The Girls of Summer

I have been bad about blogging this week, and I cannot really apologize. My absence really has all been for legitimate reasons. For all that explanations are as dangerous as apologies, let me try and explain.My excuse, what there is of it, is that the days have been hot, I've been coming home tired, and once home there has been something that needed doing other than blogging.Anyway, we had another hot evening Tuesday, and I spent it playing with little girls rather than here.The neighbor kids - two little girls, one Peeper's age and the other Missy's - had the smart idea of beating the heat by running through the sprinkler that was watering their mom's raised beds out front, thus combining playing in the water with gardening, a brilliant bit of synergy.

The older of the neighbor girls is this cutie. Right now she's all knees and glasses at seven, but in a decade she's gonna break a lot of hearts, and several academic records, at Roosevelt High. Isn't she adorable?After gardening and running about in the yard lost their appeal, the vixens turned to beautification, which in this case consisted of hauling out my bride's collection of abandoned, rejected, one-off, peculiar, and discontinued nail paints. Understand that my love is a somewhat-girly-girl. She prefers the simple, the elegant, and the unfussy. But every so often she is bitten in the ovaries by a frilly girl-symbiont and has to go find an unusual color of nail paint.

These range from deep purples through odd charcoal-blues to bright reds, but are nearly always the ones that you see for two weeks on the counter at Nordstrom's and never again, unless you hunt the truly neglected remainder bins at Costco or those whatzit racks in the back of the gas station convenience stores. But they're ALL good to little and not-so-little girls looking to dress up their fingers.Here's the clowder of girls gathered around the beauty bar. The nail polish was a huge success, and my bride helped them limit the overspray and protect the pretty nails until the lacquer dried. Both little girls and big were very pleased with the results.
And not the least of the distractions has been my inside. My gastric distress, having taken a powder for a week or so, returned today with a shout. So I'm crouched over like a sick kitten, pawing feebly at my belly and feeling very, very sorry for myself.

Mojo, as always, has been a rock, and a wonder, wrapped in a heroine. I never forget to remind myself that I am a lucky man and she, probably, a very foolish woman, but with luck she will never catch wise.It's late, and my guts are finally subsiding, and I need to sleep. Hopefully the raccoons that ran in and out of the space beneath the front porch have not returned. I enjoy them, given a sufficient distance, but not so intimately. If they have taken up residence in our residence, they will find that no territorial concessions are possible. I'l ne passeront pas.

No matter. Tomorrow is the penultimate day in July, and I hope it brings me a little more peace, both inside and out.

I hear you under there, you furry bastards.

You've been warned.