Help me figure this out

Daddy gun,

Mommy gun,

Son by another marriage gun

and two little guns.

Daddy gun,

Mommy gun,

Gun for another mommy,

Two little guns.

Menage a trois 

And two little guns.

Two little sons of three big sons a guns.

Three big hunters, couple of back ups.

I don't know. The light's green, move on.

Art lessons

I was early to pick up Laura today,

and look what I found.

As she's just not done (I was told), and as 

Mrs. P will be off for three weeks, getting a new hip,

Laura took a Laura's eye picture of her composition,

to finish at home.

Mrs. P is as old as my daughters, more or less.

Perhaps they would be back at it in three weeks.

I wonder if I could.

Hooray for Mrs. P!

Laura is thriving.

That's a lotta bulbs!

Seventy new anemone bulbs went above the pavers.

Emily surveying one hundred mixed spring bulbs, snow crocus and such like,

to go in the Canterbury Bell garden to her left.

Laura reading how deep to plant the new allium bulbs.

My job is to clear out the old iris vegetation between the pampas grass.

All the green gone back to earth, as an old gardener said to me recently.

The new "two faced" iris have been planted, One is there at the extreme right, waiting for spring.

Forty one degrees as we worked. Definitely too cold.

This pretty ground cover still has little blue flowers.

I am pleased with how quickly the ground covers are owning the garden.

These were from one inch pots this spring.

Checking which side goes up. Or down, as the case may be.

Half done. Grandma has cleared the spent foliage from between the pampas before retiring to watch.

And I think we'll take down the bird baths next weekend and get all the feeders up.

The week in review

I don't know what happened to the week. It's as if I've been in slow motion, watching the world speed by.

I emptied the little loom of towels; it's folded up and stored away. As I stuffed the little guys in envelopes last night I realized there was no picture of the last of the towels. Here they are, six of the colchium lavender's already gone.

The village post office, where it all happens.

I remembered the camera this morning; the last sunny day for several is forecast. Actually, the last sunny fore-noon. Outside the post office.

Outside the town hall. I posted one on the website as Autumn Gold.

When I left the building, the rain had begun. I took a series of pictures through the raindrops on the lens. In review, they weren't the least interesting.

A local restaurant, after I dried the lens, all shiny from the rain. 

Up the hills out of the valley, home past the golf course.

Grey.

I've been working on pictures of the tree trunks on the golf course.

As far as the eye can see.

I wonder how often golf balls rebound into the golfers' noses and eyes?

Back home, the begonia's had a happy summer.

The gerbera step daisy has another two blossoms unfolding.

And in today's mail?

Bonanza.

The first of two packages of fall bulbs from Holland.

Anemone, and lots of them. The bulbs Laura and I planted in the rain last year were so happy I have more, more, more to join them.

Last year was cold and wet; we read the instruction to soak the little darlin's overnight before planting and smiled as we poked holes in the squelchy earth. Everyone was happy.

How to conquer territory and foment world unrest with a loom and a pocket knife

After a lovely two week visit, Hazel and Tony are back to Cambridge tonight, via London. Tony (who is singing in the kitchen as I type) just returned from mailing home the pocket knife he purchased at Kidron’s Hardware, in Amish Country. 2 ½” blade, perfect, he announced to Tom on the way back. Then, “Bloody hell, I can’t take it on the airplane.” So Mr. Regular Bloke and my brother-in-law drove into “your little village” and dropped “three quid” at the post office to preempt TSA. “Yes, OK, not bad,” Tony said.

In the meantime, I purchased my loom, and I will even tell the price because it figures significantly. $150.00, Canadian. The owner sent me photos of every square inch of the loom, which he bought long ago and never used. It is a 36” Fanny LeClerc. Anyone who looks up current retail will just shake their head in disbelief.

Because neither the seller nor I have a truck, he broke it down to fit in his wagon, and is bringing tools in case we need to disassemble more of it to fit in my car. He even sent me the link to assembly instructions; I think he doesn’t believe I wove on the same loom for twenty years. Without metric tools to make repairs.

I digress. I bought the loom three weeks ago; the seller took the listing off Kijiji and held it without payment, and now has disassembled it for me. Further, he is driving a hundred miles to a hockey match with his son and will meet me, essentially on the other side of the Peace Bridge.

I went to the bank and bought two one hundred Canadian bills to give him. The purchase took twenty minutes of paperwork, and not all because the teller had to consult her supervisor, who also read every line on the computer screen before touching a key. It was the paperwork! I could take thousands from the ATM machine in less than a minute, with no questions asked. If I had thousands. 

I was to return today, after noon, to pick up the money.

The receipt of what amounts to pocket money took another twenty minutes. Temper would not facilitate the transaction, so I settled for putting my forehead on the counter, in clear view of an extra person, who I hope was a regional supervisor. I looked up only to sign paper work and retrieve my driver’s license, which had to be copied.

The delay was frustrating because I also needed to drop my car at the garage for new tires, which I need before winter in any event, and am a good enough citizen to think ahead and not blow out a tire on our interstate or, heaven help me, the Queen Elizabeth Way.

Now baby has new shoes, Tony and Hazel will be home in the morning; the loom on Sunday. I have no idea how fast the post office moves a little knife for three quid postage.