Day of what?

Certainly not a day of rest.
Sunday, that is.
Although I try, trust me, I try.

Take this morning, for example.
Ward Council at 10, which I had to leave early, at 10:30, to take a meeting with my activities committee.
Choir practice at 11 because we were singing today.
Sacrament Meeting , at 11:30, was 90 minutes today because it was Ward Conference, and it was lovely. Good speakers, good music, just what I was needing. The main message was, I think, that you can't coast along and expect to keep the fire of your testimony burning brightly. You have to be doing good things and be in the right places, or the fires dwindle. Which was a good reminder to me of why I drag myself out the door every Sunday, and several other times some weeks, to be in the right place.

While everyone else progressed to their other meetings, my committee and I were setting up for the Linger Longer that was to be held right after church. Setting tables, preparing food, nattering all the way. Then dealing with the hungry hordes, who were impressively well-behaved and had enormous appetites. Almost all the food was eaten, which is always a good sign, I think.

We arrived home, after clean-up, at about 4 o'clock.
Crikey, I don't work that hard during the week!
So I have been very lazy since then and have eaten three, yes three, slices of pear/ginger cake.
And taken a little stroll through the garden, admiring the grapevines and spots of colour.
Why, oh why, do I love grapevines so much?

A little Orton-ish, with a fade, to soothe the senses.

Nasturtiums, which are vibrant to the point of ridiculousness. 

The crepe myrtle, entering its heyday.

And this lovely heirloom rose, which was rescued from certain death by my friend Lori and is flourishing against the back fence.

Our England is a garden,
and such gardens are not made
by singing, "Oh, how beautiful!"
 and sitting in the shade.

          Rudyard Kipling, from "The Glory of the Garden."