I just hit the 'run program' on our thermostat, and the heat kicked on, and I thought, 'What the hell is the program anyway?'
I just had the urge to photograph my laundry basket; or rather my empty basked and pile of clothes on the bed: the sideways basket, the fabric softened jumble of clean pastels appeared a cotton comfort cornucopia.
I feel an immediate kinship toward anyone else whose spine convulses at the first note, or mention, of, "The hills are alive with the sound of music... ." There was much Nutcracker, Sound of Music, Wizard of Oz, and Charlie and The Chocolate Factory in my childhood. I am maxed, done, overloaded. The only sound I want alive in my hills is squirrels and chipmunks rooting through the underbrush, thank you. Keep Julie Andrews the heck on up outta my camp site.
Peaches, onions, and tuna compliment one another in a green salad.