This is such a delightful idea:
16 Dec 1775 – 18 Jul 1817
Goddess of Writers
Priestess of Irony
In memory of Rev. George Austen’s daughter, please leave condolences in the form of quotations &tc.
Don’t leave them here, though; or rather, you can if you like, but go to Peg Kerr’s journal and leave them there too, as that’s whence this was plucked.
The one I left was from the first chapter of Northanger Abbey:
[P]rovided that nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at all. But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.
It’s always amused me.
The air conditioner has been turned off, and we have thrown open every window we can throw open. It’s lovely and cool, a bit damp because of the rain, perhaps, but such a pleasant change from the oppressive and dangerous high heat and humidity. Plus it’s quieter. The humidity will be back tomorrow, so I’m appreciating this as much as I can today before we have to close everything up and turn the machine back on.
More tomato melts this morning for brunch, made with ai731‘s lovely and delicious garden tomatoes. We have a scattering of green tomatoes in our own garden that we’re waiting for, plus darling little cucumbers and alarmingly large squash for their age, for which we’ve constructed little frames so they won’t rot on the ground before they even ripen as they did last year. The leaves are over a foot and a half in diameter already. The onions seem to be doing quite well, too. Now, if the wave petunias in the front planters would just, well, wave properly, I think we’d be almost one hundred percent satisfied with this year’s garden.