Another weekend at Callaway

I feel unsettled this morning. I arrived at the office a little before 8:00. I had thought that I would go into the office closer to 7:00, but the morning's dealings at home had caused me to tarry a little longer so I ended up staying at home until after 7:30.

That is a whole lot of talk about nothing of much consequence.

I looked at my poem of Friday. I know what I was trying to say. I just don't think I said it well. I fiddled with it this morning, but it needs some more work.

All of a sudden I have a hankering for barbecue. We went to Callaway yesterday and had talked about stopping at the barbecue restaurant in Pine Mountain, but no one seemed to be hot about that barbecue, so we ended up going to Krispy Fried Chicken for chicken. It turned out decent, even though we needed to flesh out the picnic a little more than we did yesterday. I would have enjoyed some more side items and we needed plates. The potato salad was heavy on dill. It was rather tart. We bought a side of fried okra, which was good, but a little odd for a picnic.

Later, at the end of our picnic and our walk through the gardens, we stopped at Purple Cow and bought cake for the ride back.

I must say we were a little disappointed with Callaway. It seems that they are hurting a little. There doesn't seem to be much effort or expense being exerted in upkeep. It really is a little shabby at the sleeves. I don't know what those Callaways are doing these days.

We took a florist's container to pick daffodils. We saw a lot of daffodils on our journey over to Pine Mountain. By the time we left Callaway it was getting darker. Nevertheless, we stopped at a place we had stopped last week and Kate and I walked down to pick some daffodils. We just about filled the container (although I must say that Kate didn't do much picking). I think she was nervous about snakes.

We walked back to the car and drove on. Later, as we got close to Durand, we stopped at a field where a house used to be placed. The placed seemed abandoned. No indication of anyone using the pasture. There were patches of daffodils of varying varieties all over the meadow. I pulled into the dirt drive and parked. At that point, we all vacated the car and began drifting through the daffodils, picking some of the good ones. We left with the smell of daffodils in our nostrils and a florist's bucket full of blossoms in the back of the car.

Now the house is filled with containers of daffodils.