We've been working nonstop on house projects--very much including the gardens--and as a result I am laced with aches and pains. So no typing for me until Monday.
I guess I should feel good that I'm still able to dig holes for plants and prune dead branches.
When I was seven, my father began to leave a copy of the "New York Times" on the breakfast table each morning before he went to work. Unread copies piled up for three years. At ten I began to peek at the sports pages: poring over Dodgers, Giants, and Yankees scores. Later, I glanced at other sections, and by age 20 I was addicted. At 40, I had my first Letter to the Editor published--it was about Israel bombing Iran's nuclear reactor. (How times haven't changed!) My father called from Florida to tell me he saw the letter and that he was proud of me. That was the first time he said that. It made me cry but also kept me reading the paper every day. Now this blog. I hope he would be proud of this too.
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