Max is helping me at the computer this morning (picture this look but on a printer rather than a couch), much the same way that he helped me with my "art" yesterday. Helpful cat, that Max. And if you're wondering why you're seeing so much of Max and nothing of Penny, well... she's just not as helpful, that's all. Especially once she's been fed.----------
A slight digression before I get to the weather report. Today's title comes from a cantata I took part in when I was in church choir, and much to my surprise the thing is still around (although I see they call it a musical rather than a cantata). In the 70s there was a real thing for making church music folky and, I guess, accessible (although, really, there are plenty of good, accessible hymn tunes...), and in my youth choir days I performed in a lot of (occasionally cheesy) cantatas based on bible stories or "good Christian lessons". I'll reserve my adult opinion of the lessons, I think (all right, except to say that some of them were simplistic in the extreme), and I'll admit that as a kid I found some -- ok, most -- of the productions to be fun, but one of the unfortunate things about being an olf and doing that kind of thing is that the music DOES NOT GO AWAY. Ever, I'm beginning to think. To this day I could sing you snatches of things I learned for a supposedly brief time when I was eight or nine years old. And certain biblical names are always, always going to be associated with a musical phrase in my head, leitmotif-style.
Abed-ne-go... whoa whoa whoa... sigh. And how sad is it that I even remember the names of these things to be able to google them?
Anyway. Back to rain. It's supposed to rain again today, and it's supposed to rain tomorrow as well.
That's weird.
For Alberta, I mean. To have this much rain in July. Or, you know, ever. I'm not saying that Alberta's a desert because it's definitely not, but we just don't usually get this much rain. The farmers, who were talking about drought earlier in the season, are now worried about all the things associated with damp (I sooo would never be a farmer. It's just one damned thing after another -- um, to quote my grandmother -- for them, the way I see it). And a funny thing happens to gardens that aren't used to a constant supply of water when they actually get it.
They explode.
My father's place is looking decidedly jungle-ish at the moment, and I'm afraid that when he gets back he may need a scythe to get through his lawn.
Yep, my father's daughter doesn't mow. Ordinarily that's not a problem because the grass doesn't grow fast enough to make missing a week a terribly big deal, but not so much this year.
Sorry about that, Dad.
And with that half-hearted apology, it must be time to find some lunch. Max is off watching a bug now, which for him is absolutely cat television. And Penny?
No idea.
She's not very helpful, remember. Even when it comes to bug watching.
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