Yesterday I mowed – and Summer helped; yesterday I decided the front yard was just too dry and the grass was thin. And so I moved the sprinkler, with which I had been giving some transplanted flowers a boost toward survival, over to the the front of the house. I moved it for a little while. Then I forgot it, although I had cautioned myself not to. I remembered it that evening and sent out a vocal memo that the sprinkler needed to be turned off; everyone claims they didn’t get the memo. (Hmmmm)

This morning the sprinkler was turned off . . . and I guess maybe I will take advantage of the Big Wet and sprinkle grass seed. I don’t know how effective it will be, but you never really know. That’s what I say when I’ve goofed something up and am trying to rationalize something positive out of it. Sort of like: Er, we were thinking of taking that fence down anyway and now there will be more access to the breeze. I’ve been meaning to get some rags so I can polish silver and this blouse with the new stain will do nicely. Oh, I’ll just sit and relax while I cut open this vacuum bag and look for (fill in the blank).

I think one of my most difficult situations to come to terms with was when I had moved to the edge of the prairie (Iowa State University-Married Housing on the fringe of the campus.) We were the first residents in the expanded section; it was brand-new two-story with sliding glass doors downstairs and modern crank-out windows upstairs – a small slice of a brick townhouse building for $88 a month. Der Bingle was getting his master’s and working as a teacher’s assistant with a salary. Clean, new beginning . . . but I left the windows open on a windy day during plowing season in Iowa. All that rich, black topsoil over everything. It was a NEW place and didn’t need a deep cleaning . . . and then it did. Don’t think dust; think dirt. Maybe I should have planted corn.