Expecto Harry

In anticipation of a very Harry weekend, I transfigured my HP bookscarves into wristbands. They're a bit easier to wear in this weather than most HP finery and also less likely to provoke stares of uncomprehending hostility. Although while I was struggling to take this picture (with my digicam, photographing one's own wrist requires about as many contortions as photographing one's own feet) my neighbor actually came out on her deck to gawp. Muggles.



That wisp about my wand needle is not a corporeal Patronus, it's something from the Department of Mysteries. More on that later.



Two-thirds of participants in the bean poll favored waiting to see what the bean arch would do. Alas, gentle readers, it started rotting (DH: "See, I said you should have helped it!").



I usually plant pole beans at two-week intervals, so I had some good-sized replacements ready.



The odd thing is this year it takes a discerning eye to distinguish between the beans I planted six weeks ago, four weeks ago, and two weeks ago. Usually it's obvious. Dunno what's going on.



My humble thanks to everyone who commented on the last post. It would seem that for many people who experienced them, the 1967 Newark riots were more deeply and lastingly traumatic than even the September 11 attacks. Ground Zero almost immediately became a place of pilgrimage; 40 years later the Central Ward remains a place of fear. That in part may explain the long silence. It's no small thing to confront the painful past and break that silence.