Our very own American Dream.
Next time I'm wallowing in self-pity over some silly something-or-other, please refer me to August 5, 2007:
The glorious gifts God had bestowed...
...like beer and summer evenings, grilled steak and sweet corn, and people to share them with.
"Petals", R.I.P. (My failed attempt at transferring a dying Mexican Heather to a new outdoor pot. Ry saw it was dead and got Jax to help her cover it in stones and bury it. She named it Petals, found a "headstone", and demanded I tell her how to write "Petals, March teenth" --cause apparently that's when it was born--and then she insisted on writing her name in the gaps left over. And then she wanted to know why I wouldn't let her label her own stuff for camp. Which begins tomorrow. Aggghhh!!!)