veggie patch

Yard work seems to be contagious. Last Monday, my Dad and I planted a little garden in the backyard. It was about 50 degrees and rainy; it was also my 26th birthday, and for some strange reason I had the song "Peggy Sue" by Buddy Holly stuck in my head all day. I wore my mud boots and Dad wore this ridiculous getup: Lowe's bags tied around his ankles, and a garbage-bag-diaper-shorts-protector.
















(The birth of a garden: from August, to November, to May.)

these are my people

daddy does yard work

The whole family arrived yesterday evening. After eight long hours of driving, Dad was the first one asleep last night, and the first one awake this morning. And because he can't sit still for even 10 minutes, here's how he is passing the time...

five dollar find

I found this little lady at the Downtown Antique Mall for—you guessed—five bucks. First saw her in a cobwebbed corner back in October, but since we were in the middle of moving from apartment to house, I decided I didn't need one more thing to pack. Months later, as I was pondering what to hang in our bathroom, this came to mind. Lucky for me (and unlucky for Ryan, whose only comment was, "it's so girlie") she was still waiting at the Antique Mall when I returned in March.

Pushing my luck, I Googled "Sexton 1968" (stamped on the back) hoping it might be worthy of the Antiques Roadshow. It's not. But it still makes me smile.

nine

...is the number of mosquito bites I endured while trying to read in my backyard; also the number of months I've resided in Indiana; and the number of days until Mom, Dad and both brothers drive up for a visit; and the number of days it's been since I shaved my legs... OK, it's only been two but it sure looks like nine.

(Such a lackluster post, but I needed something to freshen up my stale little blog.)