I could have been in a car, with the radio bleating and braying about politicos and debt ceilings, but I was on my bicycle, so I was treated to the sight of a man rocking his babe on the front porch, with voices warbling out “Shoes in the buttermilk, fly! fly! fly! Shoes in the buttermilk, fly! fly! Fly! Shoes in the buttermilk, fly! fly! Fly! I was laughing too hard to hear whether they did something creative to skipping to my lou, my darling.
I think that was the day *after* my dream that I was going to have a dream every night in which, to save the world, I had to come up with the right word (for that night it was a five letter word that meant… something I don’t remember, but there was no way until the five dayswere up to discernwhether I had chosen the right one or not, and while I was confident in my verbal prowess, I was a tad anxiuos about the outcome). I didn’t, actually, have the next night’s dream — perhaps the shoes in the buttermilk banished them 🙂
24.5 miles to go to get to 1000 for July. It’s hot.