Monday morning, Monday evening.
Daffodils are one of my favorite flowers. In the house where I grew up, there were these huge hedges lining the sidewalk, and underneath them hundreds of daffodils would bloom. At least it seemed like hundreds to my little-kid memory. I guess I've always been fascinated by them. I remember picking them: the frustration I would feel when I would grab them too close to the tops, and realize as soon as it was plucked that I had ruined it; and the satisfaction of that "pop" sound they'd make when I grabbed them near the bottom; and that sticky slime that oozed out of them that I thought was so gross. It's one of those few childhood sensory-things that are seared in my memory: like the smell of the house when it rained, the sound of the attic fan, the feel of the olive-green velvet sofa, and peeling the layers of paint from my bedroom walls. Good things to remember.
The city condemned and leveled this house in a week flat. It's right across the street from us, or was. It was called "The Chateau" (seriously). It's just a pile of bricks now. It's really pretty sad.
And to end on a funny note, the funniest thing that happened today-- Several very funny things happened today, most of them surrounded the tracing, cutting-out and painting of little cardboard kids in hurricane-force wind gusts. It probably looked a lot like playing Twister with a paint-can from the street. BUT EVEN FUNNIER: Chris and I are hanging out, talking about bagpipes, like ya' do, and she's trying to explain how a certain movie-theme could be played on the bagpipes, and to drive home the point she both HUMMED (think Phoebe, Friends fans) and AIR-PLAYED the bagpipes. And as I crumple with fits of laughter, she just says "Well, it's not everyday that you air-bagpipe."