Gone Fishing

The morning sun put a spotlight on the Spanish lavender yesterday.  I can't decide if they look like purple pineapples or some wild-haired cartoon characters.

I spoke with Linda in the afternoon, she who thinks I'm weird.  She extended her sympathies to my Kids, who have had to put up with me all these years.  Oh, the stories they could tell (and I'm glad they don't).

A much-beloved brother-in-law from long ago was a fishing aficionado.  He'd say, "When you're fishing, you can't be doing anything else."  That was his way of getting out of chores.  I've adopted his philosophy but, in my case, it's weeding.  Looked at the list, looked at the dust, and took Bess out for an hour's worth of work in the lavender bed.  The chickens run to the fence line when I'm weeding.  They know fresh greens are coming.

If you're looking for me, I've "gone fishing."