This is Mrs. Smith. She lives next door to my dad's house and is in her 90s. She has a garden and often wears her hair in braids. She knows a lot about plants and her gardens always thrive under her care. She is never in a rush. She says the air quality has gotten really bad over the years. She has a strong, centered, female voice. She smiles warmly whenever you wave hello.

That's pretty much all I know about her, and I've known her for 27 years.

Yet, she is one of my favorite people in the world, an inspiration to me. I gave her most of my dad's gardening stuff. She was so happy when I asked to take her picture. I let her know I hope to be just like her when I grow up, including the long hair in braids part. Especially the long hair in braids part, actually.

And the thriving garden. My own garden this year is the suck. Probably the only good part about my garden is the irony of my conversation the day this picture of Mrs. Smith was taken. Mrs. Smith told me all about Queen Anne's Lace, a type of flower that is in her garden. As it turns out, my garden this year has a little wild patch of Queen Anne's Lace growing right near where I had my carrots all these years. It's the only flowers in the weedy mess, aside from the strawberry patch flowers that bloomed earlier in the spring.

Today I'm heading to the Summer Street pond with the boys, bringing a book to read but most likely will end up swimming myself for quite a while, too. We leave in an hour or two and pretty much plan to stay until we're all water-logged and raisin-looking, sun bronzed and sandy-pantsed. We'll leave when the mosquitos start biting, I figure.

It is one of the prettiest summer days yet. Hot but not humid, blue sky with a few white clouds, little breezes of gentle wind now and then. Nice.