yellow lawn, raisin challah French toast, boulder to birmingham

1. The lawn is just as it should be at this time of year: drought-yellow, scattered with curled brown leaves of hackberry and rose. I pour it a deep long drink, and the grass laps up the water like a dog at its bowl.

2. Without even stopping to shower, before the kids wake up, I make myself raisin challah French toast.

3. I want to slow my body rhythms, ease off from the endless self-interruption, the food-gobbling, the ever-up-and-down chore-running. Well, at least my earworms are at a slower tempo:

That Big Rockin Chair Won't Go Nowhere

John doesn't have a Music Friday post today, not yet anyway, and I wanted to do one in any case.

I've been thinking about mortality lately -- "What, because of a kidney stone?" Well, yes, it was the first time I ever rode in an ambulance and the first time I ever had general anesthesia. A couple of days later I heard the song "Rockin Chair" on one of my Pandora stations, and its been singing in my head ever since.

The version I heard was a dignified, moving homage by Death Cab for Cutie on the tribute album Endless Highway.

And here's the real thing:

How to Tell You're in a Good Mood

1. I’m envisioning trips I’ll take when my house is paid off in three years.

2. Utility crew’s tearing up the street in the blazing afternoon sun, and I think, “What a nice place to work, with the purple port-a-san under the long row of shady trees.”

3. I’m singing “The Golden Road” as I wander hither and yon in my limitless city.