Darling, let's survive till it's summer
For Valentine's Day, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks and I hung out on the talkie window in lieu of having a car and spatch and I went out in the freezing sunset before we lost the light on the slope of the hill we now live on. I photographed moss, sunset, lichen and snow, and he took a picture of me after dinner.
I love the moss that roofs the neighbors' garage. Autolycus in the summer watched the Bird Theater it attracted.
Bracken in miniature in the last of the light.
Taken from Tesla Avenue, which is at a right angle to Edison.
We found some of yesterday's snow! It matched the lichen.
After the walk, after dinner.
Rob has a sinus infection and has been self-medicating with the television comedies of David Croft. So far Hi-de-Hi! (1980–88) has introduced me to some of the most disastrous public speaking since the Market Snodsbury prize-giving, Oh, Doctor Beeching! (1995–97) through the transitive properties of filk earwormed me with music-hall, and I can't believe no one has ever informed me that You Rang, M'Lord? (1988–93) contains, in addition to some surprisingly sharp politics, a fabulous butch. As of the latest episode, she's joined a new golf club, the old one having been stuffy about her plus-fours: "Much younger set. They don't mind girls in the bar, chaps can wear suede shoes, and you don't have to be a gentile."
rushthatspeaks and I hung out on the talkie window in lieu of having a car and spatch and I went out in the freezing sunset before we lost the light on the slope of the hill we now live on. I photographed moss, sunset, lichen and snow, and he took a picture of me after dinner.
I love the moss that roofs the neighbors' garage. Autolycus in the summer watched the Bird Theater it attracted.
Bracken in miniature in the last of the light.
Taken from Tesla Avenue, which is at a right angle to Edison.
We found some of yesterday's snow! It matched the lichen.
After the walk, after dinner.
Rob has a sinus infection and has been self-medicating with the television comedies of David Croft. So far Hi-de-Hi! (1980–88) has introduced me to some of the most disastrous public speaking since the Market Snodsbury prize-giving, Oh, Doctor Beeching! (1995–97) through the transitive properties of filk earwormed me with music-hall, and I can't believe no one has ever informed me that You Rang, M'Lord? (1988–93) contains, in addition to some surprisingly sharp politics, a fabulous butch. As of the latest episode, she's joined a new golf club, the old one having been stuffy about her plus-fours: "Much younger set. They don't mind girls in the bar, chaps can wear suede shoes, and you don't have to be a gentile."
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no subject
I don't even like golf and I'd own the collection.
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