Sunday, May 24, 2020
It was crazy windy yesterday -- we'd periodically get gusts that would knock over plants on the patio, and for one brief moment (about four minutes) we actually had RAIN! Which we haven't seen in quite a while. But it wasn't enough to matter and Dave and I had to tote our hose and watering cans around the garden as usual.
I sat out on our garden bench amid the swirling trees and finished "Amnesty," Aravind Adiga's newest novel about an illegal immigrant living in Australia. He has information about a murder -- will he go to the police, thus revealing himself to the authorities, or will he continue to live silently underground in Sydney, potentially allowing the murderer to walk free? It was a good book.
I walked Olga in the morning, and you know the expression "dumb as a box of hammers"? Well, I found an actual box of hammers. Or at least a couple of hammers. In a box.
Actually, more of a suitcase. It was sitting by a trash bin, and of course I opened it up and found it jammed with stuff -- old picture frames, cans of petrified shoe polish, bits of yellowed paper. Amid all that stuff were these:
I grabbed 'em. I think they're handmade, judging by the slightly irregular metal heads, and perhaps quite old. When I showed them to Dave, he said, "Oh, those will come in handy!" And I thought, "You can't USE my vintage handmade hammers to pound nails!"
But of course that's silly. They're hammers. They'll be fine.
(Top photo: A street scene on my walk to work last week.)