Post and Coast

Mrs. I's comment on the harvest post made me think I should write a detailed post about growing grass seed. However, I wrote about two sentences in my head and realized I needed Paul's help for the details--do they plant all kinds in the fall or does perennial ryegrass re-seed itself? Why is it called "cutting" the grass when in other parts of the country it's called raking or swathing or windrowing? Well they do windrow it but I don't think they say, "Lowell Kropf windrowed his fescue today."

The problem with involving Paul is that I see very little of him these days, and when I do see him it's either at the warehouse and he's all in a rush to get the beltivator fixed, or he's eating supper an hour and a half late, or he's collapsed onto the couch, having first taken the time to put an old quilt on the couch to protect it from his dusty clothes, bless him.

So I can't bring myself to bother him with refining a blog post.

Meanwhile, I'm writing this in a motel at the coast, where all of "us girls" went to celebrate the three birthdays of ours that occur between June 25 and July 6. The beach was very cold and windy last night so we ate at Mo's and window-shopped in Old Town Florence and then returned to the motel to watch a dvd Amy had brought along. "Would anyone rather read than watch a movie?" I asked, since I was deep into a book Aunt Susie had donated for the school rummage sale, They Loved to Laugh. "I would!" said all three girls. So we all sat on the beds and read and a good time was had by all.

And then it was time for three young ladies and one old one to settle down for the night, and we will draw the curtain of charity over that scene, and the talking, and giggling, and Jenny's midnight imitation of how her mom sleeps, with a little hissing "poooh" with each breath, and Amy and Emily's gales of laughter., and my feeble, desperate pleas to be quiet. Ah well. Sleep finally came to all.

Quote of the Day:
"Mirror mirror, on the wall, I am my mother after all."
--a little plaque in one of the little shops, that sent me into fits of giggles, while the girls looked on, mystified. I said they'd understand it in 30 years, and Emily said if she sees it in 30 years and thinks it's funny, she'll think, Mirror mirror on the wall, I have my mother's sense of humor after all.