A little pickin' and practicin'. My right index and middle finger are "cut" by my banjo strings. Moral: wear your picks, Deb.
Hannah's homemade peach pie. She is the baker of the family.
After an absence of two months, Cleebo came back, still wearing his collar, still ready to shred the furniture, and still living with wanderlust. He's out again this morning. Sigh.
Bringing the outside in. Thanks again for the lovely bud vase, Clopper Mill Elementary School. Still at war with the whiteflies.
Ruby Lavender root beer floats. Barq's root beer and Bluebell ice cream. Photograph by Hannah.
Gathering together for pot luck and music. Part of my Atlanta family.
My favorite 35-year-old at work.
Moving the tomatoes to a place they might finally thrive (this is probably a pipe dream, but we like tilting at windmills around here):
Elvis Andy Bebop, playing with Jim who is wilting. It's 100 degrees outside.
And Gus knows it. Lazing on the basket of garden gloves:
Stories, stories, stories! This weekend's experiences contained enough drama, tension, laughter, relief, guilt, redemption and generosity to fill a book. Kids ask me where I get my ideas and I tell them, it's all right there, right under your nose, in your very own life: the stuff of story.It's a matter of getting used to seeing your life as a story, and you can do that. Practice, practice. Keep a notebook. A sketch book. Photographs. Write songs, write plays, put together puzzles, invent something brand new: Be a witness to your life.
Hope your weekend was a good one.
Tomorrow: the playlist for The End of the Rope.
