La Familia

Though it was a great weekend, I wish my sister could have stayed longer.  With our two-state distance and busy lives, who knows when we'll get together again.  Ah well, I'll take what I can get and not complain.

As always, she came bearing gifts and not just for Mom's birthday. My very cool moss, twig and leaf basket filled with Verbena...

Then, too cute and very funny considering my voracious reading habits...my new frog prince.  My sister should be a professional gift buyer. She somehow always finds the perfect gift to fit the person, and not just for family.

We had a really good road trip, the weather was just right: not too hot, no rain, beautiful scenery. Driving through the southern landscapes of Oregon is just breathtaking. All you can see in every direction are mountains and valleys covered in forest; myriad colors, hues, shades of green that are indescribable. I would have loved to stop, take some photos, but being the driver navigating the twisty, hairpin curves over five mountain passes made that impossible.

It was good to see Mom, enjoy her birthday, eat lots of delicious food. We fixed some computer issues for her, did a few other little things to make her life a bit easier, and Mom got to hang with the boys, who wiggle and squirm and wag their tails for their Granny.

It was a fun weekend, but before we knew it, it was already time to pack my sister's car yesterday morning for her drive north. It really is true that time flies when you're having fun...

But now, playtime over, I have to spend the next few days hacking my way through the jungle vegetation in the backyard that took advantage when I wasn't looking.  And of course, I can't forget the Decks of Doom nightmare looming on my horizon either; that project has to get done before the scorching heat of Summer begins...

Nuts. I'd rather be playing...

She's The Short One

My sister will be here in just a few hours, then, after some last-minute birthday shopping later in the afternoon, it's pop the cork time.  We'll enjoy some seriously convoluted girly talk, laugh and eat and drink wine until the bottle runs dry. We don't see each other very often so there's lots of ground to cover...a very thirsty business.

Tomorrow we'll be up early and on the highway headed south to Mom's, with treats, gifts and two excited wee dogs eager for a road trip.  Not sure when we'll be back.  A lost weekend could be in my future.  And yeah, I'm smiling about the possibilities.

With that in mind, dear readers, have a great weekend and maybe get a bit lost yourselves just to see where you end up...

Magpie Tales 219...Falling Leaves

image by Martin Stranka

She hovers

neither here nor there

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The prompt for Magpie Tales this week really drew me, yet I had a hard time finding the words t0 fit with what my mind was seeing in this picture.  Still not sure, but whatever...

You'd Think I Could Resist...

...but you would be so, so wrong.

In the deep dark of Winter, I wear over-sized, cozy flannel shirts that I've bought either in the Men's department at a regular store or a thrift shop.  My objective is to stay warm; they are roomy and easily fit over my thermals and long-sleeved tees.  I used to wear expensive Italian suits and 4" heels and hang with the big boys.  Now that I don't do that anymore, I find my style has become more...comfortably casual.

That's not to say I can't muster the flash; I have fancy dresses for most events, and the shoes to match.  It's just...I'm living on a mountain in a very small town with not many--okay, zero--occasions to play dress up.

But then. When the weather changes and the heat rises and it's time to shift the flannels to the back of the closet...ah, my heart skips a beat.  The beauty and color and feel of my Hawaiian shirts beckon as I lovingly hang them in place of the warm flannels.  Now I want cool and silky, air flow and ease.

I have an inordinate variety of these shirts.  Some go back years, to my tropical adventures, those days of sailing the South Pacific, where I learned loose and free is the only way to survive in certain climates. Then, as time passed, I've added more shirts, some found in unlikely places (a small shop in the Scottish Highlands on a freezing cold afternoon in July); discovered another by chance (Schiphol airport in Amsterdam), and was completely surprised (at a small open air market in Positano, Italy).

My collection is wonderful...not just because these are great shirts, perfect for the scorching heat of any Summer's day, but more because they are wearable memories.  I love each and every one of them.

You would think enough is enough, wouldn't you?  HA. You know nothing then of the allure, the romance of these shirts.

I had to pop into the store this morning because I forgot something whilst shopping yesterday.  I took a shortcut through the Men's department which is normally way off the beaten track in my usual circuit of this store.

And what do I stumble upon, in this unexpected detour?

Hawaiian shirts.  On sale.

Of course, they are way more beautiful in person, with the vibrant colors, the silky feel of the fabrics. Joy hums through me as I add two more to the mix.

Sigh.  I'm telling you, peeps, resistance is futile...

Bad Day All Around...

My sister is coming this weekend; on Saturday we're driving south to visit the mothership for her birthday.  I have many chores to accomplish leading up to Friday afternoon when she arrives and the cork comes out of a nice chilled bottle of vino.

The heat is escalating, yesterday, 82*, today 88*...tomorrow 94*.  I got up very early this morning to get to the park--Ozzy is having trouble breathing in the heat because of his heart issues--then I had to bring them back up the mountain, drop them off, and go back down to town for shopping and errands.  Summer mode begins.

At last, everything done, it's a bit after 1:00 when I get home again.

Digression: Because I have way too much outside work to do and I'm only one person, I borrowed my neighbor's gardener. His name is Jack, he's a very nice guy and is supposed to show up to do some serious weed-eating just about the time I fly up the driveway.

I'm on the last round of unloading my groceries, having already made several sweat-inducing jogs up and down two flights of stairs, when I hear this ear-piercing shriek overhead from a hawk. I was just closing the back hatch of the Blazer and almost dropped my bags, it was so loud and startling.

Digression Two: If you live around hawks long enough, you come to recognize what their sounds mean.  I know when the female is scolding her mate; when the male is hunting and has spotted dinner; when the pair are...ah...making babies.

This was a screech of pure fury.  And it was really scary.

I step out of the garage to look up, to see what's going on...just as the bloody, gnarled body of a quail splats at my feet.

Oh man.  If the poor thing hadn't been killed by the hawk, the splat would have done it.

I stare, blood runs, the hawk circles, screams again.  I don't know what made him drop his prey--I could actually see the claw marks in the quail's breast--but drop it he did.  And he was one pissed off guy.  I wasn't too happy either.

I decided to take the rest of the groceries upstairs, maybe give the hawk a chance to reclaim his bounty, save me from having to deal.  I put away all the groceries, gave the boys their lunch, dawdled.

Just as I'm going back downstairs, Jack showed up.  I met him in the driveway and we both stare at the corpse...and the tiny rivulet of blood drying on the concrete. Thankfully Jack offered to get rid of the bird for me.  I told him I thought the hawk would've come back for it, but Jack said that's why he was so angry, it wasn't fresh kill once he'd dropped it.

Well crap.  It looked pretty fresh to me.

So.  Bad day all around.  For the hawk losing dinner for his new babies, bad day for me having to see the mangled remains, but wow, really bad day for the poor unfortunate quail...

Hey Moms...

~~ Happy Mother's Day ~~

Ramblings and Rushes

This past week has been exhilarating, thanks to a constant barrage of storms.  Rain, wind, hail...then a pure, hot beam of sunshine spears out of the sky and raises long, steamy tendrils like wraiths from the ground until moments later the clouds crash together, the wind howls and the next storm roars in. Hour after hour, day after day.

To say I love this would be an understatement.

But, for all of you east of me--which is pretty much the whole of the country--batten down the hatches because these weather tantrums are headed your way like spoiled children who've had way too much Hallowe'en candy.

And, too bad for me. On Monday the temps are to rise into the 90s and stay that way for several days...if not weeks...months...sigh.  I'm just not ready yet for the endless days of nuclear fusion.

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In Wednesday's post I mentioned the weirdness of the Repeating Numbers Phenomenon that I have been experiencing for awhile.  Strangely, once I wrote about it, they've stopped appearing.  I was seeing these repeating numbers almost every day, often more than once.  Now nothing.  Either aliens have cut off their signals, or the Heisenberg effect is in play.

Speaking of Heisenberg.  Many things have been relegated to the nether regions of my brain as either not necessary to keep anymore, or irrelevant data that has no meaning in my adult life.  Still, a few concepts remain front-and-center because they captured my attention, for whatever reason.

Chekhov's Gun.  One of my favorites, a principle learned long ago in a Lit class and never forgotten:

Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off.  

If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there.

Another is Heisenberg's Effect.  Although this is actually a concept more in the world of physics, I studied it in Anthropology, and the same theory applies: In the act of observing something, it's changed by the fact it's being observed. Observation changes reality.

This appears to be true for me.  I observed the weird time repetitions, and now they've changed, or just...disappeared.  I'm okay with that.

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I was working with a story on my writing blog, posted one installment and then decided not to continue.  It just seemed like more of the same paranormal stuff that I've been doing for ages. I think It's time I changed the channel and tried something new, different, not something I've done before.

Maybe that's the reason my mind's been an empty well of late.  Because as soon as I made the decision to strike out into uncharted territory, it was like I left a dark room and walked into a party going full swing.  Seriously.  Names, places, ideas, colors and scents, desert winds and humid jungle raced through my head.  I filled several pages with notes; characters told me their names; exotic places built themselves as I frantically tried to keep up with the flow...

It's an amazing feeling to create a new world.  And oh, how I've missed the rush...

Now, Here's A Weird Thing

For the past month or two--perhaps even longer before I began to really pay attention--whenever I glanced at a clock, it would have the same sequence of numbers.  This started with 11:11.  At first, I ignored it as pure coincidence; I'm often in the kitchen around that time because Ozzy has to take a pill an hour before eating lunch.  But then...when I went grocery shopping, the clock in the car would say 11:11...at the hardware store, 11:11...sitting at the hair salon, my tablet said 11:11.

Then, not only did I keep seeing 11:11, but over the past few weeks I've started to get 2:22, 3:33, 4:44. The weirdness factor has grown exponentially.

So, okay, I began to pay attention. And somewhere, deep in the archives of my mental library, I seemed to recall that this time anomaly thing has a name.  This morning when I woke up and my little clock beside the bed said 5:55, I decided it was time (no pun) to investigate.

Repeating Numbers Phenomenon.  That's what it's actually called.

What I discovered today, along the many avenues I explored in my research, was a plethora of opinion, controversy and inexplicable theories.  Are these cosmic signals from the Universe?  Angels trying to communicate?  Sheer, absolute coincidence?  New Age nonsense?

Numerologists claim the numbers are the key: ones mean new beginnings; twos are the transitions; threes are moving forward toward the goal...and on goes the progression of growth through the numbers.  Very similar to the Minor Arcana in Tarot to my mind.

But there was one point that every source agreed on, whether they were scientific, esoteric or philosophical:  This is a global phenomena; it might not happen to all of us, but it happens everywhere to some of us.  I'm not sure how I feel about being one of the chosen.  On one hand, I might be feeling a bit creeped out, though on the other?  Hey, at least I'm not alone in the surreal.

The last site I read this morning had a bit of advice for those of us who experience the repeating numbers; a positive take on things that also ties in with my own Buddhist/pagan way of thinking:

"It's a reminder to stop, slow down and pay attention.  

Find the quiet within and be aware of the message given."

I can do that.  And hey, dear readers, if I hear anything, I'll let you know...

Caveat Emptor

I wasn't going to tell anyone about this--I wanted to keep the embarrassment factor to myself, hang onto a shred of pride--but now I'm so pissed, all that's out the window.

Allow me, dear readers, to tell you a story that begins last Friday, in the early evening as I'm walking the dogs to the mailbox...

My closest neighbor--the Englishman--and his partner were leaving Sunday on a holiday to France for three weeks.  We were discussing what, if anything, he wanted me to do whilst they were away. In the course of the conversation--too long to relate all the deets here--he quietly mentions that perhaps it's time I thought about getting out more, maybe meet some guys, go on a date or two. After I finished scoffing about meeting someone I could relate to in this part of the world, he told me about his experiences with Match.com, a dating service we all know from the happy, clever totally false couples advertised on the television.  I listen politely, then wish them a safe trip and move on.

Saturday morning.  Rainy, gloomy day, my book isn't interesting.  (And I am a perfect example of why this quote, "Idle hands are the Devil's playground" is apt, though in my case it should probably be idle head).

I decide to check out Match.com.  Hey, they offer a free trial.  What can it hurt to look?

Seriously.  There are times I really shouldn't be unsupervised.

There is, of course, no such thing as free trial.  You can sign up, fill out the forms, but to look at anyone, check out the site, wander around, you must pay.  I debate, eat lunch, ponder, try to find a different book to read, but alas.  Eventually, curiosity pulls me back to the site.  I give in, and pay $68.87 for three months' worth of................

Holy crap.  What's this?

I have barely posted my first photo when this barrage of little chat boxes begin to fill my screen. Fourteen guys, swirling like mosquitoes, eager to talk to me.  I was so startled, I didn't quite know what to do at first, but before I responded to any of them, I clicked on each of their profiles...and what do I find?  Not a single guy matched the kind of man I wrote would interest me, plus nearly all of them were 10-15 years younger than me, which I found odd and disturbing.  Two professed undying love for me--based solely on my photo because my profile was only half done at this point.  Another told me he had to meet me in person immediately because he'd fallen instantly in love and I was his soul mate.  One demanded my phone number so he could hear my voice. Another kept referring to me as his Precious--and yeah, Golum came to mind in a very, very creepy way.

Then, out of the chaos came a man who seemed...like...maybe...he was okay, and perhaps even normal.  Until he started to criticize my profile, began to instruct me in how I should have done it, what I should have written.  And let me just say here that I'm a long way from being a kid needing instructions or being told what to do by a moron perfect stranger, believe me.

This was one of the weirdest, most unsettling experiences I could have imagined.  No, that's not right, because never, not once, did I ever imagine something like this.

And you know what the very worst part was, peeps?

The level of desperation.  It oozed through my laptop, burned my eyes with their frantic words, made me so uneasy...and sad.  The sad, lonely guy version of Eleanor Rigby.  I expected to have some fun, maybe make a friend or two, but nothing prepared me for what I actually got.

So, I logged out and took the boys for a walk, my head reeling.  This was not what I wanted, not what I expected.  What the hell was I thinking?  What kind of shit are they shoveling on the television about these happy-sweet couples, because damn, nobody mentioned this circling sharks, feeding frenzy thing.

Later, after dinner and a calming glass of wine, I went back to Match.com, cancelled my subscription and breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have come away (mostly) unscathed.

And now we come to the pissed off part of my story...

This morning I wanted to check that my refund had appeared on my credit card.  It had not.  I gave it more time, it's Monday after all, but just before noon, I checked again and still nothing. So I decide to call and talk to an actual person just to make sure everything gets handled properly.

Twenty minutes on hold, I finally get a human, who unfortunately can't speak English. It took me several "I'm sorry. What now?" moments before I could understand his accent. And no, don't bother asking what country this guy called home; I'm truly clueless what part of the known world he could have originated from.

In any case, indecipherable language aside, the bottom line? Match.com doesn't give refunds.  No matter what I said, there was no budging on their "policy."  I won't bore you, dear readers, with my vitriol, my outraged comments, my opinion on their highly questionable policies.

I spent $68.87 for approximately two hours of membership and thirty minutes' worth of male desperation.  What a complete and total ripoff. I could have burned the frigging money in my backyard and gotten more out of it.

Just wait until my neighbor gets back from France...

Brain Tricks

I woke up this morning and realized that I'd written about the wrong bird in yesterday's post. Was the error lingering in the back of my mind all along, just waiting to pop into existence in reality, or was it a flash of insight upon waking, or perhaps an obscure neuron snapped into focus during the night?

I talked about seeing an egret's nest.

This is an egret, a bird I have photographed and seen numerous times throughout my life. I know what a bloody egret looks like...

What I saw yesterday at the park was an osprey, yet another bird I am very familiar with:

I had the picture of an osprey in my mind as I blogged yesterday, but somehow between the head and the hand...out came egret.  What I find unsettling, however, is that it took until this morning for my inner librarian to share the mistake with me.

Good thing I'm not in a position to make life or death decisions, isn't it?

The brain.  Such a convoluted instrument of torture, deceit and undermining.  Really, I put in enough effort just to get through the daily grind without my head messing with me too.

Paint, Plants and a Predator

I had several errands to run yesterday from hair appointment to hardware stores.  My hair came out very cool--still loving the champagne/dark chocolate effect, though my attempts to find Fuchsias for my three remaining hanging baskets was a bust.  Seriously, how hard can it be to find Fuchsia plants? Apparently very hard in southern Oregon.

I had to go to Lowe's and Home Depot to look at deck stain and/or paint. I'm having a really hard time deciding if I want to stain again, or use a new product that's a combo deal of stain/paint/sealer. Once I go the paint route though, I can't go back.  This is one of those times I wish I had someone to discuss ideas, colors, choices with.  Ah well...

After the deck ponderings, I looked at both garden centers--to no avail--then hit my grocery store and found two little--totally pathetic--Fuchsia plantlets underneath a large table.  I wasn't sure they would even make it home, but they did, poor neglected things.

This morning I decided to take the boys to the county park since in just a few weeks it closes to dogs until September.  The other reason was to go to Kruse's, the farm produce and gardening place in the valley which is along the same highway. They would surely have Fuchsias; they have six enormous greenhouses full of plants after all.

The park was quiet, with only occasional murmurs from the fishermen bobbing in their boats on the river. The boys haven't been to the park in quite awhile so the walk was exciting (for them), and seemed endless (to me), what with all the stops and starts, the peeing and sniffing and dawdling.

Every tree, peeps, every single tree...and this is just the beginning trail of a very large park filled with similiar trails...and trees...sigh.

Along the wooden fence that divides the park from a field and the University of Oregon Master Garden area, these beautiful wild iris have decided to grow...

I will never tire of my total and complete fascination with the inner workings of flowers...

So, now we leave the trail and cross a narrow road to the other side of the park that borders the river.  There has been a decrepit and abandoned bird's nest at the top of this large pole in the three years I've been coming to this park.  I automatically look up, but don't expect to see anything, then as we pass underneath, I notice several bits of moss and broken branches littering the grass.

Excited, I drag the dogs toward the river so I can turn back to see if there might be an osprey up there since I know they nest along the river...

Wow.  Just...wow.  If I could have climbed a tree for a better shot, I would have.  The only thing I could do was use my telephoto.  I was amazed that even with the dogs twitching at the end of their leashes, I managed to get these two photos.  I know they're not perfect, but who cares.  A most spectacular bird (and yikes, what a beak), and an aerie made of oak branches, no less.

Then, off to Kruse's, but alas...no Fuchsias.  Either someone in town has bought them all for some weird reason, or I live in a very peculiar place.  I know which one I would pick.

So, I gave up my original idea of five hanging baskets of lush and beautiful Fuchsias--damn and blast--and bought some other trailing foliage instead.  But then as I was paying I saw a large, already-put-together Fuchsia basket hanging near the check-out area.  I brought it home and plopped it inside one of my own baskets.  Hey, whatever works.

Okay, gotta go now. There are books to read, movies to watch and plants to..well, plant. Have a great first weekend in May, dear readers!!

(Can you tell how happy I am that April is over?? Woo hoo!!)

May Day

Beltane is one of the four most important festivals in the pagan, Wiccan calendar of events; and also the first day of Summer.  Considering my morning is already hot and humid, that seems about right to me.

Maypole dancing, May Day baskets, bonfires and celebrations.  Amazing how centuries' old traditions are still alive and well in our present time.

When I was a kid, we would make May Day baskets and leave them on doorknobs all around our neighborhood.  In Edinburgh, on Calton Hill, they light a huge bonfire and wild revelry ensues. Dancing and chaos and Druids and ancient ways.  Villages across Britain have Maypoles and festivities.  It's also a holiday off work, which I always thought was the coolest thing.

Blessings and Happy May Day, dear readers...

In lovely harmony the wood has put on its green mantle,

and summer is on its throne, playing its string-music;

the willow, whose harp hung silent when it was withered in winter,

now gives forth its melody.

Hush! Listen! The world is alive!

                                      ~~ Thomas Evans, Welsh poet, 1840-65

Mid-Week Musings...

90 degrees on the last day of April.  And that's all I'm going to say about the heat.  No, really.  There's no point bemoaning something I can't do a damned thing about.  (Though I reserve the right to grouse at a later date...)

Monday was the end of a wild storm front with torrential rain and truly strong winds.  I was able to finish my 1008-page mega-novel by early evening, then spent the rest of the night mulling over the plot, the characters, the author who wrote a book so intense and amazing I'm still rehashing things today.  It was great the weather was so foul for the three days I was lost in a time warp...

Yesterday was Ozzy's monthly trip to the vet for blood work to see if his liver is responding to the meds. It's not, so he'll have to keep taking the liver pills along with the other three meds, probably for the rest of his days.

So, we're sitting in the waiting room, he's on my lap hyperventilating and shaking like a leaf.  I'm talking to him, trying to calm him down, when I see this weird thing on his brow. We've just come from our morning walk so I think it's a piece of dirt or something and try to brush it off.

Frigging hell.  It's a tick.  I really, really don't like ticks, or anything remotely like a tick, or any kind of freak thing that can suck blood. And no, not because of Dracula movies I wasn't supposed to be watching on late night Elvira shows.

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The Summer I turned twelve, I got to stay with my grandparents in Alaska.  One day my grandmother took me and two friends to this beautiful lake/pond in the middle of the woods to swim.  The water was warm--pretty unheard of for Alaska--and we frolicked and swam and had a great time.

Until we got out.

And found ourselves covered in leeches.

Screaming, hopping, crying...chaos ensued.  My grandmother was suddenly faced with three hysterical girls who couldn't hold still.  Eventually she did the Voice of Imminent Demise, we calmed down (sort of) and she was able to get the horrors off, though the little round marks from their sucker mouths lasted for weeks. EEEEeeeeewwwwww.  My skin is crawling just remembering...

If I have any kind of childhood trauma...that's it, right there.

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Flash forward to 2014 and there's a blood sucker thing on Ozzy's brow.  I can hardly sit still until they call my name and the first thing I say to the vet is "Get it off!!"  He does, in short order, though is laughing at me the whole time--especially when I couldn't even watch as he yanked the thing out. Though after I told him the leech story, he stopped laughing, shuddered and got all grossed out on my behalf.

This experience just totally makes a case for living in a city, peeps.  Now every little twinge or itch, and I'm convinced a bloodsucking tick is crawling on me.

Today I worked outside for quite awhile after the morning walk.  Planted some Snapdragons to replace the ones lost over the Winter, cleaned out the four hanging baskets for the Fuchsias I haven't bought yet, and filled a couple of pots with Geraniums.  The slope looks really cool in the back with all the poppies.  I love that they have just sprouted on their own...

My sister gave me a really cool carafe-type jug when I was visiting last week.  When we were out shopping, I was looking for a new sun tea container--I live on iced tea in the Summer. She said I might like one she had that wasn't as big as the store-bought style. And she was right...I love it.  The glass is thick, the design is very cool, and it won't take up much room in the fridge.  It's a perfect container.

Six bags of Earl Grey, two quarts of pure, filtered water, and the sun...

It's a relief to have some of my outside chores done, though later--once the nuclear orb has set--I will mow the lawn in the cool of the evening.  But for now, cleaned up and non-sweaty, dirt scoured from under my fingernails, a cold, delicious glass of iced tea and my book sound just about right...

A Book, Blooms and a Green Dragon

I haven't watched my Desolation of Smaug movie yet.  As a storm raged across the land yesterday afternoon, I thought I would read a chapter or so in my book before I settled into the film.  I should have known better.  Hours later--between chores, dinner, walking the dogs--I was 337 pages into a monumental 1008 and had to stop before I stayed up all night or went blind, whichever came first.

It's when I read books like this--gripping, mind-boggling, absorbing, perfect--that I waver in my belief I can write.  I know not everyone can be Hemingway or Dan Brown or Lynn Viehl, but damn.  I'd be thrilled at this point to finish a bloody short story, let alone write a plot so intricately convoluted and breathtaking.

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Since I was out of town last weekend, I haven't taken the boys to the VA complex for two weeks.  I was amazed at the flowers and shrubs that bloomed in such a short time...

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While at my sister's, I bought a few different blends of tea from the same company that makes 500 Mile Chai, my most favorite tea of all time.  I got a tin of Earl Grey made with Italian Bergamot, and one called Green Dragon, an oolong made from mature leaves that are gathered and withered in the sun. Then the leaves are wrapped in tight balls and roasted, re-rolled, re-roasted...until tada...Green Dragon tea:

I wasn't sure what to expect when I opened the tin...but it wasn't this.  I think in most states, I could be arrested for what this looks like.  The big question might be, do I smoke it or drink it?

After steeping for five minutes, the leaves had unfurled and the tea was a lovely, light golden color. I usually drink my tea with milk, but this blend was best by itself.  The flavor was...odd.  It had a grassy fragrance (no pun intended), though tasted a bit toasty with a floral hint, though I can't identify the flower...

This won't be a tea I will drink regularly, but it's interesting enough I'll certainly have a cup now and again when I'm feeling like a pure green.

So, now I'm off to read my mega-novel.  I made myself stop last night around midnight, though the plot swirled in my dreams last night and has been filling my head today. Time to get back to the story.  Thankfully it's still raining and I don't feel compelled to do anything other than read.

My favorite kind of Sunday afternoon...

Rambles on a Friday

Since getting home on Monday from my wee holiday, the weather has been wonderfully atrocious, meaning I've had to postpone the dreaded Two Decks Project (oh, boo hoo).  It has stormed and raged all week...and yes, I'm really glad to have the excuse not to get started on what will surely been the DIY nightmare of the year.  At least the most grueling.  Next week things are to gallop into the 80s so my reprieve will be short-lived. Until then, I am reveling in this, my view across the valley. And yeah, I took this photo about an hour ago and it really was that dark at High Noon...

While walking the boys this morning, I actually saw a funnel cloud forming.  Course, I didn't have my camera as I was juggling two leashes, an umbrella and a couple of rambunctious critters.  The funnel was truly headed for tornado status--albeit a small one--but just as the tip began to narrow and spin toward the ground, the clouds above it burst with heavy rain and the funnel dissolved before my eyes.

I love wild and crazy weather...as long as there are no tears before bedtime.

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Yesterday, regardless of the weather, I had to swamp mow.  The grass in the back garden was nearly over Ozzy's head and even Max was having trouble with the...ah...the manly bits; dangling participles; Willy's wonka.  So, in the rain, there I was, slogging through foot-tall grass, yanking my push mower through the soggy swamp.  When I was finished, I decided the pushing, pulling and drenching counted for my daily aerobics.  The boys were very happy later to discover they could lift their legs without...well...issues.

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I had to mail a birthday card whilst out this morning.  A small annex to the main post office has opened near me, very cool because now I don't have to go clear across town. Oddly--to me--the annex is in the local video store.  I'm standing in line when I glance over to the rack where the new movies are on sale.  Amazed, I see the second part of The Hobbit for $10.  I quickly snag the only copy and at some point over the weekend--still savoring my reprieve--I'm going to sit down and watch The Desolation of Smaug...a movie I've been waiting months to see.

Then there's the 900+ page novel I'm about to start reading--another thing I've been waiting months to do.  A stormy, dreary weekend is just about the perfect scenario because once the rains stop and that nuclear yellow orb returns, I've got to hit the deck running...literally.  Times two.

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I'm still having trouble with my writing.  I have beginnings, or endings, but no middles.  Or I have endings and nothing else.  Or beginnings that go nowhere.  I could become worried, but for now I'm just letting things percolate, writing on the blog instead, enjoying my books and keeping my mind open to possibilities.  I was reading a post over at Paperback Writer the other day about sparks, those wondrous little gems that fire the imagination.

Maybe while I'm power-washing, sanding and staining the decks, the drudgery and heat will erode my mental roadblocks and the sparks will fly.

I live in hope, dear readers, I live in hope.

Love Letter

Dearest ~~

I find it so hard to believe it’s been three years since that sunny April afternoon when everything changed so irrevocably.  With just a thought, I can be instantly transported back into nightmare: The 911 call as you lay at my feet, doing CPR—a skill I never thought in a million years I would actually use—while the heartbreaking wail of the ambulance echoed up the ridge; even as it raced closer, I knew it was too late.

How my world shifted on its axis that day, how my breath labored in my lungs as if I were drowning, how my heart stuttered as I found myself, between one moment and the next, a widow.  Far too young, too soon, too much.  Too…everything.

I got through that first year.  Somehow.  I spent hours, days, months wondering why.  Why now, when we were just starting our Grand Adventure in America?  Why was I alone on top of a mountain in a strange town when all our friends and family were 6,000 miles away?  Why did you leave me?

Eventually, I stopped asking questions that had no answers. You know I’m not a Buddhist for show, I actually embrace the concept of living in the moment, I understand that life is just…what it is. You can’t come back no matter what I wish, and I can’t change the inevitability of death, no matter how cruel or painful.  That doesn’t mean I don’t think of you, smile at our life together, talk to you when I hear something, see something that I know you would think was funny or outrageous or annoying.  I still cry sometimes, though mostly these days it’s more because of a perfect, happy memory than a mournful sorrow.

It’s funny the things I miss.  Your laugh, that quirk at the corner of your mouth when you tried to keep a straight face whilst winding me up.  I miss your mind.  I miss being able to ask you for a particular word I can't remember and you would know it immediately. I even miss your occasional irascible, bossy laird of the manor attitude, our quiet talks, our wonderful road trips.  But what I miss the very most, love, are your hugs. You could wrap those arms around me like a shield, protect me from the world, warm my neck with your breath, your kisses.  Oh, I miss those full-body, encompassing hugs.

Tonight I will raise a dram of Dalwhinnie—yes, that same bottle of whisky we brought with us from Edinburgh—and I will toast your life, our life, and the fact I’m still standing even without you at my back.

I hope wherever you are, you will know...  

There and Back Again...

I had a most excellent long weekend.  Not only was it liberating to get away from the drudgery of the same ol' daily stuff, have a plethora of shops, stores and restaurants to entice, but I was able to spend time with my sister and the bro-in-law.

I didn't take as many photos as I wanted, mainly because I was having too much fun ogling the wonders of a large city.  Honestly, I have never been a country bumpkin, nor wanted to be, but I had a moment or two over the five days where I felt like one.  Oh, how I miss the bright lights and big city energy.

On Friday, my sister and I went to a few of my favorite shops--ones that will never appear in the hinterland of southern Oregon.  I bought teas, exotic spices and breads.  I found some biscuits (cookies) that I haven't seen since leaving Edinburgh.  We bought some gourmet cupcakes for our Easter dessert that were as big as softballs. Only two actually made it to Sunday...

Saturday was relaxed and easy, a bit more shopping, some reading.  Then Saturday night we went out to dinner at Bernie's, a bistro in an eclectic neighborhood of Portland, with lots of cool eateries, art galleries, food trucks, old Victorian houses.  The specialty at Bernie's is the southern-style food: buttermilk chicken, hush puppies, collard greens, corn bread.  It was incredibly delicious...all of it, not just the chicken.

Sunday it was time to hike off three days of wine, whiskey and great food, so my bro-in-law took us to his favorite weekend dog walking haunt, the Washington State University campus on the outskirts of Vancouver. The original university is in eastern Washington, but now there's this new campus annex with nine miles of wetlands, hidden artworks, and glorious hiking up hill and down dale.

Go Cougars!!



Not only were the grounds and surrounding acres beautiful, but the campus itself was truly stunning, with Art Deco flourishes and unique mosaic columns...

Wetland areas were scattered between buildings, down trails, under walkways, across bridges; even the culverts were cool. The entire campus was a working, growing, thriving eco-environment that was just...totally wonderful on a quiet Easter Sunday...

There were artworks displays that appeared out of nowhere.  We were walking down a steep trail, wild grasses and giant rocks to our right, when out of the seemingly barren landscape stood this bronze sculpture...

After an hour or so, and just when I thought it was time to turn back, my bro-in-law said he wanted to show me something that I would really like. It was a long hike down (which meant an equally long hike up), but he said it would be worth it.

And it so completely was.  We entered a portion of old forest, dense and lush.  Around a slight bend...The Wailing Bell.  It was at least 14 feet tall (based on my height), the posts were massive, and the bell actually rang.

The clapper was really heavy and the sound was deep and terrible and mournful.  I understood why when I read the message inscribed on the bell itself.  Hopefully, dear readers, you can read it if you click on the photo.

I loved the way the base of the posts were wrapped with hammered copper...













What a perfect way to spend a couple of hours.  We went home, had waffles and Mimosas, and eased into a late Easter dinner.

I had such a great time, though somehow five days flew by faster than should have been possible. Before I knew it, the boys and I were back on the highway and heading south. The drive seemed endless, but wasn't really, and both dogs were thrilled to be home, rolling on the carpet, throwing toys around, then suddenly falling into their beds to sleep away the rest of the afternoon.

How I would have loved to do the same!  Numerous trips up and down the stairs, lots of unpacking, laundry, a walk to the mailbox, dinner and I was done for.

Just like you're supposed to feel after traveling...

Spring Break

Okay, so I've got the food, snacks, water, blankets and meds ready to go for tomorrow's road trip. And that's just for the dogs. Honestly, it's like having two toddlers with all the stuff I have to pack and organize.

I'm leaving the laptop, taking just my tablet and camera.  My sister is fully wired in case I have a meltdown or a sudden withdrawal spasm, though I'm hoping to just fall off the grid until sometime Monday when I'm back in the wilds of southern Orygun.  We'll see how it goes.

And so, because I won't be around this weekend, dear readers, let me wish you an early...

Happy Easter/Chocolate Bunny/Egg Salad For a Week Day!!

See you on the flip side, peeps...

Postscript

I got a few emails today from friends across the Pond with some questions about yesterday's post.

To clarify:  DQ = Dairy Queen, a fast-food place with the usual suspects (burger, fries, etc.), and also some really good ice cream treats, like sundaes and cones and my favorite:




The Peanut Buster parfait.  A layer of hot fudge, peanuts, soft ice cream, repeat until the container is full of yummy deliciousness.


Just looking at the photo makes me want to drive to the other side of town to get myself another one...though I will resist. Summer's coming after all.