Some rain today means no mowing, but it also means mowing tomorrow. I’ve been all over the mowing stories, including the gas cans that fell over and leaked in the trunk. I am ready for sheep and goats in the yard in LaGrange.

I had a tiring day yesterday, which led me to toss a wadded up soft blanket on the sofa and just flop down on my stomach. Not an especially unusual event, but this time I just stayed there, and then slipped my glasses off, thought to heck with my medicine and zoned out until about 45 minutes ago.

There is an advantage to this: I just had to put my glasses on and sit up and dose myself with a carbonated and caffeinated beverage and I’m ready for the Summer to School run. (I will slip on my moccasins.)

I am counting down the days until I make my last East Noble run; it has been a long haul with two generations involved.

When Quentin started there, my dad said they used to call the gym “The Big Blue Pit”. I don’t know if they call it anything now – school expansion and renovation have buried its looming presence deeper into the building and multiple channel cable tv, internet, electronic games, computers and the introduction of class basketball have moved the focus away from the days when “Hoosiers” was all pervasive.

Well, it’s about time for Summer to be down, asking for socks – she only wears non-matching pairs – and requests for the time. I am used to calling out “7:08”, “7:13” and so forth. She does not like me to say “a quarter after seven” because that is old-fashioned. Heaven help me if I call out “ten of”. Of course I did that until it got boring. Oh, by the way, she thinks watches with no numbers on them are ridiculous. Digital time . . . sometimes it is just too precise.