Not so hot today; neighbors yelling, though they don't yell quite so much since one had a stroke. They're so nice outside of their house. Sweet, interested, talkative. But the language I hear! The nastiness between them! Maybe it's just how they relate to each other. The one who had a stroke swears like a sailor. Worse, actually.

Outside the Hydrangeas are drooping. The heat has been too much, and now that it's lifted, they still cannot lift up their chins. "Where's winter?" White Hydrangeas in the front, blue in the back. Ferns, hostas, and a cat's grave, the latter tucked behind the Forsythia.

So I can't garden when it's hotter than 85. Like the Hydrangeas I droop. Can't tolerate it. Autumn, Spring, that is when gardening is heavenly.

"Don't worry about-- Chicken Little is such an alarmist!" And Prince Tuesday doesn't want a babysiter: children's programming.

Wild Girls likes: bananas, pears, mama, milky, and anything she hasn't yet laid her eyes or hands on!

Glamor Girl likes: horses, dogs, water, her brother. (She is his girl, not my girl, she often reminds me.)

Mr. Crazy likes: the computer, the computer, the computer, and anything that has, does, or will have anything to do with wires, gears, electricity, or explosions.