Sweetest pleasure in all my roaming
Two chapters in, it appears that my niece likes her present of Sydney Taylor's All-of-a-Kind Family (1951): she has asked me to read her more tomorrow. One of the twins wants to practice her Russian on me. I'm not sure the other wants anything beyond scritches. Since everyone will be done with their school year by the end of the week, I believe the celebratory plan is pizza and ice cream. My goal for tonight is to sleep as hard as I can.
My niece leaping through the sprinkler resembled one of those sixth-century bronze statues of Spartan girls. When she hugged me with the long wet flap of her sleeves, we agreed she was a flying fish.
Rosabella the late-blooming dogwood is in fine form.
Because one of the things that happened to me at the end of last month was an unprecedented case of sun poisoning, my mother would not let me garden without a black felt flop of hat as opposed to the corduroy one I had arrived wearing. Straw is cooler.
This week has been so consumed by plumbers and doctors that I didn't even record the night that![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and I made pseudo-asada con queso tacos and black beans with sour cream and avocado and salsa; it was great.
The book that I acquired for myself while collecting my niece's present was Sanora Babb's Whose Names Are Unknown (1939/2004), which I had never heard of before last month. I am glad its author lived to see it published. When I mentioned its existence to my mother, she reminded me that the Oklahoma in which she grew up in the '50's was still strongly marked by the Dust Bowl.
Thanks to conversation about hot vintage men of Tumblr, I was inspired to run across this gifset of Bill Pullman in Newsies (1992). I maintain no one is allowed to be vintage who is still, you know, around, but also as I wrote tothisbluespirit, "Heroic dork reporters for one million, Alex."
My niece leaping through the sprinkler resembled one of those sixth-century bronze statues of Spartan girls. When she hugged me with the long wet flap of her sleeves, we agreed she was a flying fish.
Rosabella the late-blooming dogwood is in fine form.
Because one of the things that happened to me at the end of last month was an unprecedented case of sun poisoning, my mother would not let me garden without a black felt flop of hat as opposed to the corduroy one I had arrived wearing. Straw is cooler.
This week has been so consumed by plumbers and doctors that I didn't even record the night that
spatch and I made pseudo-asada con queso tacos and black beans with sour cream and avocado and salsa; it was great.The book that I acquired for myself while collecting my niece's present was Sanora Babb's Whose Names Are Unknown (1939/2004), which I had never heard of before last month. I am glad its author lived to see it published. When I mentioned its existence to my mother, she reminded me that the Oklahoma in which she grew up in the '50's was still strongly marked by the Dust Bowl.
Thanks to conversation about hot vintage men of Tumblr, I was inspired to run across this gifset of Bill Pullman in Newsies (1992). I maintain no one is allowed to be vintage who is still, you know, around, but also as I wrote to
thisbluespirit, "Heroic dork reporters for one million, Alex."
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Thank you!
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Unless you are Count Dracula trying to be unobtrusive.
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I did mean it literally! It was in the humid nineties Fahrenheit (today: we are all woken by shattering thunderstorms at the clap of dawn) and black felt which has many fine qualities does not include breathability or light reflection among them. (I do like the hat, though.)