Notes and observations

I have been reading too many old British novels. Those of you who have known me and my reading habits for some time may say, “And when are you not?” True. But I don’t normally go around using “one” as a pronoun. As in, “One wishes one could wallop him, but one knows one can’t.”

This being my mind, I started wondering what the immortal “Hairbrush” song from VeggieTales would sound like if one were to use “one” instead of my:
Where is one’s hairbrush?
Where is one’s hairbrush?
Where oh where oh where oh where oh where oh where
Is one’s hairbrush?

Earlier today I had an ant run up my arm. It was very tickly.

I plan to start a quilt. This is exciting because I have not quilted before. That is, I’ve attempted it, but I was far too ambitious. The current project is much more likely to succeed.

My brother needs books to read. Boy books for a twelve-year-old. I’d estimate that his reading ability is about average for that age, maybe a little less. He likes the Hardy Boys series, but we’d like him to read something a little less formulaic.

Why is it that I generally feel happier on a sunny day than on a grey one? Although, if there is any sort of wind or storm or if it is a particular kind of grey day, I’m happy as well.

My sister has left me for a whole week. I am desolate. She’s in California, attending the Young Women’s Conference. So I wander, disconsolate and alone, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers. (I’m double-quoting there.)

The blackberries in the back yard are blooming. I am mildly excited, but blackberries are considered weeds or as good as around here. They certainly are plentiful.

I baked bread today. I really love baking bread, especially kneading it. There’s something very restful about it. Besides, you get to eat your handiwork when you’re done and that’s always pleasant.