[Spray] Painting the Roses Red (+ Book Review)

Remember this?

This is me, bright and early, out in the yard, every morning.  Singing the song and everything.  Not joking.

Yes, I realize this story is a critique of Victorian etiquette but hey - paint fixes like, everything. (source)

We have some visitors next week and I'm bound and determined to have a decent yard by the time they're here.  So that we can diligently preserve the (false) image of fully-functioning home owners.

I have now tackled all the little nooks and crannies of our lawn, with the exception of a doozie on the side that G is going to have to help me with next weekend.  Spray paint and mulch to the rescue!  It's not much, but it's better than it was, and the neighbors are going all out with the positive reinforcement, complimenting us whenever they stroll by.

Using driftwood (left by previous owner) as decor.

New use for the fat rabbit we kept on the back deck in Virginia.  He keeps an eye on the neighbors.

It's eccentric, but it works.

Right outside the front door (opposite the flower pots).

I am happy to say that I have gotten into a routine of yard work and then working out every morning.  If I could quit double fisting the popsicles, I might have a snowball's chance in hell of losing weight.

Lucy hydrates before laying around the house all day:

And now, the latest book review:

The Museum of Dr. Moses by Joyce Carol Oates

This compilation of short stories has been on the shelf for a while and I thought I'd knock it out.  Turns out the stories are all dark and Edgar Allen Poe-esque so instead of taking my time and enjoying Oates's fantastic writing, I have more been skipping along so that none of the bizarre details stay in my mind long enough to take root and keep me awake at night.  I'm super mature that way.

I enjoy short stories, even dark ones, and in many ways this reminds me of junior high and high school when I was introduced to stories and poems of this kind.  You don't want to go there, but you do.  You don't want to enjoy it, but you do.  There's part of you that is so morbidly drawn to suspenseful and evil things, even if it's only so you can snap the book shut, make a sign of the cross over yourself, and run to the kitchen for another popsicle.

Oates is a superb writer and if I had two brain cells that rubbed together I would want to read this book more closely and delve into some of the themes.  But it's my summer.  So back on the shelf it goes until I can incorporate it with other themes in some future grad school class.