Being Thankful

...Wishing you all a most wonderful day...

And even if you don't celebrate this holiday, dear readers, 

still take a moment to give thanks for what you have

Life is too short not to appreciate every moment

Who Knew?

Who would ever imagine that southern Oregon was the fog capitol of America?  I swear, there's more fog here than in San Francisco.  Seriously, day after day.  This morning, driving down the mountain to walk the dogs, I had my head hanging out the window so I could see the edge of the twisting, one-lane road.  There are no guardrails and a great drop, so with visibility about 6 inches, I figured freezing my eyeballs was better than doing a dive off the ridge. 

It was equally daunting once we got to the park.  I could see a bit farther--maybe ten feet--but it was eerie and ominous, my thoughts running to boogeymen and Jack the Ripper.  There's just something truly creepy about a cold, dense fog.

Here's the view up my road right now, approaching 1:00 in the afternoon.  The fog is lifting a bit because I can see the shadows of the oaks.  Earlier there was nothing to see.

I had totally intended to work on the serial yesterday, but one of my favorite authors had a new book out and...well...I spent the afternoon not writing.  And it was so worth it.  There's just nothing quite like escaping into a great book.

 

But now it's time to get back on track with my own stuff, which isn't getting done while I sit here procrastinating as the fog swirls around my windows...though the atmosphere is pretty cool.  If I was writing a Victorian murder mystery set in London.

 

So It Goes...

It's been incredibly foggy the past few days, especially in the mornings and evenings.  Late afternoon it lifts, there are endless blue skies for an hour or so, then the misty curtain drops again.  Yesterday the sunset was totally otherworldly, yellowy-orange and consuming.

The fog is just beginning to blanket the far ridges as the afternoon wanes in this shot from one corner of my front deck...

An hour later, the landscape was thick with fog, the sun setting in a bright ball, turning the skies, the air, everything, this foreign planet color.  It was really eerie and cool...

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Went grocery shopping this morning for the Thanksgiving stuff.   I figured Monday would be the best day.  Apparently everyone else in the whole of southern Oregon thought the same thing.  Traffic was horrible, the parking lot was full, and the store mobbed.  Though, as I made my way home, I couldn't help smiling.  Imagine how much worse it's going to get, and I'm all done.

 

I bought a small turkey...and tried my damnedest not to think about the wild ones running up my road the other day.  Somehow buying a turkey all wrapped up and not resembling a living creature is far easier to deal with.  Maybe that's why I also bought two big bottles of wine.

 

Whilst shopping, I found a most beautiful Poinsettia.  It looks like it's been splashed with white paint.  I just couldn't resist the red, white and green colors...

 

 

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I'm going to work on the next installment in the serial tomorrow.  After doing the outline, I think I can finish the whole story within the next 3-ish weeks.  Frankly, I can't wait.  I have a few other ideas percolating around in my head, and I really would like to start something different for the new year.  We'll see how it goes...best laid plans and all that.

 

And before we know it, dear readers, 2013 will be just another memory.  Tempus fugit doesn't begin to cover how that makes me feel...

 

Save Yourselves!!

A few minutes ago I was sitting at the dining room table writing the outline for the last few installments on the serial when I caught a flash of something out of the corner of my eye.  Startled, I stood up, grabbed my camera and went to the window.

It was a wild turkey stampede.  These guys were running full-out up the road.  Which, considering Thanksgiving is just days away, is probably a really good idea...

They made record time up the road...

Then they stopped and bunched together, like they were deciding what to do next: carry on, or drop over the slope.  They chose to continue up the road, which was smart.  No people, more trees for camouflage, and the wilderness.

I really love turkey.  I can't wait for Thanksgiving dinner, or the hot turkey sandwich the next day, or the regular turkey sandwich the day after that.  But I really don't want to see my sandwiches running for their lives up my mountain road.  Talk about ruining my appetite...

Frosted Friday

Winter is fast approaching.  This morning it was just barely 27˚and when I opened the bedroom curtains, it looked like the Sugar Plum Fairy had come in the night to lightly dust my world with icing sugar.  It was magical and beautiful.  I threw on some clothes, grabbed the camera and went outside.

It was freeze-your-butt-off cold, though weather has never stopped me before whilst taking photos.  Still, I didn't last long.  Bit hard to focus and shoot when your fingers go numb and the lens keeps fogging up from your breath.






A spider's frail web, like a tattered doily crocheted long ago by someone's grandmother...

A lone Birch leaf, perfectly rimed in frost...

I love this one. The reds so vibrant as background for the delicate little frost etchings on the leaves...

My mother used to sugar-coat bunches of frozen grapes, then arrange them around the platter of the Thanksgiving turkey before my father carried it to the table. They looked just like this...

Nature is so incredible...

 

I took my camera down the mountain for the dogs' walk this morning, but there wasn't any frost in the valley, and by the time we got home, the magic had melted. Good thing I risked hypothermia at daybreak then...

Week 47 of the 52s...Last Picture Show

The Art Center is currently showcasing the last artwork of the year.  In addition to the gift store, which is brimming with goodies for the holidays, the gallery exhibits filled every nook and cranny in the building...

30 Under 30 Exhibit




Sarah Fagan - "Apology"

This was really cool.  The shading and depth makes it look like the paper and boat are stuck on, rather than painted. 

Do you ever wonder about the story behind a title? 









Ashlea Clark - "A Most Peculiar Place"

No doubt.  What with a bowl full of glass eyeballs laying in a bed of gory stuff!  Each eye was really beautiful, and though the work itself was macabre, the skill the artist showed in her craft was amazing to see in person.  The bowl was like filigree, delicate and fragile.






Cameron Zegers - "Rowboats - Ngo Dong River"

This photograph was very beige, almost bland...except for the perfect shades of green inside the boats. 







The Gift Gallery

The gift shop was moved into the Red Galley for holiday shopping.  There was a great selection of wonderful gifts, though the sun was blazing through the windows so I only took a couple shots of a few quirky things and some lovely oriental pottery...

Peter Alsen, one of my favorite local artists.  His style is irreverent and whimsical and just...fun.

These fish were soft and cuddly and totally silly...

A small table of oriental pottery.  There were several little vignette displays like this scattered throughout the gallery.  Made you think how good two, or maybe three, items might look grouped together for a gift.  Clever gallery people...

 



Now, to my favorite of the whole show:

Addicted To Instagram Exhibit

Michael James Lessner takes photographs using only the camera on his phone, then he uses archival pigment, making the simplest thing just so...beautiful.

#chromewater

#loveisthekey

#selfi

Buggers, I forgot to get the name of this one!

The show is a great finale to the 2013 artistic season.  One of my first adventures in the 52s--Week 6--was to an exhibit at the Arts Center, so it seems fitting that one of my last would be there as well...

Rainy Day Musings...

I really need a holiday.  The Keys maybe, swaying in a comfy hammock, with a cool drink and a hot book; Kauai, with the gentle trades blowing every afternoon, just in time for a nap; Sorrento, as the sun sets behind Ischia, lighting up the Gulf of Naples; a cozy cottage in the Highlands, my favorite whisky close at hand; a pub along Dublin's River Liffey with a strong mug of Irish coffee; Devonshire clotted cream and red currant jam on a fresh baked scone at Betty's Tea Room in York...

...sigh...

Ah well.  Memories will have to do for now, I guess.

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The weather has been wild and stormy for the past few days. Torrential rains, with no let up at all, making walks a soggy experience, and car trips crazy and slightly dangerous.  Why do people forget how to drive in rain or snow?  It's not rocket science to realize the streets are wet and slippery; braking will be different than on dry pavement.  And would it hurt to slow down you frigging idiots take it a bit easy when visibility is about a foot in front of your car from the overspray?

I love that's it's finally, truly, raining.  I've been waiting for this since May.  Unfortunately, when it rains I want to stay all warm and toasty in the house, not have to go down the mountain and deal with stuff.  Too bad for me then that the weather changed just when I have a couple of really busy days and have to be out in the deluge.  Though, lest anyone think I'm complaining...I'm not.  I love the rain and the crap weather.  I just love it more when I can stay home. 

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Yesterday was Ozzy's check-up to see if he's doing okay with the heart meds.   It was a fraught appointment, though my vet is the kindest, most sincere guy, which really helped.  My poor wee boy is not doing as well as we 'd hoped; in fact his arrhythmia is a bit worse.  Crap.  So, it's a double dose of the meds and crossed fingers until next month's appointment. 

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Several projects I've been doing this year will soon be coming to an end.  Yesterday I finished my Book Challenge, which felt really good.  Obviously, I'll still be reading through till the end of 2013, so my count will actually be higher than my goal, but hey, what matters is I did it.  I'll be completing the 52s, and with any luck at all, the serial pretty soon, too.  I don't know yet what I'm going to do for replacement projects, though now isn't the time to ponder that.  I have a few weeks to go, after all. 

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BBCAmerica is running a major Dr Who marathon for the next week.  It's the 50th anniversary of the show.  Yesterday I watched some really interesting background stuff about the original concept, the early days in the 60s, and the various actors.  Now they're going through the episodes one doctor at a time.  It's been fun to watch the changes, the development of television in Britain, and--thankfully--the advancement in special effects.

Because:  One scene in the first season (1963) was an episode where the infamous evil aliens, the Daleks, appear for the first time.  The long arms that sprouted from their robot bodies were toilet plungers!  I'm still laughing...

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Tomorrow I have a dentist appointment (ugh X 1000), the cable people are coming to drill under my driveway, the deck and my Birch tree roots to update the twenty-year-old cables (any bets on how that's going to go, dear readers?), and I have to reconfigure half my damn computer system because I had to upgrade Windows 8, which was bloody worthless to begin with, but now I have Windows 8.1 which has messed with my programs and my desktop, deleted add-ons, added crap I don't want...

Have I mentioned I need a holiday...?

Chitchat...

Yesterday afternoon I got inspired to change a few things on the site.  Nothing big, I just added and subtracted a bit, moved and repositioned some stuff.  I have trouble with ruts.  Once you're in one, it's exceedingly hard to climb out, so I try to shake things up before I can't see daylight.  

Nowadays, my changes are just little things--like the blog, my hair, moving furniture.  When I was younger I never kept a job longer than five years, sometimes way less, I moved houses, towns, states and even countries.  I'm not sure why I shudder at sameness, revel in upheaval, fight the ruts in my road.  It's just who I am, I guess.

And when was the last time, dear readers, that you went through your blog rolls?  I realized a couple of mine weren't even valid anymore, and I've been on other sites, clicked a link, and the blog was gone. You know what they say: If you haven't worn it in a year, time to get rid of it. 

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I've been having some serious issues with Blogger of late.  After I post, I'm getting stacks of the page piling up like a deck of cards after winning a game of Hearts.  I've tried every bloody trick I know, but nothing has worked.  I thought it was time to dump Blogger and get an actual website, or maybe go to WordPress or something, then yesterday, wondering if I really wanted to tackle that whole scenario, I accidentally opened my browser with Firefox instead of IE.  

And suddenly, I'm not having any hangups, or dancing playing cards, or Internet Explorer is not responding messages.  Holy crap, could it be that simple?  And yeah, so far it could.  The big test will come when I publish this post--my first after switching to Firefox, though I did Shot of the Week this morning with no problem.

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I'm going to work on the next installment of the serial today/tomorrow.  The characters are rioting in my head and I want to relax to read my new book at some point this weekend so I have to shut them up.  I might be dragging my feet a wee bit because the end is coming and I've spent so much time on this project, with these people, and their story, it will be bittersweet to let them go their own way. 

Still.  I wrote the first post on December 18th, 2012--nearly a year already?--and it's time for something new. 

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Walking along the river this morning with the boys, it was the first really cold day, with a bite in the air coming off the water.  Pretty soon I'll have to carry Kleenex in my pockets for the runny nose I always get in cold weather.

As we were meandering, I spied another cave on the other side of the river.  This makes three in as many weeks.  I'll have to file that tidbit away to think about later.  (Omens, don't you know).

Reflections...

Week 46 of the 52s...Pass The Cranberries, Please

Last Thanksgiving, my mother came for the weekend.  We had a great time--except for Black Friday which she loves and I...don't.  But that's not the story here.

Just as we were sitting down for Thanksgiving dinner, Mom puts a small cloth-covered bowl on the table, the mouthwatering smell of her yeast rolls mixing with the other delicious scents. She looks around, then says, "Where's the cranberry sauce?"  Oh crap.  I forgot to get cranberry sauce.  Between pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce, nothing except the turkey relates more to Thanksgiving.  Buggers!

I dig around in my cupboards, thinking surely I must have a can stashed somewhere, but the only thing I can find is a jar of cranberry chutney.  It will be more savory than sweet.  I don't know what it tastes like, in fact, I don't even know where the jar came from, but at least the sell by date is still good.

Okay then, time to wing it.

That mysterious chutney was the best cranberry sauce ever.  Mom and I were practically eating it out of the jar with a spoon.  It was just as wonderful spread over bread for turkey sandwiches the next day.  Needless to say, we finished it off before she left.

And then I spent the next few months trying to find more.  It's nowhere in any store in my little town, so I figure I must have bought it the last time I visited my sister.  She lives in a real city, with lots of great stores and I always stock up on things when I'm there.  I call her, send her on numerous trips.  No chutney.

So, not to be stymied in my quest, I decide to make the chutney myself.  I find a great recipe then head to the store for the cranberries.  After searching fruitlessly (sorry, couldn't resist), I finally corner the produce manager.  He looks at me like I'm nuts.  The hols are over, Valentine's Day is looming.  Cranberries?  Seasonal, unavailable, cranberries?  I don't believe it.  I call my sister, she'll send me some.  Wrong.  Her only advice is to buy several bags next November and keep them handy in the freezer.

Time marches on.  Spring.  Summer.  Fall.

Monday, wandering through produce for veggies, I see an enormous display of CRANBERRIES!  I grab four bags.  Now, if I can just remember what I did with that recipe...





This afternoon, the chutney experiment starts with a gorgeous bowl of color...











I love the multitude of reds, sparkling and deep, vibrant and soft.  Rubies, waiting to be transformed...











I get out my medium cook pot and mix the ingredients.  The heavenly aroma of cinnamon and apples, ginger, cloves and allspice fill the house, though the coolest thing was the snap-crackle-pop of the berries.  For about ten minutes--once the mixture began to boil--it sounded like popcorn in a skillet...










The sauce is thick and dark with small bits of berry and apple; the flavor is tart with just a hint of sweetness and spice.  Really good, in other words...












I started with four cups of cranberries.  When everything was said and done, I got exactly three cups in these perfect little jars...

This was a great thing to do for the 52s this week, especially because it worked--my track record for successful recipes is running about 50/50 for the year at this point.  Now I have a really good cranberry chutney recipe, and though I won't have Mom's rolls this year, I'll still have plenty of deliciousness for turkey sandwiches...

Thank You...

 

...to my family, friends and all those I have never known

 who have served in the armed forces.

A Boy and His Bunny...

Tuesday I spent the better part of the afternoon hunkered down on the couch under my warm and toasty blanket while I struggled with my cold.  There's something very comforting--in a childish sort of way--about being able to do that.  I'm sick, I can just lay here and do nothing.

Though.  Every time I managed to crawl off the couch, this would happen:

Max is a love puppy, the more love the happier he is.  And notice that furry thing?  That's Bunny, his most favorite and beloved toy.  No matter how many others he's gotten over the past two years, Bunny remains his one and only--he's a rescue dog and I think this might have been his first toy ever.

Yesterday when I downloaded the Wolf Creek photos, those two pictures showed up--I'd forgotten about them, what with being delirious and sick earlier in the week.  This morning as he was carrying Bunny around the house, I skimmed through some folders in my photo program and found a few more shots of Max and Bunny...

Taking a nap, Bunny tucked safely under his chin...

 



Max really has a thing about taking my spot...whatever spot that might be.  I always have to shift him over when I sit in my reading chair.  And of course, Bunny has to be shifted too...

 

 

He's the most endearing little dog.  He appreciates everything, takes nothing for granted, and his needs are simple: to cuddle, keep his Bunny close, and be treated kindly.

 

A way of life worth emulating...

 

 

Week 45 of the 52s...One Hundred Miles

I didn't think I was going to make it this week for the 52s.  Maybe living is such a small town has finally caught up with me and I've run out of things to do, though being sick for a few days didn't help, the deer incident made it worse, and yesterday I had a...well, let's just say I had a crap day.  Whatever the reason, I realized this morning not only do I have nothing in mind, but I can't even muster the energy to come up with something.

Though, I'm also not a quitter and damn, I've made it almost one whole year and falling on my face at the finish line is not going to happen.  Over breakfast I toyed with the idea of driving to the coast; the ocean has always been able to soothe me and I could use a good dose of that about now, but I change my mind and decide to save that adventure for a weekend getaway some other time. 

So after walking the boys I opt for just driving with no destination.  I head east, away from town, traffic and my thoughts.  The road is winding and narrow, the forest gets wilder and more dense with every mile.  I begin to breathe deeper, relax into the comfort of my seat, let the Blazer lull me with the hum of tires, the quiet rhythm of the road.

Fifty miles later, I found myself at a spot along the narrow road where you could pull over beside the river.  It was intensely silent, other than the soft murmur of the water.  There was a bridge, and a marker for a trail to Wolf Creek.  One day I will go back, more prepared for a hike, and see what's out there in the wilderness, but for today, I was content to soak up the beauty and take some photos...

The lovely graceful arch of the bridge over the Little River...

 



I walked to the middle of the bridge just as the sun pierced through the clouds, lighting up this gnarly, moss-covered tree.  It was incredible... 

Downriver, and a gigantic log stuck in the center that looked like it had been there for a very long time...

Upriver on the far side, this huge boulder reminded me of a whale with its mouth open.  I don't know how the stone doesn't collapse with that big wedge missing...

Below the whale's mouth, I noticed this cave.  It looked really big and roomy, from what I could tell from across the river.  Sort of bear-like big...which means there was no way I was going to hike over and peer inside.  I'm fine with just taking the photos, thanks... 

The boys were getting restless about now and it was almost time for lunch, so after savoring the quiet for a few more minutes, I turned around at the Wolf Creek trailhead and made my way home. 

Just as I pulled into the driveway, the mileage rolled over to 100 miles for the journey.  I'm glad I took the spur-of-the-moment route this morning.  Not only do I love the adventure of a road trip, but discovering something unexpected and wonderful along the way was an added bonus.



Being Human

This is not going to be a pleasant post.  I'm writing it in the hopes that sharing the experience will help in getting it out of my head.  Perhaps some of you will wonder that I got so disturbed about this, you will think me overly sensitive.  Frankly, dear readers, I will welcome that indictment.
 
I took the boys to the big county park down in the valley this morning.  I like to mix it up, give the dogs a different walk, new sniffing territory.  We're about halfway around the perimeter of the park, walking on a broad swath of grass between the river and a large wall of rock that runs for several hundred feet.  You can walk along the top of this escarpment, though today I chose to walk by the river.  Ahead of us, 100 feet or so, I see a woman and two border collies.  I can't figure out what they're doing, but honestly, at that point I didn't really care as she was far enough ahead of me.
 
But, instead of the woman and her dogs walking on, they seem to be focused on something against the rock wall.  As we get closer I see to my horror that the woman is allowing her dogs to torment a young buck.  They have the creature pinned into a small niche in the rocks and are nipping and worrying at it.  The deer is quaking violently, its eyes bulging with fear.  The woman is smiling.  And, as if that's not creepy enough, she looks like a sweet, kindly grandmother: attractive, dressed casually but well, pleasant smile, and will probably go home after the torture session and bake cookies for the grandkids.
 
It made me sick.  Just writing this is making me sick.
 
I shorten the dogs' leashes so they're right against my legs and shout, "Stop it!  What are you doing?"
 
She notices me for the first time and gives me this look like I'm a lunatic and how dare I accost her, but before she can speak, one of her dogs lunges forward and takes a real bite out of the deer's leg.  And let me say this--as I fight the tears--that deer cried out like a child as blood began running down its foreleg.  I take a few steps toward her though I'm staying out of range of her dogs and the terrified wild animal and shout, "What is wrong with you?"

Just then the other dog jerks the leash, she overcompensates, pulls it toward her and for a tiny moment, there is an opening.  The buck doesn't hesitate.  He leaps over one dog, clearing it by about ten feet, lands and bolts in one frantic balletic movement.  But as he heads straight for me, he realizes there's another human with dogs in his path and darts to the side, bounds over a shrub and falls straight into the river, which is raging from two days of torrential rain.

I hear the huge splash, the flailing, and run to the embankment just in time to see the deer being swept downstream.  I know they can swim, the difficulty comes with climbing out.  There's nothing I can do.

Spinning on my heels, I turn to the woman.  "You've probably just killed that poor deer."

She looks at me blankly.  Seriously.  Like she just doesn't understand my words.  Then she says, "It was just a deer."  And she walks away, apparently secure in her belief that tormenting another living creature is okay in her book.  Because, hey, it's just a deer.

For me, being human some days is a heavy burden...

Ugh.

Usually in a conversation amongst women, we will invariably comment on what babies men are when they're ill.  Big. Whiny. Babies.  Just yesterday, waiting to check out at the grocery store, a woman mentioned that very thing to the cashier about her husband, which swept from them, to me, to the three women in line behind me.  No offense guys, but this is a pretty universally accepted fact.

However.

I have discovered there is someone worse.  That would be the person who is never sick, can't even imagine being sick...and yet, with shocking speed finds herself collapsing in a heap of snot and misery.

And yeah.  That would be me.

Yesterday I'd spent the morning changing my bedding to the Winter comforter and duvet, flannel sheets, etc.  Moved the house plants from their Summer places to different windows to catch more light in the coming dark days.  Couple loads of laundry, walked the dogs, went grocery shopping.  Basically, just a normal, busy Monday.

After lunch I sit down at the laptop to write.  I sneeze.  Once, twice, thrice.  Whew!  I get up to blow my nose, and sneeze about 15 times in a row before I can even get to the tissues.  And these weren't gentle, kittenish little ker-choos.  Oh no.  They were violent, wrenching sneezes that left me dizzy and breathless.  WTF??  I had the furnace serviced a few weeks ago, I have all new filters, it can't be dust in the air.  Maybe I'm having a sudden allergy attack?  Blow, blow and blow some more.  My nose is clogged, I suddenly don't feel...quite...right.

Within an hour or so, I realize I have somehow caught a cold.  Me, who is never sick, a person who obsessively washes her hands, and avoids large crowds at all costs.  I am blaming this whole fiasco on those blasted shots I got in September.  My perfectly functioning and exemplary immune system has now been compromised by shooting foreign matter into my body.  I have been invaded by aliens.

By early evening I have lost all sense of taste, my nose is raw from constant blowing and is dripping like a broken faucet.  Of course--because I am never sick--I have no cold remedies in the house and at this point don't feel competent enough to make it down the mountain and back in one piece. 

Misery and whingeing ensues. 

There isn't a man out there who could have matched me for Big Baby status last night.

Two hot whiskies with honey later, I stagger to bed, half-drunk, unable to breathe, and whimpering in self-pity--though I did somehow manage to sleep like the dead.  (Thank you, clever Scottish people for inventing whiskey).

Today I'm in even worse shape, but after taking the boys to the park, I went to the drugstore and bought enough crap to stave off anything except nuclear holocaust...and if I drink enough NyQuil, I probably won't notice the world has ended.

So, I'm going now, to lay shivering on the couch under my blanket whilst throwing wads of Kleenex toward the waste basket.  And yes, I'll be feeling sorry for myself because that's the only thing left to do until the alien invaders move on to destroy another planet...

Simple Things...

Yesterday afternoon was the party with the new folks in my little mountain community (Friday's post).  I waffled for the better part of the day about going, then decided at the last minute that I had to go since I'd bought a beautiful Christmas Cactus for their housewarming gift.  I considered keeping the plant for myself and just staying home, but I knew I would feel guilty every time I looked at it.

And as usual, once I got there, I had a perfectly good couple of hours--except for the 15 minutes I was cornered by a woman who desperately tried to convert me.  Honestly, I just don't know what it is about me that compels people to "save" me.  From what?  Do I look like I date Satan?  Hang with the demons down the pub?  I'm fairly certain it's my Buddhist tattoos because there's nothing else that identifies my philosophy--I certainly don't expound about it, unless asked.  Luckily, I managed to escape and evade, and actually enjoyed myself.

Though, here's a goofy thing:  As I mentioned in the earlier post, this couple recently moved here from Florida.  On Friday, the guy got a job offer he couldn't refuse and now they're moving to Albuquerque as soon as they sell the house.  The party went from a house warming to a farewell. 

Life.  You just never know what's gonna happen from one moment to the next...

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The weather today has been stormy and dreary and frankly totally wonderful.  A most excellent Sunday, to my mind.  I finished the second part of a long chapter in the serial last night, but I want to do some tweaking before I post it.  I was going to work on that today, but with the weather, adjusting to the time change and my cozy nap with the boys this afternoon, I just couldn't be bothered.

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A week or so ago I made a trip to Costco.  I was only going to dash in and out as I just had a few things on my list, but as I'm making my way down an aisle, a display catches my eye and I come to a screeching halt.

I was born in Alaska, on Kodiak Island, in the middle of the Bering Straits.  It's a amazing place to be from.  Now, I might be a victim of advertising, or a sucker for good product branding, but there was no way I was going to pass this by...

The mix is whole wheat, oat & honey, egg whites and sea salt.  That's it.  And the Red Raspberry syrup?  Oh man.  It's tart and fresh and as natural as going out in the backyard at your grandmother's on a Summer's day to pick the berries right off the bush.

Late this afternoon I took the boys down the road for a walk between rain squalls, then on the way back I pondered what to have for dinner.  The Kodiak Cakes popped into my head.  It just seemed like the right thing for such a gnarly day.

And it was.

Is there anything better than a pancake cooked to perfection on a cast iron griddle?  Well, yes, but only one thing better:  a pancake with red raspberry syrup.  (Sorry, no photo...I was too busy eating).

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So, I went to a welcome/farewell party, wrote a good long chapter in the serial, read my book, took several walks with the boys, had a perfect Sunday nap and cooked a truly excellent breakfast for dinner.

Sometimes it's the simple things that bring the most joy...

Snippets

I was thinking about the 52s this morning--what to do, where to go--when it occurred to me that I already had my adventure, and had even posted a comment that I should have used the experience for this week's escapade.

And you know what?  It's my blog, it's my year-long quest, I can do what I want...so I turned my Tuesday lunch into Week 44.  It was the perfect decision, on several levels, not the least being how much fun I had with two such interesting and amazing women.

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NaNo starts today.  For the first time in a long while, I'm not participating.  However, I'm toying with the idea that I could pretend to be doing NaNo, exert major self-discipline and finish the serial this month instead.  I'd like to tie things up on Library of Souls, and move on to the next story, though I really don't have anything in mind at the moment.  Possibly because I'm still too involved with the usual suspects.  Or I'm a one-plot woman...

 

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I took a cool photo yesterday that I posted on Shot of the Week.  It was one of those odd moments when you notice something for the first time, and yet it's always been there.  It's a weird brain warp thing, because it's totally obvious the door has been that vibrant color for ages.  Why did I just notice it, and on Hallowe'en, of all days?

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It's not often new people move onto the mountain.  There are only 18 houses up here, spread across the ridge, and no one ever seems to leave (though I tried last year, to no avail and the crap real estate market).  Earlier this Summer, the first house on the road--a much neglected and semi-abandoned place--was sold to a pair of doctors from Florida.  They have spent the better part of five months remodeling.  Along with everyone else up here, I got an invitation to their Open House party tomorrow.  If I don't go, it will seem rude and unneighborly, but here's the thing: I don't like flying solo to events where everyone is paired off.  I'm the only singleton on the bloody mountain. 

Still.  I will force myself to go.  I will chat with the few folks I actually know and maybe talk to some I don't.  I will smile and have a drink and hopefully enjoy myself, even though I'll no doubt feel like the proverbial redheaded stepchild.  Ah well, it builds character...right?

Uh huh.

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Time changes this weekend.  I am a huge proponent of leaving time alone.  Once I even contemplated moving to Arizona where they don't act like jack asses rabbits springing forward or jumping back.  

In a meager attempt to offset the irritation caused by the morons who still think this is a good idea, I change my clocks on Saturday afternoon with the slight hope I can forget the whole thing by the time I go to bed. 

And I'm convinced this would be a great plan...if I didn't have dogs who can't tell time.