Foxgloves and a Snoring Dog

I ask you: Are there any more peaceful sounds than rain on the roof and a gently snoring dog?

I took that video on Saturday, but I could just as easily have made it yesterday, because that's what things looked like around here in late afternoon. The rain was coming down again and Olga was snoozing away.

Before that, I had a fairly busy day. I vacuumed the house and even cleaned beneath our bed, which involves tipping both the mattress and the bedframe against the wall. I only do it a couple of times a year and it was once again time. I probably reduced the quantity of dust in our bedroom by 80 percent.

I found a pile of shoes under there, some with a heavy "patina" (to make it sound elegant) of dust. I threw away one of my pairs and I'm going to have to ask Dave about some of his. If they've gone unworn this long they probably would not be missed.

Then I got out in the garden and finally, finally repotted all the rest of the foxglove seedlings. Now they're all out of the seed trays, where frankly they weren't doing too well, and in their own pots.

As you can see, we're not talking about a small quantity of plants. Some of them are still so little you can barely see them, and they may not all survive, but such is life. I have more than I know what to do with anyway.

I don't know why they didn't grow better in their seed trays as they have in past years, but whatever.

The ones I potted out a few weeks ago are looking good:

But then, they were bigger to begin with.

(That little one on the right, with the flower, isn't one of the repotted seedlings. It just naturally sprouted in that pot so I put it with the others. I don't know why it's blooming now.)

In order to complete this task I had to make a midday journey to Homebase for more potting soil, and while there I picked up a new pot for that  prayer plant (or whatever it is) I found on the street last year. It's the thirstiest plant I've ever had -- it can absorb water like no one's business and that's partly because it was fairly root-bound.

Here it is, post-repotting. It looks deceptively huge in that picture but that's because I'm crouching down. It's about three feet high.

I Skyped on Sunday night with Dave and his parents, and we texted yesterday as he was about to board his flight from Michigan to Indiana. He still has a week left in the states, attending Drum Corps finals in Indianapolis. I feel like he's been gone forever.

At night I watched "Trial By Fire," a movie with Laura Dern on Netflix, which was based on a New Yorker article that I remember reading years ago about a guy in Texas sentenced to death for setting a house fire that killed his three daughters. His trial was a travesty and there are lingering questions about his guilt, but of course he was executed years ago because...Texas. Don't even get me started on all the ways the death penalty is wrong, but its finality is certainly one of them.