Sorry about the unpleasant memories in the last entry, but it's what I was thinking at the time.
I finished reading "The Great Alone" and found it more interesting than I thought it would be. I had no idea what to read next, so I went to the 2004 New York Times list and found a highly rated Robert Crais book, "The Two Minute Rule". I haven't read anything by Crais for ages, and he's good; this book has a higher rating than most, almost 5 stars.
It was supposed to be cold and rainy Saturday for our local fair, but it turned into a nice day before noon. Several of our tractor club members showed up for the parade, and I picked up a few hitch-hikers to ride with me in the basket behind the tractor.
Cliff and I restrung my guitar, since the old strings sounded dead and were long past their time to die; he strings, I tune. So what happened next? I have laryngitis. If I can't sing I have no use for the guitar, since I only chord. This morning I couldn't speak above a whisper. By mid-morning I was squeaking a little, and that's how I am now. Grandson is vacationing this week, so he and Cliff have had quite a laugh at my voice when we were eating our tuna casserole. Cliff, of course, being half-deaf, can't hear anything I say today unless I get right in his face. It's funny to me he can't make my voice out, but Gabe the dog and Alexa, the robot-voiced servant, fully understand me! I was rather surprised by Alexa though. She often has trouble understanding young children, and I sound worse than any three-year-old. But all the grocery items I told her to add to my shopping list today were understood the first time.
At least when my voice is back, I know a newly strung guitar is awaiting me.
Cliff put a disk on our biggest tractor, the one we took to the parade, and turned the grandson loose in a field of ragweed. That was once a little alfalfa field. When the alfalfa gave out, grass was planted. But with the drought this year, everything has turned to ragweed. I'm glad I don't have too bad an allergy to ragweed and goldenrod, because both are plentiful around here. I just updated my header picture with a picture of the grandson disking and a field of ragweed in the foreground. That's the same tractor that was in the parade Saturday.
Here's one for the books: I've wanted a Minneapolis Jet Star tractor to add to our collection for a long time, but none we looked at were really worth the asking price. Cliff recently found one online not too far away and had the gall to tell me about it, but then refused to take me to see it. What kind of tractor collector is that? Yes, it looks like a pile of junk, but Cliff has hauled many "chunks of coal" into diamonds. Oh yeah, and now the guy has come off his price. That's what I get for being a long-suffering tractor widow all these years: Nothing! Here's what it would look like all painted up:
Oh well, I'll always have the "wants" for something. I can't complain: All my needs have always been met, and most of my wants; but as my mother used to say, I have to be careful what I want.
Yours truly, Donna