The blueberries, of course!  It was pure bliss to walk back into the bushes after vespers and have them plunk into my container (and my mouth).  Most aren’t anywhere near ripe, but enough to stand and pick and eat and lean into the bush.  JOY.  I ought to have brought my camera, but how was I supposed to know that it would be a picture perfect June evening, warm with a little breeze and the sun setting?  The perfect evening to sit on the rope swing and lean back and soak it all in?  Excuse my rapture, but these are the days you dream about in the dead of winter.  The ones that seem impossible when your skin hasn’t felt sun in weeks, your windows can’t remember the last time they opened, and you don’t even have bare feet in the house.   So I’m trying to make a point of appreciating.

Which reminds me that a certain young lady recently received a copy of Chrysanthemum (I always hear Anne Shirley’s voice in my head when I write that word) and, according to her mother, has started using the word appreciate.  As in, she finds a shirt and asks if her sister used to wear it.  When informed that it doesn’t fit her yet, she’s still too small, Q says, “when M grows and learns to appreciate this shirt, then she’ll wear it.”  Ah, my little Chrysanthemum.

Also in the appreciating realm, I would really appreciate it if the kids across the street had a babysitter instead of being left to run and scream and play in the restaurant driveway.  They even have an inflatable bouncy thing.  Surely if their parents can afford a couple of shiny SUVs, they could afford a babysitter.  Especially on nice evenings when they have outdoor seating.  Who wants to hear the owner’s kids wail while eating a nice dinner?  I sure don’t, and I’m not even paying them good money for my meal (the last of the beets, some wilted lettuce, oil & balsamic.  So gourmet.)

More blueberry rhapsodizing to come, I’m sure.

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