swinging

After dinner Friday night, James and I took turns on the old swing in our backyard. We’re not sure how long it’s been there, nor how old the rope that holds it is. Guess the second question will be answered when one of us lands on our ass. It’ll probably be me. Until that sad day, there’s this:


And this:


And this:


I spent my vacation day yesterday finishing up the little garden area I started last weekend. You’ll note my attempt at a starburst design with the above-ground garden and surrounding rocks. The great thing about not knowing what you’re doing with something like this is you can do whatever you want without being burdened by things like “design” or “balance” or “taste.” This probably looks completely ridiculous to a landscaper, but to me it is loads of awesome. I really enjoyed getting my hands dirty, and I look forward to watching my plants grow (green thumbs crossed).


You’ll remember a few days ago when I mentioned the gravestone that’s in our back yard (I really must learn to post pictures with the relevant entry rather than days/weeks later). I didn’t exactly get the words right. Here’s the marker:


I’ll bet Chamus was a cool dog. I refuse to believe Chamus was a cat. I don’t care how much you think your cat is like a dog – no cat is cool enough to be “Chamus the Famous.” Only a dog can pull that off.