reference to To Kill a Mockingbird?
- Ann
You make me laugh! I love to laugh.
Phyllis
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