The gardener's children have no shoes.

How lovely to be a gardener, as I recall.

How nice it would be if I had time to go outdoors and do even the most onerous chore. Even squish snails, only it's too hot for snails. Maybe global warming has its pleasures.

I'll take the snails.

I just got my elderly mother into a luxurious Assisted Living Facility, the latest euphamism for exalted nursing home. This one is truly lavish, even providing bubblebaths sith candles and a glass of wine.

I despise bubblebaths. What a lot of trouble lighting all those candles, only to sit in lukewarm gray water and wait for serenity to arrive.

My idea of heaven? A huge, empty table, piles of beads, keys, tiny toys, my dice collection, glue, tools, good light, and nothing on my internal Should List.

The ice caps will freeze over first.

Think I'll go collect seeds. Second best indulgence.