Box of Sweaters

The purpose of this photo is to show you how tall that one sunflower is. I think it’s still growing. A couple more inches and it will be taller than the shed. I know the garden looks like a disaster here. I’ve cleaned up part of it.

This morning I got up early, ready to tackle all the odds and ends of life including a bunch of things that I have been putting off forever.

One of the things I have been putting off forever is a warning box for this website, telling me I had to update something. I clicked around looking for the directions and then clicked some more and then when I updated it, it announced that [I broke my email.]

This is a huge over-simplification because I don’t want you to pass out from boredom while you read this.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t really put off fixing my email for later so I spent the morning swearing and pulling my hair out and thinking about cocktails.

It works now but the whole thing created new problems that I need help before I can fix. Or maybe I will live without.

As we were preparing to go off for our day of festival-ing Bob pondered over which sweater to bring. “What is that?” I asked. “That’s my box of sweaters I keep in the car,” he told me. “These are important sweaters,” he added.

I’m going to break this story up into a few posts.

Last week we had our main summer adventure.

When I was recovering from my endoscopy and still high on anesthesia, Bob tricked me into agreeing to go to a music festival out of town.

It might seem strange to some people that we would run off to a music festival right after we lost Priscilla but Bob was determined and the festival was in the town where Priscilla grew up, so there was a connection. Off we went.

We got up early Saturday morning for our drive north.

Like this map? We thought it was helpful, too.

It was a beautiful morning. Right before we got to Kalama a whole bunch of motorcycles whizzed by. They weren’t big bikes – more like sporty bikes. They zoomed by one by one like bumblebees.

By 9:30 we were already at Potlatch State Park.

This is a terrible picture of a beautiful place.

Back in the car, Bob started talking about music and said something about Harry Chapin and how dramatic his songs are. I immediately burst into my most dramatic rendition of Without You which turns out, is not Harry Chapin, it’s Harry Nilsson. Harry Chapin is the Cats in the Cradle guy. I said I thought that was Cat Stevens. Cat Stevens is the Wild World guy. I did correctly know that Jim Croce is the Time in a Bottle guy.

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