Anyhoo. We started out our Sunday, sleeping in. *sigh* (I set my alarm. I ignored my alarm. Jesus is gonna have a bone to pick with me if I keep standing him up.) Then we got up and Mike did this:
He posted it on Facebook! Hilarity ensued. He’s been getting on to me because I am glued to my phone lately. It’s a sad addiction. Pathetic really. He’s amusedly irritated that he can’t get me to look at him when he is talking because I am always looking at my phone. So he thought if he strapped his phone to his head, advertising free shoes, it would get my attention. Unfortunately for him, he chose the creepiest picture he took, making him look like he was trying to lure women into a back ally for some “free shoes”. Thank goodness HE started this one so all bets were off in the joke slinging extravaganza.
Later, after getting a resounding “No!” when I initially asked, Mike and I took a walk to the Library to return a couple of books. Once outside, we took a few pictures.
This is our “silly faces” picture. See how silly Mike looks? Traitor.
Wanting to get a good shot of the huge color clash between my hair and my shirt, I asked Mike to take a few pictures. In looking through what he took, I found one that is a full body shot. I don’t usually take pictures of my whole self and would never put one online. No way, no how! “I’m a fatty, no one wants to see that.”, I’d tell myself. I also don’t want my intelligence to be discounted, which happens sometimes when it wasn't known before that you were over weight. So I would try to keep most of my body hidden. But I am changing. Who I am as a person is going through a Phase Shift, if you will. I don’t know if it’s my age or what. (38 if you must know.) Things are just changing and I am rather happy about it. One of those changes is that it is time to be happy in my skin. It is why I am doing the “How to Be a Fat Bitch” ecourse. I want to love all of who I am, my body included. I can’t afford to “wait until I finally lose weight” to love my body. Why should I? So here is something I never would have done before. Here is a full body picture of me, looking at Mike, the way I look at him, no posing at good angles, no shot taken from above, just the full on natural me.
After all the picture taking, we headed out on our walk.
See? That’s us walking.
Next to the library, the city we live in has set up a community garden. I would kind of like to participate next summer.
It is a nice little garden.
Here is a picture of Mike on a mound. More mound than Mike I suppose. Don’t the clouds look photo shopped?
On our way back, we took a different route and came across these berries. I can’t for the life of me, remember what they are called, but they look like blackberries and grow on trees. They have a sweet taste when they are completely black, otherwise their flavor is a mixture of sweet and tart. They stain your fingers a nice wine color. I kept picking them off the trees and eating them; talking about how good they were; trying to get Mike to try one, perplexed at why he didn’t. Finally I just said, “Here, try this.” and kind of put it in front of his mouth. He tried it and said it was good. Then he launches into this story about how his uncles used to go raspberry and blackberry picking. They would eat them while they picked them, as you do, not thinking a thing about it. When they got home gramma says, “Don’t eat those, we have to wash them first!” One of his uncles didn’t wash his and upon eating a ripe delicious raspberry, an ant crawled out and bit his tongue! Gee thanks, Mike! Suddenly feeling right stupid after hearing this wise tale, I explained to him that I grew up playing in the woods by myself day in and day out, eating all the blackberries I could find, picking them right off the bush and popping them into my mouth. It never occurred to me to wash them, which is why I probably unthinkingly reverted to that behavior today. Never again. Mike, wisened killer of impulsive behavior.
We got home and the evening began to draw down. Mike fired up the grill again while I read up on the ins and outs of blogging. We chatted about that for awhile and as we sat talking, the summer song became so loud it nearly drowned us out. The summer song is what I have called it since I was child, listening to the woods sing, when I stayed at my mamaw’s house. In my memory, the summer song played all night long. In reality it is the katydid’s and dove’s and any number of creatures and critters that live in the out of doors. The summer song draws out long, much like the sun draws long our shadows as it sinks lazily into the horizon. These lazy summer Sunday’s are some of the best life has to offer.