Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Friday, September 05, 2003

What a slow day.

At least it was payday.

Anyway, the weekend is coming up in a couple of hours, so it's probably time to start closing up the joint. Gonna be one of the usual busy sorts--Boy has practice tonight, Middle Girl has a game across the county tomorrow morning, then another one on Sunday afternoon, then there's all sorts of washing and drying of dirty clothing that SOMEone is going to have to do, and there's a lawnmower gently purring my name.

Speaking of yardwork, it was harvest time the other day--Boy's pear tree gave up about 9 gigantic pears and about 3 little ones, and the other half apparently became bird food or were stolen by the feral six year old across the street. Jonathan and I split one of the big ones before practice the other day. We had put them in the refrigerator to get cold and I cut it up into little bits and we ate it all up. They're really cooking pears--rock hard--but sweet and juicy as anything I've ever eaten. Just incredible. He was shoveling the splinters in his mouth as quick as he could and got juice all over his face and shirt. "I really grew some gooood pears, didn't I, Dad!" You bet, buddy.

His tomato plants finally started giving up some good produce a couple of weeks back. We've gotten probably about 20 or so off of the two plants, and they have been equally good as the pears. In their tomatoey sort of way. Big, solid, sweet, deep red. He grows good tomatoes, too, it seems. They've been a bit hamstrung from being in containers--the soil just doesn't keep enough moisture to keep the vines from withering up after a couple of days, so they have required constant monitoring by our highly skilled staff of tomato vine watchers. "Daddy, the tomatoes are wilted. You need to put water on them." Thanks, I'll do that.

And probably even more stuff. Stop back in Monday and if I have not been carted off to the asylum, I'll tell you all about it.

See you then!

BUT WAIT!! Before I go, this one is just too preposterous to let go without a link.

Quite possibly the worst way to perpetuate the stereotype of librarians as uptight, shrewish, bothersome, bluenose, harridans is to allow yourself to get your drawers in a wad over a doll...and be quoted in a news article about it.

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