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THIS TIME IT'S AN OLLA PODRIDA rolling your way: Olio. Hodgepodge. Do I really need to explain, Reader Dear? (I think not).

*A while back I gave you the story of my journey to partially bovine existence. The one thing I neglected to regale you with was the silly little action that was my very, very (and I do mean very) last exercise as a total human being. Because my recollection of the deed is so foggy, I'll just show you the note from a nurse:

And here's what I remember: In my chat with the guy who was going to be performing the transformation, I learned that he is exactly one year and one day younger than myself. Aha, I recall thinking, we're fellow Librans! Some time elapsed before the nurses were dragging me along on a gurney--straight for the execution (uh, execution of the surgery, I'm pleased to make clear). One of them handed me a purple marker. "Use this to write your name on your chest," she instructed.

I laughed. "So this is to make sure I don't get a tonsillectomy and somebody else wakes up with the cow valve?" I took the marker. And that's where all memory of the event fades away for me.

When I found this note, I was very eager to have the nurse confirm what she'd written. "Is this for real?!" I asked her.
"Oh, yeah." she said, "We all laughed. We were amazed that you wrote it upside-down and backwards so that we could read it from our angle."

*
I love it when I'm driving around in the summertime and find little offerings like this here and there. I do wish the owner had put up a sign:
Have a seat!

Later the same day, I had to make a trip to the hardware store--the friendly little neighborhood one. And there I could have taken another seat--just taken it!






I glanced in the boxes, all
marked "free," and one item
tugged at my heartstrings.

Oh, Arlene, how could you?!I murmured to myself. (Which explains a good bit about the condition of my overcrowded attic).

                                                               "To Arlene from Mother"

*Here's another plus of the summer season: When you need to put together small flower arrangements (for the tables) at a funeral meal you are helping to serve (at your church), it's so easy to collect the needed flowers from a summer garden (provided you have one; it may be just as easy to collect from a stranger's garden, but I wouldn't recommend it unless there's a sign that says "FREE").

The trickiest part of the whole operation is transporting the flowers. Hmm. Or maybe it is making the flowers come out even in those twenty-six vases.

















*Okay, so perhaps I should have entitled this olla podrida "Bounties of Summer" because here's one more: Random Fireworks. I never know which evening of summer I might be able to step out onto the balcony (most favored spot of this house in which I live) and enjoy a fireworks display. This one a few weeks ago caused me to call for The Yard Man and inquire of him if he knew the where or the wherefore of this showy display. He didn't.
I enjoyed hearing the rousing applause almost as much
as the sight of exploding pyrotechnics.




*Now is the time to be in praise of peaches, I know. The section of the season for strawberries is over. Strawberries just happen to be showier, in my opinion, and I had these (non-locals, alas) atop my cereal this morning.









Aren't they just ooo-la-la?!

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