The Weekend Begins
The morning of this weekend found me moving slowly. Where would I have to rush to! Yesterday late afternoon Dennis and I went to the acre with our trusty weed whip and two charged batteries. Making tidy around the trees was our objective. It also gave Dennis an idea of which tree bases needed more of the brush killer. The grass is thickening up nicely. Truth to tell: batteries that have been used and charged over and over don’t hold a charge long. We did make some headway.
Our main focus for local effort today was grocery shopping and a few errands here in town. The light-weight tidy cat is sold at the Family dollar. I had a grocery list made out for Super-Fair. Dennis driving me to the store is always . . . what am I in for? Dennis has his places around the community that he checks on whether in our car or his little red pickup. I get a tour of places I would never think to drive by.
Our groceries have now been put away. There is a loaf of Cottage Bread that never ever was as fresh as I thought it should have been. I am going to whip up what I call French Bread via the oven. A concoction of milk, whipped eggs, cinnamon and some brown sugar poured over half slices of bread. 350 degrees for 40 minutes. By that time the bread has soaked up the majority of liquid, making it like a custard. Mrs. Butterworth will finish it off at the table come supper time. Easy, peasy.
I know as this last week was winding down, Dennis didn’t get the fact that I felt fatigued by sifting and sorting, all done in our living room. I did not engage in explanations. Going through the better part of eight decades of memories, for me the emotions were heavy. Being able to relate and relive the dept of by-gone events by looking at and touching photos . . . not easily understood. I am a very sentimental individual. I took the task on and I am better for it.
With that I will take my leave. ♥