It Could be the Red Bull

As Charlie McChatterbox bagged my groceries the other day, he asked, "What's for dinner?"  The bratwurst were for the following day, I replied; as for that evening, I had absolutely no idea.  To which he responded, "I think someone needs to make you dinner."  Well, I had no argument with that, although I was thinking, psh-yeah, in my dreams.  Anyway, nice thought, Charlie.  Promise me you will say that to your spouse one day.

He nattered nonstop all the way to my car, at one point talking about right brain versus left brain something or other (I know, right?).  It was all quite entertaining.  Some people just have the gift of gab—or it could be the Red Bull.

I shirked other responsibilities this morning to play with fabric, finishing this little mini.  Sometimes you gotta finish something, you know what I mean?  Starting is all well and good, but too many things in a state of not-quite-done can get to a person.

Here is the back.  Back in black.  (I'm not sure whether to say something next about AC/DC or Dr. Seuss.  It could go either way.)

We had some nice people over on Sunday (because mean people aren't any fun to have over).  These included my daughter's boyfriend's parents and sister.  Nice folks.

We had good food, conversation and fun, including a beanbag toss game, which my dad ruled.

Speaking of Dad, he picked up his book proof on Friday.  I had to take a picture of the momentous occasion.

So I am reading this baby through again and making final tweaks.  If it's kind of quiet around here again, you'll know why.