Shouldn't be rushed

I flew solo for most of this weekend. Patrick had far-flung gigs both Friday and Saturday nights, so it was I, not us, who loaded the truck and the dog and drove out to G'ville on Friday evening. I spent the entire evening raking, from five-thirty to after eight. The peepers were thrumming. Starlings were wheeling around in the air-- and as much as I hate starlings, they do look beautiful in flight. All around the house, little green nubs are nosing up through the chilly brown earth. Spring is getting a slow start this year, but that's okay. This is the kind of thing that shouldn't be rushed.

Saturday, my folks came to visit. Dad brought sage advice and a five-gallon bucket of floor finish. Mom brought her artist's sensibility. We ate chicken enchiladas and raspberry peach crisp in the flower room.

(I have a feeling that the so-called "great room" is never actually going to be called the great room. It's a big room full of flowers. The flower room.)

Sunday morning, I puttered. I got a little tidy, a little unpack-y, a little lonely. A little playful.

What do you think? I think I'm going to build a little ledge up there, for the purpose of displaying a tribe of small glass bottles.

I passed by this doorway many times throughout the course of Sunday, and those little bottles never failed to make me smile. It feels so good to do something decorative, even if it's small.

At length, my sweetie returned from the Great White North. At slightly greater length, my sweetie says to me, "Let's take a walk," and so, despite the great winds, we walk. At the center of town, we discover that this is the day for the fabled annual appearance of the Morris Men!

Gilbertsville, as you will notice if you ever visit here, is the source of a great many "What century are we in?" moments. Also, "What country are we in?" This was one of those. One Saturday (or Sunday, if Saturday is inclement) every year, the whole town turns out to watch the Morris Men dance, jingle, and wave their hankies in the center of town.

It's just a rite of spring, I guess. So glad we caught it, by chance, on our first spring in town.