Winter Solstice and a Turtle

Okay, so we made it through the longest night of the year.  Winter has officially started, the shortest day is over and it can only be uphill from here.  Right..??  The only hurdle that I can see is January.  Could there be a longer, more dreary, endless month than January..??  No.

Beautiful shot of Stonehenge on Solstice Day...

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"Sea turtles, mate."

Anyone know where that line originates..??  This isn't actually a quiz, it's a segue into my story, though if you're curious, it's a quote used in the first three Pirates of the Caribbean movies.  Said by Johnny Depp (first movie), by Orlando Bloom (second), and Keith Richards (third).  Every time I hear it, I inevitably think about my own sea turtle--hence the reason for this post:  I watched one of the movies last night.

I was living in Hawaii, staying in a beautiful cabin-like place near Wai'anapanapa, in the jungle, about three miles outside the tiny settlement of Hana, in the far west end of Maui.  This was about two months before I went back to civilization (Lahaina), eventually became a crew member on the schooner, and sailed off into the sunset.  Hana back then was all Hawaiian--not a rock star or celebrity to be found--with a small general store, lots of funny cute kids, grumpy old grandmothers and not a whole lot else.  The road ended not much further past Hana making it a very isolated and wonderful place.

So.  The day started off with a walk along the lava beds as I head toward Hana to get some groceries.  There is very little sand along this part of the coast, though there was a most excellent little sandy cove right below my house, where I did lots of snorkeling.  Mostly though, the lava had piled up right to the water when Haleakala blew up ages before.  It was a pretty dicey route along those beds as the lava was sharp and jumbled and in places very treacherous, but it was also a shortcut to the village.

I do my shopping, chat with a couple of the women, talk to the kids, then head back the three miles to the house.  When I get within sight of my place, I pick a favorite flat piece of lava to sit on--one that jutted out over the water a bit, so I felt like I was floating in space.  The ocean is about 15 feet below me, the sun sparkling on the water.  It was a really beautiful late morning in Paradise.

Reaching into my small pack, I pulled out my flute and began to play an impromptu tune.  I took that flute with me everywhere back then.  It was battered, dented in a few spots, and molded to my lips and my fingers.  I loved that flute.  Anyway.  I'm sitting there, eyes closed, legs dangling, soft notes drifting, as I invent the song to express what I'm feeling in that moment.

Hearing a splash, not from a wave, I glance down while I'm playing and below me, treading water is an enormous, gnarly, grandfather of a sea turtle.  And he's looking right at me.  I stare, he stares.  I lower my flute to reach for my camera.  He hesitates for a moment than uses one huge front leg to turn away.  I quickly start playing again, and damn.  He stops and turns back.

I played my flute for that sea turtle.  The whole time his gray, old head is stretched out from his wrinkled, prune-like neck, his eyes ancient and knowing as he watched me through hooded lids, and listened to the music.  His shell was mottled, and scarred, and there wasn't--and still isn't--a doubt in my mind this was a very, very old creature.  (The Hawaiian green sea turtle can reach 3 feet from stem to stern, and weigh over 200 pounds.  This guy was every bit of that).

He paddled his legs, treading water, occasionally dropping below the water for a moment, and for about five minutes or so, I entertained him...or at the very least caught his interest.  Then suddenly, he spun one leg, turned himself about, and dove under water, and I never saw him again.  It was an experience like no other.

For days after I would go down to that flat rock of lava and play my flute.  Once I thought I saw something deep under the clear, aqua water, but if it was him, he didn't rise up to hear more music. 

Bizarrely, I actually had my camera with me, but couldn't take a picture.  The vision in my head, however, is crystal clear: I can hear the waves lapping below my perch, the notes of the flute, feel the sun on my face and legs, smell the ginger blossoms in the grove behind me...and can look into those ancient, primordial eyes and marvel that I have somehow, mysteriously, captivated a sea turtle.

Sunshine, a Smile and a Shirt

Today is truly beautiful.  Roseburg has been redeemed in my eyes, though I'll only go so far as to say redeemed for right now.  It still isn't my place, or where I belong, but that doesn't mean I can't recognize and enjoy the occasional perfect day.

Here's a sunny little video of this morning.  A view from the back deck, over Garden Valley with the Coast Range as backdrop.  Ignore the dork factor.  Let's just say, it's a good thing I didn't go into live broadcasting, or something equally spontaneous requiring ad libs and/or a functioning brain...

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After the boys and I did the park, I had to dash into Freddy's** for a couple things.  I was pretty much in a rush to just get in, get out and was actually accomplishing that feat until I walked past the jewelry department.  I suddenly remembered that Alan's ring had fallen off my finger one other time: either in my kitchen or my sister's, I couldn't remember which.  What I did remember was her telling me I should take it to Freddy's and have it sized. 

Because of what happened a few days ago, I stopped and asked one of the jewelry people if they could fix it so the ring was firm on my finger, instead of loose.  Amazing.  In about 5 minutes, I slipped on the ring and it fits like a glove.  It won't fall off again for any reason.  The only downside: I can't twirl it with my thumb, or play with it; there's no wiggle room.  Oh well.  Small price to pay to keep it securely on my finger.  And, thanks Sis for the idea.

** For you guys across the Pond:  Fred Meyer (Freddy's) is just like Sainbury's.

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Got my NaNo tee shirt today.  It's cool.  Makes me smile that I have it.  Now, instead of resting on my laurels, I really have to get back to the book.  My main character is bobbing in the sea and after a month, must be pretty wrinkled, to say nothing of waterlogged.  And no doubt really cranky with me for leaving him adrift for so long.

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Speaking of my sister, it's time to call her.  We've been trying to connect for a day or so, and right now is the agreed upon time.  Besides, the sun is blazing through the window and practically melting me; I need to move.  And, hey, go figure such a thing on a late December afternoon, huh..??  Beats the crap out of that mind-numbing, shoulder-slumping, nearly endless fog.

Got Nothing...

I've spent the better part of my computer time today sifting through lots of old, defunct and meaningless links, gleefully eliminating them.  I'm on a cleaning campaign so I can start the New Year with only my true favorites and other informative links.  I've also modified the blog page a bit, adding a couple things like my Daily Fix, and removing that horrid photo of myself and adding an adorable little Buddha, similar to the tat on my forearm.  So much cuter than I am...

Other than having a nice, long chat with a friend in Edinburgh, and working on tidying up the blog site, I've got absolutely nothing of any relevance to post today.  I'm off to take the dogs down the mountain for a walk before dark and dinner, so best get on with it.

Here's a pretty glimpse of summer on a crappy winter's day...

Sant'Agnello, Italy

Connect the Dots...

I was walking the dogs this morning in Stewart Park--the one in the center of town.  It was fairly quiet, weather is warm today, around 40* with no fog, so I'm enjoying the stroll, my mind wandering along with the meander of the dogs.  There's a long stretch of paved pathway that edges the golf course.  I call it Damnation Alley because half the time the golfers miss the bloody fairway and balls come lobbing over the trees onto this path.

As we're walking, I see one of those puff ball things.  You know what I mean??  If you step on a ball, this big puff of dust wafts out and you've just helped Mother Nature spread spores.  Absentmindedly, I step on this big one off to the side of the path, and as the spores drift into the air, a memory drifts into my head.  I burst out laughing, the dogs look at me like I'm nuts, and I pause to wonder at the circuitous route our minds take, when one thought leads to another without any conscious participation.  When dots connect.

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Jan and I met when we both worked for the same publishing company in Seattle.  We became instant best friends and remain so today.  At the time she had just moved with her husband Rick from LA where he made MTV videos.  He'd been sent to Seattle to cover the burgeoning music scene; video the grunge bands...(Nirvana ring any bells??)  Rick was a wonderful, funny, gorgeous Bon Jovi-looking guy with long blond hair and the bluest, twinkling eyes.  We three were best pals for a long time.  I loved Rick, though unfortunately most women did.  After too many--well, that's a heartbreaking story that isn't mine to tell.  Suffice to say, they divorced, and it was just Jan and me against the world for the next few years.  We had a ball, doing any and everything we felt like.  Then I met someone, and we became the Three Musketeers, until eventually, my guy introduced Jan to his best friend.  And now, there were four.

About a year after they began dating, Jan and Cal moved in together--into Cal's house.  Jan had lots of stuff, as did he, so they enlisted our help one Saturday to clean out the garage and the basement to make room for the merging of two households.

Jan and I are in the living room, sorting through boxes the guys have brought up from the basement.  We have piles for the thrift, piles for the dumpster, and piles to keep.  Cal drops off a big, bulging box and says, "This is Spanky's.  I don't know what's in here."

Spanky was a long-time friend to both guys.  He had stored a few boxes with Cal a couple years back and then disappeared.  Last anyone heard, he was headed to the East Coast, but why and where, no one knew.  Cal wanted his stuff sorted out and consolidated; what Jan and I thought wasn't worth keeping was to be tossed.  We weren't really comfortable going through a stranger's personal belongings, or making such a judgment call, but we figured better us than our guys who would no doubt just throw everything away without any thought.

Eventually we get to the bottom of the box and find this cool metal container.  It looks like a small strongbox of some kind.  Neither Cal nor my guy have a clue what it might be, though Cal thinks he's see it before but can't quite remember in what context.  The box has a lock-type thing on it that won't open, so I get a screwdriver, hand it to Jan, then go into the kitchen to refill our coffee.  As I come around the corner, two mugs in hand, Jan is kneeling on the carpet, the box clutched to her chest, the screwdriver jammed into this lock thing, a look of fierce determination on her face.  "Maybe we should let Cal do it," I suggest.  "No, I've got it," she says through clenched teeth.  I set the mugs on the coffee table and turn to help her with this blasted box.

Suddenly the lid bursts open, and the contents explode out of the container, dust flying into the air in a great puff ball.  As it slowly drifts down, covering Jan's head, her face, her clothes, the carpet all around her, Cal walks into the room, stares for a heartbeat, then whispers in horror, "Oh Christ, it's Spanky's Mom!"

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Lots of years and many miles later.  I'm stepping on a puff ball in Roseburg, Oregon this morning and the dots connect in my brain.  I'm back in Cal's living room in Seattle, watching the puff ball that was Spanky's mother drift all over my best friend.  And, regardless of the total inappropriateness of it, but unable to stop myself, I'm laughing my head off...in both places.

Camera Angst

We all know that old adage about a picture being worth a thousand words.  And it's true, as is always carry your camera because you never know when you might need it.  After all, it's a bit hard to take that perfect photo without it.

I have been caught so many times without my camera that I've sort of trained my brain to take the picture, and amazingly, I can dip into my mental photo album and pluck out a crystal clear vision of what I was not able to capture on my camera.

If I let my mind flip through that album, here's what randomly pops out:

**  Driving east across the Great Plains in Montana, during a monumental early spring storm of wind, rain, hail, and snow, when suddenly a break in the sky, the sun pierces, and a brilliant triple rainbow glows to life arching over the highway directly in front of me.  It was like the entrance to Nirvana.  The colors were gem-like and beautiful, shimmering and mind-boggling.  My camera was somewhere in the jumble of stuff in the back seat, stashed after the Rockies, because, really, what would I see that could possibly warrant a picture as I sped over the bleak and barren Plains?

**  Kitchen door is open and I hear a loud shout, people talking excitedly outside.  It's a clear, warm afternoon in Edinburgh.  I dash out, thinking someone has fallen, needs help, whatever.  I see several of my neighbors standing in the middle of the street, looking up in the sky.  What in the world??  Alien invasion??  UFO??  I run to the gate, and ask what's going on.  They are speechless and a few just point.  I turn and look up.  The last flight of the Concorde flies right over our heads, close enough to see every mark on the underbelly of that majestically doomed flying machine.  The noise is incredible, the style and grace beyond description.  This was the last voyage, the close of an era.  The Concorde was making its final stops before landing in France, forever earthbound. NY, London, Edinburgh, then across the Channel to its place in history.  It was amazingly beautiful.  And I had no time to grab the camera.

**  One of 12 crew on a 56-ft double-masted schooner.  Night watch, I'm alone on deck, 3:00am.  The night is pitch black, the sound of the water quiet and soothing as we slip through the gentle swells of the South Pacific.  I feel--for the first time in my life--the utter insignificance of our tiny little lives when measured against the sea and the heavens and the earth itself.  Phosphorescence gleams in streaks around the bow as we make our way through the water.  I look up, stunned at the stars, the beauty.  The Southern Cross is low in the sky, the star formation perfectly bright and clear.  I marvel at the myriad of sailors and seafarers who have navigated by that celestial map point.  I can't leave my post to snag my camera below decks; don't even know if I could take a photo that would be distinct enough.  This is the very first photo to go into my mental album.

**  I had a friend who never learned to drive.  She asked me if I would teach her.  Reluctantly, I agreed, though wasn't too hopeful; she was terrified of the whole experience, hence why she'd never learned.  She was in her 30s, so if she wanted to learn, okay, I would try to teach her.  We drove way out of Seattle, onto the Tulalip Indian Reservation, where it was quiet, far from traffic, and over the course of several weeks, I taught, she learned.  On our last day of lessons, she was driving, and a reservation police car pulled in behind us and followed for ages.  She was getting more nervous by the minute, I was being calm--though frankly, I wasn't sure how much trouble we'd be in as she didn't have a licence and we were on reservation land.  Still.  I kept her from freaking out, and at a quiet, isolated 4-way stop, we carried on, and he turned off.  Anxiety for nothing, though my friend was totally wigged out.  I told her to pull over when we got to the bend in the road so she could calm down.  She did.  We got out, walked a short ways to look out at the view of Puget Sound, and just as we reached the edge, far, far below us, surging along the coastline, two whales breach, the noise of their splash and spouting reaching clear up the cliff face to where we stood, in total awe and amazement.  Seriously, people wait their whole lives for such a sight, and here we are, accidentally in the right place at the right time.  My camera was at home.

**  I was on a month long road trip through the Southwest; Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico under my belt.  Stopped in Winslow, AZ and stood on that corner, the song whispering in my head.  That night I camped in a place where they were excavating 11,000 year old artifacts from the original natives who had lived in that very spot.  The guy camped next to me was from San Francisco and on his way to New Orleans to play a gig.  He was a saxophone player.  The next morning, I rolled out of bed, made some coffee, and in the quiet and peaceful beauty of an Arizona morning, the low, sweet notes of a tenor sax drifted over the campground.  I went outside and there, on a slight rise in the desert, the sax man stood, facing the rising sun, the shape of his body and the sax a glowing silhouette against the yellow glare, his music nearly visible in the air.  I was too mesmerized to move at first, then just as I turned to get my camera, he finished his song, bowed deeply to the rising sun, and walked away.

**  On a flight from Miami to Chicago, flying between massive thunderheads, swelling and rising hundreds of feet above our altitude of 35,000 feet.  It was like being on an alien planet, the seething columns alive, menacing, and eager to snare our fragile little machine as we dodged and darted, desperate to avoid flying into one of these monsters.  My camera was in my pack, stowed in the overhead, the seat belt sign and the turbulence anchoring me in my seat.

I could go on...and on.  My mental photo album is full of these vignettes, and all because I haven't had my camera handy. 

So.  What set off this post today??

I was walking the dogs through the VA complex this morning, as I love to do on the weekends.  It's quiet, usually nary a soul, and I can ruminate, plan my day, drift in my head.  As we're coming around this one long bend on the path, suddenly there is this raucous noise of blue jays.  Not just one, but many.  I pinpoint the tree and as we approach, more blue jays are arriving from all around the area.  Frankly, I didn't know there were that many of them in all of Roseburg, let alone in one tree.  The volume of noise is tremendous the closer we get.  Even the dogs pause and look up.  I'm not sure what kind of tree they're in, but it's still got all it's leaves and though I can hear dozens of birds, I can't see them in the foliage.  I walk under the tree and look up.  The center isn't as dense at it looks from outside, more like an umbrella effect, with clear views up the center of the tree to the top.  And on every branch, twig and limb, are literally dozens of blue jays yelling at the top of their little lungs.  They looked like vibrant, bright blue Christmas baubles in the lush green of the leaves.  I couldn't believe how unexpectedly beautiful it was.  Of course, my camera is at home.

Sigh.  Ah well, I've still got plenty of room in my head to add another picture to the album.

Weirdly...wonderful

I haven't had a very good week, what with two lunatic altercations, eating four slices of the Italian Creme cake when I shouldn't have eaten one, the endless fog weighing heavy, wrapped around my shoulders like a shroud, and then this morning...I lost Alan's wedding ring.

This ring has been on my middle finger, right hand since the funeral director handed me Alan's effects.  It's a beautiful Celtic knotwork band that fit his big hand just right, and though it's a bit wide for me, it's only once fallen off and that was in the shower.  I can distinctly remember the day we picked it out at the jewelry shop on a stormy, wild Edinburgh afternoon.  We were about two weeks from the wedding, the ring was the last thing we needed to get done.  We went out that night and drank too much whiskey to celebrate.

This morning, after walking the dogs, I had a few errands to run and as it's warmer today I didn't have to take the dogs home first.  I went to the vet's for more dog treats, got gas, and popped into the grocery store for some milk.  As I'm waiting in line, I tapped my finger against the trolley handle and suddenly realized I wasn't hearing the usual clink of metal on metal.  I raised my hand, and stared in horror at my bare finger.

Where is the ring?  When did I lose it?  I start patting my jacket pockets, hoping that the ring has slipped into a pocket whilst I was walking the dogs.  I dig frantically in my purse.  My stomach sinks, my mouth goes dry.  I pay for my milk but can't talk to the cashier around the lump in my throat.  I practically run out of the store and start a manic search through the car, front and back.  The dogs think I'm nuts as I shove my hands underneath them in their beds.

As I drive home, tears pressing painfully against my eyeballs, I try to remember the last time I felt the ring on my finger.  I can go back two days: reading my book, twisting the ring around my finger with my thumb.  This ring has a lot of texture, with curves and grooves...it's very tactile and I play with it a lot.  I realize that in two days I have been in a multitude of places in town, including the park with the dogs.  I'm fighting the tears as I climb the mountain, already picturing in my mind where I will need to look in the house.

Unload the dogs, the treats, the milk, grab a flashlight and head back to the car.  I remove everything: two dog beds, towels for the elusive rainy days, extra dog treats, water; empty the glove box.  I shine the light under the seats.  Ah, break my heart.  No ring.

An hour later, and I have pretty much covered the house.  I'm mumbling to myself, fighting the growing sorrow of losing another little piece of Alan, I'm mad for not noticing when and where I could have missed the weight of the ring on my finger.  I wonder if it's worth driving down the mountain and retracing my steps at the park.  It seems daunting, but I imagine for a moment someone finding it in the grass, or along the river, or in the parking lot...and wearing it...and my stomach lurches.

I head back downstairs, get in the car, and with tears threatening, I start the car and prepare to back out of the garage.  Something catches my eye.  I look to my right.  The ring is laying in the middle of the passenger seat.

Turning off the car, I sit for a minute, stunned, and just stare in disbelief.  Seriously, honestly and truly, there is no way on earth that ring was there at any time while I was searching frantically for it.  And yet.  There it is.  I snatch it up, put it back on my finger where it settles perfectly and suddenly my week seems pretty okay after all.

And hey, Alan?  Thanks for finding it for me, love.  I won't lose it again...

Story for Another Day

Remember when I said I knew what coyote pee smelled like??  Here's the story of how I know...

For many years my parents lived on an island in the middle of the Columbia River--between Oregon and Washington--on a houseboat.  It was a great place, with a huge deck, and the family had lots of gatherings and good times at their house.  There was a very long ramp from the main walkway, over the water, connecting to the land and the parking area.  On bad winter days, almost always when I had come down from Seattle for Christmas, the ramp would freeze solid and everyone would be stuck.  I thought it was very adventurous of my folks to live like this, and it was ever so much fun to visit them.

But, one defect to living on the water, is of course, what keeps your house afloat.  Mom and Dad's houseboat was older; part of their flotation were these enormous logs--picture small redwoods--with huge styrofoam blocks wedged between the log rafters.  Very sturdy, very water-worthy, totally safe and secure.

Until the beavers showed up.

One day my Mom is leaving for work and notices all these bits of styrofoam bobbing in the water around their house.  She yells for Dad.  He comes out, takes a good long look, shakes his head, lights a cigarette and tells Mom he will take care of things, go to work.  At first he thinks one of the blocks has just broken up due to weather, the rise and fall of the river tides, something easy to deal with.  Poor Dad.

He gets the local scuba guy in, he dives under their house/deck, and tells Dad there's a lot of beaver damage on one of the old, gigantic logs.  I can just see my Dad:  Blinking, rubbing the back of his neck, patting his pocket for a smoke, as he ponders this new scenario.  Somewhere in his mind is also--no doubt at all--the horrible task of what the hell he's going to tell my mother.  She of the short fuse and zero tolerance for things going awry in her world.

Mom isn't happy.  There's lots of "oh my gods," and "what if the house sinks," and "Tom, do something."  Dad tries chicken wire around the whole house like a shark barrier in Jaws.  That seems to work for awhile, then bits of flotsam and jetsam begin swirling around the house again.  Plus, Mom thinks she can hear the beavers at night chewing their way through the logs and into her bedroom.   Again, I have to say, poor Dad. 

Eventually, Dad's methods aren't working, so he breaks down and does the guy networking thing.  He asks around the houseboat community, then canvasses his fishing and hunting buddies.  This is usually where guys end up on America's Funniest Home Videos, or win the Darwin Awards.  Thankfully, my father was smart, clever, and very handy.  He discounted several ideas, but unfortunately, latches wholeheartedly onto one allegedly foolproof plan.  Uh huh.  You know where I'm going with this, don't you.

Months have gone by as my parents have tried to deal with the Beaver Situation.  It's time for my early summer visit.  I drive down from Seattle, get all settled in my room, and plan on sitting outside on the deck, in the sunshine, and mellow out with a nice drink in the peace and quiet of life on the river. 

I come downstairs.  My Dad has this look on his face.  A look that says he's up to something.  Something that will probably involve me and that I won't like one little bit.  I give him the eye, edge around him, grab a beer from the fridge and go outside.  He follows.  Damn.  Making conversation while I try to figure out what gives, I ask him what's happening with the beavers.  Oh oh.  Now there's the smile that goes with the look.

"Funny you should ask," he murmurs.  I raise a brow but don't say anything.  "I found something that will take care of them," he says cheerfully.  I start to protest, but he assures me he doesn't mean murder or death, just something that will drive them away.  Permanently.

"Dad, I don't think trapping beavers is something you should be doing.  Can't you call the wildlife people?"

"I'm not going to trap them."  He scowls.  "And the wildlife people won't do a thing, I've already talked to those morons."

"Well then?" I say, taking a sip of my beer, wondering where in the world this is going.

He whips out a small vial from his shirt pocket.  I look at the vial.  I look at my father, note the expression on his face as he waves it in my direction.  "Um, Dad, what is that?" I ask carefully.

"It's something that will drive off the beavers.  I just have to sprinkle  a little dab of this liquid here and there on the logs under the deck and the house, and there you go.  No more beavers."

Skeptically, I say, "What in the world kind of liquid could do that?"

He hands me the vial and says, "Take a whiff."

I take the vial, give it a little shake, wonder what the heck it is.  It's watery thin, pale yellow, and doesn't look like much of anything really.  I do NOT pop out the cork, however.  "Okay, Dad.  What is it?"

"I want you to help me sprinkle it on the logs, but first take a whiff."  (If you lay on your stomach and hang off the walkway, and the deck, you could actually reach the logs, so this isn't a bogus request and he says only a little dab is needed, so I should be able to do this quickly and get back to my relaxing weekend.)

I ignore the 'take a whiff' comment, set down my beer and ask him where he wants to start.  He smiles and says, "We can start here at the deck, but be careful, we only need a little and the stuff is potent."

He knows how to lure me in.  Now I'm so curious I forget my reservations.  Just what is this stuff??  I pop the cork, stick my nose into the vial, and three things happen simultaneously:  my Dad starts laughing, my Mom yells, "NO!" and my senses completely explode.  My nose hairs melt, my tear ducts expand, my throat closes and I begin to choke while also attempting to cough this most vile of all odors out of my body.

I end up sticking my head under the kitchen faucet, trying to flush out my nose, mouth and eyes.  My mother is berating my father, but I can sort of hear a note of laughter in her voice.  I consider suing them for trying to off me.  When I can see again, and breathe without choking, I go back outside and glare at my Dad.  I take a good swig of my beer but it seems I've lost all sense of taste.  To say nothing of having possibly destroyed my sense of smell.  All I am tasting and breathing is...whatever that is.

"Okay, Dad.  Killing off your oldest daughter is just not funny.  Do I need to go to the ER?  Have I been damaged by some horrid chemical concoction?  Really, what is that stuff??

"Coyote pee," he says, then laughs so hard, he nearly falls off the deck into the water.

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 -- It took nearly two weeks to get my taste and smell back.

 -- The beavers fled, though came back the next year and had a family of little beavers.  I refused to help Dad deal with them.

 -- Dad apparently was able to buy the coyote pee at some freaking bizarre local sporting goods store.  I should have sued them.

 -- Every time I brought up the coyote incident, my Dad would just howl with laughter.  Glad I could brighten his day.

Frost and Magnets

Yesterday's wonderful relief from the fog was very short-lived.  Opened the blinds this morning--after a crystal clear night with a million stars twinkling in the sky--to find the house completely socked in, again.  As well as the fog, it was 26* (-3*C), the coldest so far this winter.  I skated out onto the front deck over a layer of ice and took these few photos.

Very "winter wonderland" looking, isn't it??

As I was shuffling my way back to the front door trying not to slip on the icy wood deck, these two enormously chubby robins landed in one of the trees.  They caught my attention with their chatter; they were having a heated debate about something.  In Edinburgh, the robins are tiny, about the size of a little sparrow.  They look exactly like an American robin, but shrunk down to baby size.  I loved them.  These two are about the size of 6 Scottish robins.

In my late 20s, early 30s, I went through this 5 to 6 year period where I attracted weirdos and lunatics (stories for another day).  Seriously.  I could have worked for CSI finding wackos as they gravitated straight to me.  It was creepy, sometimes frightening, often too funny for words.  If I went out with my girlfriends, they would make bets about who would approach me.  They called me the Loon Magnet--short for lunatic, of course.  I swear, I met them all, no matter what coast I was on, or where I went.  Eventually, inexplicably, the curse was lifted, and I moved on.

It appears the curse was not lifted after all.  Remember yesterday's candy wrapper incident??  You might have forgotten, I'm still obsessing over processing the experience.

So.  Today. 

After I walked the boys at the park, I brought them home because it was way too cold to leave them in the car while I went shopping.  I popped into a store, came out, and as I walked across the parking lot, I see this woman has parked her car in the middle of the main parking aisle.  This is usually a "two directions" lane, so with her parked in one of the lanes, people are having to swerve around her, folks are honking, traffic jam imminent.  I'm right on the end of the aisle, and if this strange woman had not stopped where she did, all I would have to do is drive forward out of my space, and Bob's your uncle.  Heavy sighs on my part, but I don't do anything except start the car, put in a CD of soothing meditation music, and wait it out.  I mean, really.  What choice did I have?? 

I sit there watching the chaos of people yelling, honking, getting more pissed at this bizarre woman and the situation.  After a few minutes, I rifle in my purse, dig out my wallet and balance my checkbook, I hum along with the 5th track on the CD.  It always reminds me of New Mexico, so I try going there in my head.  Won't work with the angst all around me.  Two guys start yelling at the woman, two cars nearly collide trying to get around her...jeez, this is getting ridiculous, but still I don't do anything.  And that is very, very important to keep in mind.

Finally, and suddenly, as I'm starting to read the car manual in desperation, the woman rips open her door and jumps out.  I toss the manual back in the glove box and think, yippee, something's happening now and I can get the hell outta Dodge.  Okay.  Reasonable assumption, right??  But guess what??

She storms toward me, and starts beating on my driver's-side window.  Oh come on.  Really??  Has the sign on my head switched on after all these years and is now blinking off and on in bright neon colors: Lunatics Here I Am??  I stare at this crazy person, who is yelling at me to just drive away and stop honking my horn at her (side bar: people all around us are honking, I am sitting in the car, doing nothing).  I'm torn between honking the horn just to prove I wasn't, and reaching for my cell to call the cops.  I tell her to get away from my car, loud enough for her to hear me through the closed window,  but calm enough to not set her off more.  Ha.  Someone's already lit her fuse and anything I say or do at this point is just fanning the flames.  She's in a froth.  I tell her I'm calling the police, and pull out my phone, but just then the security guys at the store come out and the focus of her lunacy shifts.  In the meantime, the car behind me, blocking me from backing out, has reversed the entire length of our aisle, along with a dozen other cars, so now I have a clear shot at getting out of the Insane Asylum parking lot.  Which I do, faster than a speeding bullet.  In reverse.

At this point now I am so pissed, and outraged, suffering through two lunatic experiences in as many days, that I drive to my favorite shop, run to the bakery section, and buy this:

When Alan and I were in Italy, we went to several weddings (a story for another day).  There is a most delicious and traditional Italian Wedding Cake that is very, very similar to this one.  This is called an Italian Creme Cake.  It's almond flavored, cream cheese frosting, toasted almonds around the edges and the top.  It is decadent, yummy and transports me.  And believe me, I needed transporting. 

I came home, put away the groceries, took this photo, and ate a big, meltingly fabulous slice.  I closed my eyes and went to Italy.  A far, far better place then Roseburg, where apparently they have let the loonies out of the bin for Christmas.

Monday Mayhem

The day started out pretty good.  The fog has finally lifted and I feel like a ton of weight is off my shoulders.  Funny how heavy the fog and dense clouds seem to the human psyche.  Plus, there's a goodly breeze finally which is freshening the stagnant air, too.

So, when I opened all the blinds this morning, I couldn't resist taking a mini-video of the valley.  Course, you can't see the ridges and shadings and the real beauty of the mountains in the distance, but still.  Also, try to ignore the sniffing noises.  It was about 20* with the wind chill and I was standing out on the back deck in a tee shirt, jeans and my slippers.  Took about 12 seconds for my nose to start running.

After breakfast, shower, etc., I took the dogs to the big county park (the one I mention in the video).  We haven't gone for awhile, mainly because they have the Festival of Lights there until the New Year and it's a bit hard to walk the dogs through the light displays, let alone all the electrical cables and wires.  This morning though, I felt like doing something different besides the usual park in town, and it was a good choice.  We were the only ones there in the whole entire park,which is massive, so we meandered around to our hearts' content.  It was really, really cold though, walking along the river, and I was halfway to hypothermia by the time we got back to the car.  Definitely runny nose weather.

So far so good.  I drop the dogs back at the house and go back down the mountain to do some quick shopping.  The women up here are getting together on Friday morning for a candy, cookie, whatever deal.  I'm taking those Needhams I made a week or so ago and put in the freezer.  I can only hope people don't fall into diabetic comas over the sweetness.  Anyway.  I wanted those little paper cup things--like you get in a box of chocolates--so popped into Michael's.  Yippee, they had a huge selection.

And here's where my lovely morning goes all to hell.  And why I would just love to forget Christmas.  Or live on top of a mountain and never have to deal with humanity.  Oh.  Wait.  That one I'm doing.

I find the baking section.  I am alone in the aisle (a pertinent thing to keep in mind).  As I'm going down the row, looking at all the choices of candy wrappers, this woman comes around the corner and begins looking at the wrappers as well.  She stops right in front of the wrappers I want and though I was there first, and it's obvious I have been heading directly to the spot she is now blocking, she makes no effort to move, or be courteous, and in fact acts put out that I'm standing next to her.  As I am at least a foot taller, I carefully reach out and snag a package--a package I might add that is two feet above and beyond where she is standing. 

She abruptly steps back and snarks, "I don't appreciate being shoved out of the way!"

I blink, turn, and look up and down the aisle.  Surely she is NOT speaking to me.  Oops.  Apparently, she is.  "Sorry," I say, "but I didn't touch you."  And I start to walk away to pay for my wrappers.

"You shoved me out of your way!"

Well, crap.  I wish I could just let this kind of nutso stuff go, but dammit, I haven't done anything except pluck a little packet off a bloody rack!!  I stop. "I most certainly did not shove you," I say calmly.  "That would have required touching you," and now, through gritted teeth,  "and since I didn't touch you, there's no way I could have shoved you!!" 

She stomps away.  Okay then.  I take a breath, shake my head, wonder what makes people so crazy just because it's Christmas.  As I walk toward the end of the aisle, she flies around the corner and gets right in my face.  "The least you could do is apologize for shoving me!"

OMG..!!!!!

Now, I should mention here that I have a temper; I always have, though the more "grown up" I get, the better I am at not losing said temper.  This woman has been sent by Satan to test me.  I look at her.  I really look at her.  I give her what Jan (my BFF) calls my Death Ray look, but instead of going off like the Roman Candle I want to be, I suck it in and say pleasantly (albeit again through my teeth), "Have a Merry Christmas," and attempt to walk past her.

She sputters, then blocks my path and hisses (no, really, hisses like Voldemort), "You have no right to shove people."

Blink, blink.  Blood pressure rising.  Nanosecond visual in my head is a fist to her nose, when she drops I stomp on her, then---Okay, okay, don't go there.  Get a grip.  For some reason this woman has lost the plot.  Sigh.  As I am bigger, badder, and at least a foot taller, I forge ahead, walk past her, and as I get to the end of the aisle, I turn and say, "You really need to check the attitude before someone really does shove you."  Her turn to blink.

I walk to the cashier, pay for my $2.00's worth of candy wrappers, and head for my car.  The whole way home I'm aggravated by this woman.  Now, here I am, two hours later, still aggravated by this woman.  Why is it that these kinds of situations/people stick with us longer than kind, decent, nice situations/people??

I hope she has an instant karma moment somewhere along the line today.  She deserves it.  All I wanted were my frigging candy wrappers, not an altercation with a Christmas fruit cake.

Bah humbug.

Trees, Pee and Chocolate

Yesterday when walking the dogs in the park, I took this photo of the last colorful tree in the whole park that still had leaves.  There are still the pine and fir and other evergreen trees, but this was the only deciduous tree left.  Even on a foggy, crap day, these yellow leaves were just glowing, and the fallen ones around the base were like the richest of carpets.

This morning, there wasn't a leaf on the tree.  I didn't have my camera with me, but the contrast between one day and the next was pretty startling.  Golden vibrancy to bald in a day.  Sort of life in a nutshell, really, isn't it..??

Speaking of trees.  The deer ate a small tree today.  One of my replacement cypress trees.  They skinned the poor wee thing to the bark.  And really...a cypress tree..??  My Rose of Sharon one day, a tree the next.  There's plenty of stuff to eat up on this blasted mountain, so I'm pretty pissed that my landscaping seems to be the New Jersey Diner this week.  I had one dose of the Deer Fence left, so after chasing them out of the yard, I grabbed my sprayer and went out to dose the remains of the tree and several other shrubs.  Apparently--not having used the sprayer for a few months--there was something stuck in the nozzle.  When I pressed the button for the spray, the end cap on the nozzle blew off and I got a face full of coyote pee.  (At least that's what this stuff smells like.  And how do I know such a thing, you ask..??  A story for another day.)  So, so gross and stinky.  I had to fix the nozzle, finish spraying, then strip off my clothes in the laundry room and take a shower.  Eeeewww, it was bad.  Hours later I'm sure I can still smell that horrible odor, no doubt because it's permanently absorbed into my pores, no matter how hard I scrubbed my skin.

Managed to get all the cards and letters mailed yesterday. It actually took me two days from start to finish, mainly due to notes I had to write in each card. Still, I enjoyed doing it, and since it's basically the only thing I'm doing for Christmas, I feel good that I was able to write to everyone, and get everything mailed before next year.




In the throes of a very good book, so think I'll make myself a nice cup of hot chocolate and get back to the story.  Ah, nothing quite like the warm, heavenly, soothing taste of hot chocolate, is there.  Sure beats a face full of coyote pee...

Out of Time

Today I must get to the Christmas cards.  I have many to send abroad and they should already be winging their way out of America and across the pond by now instead of sitting in a heap on the dining room table.  I somehow lost track of the time for mailing things.

So.  No post really as I will be writing madly all afternoon.  And actually, it's a good day for it: cold, dense fog, and very dreary...perfect for doing the cards and not thinking about the mountain of leaves that are piling up outside my windows...aarrgghhh.

Whingeing

Such a brilliantly British word.  Better than a whine, though one could whine and whinge...and believe me, I have.  I think I make a much better whinger, however, than a whiner.  According to the Oxford Dictionary, whingeing is to grumble peevishly.  I can do peevish, too; bitchy cranky has been known to drop by, settle in and take up residence in my attitude on occasion.

So, what's whinge-worthy about today..??

• The Birch trees have dropped about a million leaves overnight.  Whole front yard is covered, plus the front deck, pathways and driveway.  Five days, people.  Things were clean and tidy for just five days.
• The deer completely devoured one of my favorite shrubs (Rose of Sharon) sometime during the early morning hours.  It was fine yesterday, is gone today.  They haven't bothered with it all year so I didn't spray with the Deer Fence stuff.
• Because of heavy frost, went to the park late.  All dogs out today were large ones,  and every bloody one was off leash.  Spent most of the walk fending off dog fights, and snarking at owners that there is a leash law in Roseburg.  No one cares. 
• Got a very bizarre Xmas card from someone who should totally have known that Alan is gone.  The signature said, "Hope to see you both soon!"  WTF..!!!!!  Tore it to shreds and threw it in the bin.
• I want someone to talk to, besides the boys.  Their conversational input is pretty much limited to: take us to the park, feed us, and give us tummy rubs.  Oh, and don't forget the treats.  It would be nice to have a two-way, for a change.

Okay then.  Now that I've written out my peeves for today, I don't really think I have that much to whinge about after all.  Or maybe it's just been helpful to get it out of my system so I can move on.  And hey, thanks for listening...

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Speaking of moving on, I'm going beyond the cranky now to appreciate the cool:

Got my NaNo prizes today.  I've already received my Winner's certificate, and the widget (on the right), have ordered my tee shirt (been there, done that, have the tee shirt is especially meaningful in this instance), and just found out one of the winning things was having 5 copies of my book printed--the first time I won (2009) you only got one copy.  I now have until June 2012 to finish the book.  Which seems like light years away whilst sitting here safely ensconced in December.  In real life..??  It isn't. 

The second winner deal was a Scriveners writing program at 50% off regular price.  I've wanted to try this for a few years, but it was only Mac compatible.  Now they've formatted it for Windows and I downloaded it this morning.  I'll play around with it later today and hope it's as cool as I've imagined.

The NaNo site also published the stats for this year's competition.  It's amazing how this November novel writing experience has taken off over the past ten years or so; really, even from just three years ago when I first signed on to do it.

This year 256,618 people participated, a 28% increase over last year.  That's huge.

36,774 people actually reached 50,000 words, a 14% win rate.  Gloriously, I am in that wonderful little winning percentage. 

Which is something way better to be happy about than whingeing.

Tiny Tim and other things...

It was incredibly cold this morning, 27* up here on the mountain, and everything a glistening, frosty white.  It actually was very beautiful.  As I was just sitting down to have my first cup of coffee, this golden orb of light came over the mountains in the distance, glowing in my windows.

This is just so ethereal, with the sun and fog through the Birch trees...

Stepping around the Birch, and sliding along the frozen, icy deck in my slippers, here's another cool shot of the sun, the trees, and fog.  If you have to be up, practically before dawn, it's a real treat to have such a beautiful moment.

As promised yesterday, I took the camera with me down the mountain to Stewart Park.  Initially I was a bit concerned heading down the road as it was very foggy and below freezing this morning, but I didn't have any trouble at all.  Gotta love a big, ol' Chevy.

I got a good shot of Tiny Tim, but the decorations are frozen.  The golf course (in the background) was empty this morning, I think for the first time since I've been walking the dogs there.  Lots of cold, fog and frozen ground, but nary a golfer to be seen.  Anyway, here's Tiny with his frosty bows and frozen balls.  Er...ornaments.

 
This was unexpected. I had turned from the little tree to check where the boys had gone whilst I wasn't paying attention--not far as it turned out, just to the edge of the Butterfly Garden.  I managed to snap this photo before Max was aware I had the camera pointed his way.  Here are both guys, in their winter coats, though I'd rather Max didn't look like a pumpkin.  Ah well, at least he's warm.

Before he could think or run, I got this one, too.  I think this is the first ever direct shot of Max..!!  Isn't he the cutest wee thing..??  So sweet and lovable, with his dear little white face.  On December 27th he turns 4, though looks older, doesn't he..??  I think that must be partly due to his mysterious past. 

When we got home, the sun was just starting to break through the fog--up here, not down in the valley--and I took a few more photos of the beauty in the heavy frost.

The Mexican Feather Grass.  It's very delicate looking (feather-like, go figure), but this morning the fronds were pure white and rigid, instead of the usual wheat color and fluid.  You can see another one a bit further up the path in the background which looks totally frozen.  (Both plants have now recovered and are waving gently in a light breeze as I write this...)

After I put the car in the garage and the dogs in the house, I glanced out the window that overlooks the back garden.  Even from above, inside the house, I could see two spider webs on the fence below that were so thick with frost, they looked like old-fashioned crocheted doilies instead of fragile threads of webbing.

This one was just coming into the path of the sun, the pine tree on the other side of the fence was already mostly green. 

More of Granny's crochet work, and aren't they both just wonderful, even tattered and torn and no longer used by whatever spider made them..??  This one was off to the side of the yard, in an area that had hours to go before the sun could work its way there...you can see the pines behind this web are still white and frosty.

So, now I'm in the house, all warm and toasty.  It's still very chilly outside, but in my "greenhouse effect" house, I don't have the heat on at all; with all the windows doing their solar thing, it's 72* in here.  In the summer the solar problem is monumental, in the winter..??  Not so much.

Back to Work

I took the weekend off.  I didn't write, didn't do any chores, didn't do much except watch great old black and white movies on Saturday, and read a book on Sunday.  (Course, when I say I took the weekend off...that's sort of relative as I walked the dogs four times, did three loads of laundry, and did the grocery shopping).  Still.  In my mind, I had both days off.

The Classic Movie channel was having a marathon of William Powell movies on Saturday that I just couldn't resist.  I love those old B&W movies--the clothes, the attitudes, the simplicity of the times--and William Powell was just too cool and debonair; the epitome of the 30s and 40s to me. 







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Friday afternoon, Matthew and Rusty came, and saved the day with the landscaping cleanup.  Seriously.  They worked non-stop and accomplished in 3+ hours what would have taken me well over a week to do on my own.  It helps that they have the proper industrial-sized equipment, are both in very good shape, and are really good, hardworking guys.  It's such a huge load off my mind (and body) to have this major winterizing task over and done with.  They also turned off the main water to the sprinkler system and insulated the main boxes--the ones in the ground--something I would not have known to do.  They're a bit too expensive for me to have them come once a week for regular maintenance, but maybe every two or three weeks might work.  When Spring comes, and I want the grounds to look good for selling the house, I will definitely have them come for another long afternoon of tidying and fine tuning.  For now, it's a joy to look outside and know I don't have to do any more work.

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Here's a really cool thing.  This morning I went to Stewart Park--first time since last Friday--and guess what..??  Someone else has come along and added 4 bright red bows to Tiny Tim..!!  I love it.  Wish I'd thought to take my camera, but I will tomorrow.  The little tree is starting to look less miserable and more...cheerful.  I'm still going to wait until Friday--I want to see what happens next--then I'll add a few more ornaments.

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A panel of editors, lexicographers and other folks at Dictionary.com have picked what they are calling the Word of the Year for 2011. Here's the word they've chosen:


Tergiversate
Pronounced "ter-JIV-er-sate", it means: "to repeatedly change one's attitude or opinions with respect to a cause, subject, etc." 

I'm having a hard time using the word in a sentence.  Jay Schwartz, Dictionary.com's Head of Content says, "This word encompasses a sense of 'flip flopping' but it also implies a number of other complicating forces. Unlike 'flip flop', 'tergiversate' suggests a lack of intentionality - it's a change in state more out of necessity, as new events happen at great speed, whether in the economy, politics or attitudes."

Um.  Okay.  That didn't make it any clearer to me.  I'm still having a hard time using the word in a sentence. I just can't decide which way to go with it.  Maybe I'm tergiversating with how to define the word.

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It's a beautiful, sunny Monday, though it was 27* when I took the dogs for their walk.  It's supposed to stay very cold in the nights/early mornings for the next week or so, with--again--no rain in sight.  What is this, the Sahara..??  I just can't wrap my head around a place that doesn't have rain.

Tiny Tim

The other day I took the dogs to Stewart Park, the "Central Park" of Roseburg, and actually, for such a small town, Stewart is pretty impressive.  There are many trails, the YMCA, an outdoor volley ball court, tennis courts (indoor and out), golf course, the Half Shell amphitheater for outdoor music all summer long, and a very long stretch of park that runs right along the Umpqua River.  Really, it's kind of amazing that this wee village of a place has such amenities.

Anyway, back to the story.  Earlier this week, the boys and I were doing our usual walk toward the Butterfly Garden--a beautiful place in the summer months.  While the dogs are running and cavorting through the piles of leaves like little kids, I notice that someone has planted a very spindly, sad and twisted little pine tree that wasn't there last week.  Somehow it's mysteriously appeared over the weekend.  And trust me, I do this walk often enough, there's no question but this tree is new.

The funny, and cool part though is whoever planted it, also put some Christmas ornaments on it.  At first I had to laugh at the unexpected sight.  Then, I realized the decorations made the poor crippled Tiny Tim tree look even more pathetic.  The boys and I walked past the tree a few more times over the course of this week, until this morning as I was loading them into the car, I had a thought.  Since I'm not doing a tree this year, I would put a few decorations on Tiny Tim instead..!!  I dug through the Xmas stuff and unearthed a few baubles.

It's a very dreary day today, and a bit hard to see the original ornaments as they are very small and there weren't many to begin with.  Click on the photos for a closer view.  And really, isn't this just the most decrepit and forlorn little tree ever..??

Here's the shot after I added my few ornaments.  I am sorely tempted to add more as Tiny Tim still looks so pitiful, but I'm going to wait a bit to see what happens.  Will anyone else add something--or worse, will someone steal the ornaments..??  (And, okay, I know that isn't a very charitable thought, especially at this time of year, but that doesn't negate reality.  After all, the world is full of those Scrooge people).

If nothing happens by next week, I will sneak on a few more balls. What the heck, huh..?? It's a tree, it's Christmas, and I can spare a few decorations for poor Tiny Tim.

Thursday Tidbits

The day started with one of my fillings falling out while I was brushing my teeth this morning.  The dogs were all fired up to hit the park, I'm brushing just before leaving, and puh, puh, what the hell is in my mouth? I spit out a filling.  Crap.  Call the dentist, they can see me today if I come right now.  Literally throw the dogs in the car, dash down the mountain, and screech into the parking lot in 15 minutes flat.  The fix was easy and I was in and out in well under half an hour, though to the boys, it was apparently the better part of their existence.  Whine, wail, what happened to the park..??  Sigh.  So, a long--very long--walk in the park to make up for that eternal half hour wait at the dentist, then back home to begin the wrestling match between me and the frigging yard.

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I cleaned the leaves off the front deck, the stairs, the driveway, and the road in front of the house, filling 4 bags.  Then I cut the bushes next to the driveway so they lined up with the driveway as opposed to growing over it.  I hauled the leaf bags over the road and a bit down the ridge so I could throw them over the cliff into the underbrush--a thing we all do up here in the hopes that eventually we will eradicate the Triffids--otherwise known as Poison Oak--which is rampant and growing ever nearer to our houses.  If it weren't for the road, no doubt we would all be eaten alive by now.  Or at the very least, itched ourselves to death.

Two hours later.  I am sweating; I have stripped off the sweat shirt, the sweater, and if I was a guy, I would have dumped the tee as well.  It's hot today, in the low 60s, the sun is blazing, and my shirt is stuck to my back.  I still have the entire front yard to do, the pathway leading around the house to the back deck, all the raking in the landscaping (leaves, leaves, bugger damn leaves everywhere), then, when that is done, I get to start on the backyard.  I put all the tools away, sweep up what remains of the leaves in the driveway, and the dogs and I go inside for lunch. 

Oh look..!!  I have a phone message.  It's from Matthew, my landscaper extraordinaire.  He wants to know if I will be around tomorrow as he and Rusty (his sidekick) want to come by and do some yard work for me.  And discuss maybe getting on a regular schedule of maintenance.  OMG.  I've been saved..!!!  I call him back immediately, and as I'm waiting for him to answer his phone, I am wiping the sweat off my face, my neck, unsticking my tee shirt from my...front.  When he answers, I bemoan the fact he called while I was outside killing myself, he laughs and says timing is everything.  They are coming tomorrow afternoon to talk to me about what needs to be done.  I've been grinning ever since.

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Mayan scholars have now determined the initial tablets predicting the apocalypse...were not read correctly..!!  Mwah hahahaha.  Seriously.  I can't stand it.  I've been appalled and totally skeptical since this drivel first began circulating several years ago.  Now it seems--with the proper interpretation and understanding--that December 21, 2012 just meant the Mayans consider this a transition date, beginning a new era (Age of Aquarius anyone..??), not, let me repeat that, not the end of the world.  Course, the fruitcakes and wackos will ignore this new information, which I find really, really strange.  I don't get why anyone would want to imagine the end of all things in the first place, but after the real facts have come to light, to still want to believe it..??  Yikes.

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So.  A new filling in my tooth, possibly no more leaves for me to deal with after tomorrow, and the end of the world isn't happening, at least not yet.  All things considered..??  A good day...