We haven’t heard about the car that conked out in Fort Wayne, other than to learn they are looking at it . . . Probably not good news. We’re taking it in stride, although I have been seeing red – Classic Red, that is. That’s the color I’m painting the shed out back; I can see if on the shed and I see it on me.

While I was wearing swatches of red classic on my skin and clothes, I thought I might as well wade into some shrubs and saw out a few tall leaders. I did and then came walking across the front lawn with the saw still in my hand just as a college girl passed. She is here in Northern Indiana for four months from Bulgaria, demonstrating software door-to-door. I don’t know if she really is from Bulgaria, of if that is just an angle to get more attention, but then maybe she didn’t know if I were really just a painting, pruning lady . . . or a casual murderer.

I was very nice and did not point to big splashes of classic red on my leg and say, “Oh, that’s Cousin Leroy; he won’t be bothering us anymore. The blob on my arm is Agnes, the tenant we just couldn’t get rid of . . . until now.”