Ten-Finger Exercises

No time to write

Now isn't that a sad predicament? No time to write. I'll have to use one of those extra blogs I have tucked away that I bought on sale one time. I have them stashed in the closet with the multitudes of shoes I've bought from time to time-- you know how hard it is to find size 11, and rounded toes won't be around forever. That's the same place I put some extra heart emoticons yesterday, just in case they ran out. Hearticons, I call them, and I'm stocked up now. I can to my 's content.

Oops, can't find the blogs. Well, I know they're there somewhere, but I'll have to write something else. Sigh.

My day was rainy, drying off long enough for a short walk with Seamus, my 14-year-old Bouvier who is deaf and beginning to stumble. Maybe getting him out every day will give him a little more strength, I'm hoping. I hate to see him declining; really, really hate it. Then I visited some declining people too, and didn't find any clever, endearing little incidents to redeem the overall gloom. Oh, one man did tell me several times, "Sit me down." I reminded him that he was in bed, and then finally asked if he was inviting me to sit. He nodded his head emphatically, but then immediately fell asleep. And the chair I sat in smelled of urine, I realized too late.

The orchardists in my neighborhood took advantage of the rain stopping to set fire to one of many ten-foot piles of lopped off apple and cherry limbs. That sweet smell still lingered in the air when I drove home.