Summer Thoughts
The wearing of the maillot jaune by a midwestern leisure cyclist seems to be a misappropriation along the lines of me wearing a tiara when grocery shopping at Dominick's. Not technically wrong, but not quite right.

The thistle patch along our side yard is not an influx of noxious weeds. It is a finch conservancy area. And tribute to my ancestry. This would have to be filed under "go big or go home." A little thistle in the lawn is a nuisance to be dealt with. (And I don't despise them nearly as much now that I am adult who rarely walks barefoot in her yard. ) A six foot tall thistle is a glory to behold.

In "bad dog day" news...Scrappy ate a ball of fondant. (Smaller than a ping-pong ball, larger than a marble.) No ill effects but we certainly don't want him to develop a taste for it. Fran has been working like crazy on two fabulous cakes for friends' birthdays. Will post picks when it is 'safe.'

This has been our sickest summer since 1987, when the chicken pox worked its way through all four of our girls. (By the time it reached six month old, relatively bald Martha, we had our answer to what chicken pox look like on the scalp. Not attractive.) Rick's cough has continued long past the pneumonia's clearing and the rest of us are coughing along; giving the house that sanitorium ambience. The doctor claims it is not bordetella pertussis - so my guess is bordetella bronchiseptica. Which means we can't be kenneled. So we'll just stay put and cough. Fran has been passed over by this affliction so her cakes aren't tainted. Like anyone would eat the fondant anyway. OK, Eddie will. It must be an aquired test. William diplomatically said something along the lines of "Babe, I think there's a problem with the frosting..."
The word of the day (week, month) is P-A-R-O-X-Y-S-M. A useful word, even when no bacteria are involved.