Last year's blooms were anemic; a dry monsoon season and a frigid winter conspired against a vivid display. This year, with two seasons' blossoms stored up inside, the trees were thicker than ever, the saguaro's had more buds, and the detritus is covering my front yard in piles of rapidly decaying but stubbornly resistant yellowness.
When most of America is lubricating lawn mowers, I am looking for an outdoor vacuum cleaner with a low setting.
The waitress at lunch today spent more time curling her hair than boning up on the menu. Her blonde curls were perfection, long, loose ringlets that draped elegantly down her back and over one carefully tilted shoulder. She ended her description of one dish with thusly: "...and some other stuff."
My companion and I shrugged our shoulders and continued making one another smile.
A cousin-in-law had a near brush with disaster and I wasted no time in chiming in. Was I too intrusive? Was I offering advice where none had been requested? Was I invading their personal space? Absolutely.
As TBG reassured me when I wondered if I'd overstepped my bounds, "You come at this from a different perspective these days."
The last of the debates for Congressional District 8 was held last night. Neither my lunch companion nor I could bear to listen or attend. There was little substance and lots of acrimony. According to today's paper, as they've done the entire campaign, the two went at each other about their positions on Social Security, Medicare and health-care reform.
I had high hopes that this campaign would focus on the stark differences between the two candidates and their views on issues specific to Southern Arizona. I'm still waiting for someone to stand up above the fray. I am certain that both men were schooled that negativity is the surest way to secure the election; I just wish one of them had ignored the advice.
For scheduling reasons, neither my physical therapist nor my pilates instructor had seen me for nearly three weeks. Each one commented on my improving ambulation. I still have a long way to go, but I'm getting there. The plateaus are flatter and wider but the changes are more dramatic. Numbness recedes and muscle tone improves and I'm finding that my list of things to be peeved about because I got shot no longer includes the fact that my injured leg may be half-an-inch shorter than my other one.
It's funny what you can get used to.
Amster and FireFighter want to go away for six days and not spend two of them traveling. One of his sugggestions was wild pig hunting in Texas. The accomodations are double wide trailers and bunk beds.
There are many reasons that she loves him. I'm not sure vacation planning is one of them.
Re-reading this post before publishing it, I realized that every section could end with Sigh.
I went up and changed the title.
Have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend, denizens. Hug someone who served and say "Thanks, a bunch!"