I have enormous admiration for John F. Appleby, who in the 1870s perfected a machine that would tie a knot in twine, thus enabling a machine to bind sheaves of grain together and setting in motion the giant combine harvesters that enable our daily bread.
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There is no way I can inflate my relief at the day’s events, or my gratitude to cyber-friends here on mb for their generosity of spirit.
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Erk. I seem to have misplaced today’s #mbnov prompt.
Puzzling? This stuff writes itself, doesn't it. Not that I am going to let it, but the thought is definitely there. We've had near and anxious (ha; not anxious, astonish. Mr Freud, your slip is ready.) and stoop and now puzzling, and you still expect me to believe the choices are random?
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Is the architectural stoop derived from the same word as step, and what exactly is it? Is it what I might call the front porch? Or is the little flight of steps leading up to the porch?
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The only thing that makes life bearable right now is that I am near the person who makes my life worth living. I can’t imagine surviving so much forced proximity with anyone else at all.
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Whatever happens today is likely to astonish me.
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I do remember orange juice made from concentrate and it seemed sensible; remove the water, ship, replace the water.
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Not at all dreary the past few days. We had a great outing under warm, blue skies to stock up on culture. It may be a while before we can do that again. #mbnov