Posts this week will be miscellaneous, possibly minimal. Around here, we don’t have a Yellow Brick Road to follow to Oz, but if we travel a few miles, we can find a walkway to a beach.
Here is another view of the mouth seen above, during an ice-cream-cone-eating-project in Menemsha.
This week, many good Americans are confused. This year the Fourth of July falls on a Wednesday, the day of the week that’s the right-smack-in-the-middle day, the balance day, the fulcrum day, hump day, the day on which the back of the week is broken. So is Fourth of July Weekend last weekend or this coming weekend? That is the confusing question for America.
Maybe you should just take the whole week off? The Germans have the sense to call Wednesday day “Mittwoch” (middle of the week), instead of saddling us with “Wednesday”, whose spelling has so little to do with its pronunciation. Wednesday is at least as much fun as Worcester, but not quite as much fun as Cholmondeley, which is pronounced “chumly”.
The grandchild count at Wishetwurra Farm has doubled this week. Grandpa and the brother of the “Tooths” spent some time relating to the waves, with their feets and ankles. “Water!” we would say at the passing of each wave.
When it’s time to go home, you turn around and follow the shadow in the other direction.
If you were an inch or two tall, the trip back on the walkway would look geometic, and daunting.
That’s all for now.