+ The Bee is starting to read. This is his favorite, because he can read it so well. Something magical happens in that shift between remembering the words from momma read them last and sounding them out--it's a sweet little spot, to be sure.
+ The George is afraid of thunder. Everything else gets a hearty bark that would make even brave men nervous, but thunder? It's the one thing that will send him skulking up the (forbidden) stairs to my bedroom and under my feet. (On this particular morning, I was drying my hair and missed the faint sounds of thunder, until I turned off the dryer and nearly tripped over George who was just behind my feet. The response I could read in his eyes: "What? There's thunder.")
+ The George weighs 101.4 pounds. A Labrador is supposed to be between 55 and 80 pounds. So, with a quick check of the calculator, you will see that this Labrador doesn't get anymore table scraps.
+ It was in the 40s last night. Windows open, cool breeze through the room, curled up in a warm bed. So perfect.
+ It might not be quite so warm should we decide to go camping over the weekend. (Whose idea was that, anyway?)
+ It will, however, be ideal for the grapes that are calling to me even now. So eager to get to the canning portion of this harvest season.
+ Which reminds me . . . I've got a couple bowls of tomatoes that I plucked yesterday that need to be bottled tonight. It's a good start, probably just one batch; but ain't nothing that beats juicing the grapes--that is harvest season sprung happy right there in my kitchen.
+ I found this bad boy hanging out in my garden, eating his way through my tomatoes. I was so enchanted by his size and shininess that I brought him in the house and named him Tom. Then, after being educated on what Tom could become (a hawk moth with a possible 12-inch wing span) and what he could do (lay hundreds of eggs in my lovely garden soil that would kill my tomato plants for years to come;) and after I took another look at my dear tomatoes (they are looking a little gnawed on;) and then after I was reminded of what I did when I found squash bugs eating my pumpkin plants (it's almost too gruesome to mention--but it wasn't inviting them in for a meal, that's for sure;) well, after all that, I handed him over to my neighbor as chicken meal. I was told that Tom was a tasty, tasty treat.
+ I've got twelve quilts dancing around in my brain and the only thing harder than trying to decide which one to jump start first, is finding more than an hour to sit down and get cutting, sewing, moving. (Really need to get moving on that, as it's already the season to be cuddling under the blankets, so the time to make them is slipping.)
And there's Primary programs to plan and soccer practices to attend and dinners to plan and more dinners (ones that I'm not sure how to make) and dogs to be groomed and sandy floors to be swept and ever-looming piles of laundry to be folded and more laundry and homework to do--oh, the blasted homework that last for way to long and it feels even longer because of the lovely weather outside.
So much to do--may I be granted the energy to do as much of it as possible.
And may the weather stay perfect. You know . . . forever.