Work hard. Slow down.

Good morning (or whatever time it is, where you are)!

I'm sitting on my front porch in the chilly early morning.
I imagine it's going to be hot today, but I turned off my weather apps so I'm not frightened by alarming numbers blazoned across an orange-red map.

These summer days feel more like a pink peony to me--heavy and damp, but glowing and sweet.

Mentioning all the summer flowers in bloom yesterday reminded me of a painting the girlettes can pose for––
John Singer Sargent's "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose" (1885-86, at the Tate):
In the summer twilight of a lush garden, two little girls wearing white dresses light Chinese paper lanterns.

Penny Cooper says we must use LED lights to recreate the scene. "Fire is bad for dolls."
Their hair would go up in a flash.

UPDATE: Results
Carnation Lily Lily Rose

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My hands are sore this morning. I spent hours yesterday rearranging the books at work in the colors of the rainbow, for Pride month.

I always have to look the order up--it's red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. It's ROY G BIV, I know, but don't remember.

Kirsten had suggested we remember things we care about, things that interest us, and I think that's true. I remember the names of River's girlettes!
Meg came first, and her sisters Gillian, Jordan, and Riley arrived one by one afterward.

And I remember the names of most of Linda Sue's orphans too, until a bunch came in a flood and I lost track. Let's see...
Nat, Marden, Maple, Beth Anna, Toots. Beyond that, I forget.

Pictures of thrift store books in rainbow order on my IG.
I'm liking separating my photos from my writing--it effectively keeps my brain on point.
IG is almost purely visual, so I don't write much with my photos there; and here, I can only use words.

It's being interesting.
I can tell, as I'd thought, that posting pictures really had given my word-brain a pass. I can tell because my brain resists revving up to word-speed again.

Same as it took me a long time to calm down enough to stay focused on reading a book all evening.

Slowing down is a secret superpower.
At gym class yesterday, I talked with GT (gym teacher) about revving up to get stronger. Basically he said:

Work hard. Slow down.

I googled "getting stronger when older", and that was the general advice:
work hard, but allow yourself more time to recuperate than you needed when younger.

(And protect your joints! which we with arthritis know well.)

Also, "Sleep eight to ten hours."
I'm always glad to get permission to do what I do anyway.

An article about "older" athletes––that is, professional athletes older than thirty––talked about a soccer star who at thirty-three was doing hundreds of sit-ups and push ups every day but had trained herself to run slower.
There is power in slowing down, in pacing yourself.

As always, my main challenge is to Eat Well.

We workers at the thrift store can get food from the weekly give-away in the parking lot.
(Anyone can--there are no income requirements. But if there were, we'd qualify because we're paid poverty wages.)
Last week I got a bag of marshmallows.
I ate it in two days.
THIS IS NOT IDEAL.

Try, try again.
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The mayor of Minneapolis lifted the mask mandate yesterday, effective immediately, because more than 75 percent of the city's population has had at least one Covid vaccine.

I'm not sure the thrift store's customers are in that 70+ percentile.
Some of the city's Covid hot spots have been in nearby neighborhoods, which suffer all the plagues of poverty.

I'm going to keep wearing my mask when I unpack books.
A nice boxed set of Faulkner was donated to the store yesterday. Nice . . . but suspiciously mottled.
I took my mask off and--whew, yes. The unmistakable odor of mold and mildew.

Off to work now.
Have a peony of a day! Or the equivalent in the southern hemisphere.