Pronghorn of Simmer
Aug. 4th, 2023 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoNeither of us really got enough sleep last night. Nevertheless, we managed to get over to the farmers market and snagged a parking spot. This was not easy because the market has become pretty crowded, even on Friday. We came home laden with booty: carrots, sweet corn, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, onions, strawberries and peaches. We also bought a couple of rather expensive chocolate covered cookies with tres leches filling, because the people behind the table were a Hispanic lady and her elderly mother, and I know how discouraging it is when you are so hopeful about your new idea or product, and you want people to try it, but they just walk by without really looking at you. That's what it's like when you have a signing and nobody comes . . . . I'm sure the cookies will be delicious. We rejoiced to see that the Cheese Lady also has a stall at the market, which made it easy to stock up on several kinds of cheese as well.
We got home in time for a great catch-up Zoom with Deb and the Prussian. Then the Sparrowhawk went out to mow the lawn, but first he decided to trim the branches of the maple tree in the front yard. They've been growing so low that they're getting in the way of people who want to walk down the sidewalk. By the time he had trimmed them and stuffed them into bags, he was too tired to mow the lawn. Some other day. I'm trying to motivate myself to be serious about writing something. I started to make a list of what I call The Imaginary Library--a compendium of works unwritten, unfinished, or unpublished. I got discouraged and quit before I'd listed everything. Then I realized I must have made such a list already. Sure enough, there was one in my digital files. But it too was incomplete. I quit writing that one halfway through as well. I sense a theme here . . . . I'm not sure if it's wonderful or horrifying. So many ideas, so many words written, even . . . but so few completed. Trying to figure out where to start again.
We had what my father used to call "farm supper" for dinner. It could be any mix of eggs and dairy with fresh vegetables. In our case, eggs with mushrooms and tomatoes, green beans, sweet corn, and leftover potato salad. Hopefully, we'll feel better tomorrow.
We got home in time for a great catch-up Zoom with Deb and the Prussian. Then the Sparrowhawk went out to mow the lawn, but first he decided to trim the branches of the maple tree in the front yard. They've been growing so low that they're getting in the way of people who want to walk down the sidewalk. By the time he had trimmed them and stuffed them into bags, he was too tired to mow the lawn. Some other day. I'm trying to motivate myself to be serious about writing something. I started to make a list of what I call The Imaginary Library--a compendium of works unwritten, unfinished, or unpublished. I got discouraged and quit before I'd listed everything. Then I realized I must have made such a list already. Sure enough, there was one in my digital files. But it too was incomplete. I quit writing that one halfway through as well. I sense a theme here . . . . I'm not sure if it's wonderful or horrifying. So many ideas, so many words written, even . . . but so few completed. Trying to figure out where to start again.
We had what my father used to call "farm supper" for dinner. It could be any mix of eggs and dairy with fresh vegetables. In our case, eggs with mushrooms and tomatoes, green beans, sweet corn, and leftover potato salad. Hopefully, we'll feel better tomorrow.
