Music, not apples, in the orchard

I defied the rain gods today and hung laundry. It sort of dried. The sides of the socks facing each other were still a little damp when I brought it in, as were the pockets and waistbands of blue jeans. Not a big deal. They’ll dry eventually.

I also baked a couple of loaves of sweet oatmeal bread from a recipe I remember cutting out of the newspaper when I was a teenager and first interested in making my own staff of life. Two loaves call for three cups of rolled oats and 3/4 cup molasses.

I took these and a bread board and a knife in a plain, brown paper bag to Janice’s, where she and her conjoint had their annual music in the orchard afternoon. The threatening rain did not actually deliver, if five minutes of spitting can be called rain. The orchard was full of people, some of whom I knew and others I have only seen at these shindigs. The hosts had set up a stage with microphones and the music was in full swing by the time I arrived, mid-afternoon. The flies were also out in full swing, and I ended up getting quite a few bites.

I love Janice. I like her conjoint a lot. But the music offered up at these gatherings generally sucks. I was asked repeatedly if I was going to sing, and I kept putting people off, saying maybe. I finally did rise and take the stage and sang three Irish folk songs unaccompanied, and it was all right, definitely not my best. But the audience liked it.

There was good food, though. One woman brought iced shortbread squares that were absolutely delicious. My bread went over in a big way, and I was able to bring home the second loaf, since there was so much other food it wasn’t cut into.

I’m tired now and all I really want to do is go to sleep. It’s too early though.

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