Rain.  Lots of it.  My flower beds are beautiful.  And Ken Jack, my great grandson who is two and a half, (named after his great- grandfather)  came over and planted okra in my raised garden.  (A garden that I had given up on this year.)  Last year, when the okra got three inches out of the ground, something ate the stalks.  That had never happened before.  I guess it was rabbits.  I decided that was it.  I was through.  So Ken planted.  And his mother took him to Lowes and they got tomato plants and planted those as well.

It is good.  It seemed a shame to let all the money I had spent on getting a raised garden go to waste.  But I’m just not up to it this year.  I took a picture of him with a tomato plant in his hand bending over to help put it in the ground.

We used to take “real” pictures.  And the family--when they got together-- would sit around and look at them and remember.  But now, all the pictures are on someone’s phone and nobody looks at them together.  I miss “real” pictures.  I miss sitting around looking at memories together.  I miss a lot of things from the past.