Little Things

Last night I picked a bowl full of cherries. It's always a delecate balance when choosing to pick; if I pick them too early, they aren't ripe enough but if I pick them when they are ripe, the flies, ants and other creepy crawlies have discovered them, too. I should have picked them Sunday or Monday, but I didn't think that standing on a ladder in the middle of a thunderstorm was a good idea; no amount of homemade cherry pie filling is worth being electricuted. I made Art help me as he is much taller than I am and, as is to be expected, he complained the whole time. I don't know why he bothers as I'm not going to let him off the hook. I just have to remind him that he eats the goodness I make and if he wants me to continue that homemade goodness, he better keep picking. I'm hoping to make some cherry pie filling possibly Friday or Saturday so I will keep you posted.

The shop is at a stand still. While it's supposed to be nice for the next four days, the ground is pretty saturated (we had three inches last night alone!) and that has been slowing down the process. It'll get done...eventually.

Buddy has fleas. I noticed that he had been scratching more the last couple of days so I took a close look and sure enough, there were little black moving flakes. In the almost six years we've had him, he's never had fleas so I don't know where he picked them up. Even when Linda had fleas he never got them. I would like to blame some dirty dog at the vet, but I live in the country so it's kind of par for the course. I'm just thankful we have hardwood floors because the fleas don't survive long. We gave him a bath last night and treated him and today he is good as new. I don't think he appreciated the hose-bath and I tried to convince him that the water was so cold that the fleas would jump right off of him, but I don't think he bought it.

One last thought: We had breakfast for dinner last night and Art made an egg and tomato sandwich. Some tomato juice dripped on the counter and instead of wiping it up with a washcloth or even a finger, Art licked it off the counter.

That's my husband, for you.