Okay, I'm totally lying. I have loads to say, but I'm trying to channel some energy into novel-writing this summer. I just finished the most wretched book with the prettiest cover. (I drool a little bit every time I see anything Tiffany-blue and I'm sure that is why I picked it up in the first place.) Just the thought of this book on the best-seller list kind of makes me throw up in my mouth. It was as though somebody had a marginally good idea for a plot, and then forgot to actually do any writing. Oh, and each chapter is between 2 and 4 pages so the book as 75 + ridiculously choppy little chapters. The pain. The horror. The frustration.
Anyway, here are some pictures from our garden, courtesy of Plantboy. I have a lengthy, thoughtful post in the works, but it is taking some time to get my thoughts together in some cohesive fashion. (It could be a very LONG time if I'm waiting for that happy event. . . . )