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We were bored. Bored enough to put peanut butter on the dog's nose for entertainment:

Finally, "I can't tell if I'm hungry," I said to Sarafina.

". . ."

"I want something crunchy and sweet," and then I made teeth-gnashing faces at her, to illustrate.

"What about something crunchy and salty?" she asked.

Thinking she had used some of her own money to buy delicious chips or something, I said, "Like what?"

"Popcorn!"

We agreed, popcorn would be good and there were ways to make it sweet, too. Alas! There was no popcorn in the cupboard. I think Oona the niece may have gotten to the jar and broken it, as she's going through a glass-container phase. Then I remembered -- I'm a gardener!

I'm a gardener who grew popcorn.

I'd tried to pop some a couple of weeks ago and didn't have much joy, but the cleaned ears were sitting upstairs in the hot attic in a wire basket, drying out. Might they be ready?

Delicious, homegrown popcorn! I was pretty tickled. The only caveat I had was that this black-hulled popcorn looked alarmingly burnt when popped. The smell was fine, though, so the snack, it was eaten:

Orphan kernels are a favorite of mine.

Though a little bored, we were also interested in amusing the Saddest Girl In The World.

An evening bee sting the night before yielded the typical family reaction:

Benadryl is helping, as are ice baths. She's looking much better.