That title sounds like those essays our english teachers made us write on the first day of school: What I Did Last Summer. I was a weird kid who loved to write essays on any topic. Once I wrote a three page poem, translating Beowulf into modern, hip lingo (um, hip isn’t even hip anymore, is it?). Anyway, it was the sixties so I doubt its ‘hip’ now. I wouldn’t know because my teacher kept it. She must be long gone by now, and so is my cutting edge version of Beowulf. I’m sure the world can go on.
It was gorgeous here this week – in the eighties and nineties – and the humidity was very low. The mornings were so beautiful. I wish I could bottle it and bring it out in July when the thermometer reads 102° and the humidity is 90%.
It was perfect weather for painting. I love to paint and especially on such beautiful mornings, but I do wish our porch railing would hold its paint.I’m not sure what they did when they built our porch/deck, but my guess is that they painted the pressure-treated wood while it was still fresh and possibly damp. They probably didn’t get good paint adhesion, and as a result it pops and peels and cracks in certain places every year. Herm replaced the bench seat, and we don’t have the same problem with it now, even though it’s a flat surface and receives a lot of weather.
We won’t have much shade back there until the crepe myrtle leafs out. And since we committed crepe murder last year, I’m not confident of how much shade there will be this summer. We could live to regret our impulsive decision to whack it back. It was a beautiful tree, but it outgrew its spot and was scraping against the house and roof, and Herman was tired of dealing with it. I can’t blame him. When we bought it, the tag claimed it would only grow twelve to fifteen feet. It was at least twenty-five feet and still growing.
The only blemish on several days of the sweetest mornings and softest breezes and perfect temperatures happened when our new neighbor came out to power wash his house and tuned into Rush Limbaugh. He turned the volume so high that the entire neighborhood could hear, which was probably his intention. Gotta luv the burbs.