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Saw a belted kingfisher on this morning's walk with the husband and dogs.

Yesterday I dug a lot and now my wrists hate me. I still have boxes of irises (which weren't going to bloom this year anyway because they were too crowded) waiting to be cut up and replanted. My neighbors to the left are out of town, the ones to the right have a brand-new baby, so they probably don't want my leftover mystery irises for the blank spots in their newly-landscaped yards.

Called my mom yesterday. Wish I hadn't.

My mom's a storyteller too. I won't say I get it from her, because I've had a thousand teachers, and also I resent admitting how much my gifts resemble hers, but-- I get it from her. But I don't use it to make people feel bad. At least, not often. At least, not people I claim to love.

I could, though.
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