1981—Back Yard
Nobody owes me any deference anent the arcanities of color, but Doodle’s sweater seems to harmonize better with her rosy cheeks than with the peonies. I’d received a clutch of championship corms as a gift of neighborly fellowship from Asher Spector, a charming elderly Jewish gentleman residing on Elmore Street, up the hill and around the corner. Early on, Asher would pause in his daily perambulation of our block to offer kindly comments on our gardening efforts. Thanks to him, we planted peonies in the nook between the bay windows and also out along the Ashland sidewalk. We had to bring the corms in and store them in the basement, each winter.

With my raspberries as backdrop, Rick, Nathan, Marc, and Justin illustrate the diverse delights offered by the rather informal sandpile which, eventually, replaced the Japanese maple in the middle of the back yard. Justin displays more flexibility of joint and sinew than I could now manage. Maybe even then.
Timbaloo was getting a new coat of paint in those days. The west side, in particular, tended to peel after a disconcertingly-short interval.
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