Summer Living Room

 After posting my summer kitchen things, I thought I would show you the living room. Not near as many things!

I am now starting my fall decor, because it takes me almost a month to do it!

“A living room is a soft place for the day to land.”

Movable Art

 There are more than 277,000 trucks on Pakistan’s roads. Most are vivid showpieces of extravagant design. They are decorated with ornate striping, fishes, peacocks, flowers, politicians, movie stars, and singers.

They wobble along the highways with intricate wooden frames and metal work; bells and pom poms swinging from the undercarriage. For the region’s drivers and artists, the trucks are both a competition and a statement.

Many drivers spend as much as $30,000—more than twice the average annual income—to paint their trucks to make them more beautiful than others. no, I have never been to Pakistan, these are all from the web.

 “Every Pakistani truck is a traveling rainbow with an engine for a heartbeat.”

August 2026

 Happy August everyone! As usual, I am showing my calendar page on the first day of each month.

“August is the month where the sun burns like a candle nearing its wick.”

The Buck

 July's full moon was this week. This one is called The Full Buck Moon. My photos didn't turn out too bad.

“Buck Moon nights smell like childhood: cut grass, porch lights, and the hush before the crickets begin.”

Summer Kitchen

 Fall is not far away, and I have not shown you what I did to our kitchen for summer!

Coffee Corner

“Summer begins the moment you place a shell where winter once sat.”

* I will not be blogging today, as we have to go out of town for a medical procedure.

Purple Reign

 Asters are among the last flowers to bloom at the end of summer. These are down the street.

·      "They are the final flourish of the garden’s performance — a star‑shower curtain call.”

 

·      "Asters burn with color just as the world begins to dim.”

Eye Of The Tiger

 The Tiger Lilies are in bloom now!

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Willaim Blake