This started out as a daily notes post for Bonny Glen Up Close, but
then I figured ah, why not just stick it on the main blog. Sometimes I
really don’t know where to put things.

I love at-home days. Yesterday we got out for a walk bright and
early before it got too hot. (Except it wound up being a nice coolish
day, not too hot at all.) I’m going to try really hard to make
first-thing-in-the-morning walks a standard for our at-home days.
Everyone had such a good time. Rose took along a notebook and made
quick sketches of many of the plants I was photographing for the 100
Species Challenge. The little ones raced ahead after zooming Beanie,
and I bit my tongue and tried not to holler at them to slow
down…running down the sidewalk is a very good thing. It’s just that
Wonderboy always falls (there’s a balance problem coupled with slow arm
reflexes) and I’m afraid he’ll knock out more teeth.

But no falls yesterday. Just happy, running kids.

Lots of roses still in bloom in the neighbors’ yards, though in
other yards the flowers have given way to the fat rose hips. Jane longs
to make rose hip tea like the mice in Redwall. There’s a riot of blue
morning glories everywhere, pouring over fences and retaining walls.
Gorgeous. One kind of tree (as yet unidentified by us) has shed some
brown leaves onto the sidewalk, but the rest of the deciduous trees are
green, the maple leaves just barely tinged with color at the edges. The
bush ice plants aren’t blooming now—I am slowly learning the seasons
here. The lilies of the Nile are finished, just crisping stalks now,
but the birds of paradise are in their pointy orange glory.

Home from the walk, drinks all round (Rose made lemonade), Mother
Goose to the little ones while the big girls relaxed a bit. The two
Iona Opie/Rosemary Wells Mother Goose volumes are in constant daily
demand at the moment. Wonderboy has "his" (despite the inscription to
Jane from her aunt and cousin) and Rilla has "hers"—both books are
hers, says she. And when I’m not reading them Mother Goose, they’re
bringing me various Wee Sing songbooks and requesting impromptu
concerts of the entire book.

Usually our at-home mornings are full of read-alouds and languages,
but yesterday was a busy-hands sort of day instead. Jane and I both
have crochet projects going (both out of Vintage Crochet, a most yummy
book). Beanie found a little square unlined notebook and made the most
incredible thumbnail pencil sketches of undersea scenes…very detailed
and full of tucked-away surprises like the wee "pistol shrimp" in a
little cave. The dolphin leaping from the waves in a cloud of spray was
a thing of pure joy.

Rose has joined Shakespeare Club and since
we were finishing Act IV at her first meeting on Wednesday, she wants
to go back to the beginning and read it aloud together as a family, to
catch up. So during Rilla’s nap we passed round the scripts and read
Act I, scene i. Beanie read Lucentio and did a bang-up job, I must say.
Rose was Tranio and Bianca, Jane was Katerina of course, Beanie took
Baptista, and I got to be the suitors. We wished Scott had been home to
take a part. He hams it up so satisfyingly.

The afternoon filled up with books and games, and I finished three
picot squares for my crochet project, and Rose and Bean played Sim
City, and the little ones requested yet more Mother Goose. I grilled
chicken on the George Foreman because the pilot is out on our stovetop
and I haven’t yet figured out how to relight it. The Foreman probably
made for tastier chicken anyway. Teriyaki marinade, yum. Couscous and
peas. Everyone liked most everything, which is noteworthy.

Oh, and the pears we had at lunch! Our first of the season,
perfectly ripe, perfectly delicious. We couldn’t get over them. Kept
cutting and eating "just one more" until all but one of the bag I
bought on Sunday are gone. They taste like early autumn.

The postman was weighed down with review copies of books today (best
kind of mail day). A little appetizer cookbook I got through LibraryThing‘s Early Reviewers program, a middle grade fantasy novel called The Ark, The Reed, and the Fire Cloud, and—this was the plum; I’m so excited—Stephanie Spinner’s new novel, Damosel. It’s an Arthurian tale about the Lady of the Lake. Jane saw the cover and went Oooh, but I get first dibs.

Meanwhile, I have a pile of picture books en route to my local library branch: Cybils nominees.

I kept checking Google Reader for updates about Annika, who had a liver transplant yesterday. So far, so good, thank God.

Beanie
gave me a piano concert in the evening while I worked on another picot
square. She has reached the point, suddenly, of being able to really
play. She’s flushed with the wonder of it: she is making music. This
thrills her. She likes to experiment with the chord progressions she
has learned, adding little tinkling melodies. I absolutely love it when
a child reaches this stage.

The sun hasn’t come in to blind
me yet this morning: must be an overcast day. Still dim in here though
it’s after seven, and all the girls are sleeping late. I think
Wonderboy just went to wake them up. Scott must be watching a YouTube
clip; I’m hearing music from his computer, and his hands drumming on
his knees. The crow is hollering from a telephone wire: Where’s my crusts of bread? Friday’s here.