I would rather read other people's blogs than write my own tonight. Not that it was a bad day--it was a very good day, full of creamy goodness with chunks of delight and smothered in a rich sauce of unmerited blessing. Also, there were some labored metaphors.
Things got off to a rocky start as I had difficulty extracting myself from bed, and then hit traffic congestion as soon as I got on the highway. I got to Dave's about 15 minutes late, but we still got a good just-short-of-3-hours of work in before I had to run down to Franklin for babysitting duty. I am very excited about the beginnings of our recording project together, and I think he is, as well. Our schedules are going to prevent us doing any more work for another week or so, but perhaps at some point I will have a couple sound clips to post?
Emme and Rees were a lot of fun, as always. We also got to see Brynn and Brody, who live across the alley and for whom I have sat on numerous occasions. Good times in the backyard on a sunny day--this is the stuff childhood is made of.
After that, I headed up Hillsboro Road right into the heart of Green Hills for book club. Harold and the Purple Crayon and One Hundred Years of Solitude? Yes, please! Two weeks from tonight I am hosting BC here at the house, and I have to figure out some literary cuisine to whip up for the occasion. So far, I am making nine pies.
I think I can catch up on my sleep if I fall asleep right . . . NOW! Oh, drat.
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