I spent part of the morning pulling the little weeds from around the rhubarb. The kneeling pad is still useful, though getting down onto it now involves a good deal of arranging. Once there, I was comfortable enough and rather enjoyed the damp soil through my gloves. My hands began to complain when I squeezed the bag closed, not while I was working. I left the knot for my husband and washed up slowly in warm water. At lunch I was nicely tired, the sort where the chair feels especially well made. I may have closed my eyes afterwards. The radio was still on, so I did not miss much.

A woman at church returned the dish I had sent over when her husband was ill. She had put three lemons in it, and a note saying she knew I would not accept anything else. That tickled me. I had not been keeping track of the dish, though my daughter says I keep track of every dish and only pretend otherwise. It was nice to be thought of in such a particular way. I put the lemons where I could see them on the kitchen table, and my husband immediately asked whether there would be bars for dessert. I said there might, if someone else volunteered to wash the pan.

The freezer list says two packages of chicken, but I can only locate one. This is not a major event, yet I have been trying to remember who had the other package and when. It may have gone home with our daughter, or I may have forgotten to cross it off after supper. My husband suggests we eat the one we can find. Sensible, but that still leaves the list wrong. I have put a small question mark beside it instead of rewriting the card. Next time someone comes over, I will ask them to look behind the soup containers. That is where things go when I am in a hurry.