One afternoon last week it was warm enough for Marlo to spend two hours running back and forth from this pot in the front yard and the sink in the kitchen where she would fill a large plastic glass with water. She was making soup. A huge vat of soup. If I had let her she would have taken all her clothes off and jumped inside it, my sweet little water dog. Chuck occasionally glanced at her, amused that she would willingly get any part of her body wet. If he was texting someone he’d be all SMDH.
(Mom, that’s what your grandchildren are using as shorthand for “shaking my damn head.” They are cursing!)