Wednesday, September 14, 2011

From Grandma's Collection of Pitchers (not the ball-playing type)

We awoke this morning to heavy frost on the grass. The brown-eyed susans, portulaca, cosmos and gazanias are toast, but the sweetpeas are still hangin' in there somehow.

It's time it turned cold, isn't it? There seemed to be lots of complaining about it on the program I listen to when my radio alarm comes on at 7. Lord, people, dress for the weather and suck it up! At least today the hellish wind isn't blowing hard, as it had for the previous two days. That nasty biting wind turned me around and kept me in the house, feeling lethargic. I didn't walk yesterday because of it (Dress for it, and suck it up! Practise what I preach!), and the day before I waited till the wind settled down, thus walking at sunset, not the safest time (but quite lovely) as it's difficult for motorists to see me on the gravel road. Yesterday I wondered if I should put long underwear on (couldn't bear the thought of ski pants, which I wear all winter, in September) and didn't, but could've and wouldn't've regretted it. Today I wore the long underwear and was glad, even though it was a warmer day. Long underwear in September! It doesn't seem right. Oh wait— is this complaining?

Note: Goddamn dog (Sara, who visits occasionally in case I'm going for a walk) caught a duck while we were out this afternoon. I hollered till she dropped it, but it was in water and I wasn't wearing rubber boots, so couldn't go see if it needed help. The duck slunk away (as much as ducks can slink) with its neck low over the water but didn't look very good. Goddamn dogs, anyway. I love 'em, but sometimes I hate 'em.

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