Sometimes the inspiration for the title is just not there, even though I’ve got the post firmly in hand. I’ve wrestled that post to the ground, but can’t find the title anywhere.

I got nothin’.

We’ll just call this the Friday Blowout.

I don’t know what kind of an outdoor living space you have, but ours is tiny. It’s tiny and L-shaped in the back. The front is tiny and undergoing reconstructive surgery. Botox may be involved.

We finally have a date for the landscaper to come next week, if we don’t get rained out. Again. At this point, I’m just wondering if I want to be here when they remove the 6 to 8 inches of topsoil before putting in the patio. You know. In case they hit the gas line.

That’s how my brain works. It’s a brain on catastrophe.

You laugh. But the contractor made it quite clear that they almost always take out the cable because, let’s face it, it’s not buried very deep. He said that while laughing. Contractor humor.

I’m drawing my cable chalk line now.

The honking fat chalk line for the gas pipe was painted several weeks ago. However, it has been ravaged by wind and rain since then and is beginning to look more like something you might see — or not — in a Where’s Waldo?.

I can’t dwell on that another minute. It makes my hair fly up.

Here. Look at my blooming dwarf lilac. It worries me that I’m not as tall as my dwarf lilac. That just doesn’t seem right.

It’s fragrant and bushy. I love it. It’s also the biggest specimen in my back garden. Hello. Small space.

When you have a small space, you don’t fight it.

Here is some Galium odoratum, which doesn’t sound nearly as sweet as sweet woodruff, hugging the side door boot mat, and doing double duty camouflaging the a/c hose.

And this Columbine ~

It’s growing right out of the front vent of the compost bin. Is that accommodating or what? It just bloomed, and I love the way the light is playing across the leaves in this shot.

For Humor Lovers — I love reading A Yankee’s Southern Exposure blog by Gordon McCleary, aka @ ASouthernYankee. Bringing up Baby — Old School. Click on over. You know you want to.

For Writers — from the Boxing the Octopus blog: “But Am I A Real Writer?” The Number One Most Self-Defeating Question a Writer Can Ask by Kathryn Paterson. Click. On. Over.

TGIF, baby!