(no subject)

It's rained almost every day for the past week. The difference is almost instantaneous. The grass is greener, trees are blooming and new leaves growing. Granted the hail knocked off a lot of new growth. But it's still lovely to see. I'm thinking that for next year I want to cover the entire front yard with bluebonnet seed and some other wildflowers. It will be pretty and we won't have to mow for a month.

My dreams have been cinematic and dark lately. Last night's involved illegimate children and murders, betrayals. My old friend John was there and we tried to talk in the parking lot, angling ourselves so the cameras couldn't see. Before that was a dream about how Nixon was JFK's vice president. When Kennedy was killed, Nixon took over. Jackie went mad, terribly mad, and Nixon had her killed. When he grew old he moved into a rambling country farm house and his Secret Service guard was all biker gangs. On and on and on it goes. This is what happens when I try to write fiction.

in the mail

Today I wrote out chain letters by hand and mailed them. When was the last time you saw a chain letter, an actual physical one on paper that came in an envelope with a stamp? (I think mine was 1990, when I still lived on Barrington.) It was sort of fun. The mail that came today brought prints of cakes for hanging up in the kitchen, and a check from one of my market research jobs. Yay money for opinions. It's tiny money, but still.

I love this mosaic pear sculpture. I want it. I would put it on the table, or maybe the mantle. I also kind of love the fish shaped serving plate. It just looks happy.