The world-famous National Cherry Blossom Festival is happening right now in our very backyard. Well, backyard-ish. On Friday the husband asked me out on a date to see the blossoms and because he’s so stinkin’ cute and the weather was insanely gorgeous, Dietrich got to come with us.
Blossoms, pats, and an evening by the tidal basin. Bliss.
He loved the blossoms as much as the 10-and-under crowd loved him. Although he doesn’t appreciate the maintenance guys who have been a regular presence in our shoebox lately, when it comes to handling little paws and tentative (or not) petting, the doggy is a champ. I wouldn’t call him Nana, but we’re confident that he’ll be a-ok with the oyster when s/he arrives and begins pulling on those velvety ears.
On Saturday the mother in law and the Mommom came down for the afternoon to see the blossoms and check out our little home. The weather was Mr. Hyde compared to Friday’s Dr. Jekyll, but we all had umbrellas and really, foggy blossoms are just as pretty.
The mother in law brought us daffodils and the husband tucked them in the vase with the Gerber daisies I had picked up the day before, to add a little color to the shoebox. The blossoms outside can do what they want, these beauties are safe and sound inside.
Over the weekend I finished The Hunger Games and the husband and I saw the movie with some friends. I recommend both, and updated the ol’ books tab with my much-abbreviated thoughts on the book.
This morning while I thought about getting up and the husband sipped his morning coffee, a noisy entrance into our laundry room/kitchen revealed this little gift from the landlady, as a thank you for putting up with the recent repairs that have had to take place in our apartment. Not because we broke anything but because the water heater and furnace are both down here. In our bedroom. Our lease is up in May. We’re glad.
We’re especially glad when I found out from the other housemate that these particular Guinnesses have been in the fridge since she moved in. In October. Well. I’d say it’s the thought that counts but since the other housemate also mentioned that the landlady cleaned out the rotting produce drawer this weekend, I have a feeling that what we received is less a thank you gift and more the alcoholic equivalent of compost.