Today is my birthday — I turned 57. (Eek!) Yesterday my brother and his son (Awesome Nephew) met my father and me at one of Harford county’s oldest Methodist churches. Our brother and mother are buried there. We had my favorite kind of service — no sermon, just people talking about their memories of the church, and we got to choose several hymns to sing, accompanied by the pump organ, since there’s no electrical service there. Afterwards my brother treated us to dinner at Box Hill Pizzeria, our favorite restaurant, where they make crabcakes the way God intended. There was a coupon for a chiropractor on the placemat, so I called first thing this morning and got an appointment. I’ll get the results of the X-rays tomorrow.
The back injury is changing my plans for the month, probably for the better — I will have to focus on my writing project. There were a lot of barges I was planning to tote and bales I was going to lift — our garage is filled with boxes Maggie left because she didn’t have room for all her things in Kentucky and was always welcome back here. Sorting through that will have to wait. But right now is the best time to pull out my tomato plants and move the containers back to their winter home in the back yard. So I will see if some of the neighboring teens will be interested in doing that job in exchange for filthy lucre.