Good Friday sort of sails by these days. I remember sitting on the front porch of our house on Brookfield with my sister and brother as we tried to stay silent between noon and 3 PM, the hours Christ hung on the cross. We were not able to do it.
Our place came with a dog pen on the side of the house, a square, fenced in area that the dog could access from the doggie door, which was cut into the bottom of a door in our garage. The fence keeps the deer out and all sorts of stuff grows in there. We call it our forever wild area.
We bought some new fencing recently. It’s six feet tall and black clad instead of five feet and green so you sort of look right through it. We fanned out from the corners of the house and made the area considerably bigger. The project took a good week. The next owner will have a bigger dog area.
After all that work we drove to Wegmans and really filled the cart because we wouldn’t have to carry it all home this time. We are headed to Joyce’s birthday party tomorrow and Helena and Jedi’s for Easter so we stopped in the fresh flower section and bought two bunches of roses, colors specific to each party.
I went off to the produce department while Peggi watched the flower lady wrap the roses. When I returned with an armful of fruit they were talking about Woodstock, the ‘69 version. The flower lady had been there and Peggi told her that I had too. She told us her sister-in-law used to live with Gene Cornish and she managed the Young Rascals, the Rustix and The Brass Buttons. And her brother was roadie for The Invictas back in the day.