Water color memories.

I have just spent a few minutes reading over an ongoing diary. I don't write in if very often - mostly because I write here, now. Yet, every now and then I will jot something in the diary, that was a gift from a college friend on the occasion of my 50th birthday. (Funny. I am edging toward my final year of the 50's.) The one thing that surprises me about the diary is that I did not write so much about the year Dad was so sick. I blogged about it so much that I neglected the diary. There are a few entries that say much about that year. Sweet Daddy.
I also took the 1000 gift challenge in that diary, but am only on #50. I had better pay attention to all I have to be thankful for...because it will be November pretty soon. (If you are reading this Daughter, bring your A-game! Challenge on.)

***
The weekend was good. Our weather is atypically mild for August in Mississippi. Mr. Macho worked in his Dad's yard Saturday morning. I policed the house and put on a big pot of red beans. Birmingham sister-in-law, her husband, Mr. Macho's Dad, and family friend, Kathryn, joined us for supper Saturday night. We enjoyed all their visits.

*****
There doesn't seem to be much hope of "foreign" adventure on the horizon this year. ("Foreign" = just getting out of town!) Mr. Macho has turned into the work-aholic in these latter years. I think he is simply sprinting toward the finish line. We do get to travel back to the coast in September to celebrate a very special birthday. No. Not mine. I'll tell you about it another day.

Crochet projects are drawing my attention, again. I am reading books at my usual pace. (Insert an "argh" for Les Miserables just for fun right here.) My organizations are about to commence their new seasons.

I felt very tall wearing my new platform shoes to church yesterday. I did get several nice comments, just as the sales lady promised. Oh, she was good.

Dance party tonight. No lessons. It will be fun and relaxed. Good practice time.
Watching the tropics is on my agenda these days. I appreciated all the storm reminiscence last week. I allowed myself to sink, and wallow, and mourn. Now. Moving forward.

Be sweet.