Our yard could be a palette for a painting if I wanted to paint it. Most every kind of color shows up in it, and I get to enjoy it without doing any of the work. That is Mary's hobby, I mow the grass, that's enough.
Speaking of mowing the grass here is a picture of my grandpa with his team hitched to a mower. That's the way it used to be done. When I look at it I think of sweat, flies, hot sun, etc. The physical labor is pretty much removed from the job now, but this year the problem is getting it cut and baled between rain showers. My office wall is covered with pictures like Grandpa's, luckily I was able to find the snapshots in family photo albums. Now with all of our computerized gimmicks we can save, enlarge, post to internet locations like this one, and more.Friend Garden Cleaner, pictured in the last post, lies at the side of the highway between here and downtown. Roadkill, he got in someone's headlights, I presume, and that's that. However, there's always another to take his place.
A good editorial in yesterday's paper: the editor quoted a California journalist friend who said, "If we report the words but don't scrutinize them, are we public watchdogs or public lapdogs, mere conduits for folks with self-serving messages?" I immediately thought of the blather coming out of the mouths of our state politicians who kept saying how they will bring relief, rain fire and hell down on the Corps of Engineers for letting this happen, and otherwise show how good it is that we trusted them to represent us. (In regards to the flood) Yah, sure, you betcha'.
