laundry day

Monday is my laundry day (so I could watch 24 & Medium with good excuse while folding, originally), but delayed because of the holiday. Since Spring, laundry day means spending a lot of time in my backyard, once I was truly converted to the sensual treasure that is clothesline use.

The clothesline was interrupted today by a rather large branch that fell overnight from one of the 75-year-old towering sycamore trees in our yard. It also took down an electrical wire, luckily not lying there live, as the break cut it off from its power source. Eek. The girls were rather thrilled; it made the school departure almost interesting (returning after a one-day break is much less interesting than after the 3-month break was last week).

A peek at one of my favorite needle-felted creatures, a bulb baby, nestled at the roots of one of those same tremendous trees.

Yard related: coming out in late summer glory are the rose bushes along the back. I try not to like roses sometimes, thinking them unoriginal, but when I find myself rubbing my cheeks across a mass of fat blooms, heady with their warm and nostalgic scent, I realize they are still my favorites.