That picture shows what my tomatoes look like; I tried putting my hand there so you could see the size of them. I've been following one of AOL's weekly choice journals, Dad's Tomato Garden. He's in Tennessee, and he's way ahead of me. Of course, my friend BooDotte is in my area, and she's way ahead of me too. I always was a bit slow.
We had breakfast this morning at Bob Evans, then shopped a lot and spent too much money. But there should be things to cook this coming week for our company. It's only 70 degrees here at the warmest part of the day. I get sometimes tickled at Cliff and his brother Phil on their cell phones, and other times aggravated: no matter where we go or what we're doing, Phil calls Cliff, and there I sit listening to one side of a conversation that usually is nothing of interest to me. However, it's worth the cell phone bill just to know Cliff stays in touch with one of his brothers that much. And normally I'm at work when all this goes on.
Because my horse, Blue, was foundered at some time in his past, he can't just stay on pasture all the time; he'll be on a permanent, lifelong diet. Every day I lead him to a pen where tall grass flourishes, and leave him for an hour. Then I lead him back to his dry lot. I know it's a cardinal rule to wear shoes when leading a horse (or milking a cow, for that matter) but it always seems too much trouble. Today, once again, Blue stepped on a toe as I led him to supper. Will I wear shoes next time? Probably not.
I'm still throwing stuff away upstairs.