A holiday weekend makes Monday a Sunday.
(I read all about it in the Enquirer).
You call that hard times? When I was a kid, we couldn't even afford a wash pail. We didn't even bathe. We would rub ourselves down with dried horse manure -
and we were thankful for it.
I spotted these guys in the left field mezzanine. I'm pretty sure the bearded one in the middle used to run the Camden, New Jersey crime syndicate back in the sixties.
Congratulations to AJ on her new home. I now have yard and garden envy.
I have nothing but props for the men and women who don wacky costumes in ninety degree heat to keep the kids happy. Here's a Blue Rock (I guess) at the Wilmington Blue Rocks game against the Salem Red Sox.
Once a month.
That is the agreement betwixt my friend and I as to meetings at the minor league ball field.
Elvis Night was OK, but July holds the excitement of "Monkey Rodeo Night". I can't wait.
I am soooo getting Whiplash's autograph.
I still can't wrap my head around this ad I saw at the grocery store. It creeps me out until I think I'm over it -
and then it creeps me out again.
The trusses were delivered for the house.
Here we are going over the house plans at the site. All that's missing are bottle caps and rocks to represent people.
I planted a plum tree about five years ago and suddenly, the thing exploded. It is covered in fruit and looks amazing.
I bought this sweet potato and he is my new weightlifting buddy. Here he is flexing for the camera (He can bench two watermelons)!
His steroid tests are still pending.
I picked up a book about dictionaries at the library and found this kodachrome photo at the beginning of Chapter Seven. It is marked 1956.
(I think that is Alfred Hitchcock on the right).
My nephew sans two front teeth.
She still has that new baby smell.
This one just finished up hanging ten.
Beware of yoga instructors bearing gifts.
Thanks to my nine year old son, this is what I now hear every time someone calls me
(I don't know how to change it back).
See you next week.