Outside of a neighbor’s tree crashing down at 7 a.m yesterday, we’re having a quiet Fourth.Back during our “lake days”, when the kids were kids, family would descend for swimming, boating, and eating. Lots of eating. Now everyone’s scattered in different directions with family of their own, so I’m no longer making bathtubs of potato salad and wondering if I have enough soda.
Today we drove over to a local nursery for another batch of perennials to sacrifice to the garden. I should have coneflowers and daisies, but they never showed their faces this spring. And the big anise bush, so popular with the bees, never reappeared, either.
We finished up with ice cream at a nearby farm stand and garden center. I justified it by not having had lunch and we sat on the patio by the parking lot, licking our enormous cones and people watching.
A woman easily in her 70s went by with bright blue hair, then a door-less jeep arrived with a couple and teen. All three were on the chunky side (said the woman with the enormous cone), but they still proudly sported their stretch shorts, midriff riding tees, and tattoos. The father (?) had a man-bun on top of his head, the hair either dyed or woven with red and yellow strings. The majority of people, though, were less colorful in this heavily Portuguese town, and came and went with armfuls of flowers and vegetables.
One benefit of a slow weekend is nowhere to escape what you should be doing. So, not only do we now have clean bathrooms, I’ve also knocked out at least 10 more pages on my next book.