Bedsheets in the Garden

The wild swings in nighttime temperatures require us to cover up the budding flowers often during the week. The neighbors are doing it too, and the yards seem to be holding slumber parties.

I had the need to exercise and realized just as I pulled up to the house that the yard was a jungle. I mowed it without favoring the bad knee and have changed the diagnosis from Grody Joint Chasm to Mild Inconvenience. Gone are the gauze pads and palm-sized Band-Aids. I'm now wearing to layered regular Band-Aids. The limp is no more as well.

I painted very little. My Dad called, and we talked about his upcoming chemo today. I dabbed red paint where the red peppers should go on the canvas. Next, I'll dab on the yellow and then sketch up the other stir-fry ingredients.

We watched last night's American Idol. In case you're not watching, the show is down to five people:

Brooke -- the hippie sunshine girl
Syesha -- the brassy belter
David Archuletta -- the high-school kid who sings like a Disney character
David Cook -- the stadium-rocker
Jason -- the dreadlocked slacker

Cook is ready to tour right now. Syesha might rule Broadway. Everyone else is a waste, an embarrassment of minimum competence and oh-shucks desperation for votes. They sang Neil Diamond songs, and only Syesha and Cook can sing above a whisper. Your Sister is amazed that Simon and I say virtually the same things just minutes apart.

Picture of the Day
This barely made my high standards for picture posting.