I spent some time in the side yard a couple of weeks ago and I got a good look at my daisies.

Fresh and sassy the week before, the daisy petals had shriveled up when I wasn’t looking.

My daisies look a lot like my ankles. I was drying my feet off after a shower the other day and noticed there were wrinkles on my ankles.

I’m not kidding. Wrinkles. On my ankles.

That’s it. That’s all I know for sure today. My daisies are doing what daisies do. And so are my ankles.

Let me tell you about my daisies — the ones my grandmother embroidered on pillowcases and gave to me for my birthday. Read about that at “Time to Crack Open That Hope Chest and Live a Little.”

If you’d rather spend time with living things in their full mature splendor, go to “I Can’t Take My Eyes Off Those Flowers — From the Mighty Rose to the Humble Daisy”  and be treated to pompons, anemones, billy balls and more.

Note to my regular readers: Oops. I got busy and distracted during my week of granny camp with the grandchildren — and neglected to schedule this post in time for last week’s deadline. So it’s going up a few days late.