Well, it's a fine morning here in Lloyd, Florida. We got more rain last night and when I woke up this morning, it was dripping off the trees onto the tin roof of my bathroom and the porch and I thought it was still raining but the sun was shining so brightly I knew it couldn't be.
Disconcerting and charming at the same time.
I will never, ever get over the way the sun beams its way through the trees here in the morning, especially after it has rained. It's magical. I wish the camera could do it justice. Well, it's probably not the camera's fault.
I've talked to Mr. Moon and they're staying onshore today until some weather passes. More storms in the offing. This is good for us in that we are getting rain but not so good for men who want to get out of sight of land and catch fish. I am grateful that my husband is cautious. Not crazy-cautious, but sanely so.
Did you know that he thanks me, that man does, for "letting" him go fishing? And then he says, "Well, not letting me. You know what I mean."
Yes. I am so lucky.
The rain is swelling the figs and if the birds don't eat them all, or the squirrels, we may have a crop this year.
I swear, one of my goals in life is to have enough figs of my own to make fig preserves and send a jar to Madame Radish King. That would make me SO happy. She loves figs the way angels love babies.
The garden has gotten way out of hand. I am not spending nearly enough time out there. I have a feeling that we have yard-long beans that are probably two yards long. Sigh. And the weeds? Well, we need to just take a lawn mower in there.
There's just always so much to do.
I did not finish the kitchen last night. I did finish my martini. Ha! Correlation? Could be. I threw a lot of stuff away, though, which is always good. I'll finish that up today.
And now I'm off to town to have lunch with my Hank and go to the store and drop off books at the library. I am listening to Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese and I am enjoying it. Mr. Verghese is actually DOCTOR Verghese and what the hell is it with doctors who are excellent writers? Stop it with the talents, okay guys? I mean, look at our own Grady Doctor. I'd hate her except that I love her too damn much. Why can't these people be satisfied with, oh, you know, saving lives and stuff like that?
I think it's all genetic. I've known many musicians who were also talented painters and artists. And then you have people like Madame King who is a poet, a musician, an artist, and who can put a plane together with her own two hands. I'd link her but her blog is closed and you have to ask permission to read it. It's like a secret society. She is the queen of it. As well she should be.
Anyway, I need to go wash the salt out of my hair. Salt which came from my own body through my own sweat. Here's a crazy fact: I am still using the same bottle of shampoo I took to Mexico back in December.
And I have pretty darn long hair.
I'm probably using the same razor blade too but that's a whole other story.
Here's some flowers with the sun shining on them. Mostly begonias. A few impatiens. The workhorse flowers of the shady yard.
Happy Friday, y'all.