I wasn't sure whether or not to leave the play yard gate open for the girls in the morning when chores were done. The sky was clouded over and I was glad I'd thrown on a light jacket. Nah, it's not going to rain, but I did shut the big door to the coop.
Any excursion from home where bibbies are not appropriate has me changing clothes like an 1800s English Lady of the Manor. Nightgown to bibbies in the morning. Change to clean go-to-town jeans and top (sometimes, but rarely, a dress). Come home, back on with the bibbies before putting the kids to bed. And finally back to nightgown for bed. It's exhausting.
Spiffed up at last, don't you know it started sprinkling just as I hit the paved road? Of course, I had not opened the play yard so all I could do was hope it didn't pour rain. It didn't, and the drive down to Plymouth was uneventful. Uneventful because I've memorized most of the potholes and was able to dodge new ones. Once past River Pines, the road was in much better shape. My friend Harold had invited me to lunch. The choice of eateries in Plymouth is pretty slim; I think there are two. The road to Jackson is the next best thing to a freeway and winds through lovely rolling green hills, dotted with oaks and punctuated by cattle. Streams are flowing and ponds are full, a sight not seen for years. I am rarely a passenger, and it was nice to sit and enjoy the scenery. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch. Harold is a glass-half-full kind of guy and good company. Unlike myself, Harold loves to go shopping so our next stop was the grocery store. He was a little disappointed that I had only three items on my list, and those because Harold and Pete are coming next Saturday for a belated St. Patrick's Day dinner. The sun started breaking through on the way back, rays like spotlights on the hills.