As always I am scouring the internet booksellers for long-out-of-print books with little or no luck. When I do find one I covet, it is usually priced in triple digits in some weird currency (meaning anything other than $US). And the current value of our dollar vs the Euro or GBP discourages plunging head long into international shopping. So if any know where I can get a copy of the story of my life by G. Allan Heron or Thomas Gerald Lamford without mortgaging my grand childrens’ future, do let me know. I have my favorite person, Trevor, working on it on the other side of the pond.
Meanwhile the weather, though not the road traffic, in Roswell is Idyllic. It’s our dry season so I’m having to hand water the last of my summer Impatience, lime “tree” and one-bloom-snapdragons but my bonsai can flourish on its own. The only negative is that ragweed and its equally toxic cousins are still spueing pollen everywhere so I’m a bit nasal. Have cut off the AC and not needed heat yet so my energy consumption is almost zilch. The deciduous trees are stingy with their Autumn pigments so we’re still quite green.
Had to take my son to NE Atlanta in rush hour traffic Thursday... a bit like joining the July 4th Indianapolis 500 mid race. Made it almost home (300 feet from the Chattahochee River bridge) without losing my dignity, if indeed I have such a thing. Fortunately was well off I85, I285 and GA400 so traffic was consistantly about 50 MPH bumper to bumper. A young man in an oversized truck cut me off from the shoulder to my right (there wasn't even an emergency lane there) and glanced in his rear view to see if I were going to ram him. Very tempted. That one glance was enough for me to distinctly but quietly enunciate my feelings which caused even that young buck to blush. I din't hit him, of course. He was far too lovely and I'm not so old not to appreciated him. Unfortunatly my words reflected more on his family, particularly the maternal side. Unfortunately the English Language seems to offer few curses that do otherwise. On the other hand my late, angelic-looking Mother told me the reason English was spoken worldwide was because it was the only language that allowed a cursing person to peel the paint off a barn at 50 feet.
