Drinking my morning coffee on the porch while it’s still cool and before I’ve tamed my wildly frizzy hair.
Shaking off the morning grump while the sun is shining and the birds are chirping.
Listening to little boys giggle as they try to look inside their belly buttons.
Strawberry jam on homemade wheat bread.
Summer is also yard-sale season. Believe me, I wait all year for people to haul their junk out of the basement and spread it out on the lawn. I don’t know who made up the saying about airing your dirty laundry, but they weren’t junkers.
The difference between an eight year old posing and a thirty-five twenty-eight year old posing for a photo is the stomach.
I love how my daughter purposely puffs out her stomach, because I know that when she gets to be my age, she’ll take a deep breath and suck her stomach in until it’s touching her spine. There’s freedom of the airways when you’re eight.
Although I wasn’t planning on hitting any yard-sales today, there happened to be a woman having a moving sale and she was right around the corner from me. How could I not support a neighbor?
These rusty old galvanized buckets are going to become planters for my porch. Can’t you just see them overflowing with pink and purple flowers? That metal thing on top is a frame from a lamp shade. I’m going to paint it and then hang a light bulb in the middle. Won’t that be so cute? FringeMan thinks I’m nuts and he’s going to make me do my own wiring on this one, but he’ll see…
Oh, and I almost forget this little thing.
What is summer to you?