Yesterday the temperature got up to 87 when I went out to get plants for my Memorial Day urn  assembly; if you remember my whining about mowing on Sunday, then you know that was at least 43 degrees within 72 hours. (And Sunday, the wind made it feel like 37.)  I came home with geraniums, asparagus ferns, spikes, and trailing ivy and plopped them down on the patio table in the garage. It’s an old, old, old Brown & Jordan table with the criss-cross top, so I can water the plants and let it go right down into the garage drain. This doesn’t sound like much, but, to me, it’s, if not a big deal, then at least, a little blessing.

When I got inside, I striped off my jeans and long-sleeved shirt and hopped (literally) into shorts and stuck my arms and neck through the holes in a sleeveless soft top . . . and then I drank iced tea – peach flavored, dontcha know. By early evening I was a little sleepy and I dozed. I dozed my way through the cell phone and house phone ringing. Then I woke up, thought I’d never sleep during the night and lay down to wake up in daylight.

That’s when I saw I had missed calls from Der Bingle and Quentin. They both left voicemails: Der Bingle’s pointed out other people here need to keep their cell phones turned on and ANSWER THE  . . .  HOUSE PHONE; Quentin’s was short and nice and sounding like himself – although a bit stuffed up. He said his snout’s doing well and he feels okay. He’ll get some of the stuff out of his nostrils on Friday and should be good to go for work by Monday.

Since he’s an IT guy at his workplace, I imagine they’ll be glad to see him back.

I don’t know if there will be any snout pictures or not. I think his face is bruised up, but all should eventually look the same and the view the surgeon has should be much better.  Now the main hope is that is doesn’t get a cold and have to SNEEZE. Ack! What a thought.