It seems on Monday that we had a mini reprieve from the humidity. It was still quite warm but bearable for outdoor work. I’ll never figure out how folks can jog at noon with no hat on the hot bike paths.

The cloudy days over the weekend gave me the opportunity to work on my people-watching skills while sitting in traffic. On Saturday, coming from up-Island on State Road, traffic was stopped in a huge line at the Scottish Bakehouse. Yikes, hope no one was rushing for a boat.

Then I noticed people out of their cars picking up $100 bills. There were hundreds of them strewn everywhere. After realizing they were fake, we all had a good laugh.

Horse Chestnuts are dropping their flowers everywhere. There is a wedding-esque look to the lawns. We had a huge one in the back yard of my childhood home. It was a favorite resting place of black bears. They climbed up and napped on the large branches. Then, they moved to the apple tree in the fall and enjoyed a snack lounging above. We did keep a lookout before playing there!

I’m fond of various combinations of plants sometimes. I know I don’t plan it but am pleased later. For example, I have some Curly Fries hostas. They are short with pointy leaves and turn a nice yellow as they age. They are on a border of Amber Moon astilbe and make a beautiful mixed marriage.

Also at the bottom of the Edgartown Road before the turn onto State Road, there is a nice hedge of coral pink and red roses. Again, a combination I wouldn’t think about when planting.

Chamomile has reseeded all over the vegetable garden. I cut a boatload of it (saved the blooms) and am drying them on newspaper. I miss my ancient gas stove with a pilot light. It was great for drying all sorts of vegetables and flowers.

There is a yellow Russian hollyhock in bloom. It’s a perennial, unlike some other varieties which tend to be biennial. Keep an eye in the spring as all hollyhocks will give you plenty of babies for the following year.

Every year, it seems I have a different crop of weeds. This year it is purslane. An attractive, thick-leaved ground cover, it is supposedly edible. I tried it — it wasn’t wonderful but I didn’t die. When the Holocaust comes (notice I didn’t say if) there will be plenty of it to eat.

Last year I had a sweet little pink flowered weed. I looked it up. It was called Kiss Me Over the Garden Gate. Even if I tried, I could not make that up.

There is an amaranth with floppy tendrils of maroon. It’s called Love Lies Bleeding.

Here it is, the Fourth of July. I like to think of myself as just as patriotic as the next one. I hate how the right-wingers think they own the flag — oh yeah and Jesus.

I grew up expected to have utmost respect for it — never let it touch the ground, take it down at sunset and fold it properly every night. My grandfather was the flag police. It still bothers me to see it with Trump’s face on it and/or hanging off the end of a pick-up.

On that note, think I’ll fix myself a yearly hot dog!