Books, Bill and Ted

I spent the better part of the afternoon working on a cover for the alleged wtf am I thinking? NaNo book.  I struggled with ideas and fonts and photos until I was finally satisfied with the end result. But now I can't get it off Word or into a different format to post on my NaNo page or the blog.  A quick cut/paste operation that, yeah, you'd think would be simple, wouldn't you?  Instead, nothing's working, another hour wasted--and believe me, at this point I wish I was wasted. Doesn't bode well, does it?

On the NaNo site, they're always giving pep talks and encouraging advice on ways to forge ahead, persevere, never say die.  Today I read that if you have a cover for your book, your chances of success increase by 60%.  That's huge.  And I'm pretty sure I will need every percentage I can get to make it through November.

I don't know what it means that I have a book cover but no one will ever see it.  I'm sure there's a message in there somewhere...

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Remember Bill and Ted, my Darwin sunflowers?

Here they are, just a few weeks after sprouting all by themselves...

Barely a week later and growing like magic beans.  Bill is the smaller one in the back, Ted is smiling for the camera...

This was last week, just before the storms and high winds came.  I wanted the flowers to keep growing for as long as possible so I could use the seeds in the winter for the birds. 

Unfortunately, when I was outside working in the back garden on Monday, I found poor ol' Bill and Ted laying in the dirt, so I dusted them off and set them in the garage out of the damp.  Earlier today I cut the stalks off and brushed most of the dried flowers away to see if there were any seeds under all that golden yellow and was so pleased to find there were.

And here's a funny thing.  Bill was smaller throughout the whole growing period, but look at him now. He ended up the size of a large dinner plate...

Ted, though he might only be equal to a salad plate, made up for his smaller size with bigger, perfectly formed seeds that the birds are gonna love...

Nature.  Mesmerizing, amazing and a thing of beauty.  Symmetry in the spirals of a sunflower...

So now they're hanging in the garage to dry out and sometime around Christmas I'll hang them in the pine trees for the birds.  Maybe by then I'll have figured out how to get my book cover posted. Sigh...

Monday Miscellany

My stormy, turbulent weekend was just about perfect. Lots of rain and wind, dark clouds and gloomy skies.  Makes me smile just to remember it.

Saturday afternoon...

Sunday morning I made a big pot of chili, something I've been wanting to do for months. It simmered all day, making the house smell heavenly, feel warm and cozy.  As the rain pounded outside, I had a great dinner of chili and cornbread; the boys had dog food with cornbread crumbles.  Everybody was happy...

This week I'm attempting to organize myself, and the month of November, for my imminent NaNo adventure which starts on Saturday.  I'm not sure I have the stamina--or the brain cells--to actually follow through, although I've done it in the past and will give it my best shot this time around.  I've got several plot scenarios playing in my head, except being a pantser I pretty much let the characters run the show and they often wander off in a different direction than where I'm headed. This style of writing can make things very interesting and exciting, but also difficult and crazy.

Two books I've been waiting to read for over a year are both out tomorrow.  I won a random drawing for them on the Wicked Scribes website weeks ago and now can hardly wait another minute for them to arrive. The FedEx truck pulled into my drive half an hour ago and I was all yippee and wow, a day early, but no, he was just using the driveway to turn around.  Way to fire me up for no reason, FedEx guy...

The weather is mild today, with clear blue skies and about 72*.  I've got the doors and windows open, the breeze is soft and warm.  **sigh**   If summers were like this, I would be so totally incredibly wonderfully pleased.  But alas, they're not.  Still.  I'll take this ideal autumn day and let the memories of the scorching, sweaty misery of an exceptionally hot summer fade into obscurity.  

It's The Little Things...

This is the kind of weekend I've been waiting for since June: cold, rainy and no reason--except walking the dogs--to venture outside. I'm going to finish a few household chores this afternoon, then it's books and cuddles on the couch with the boys and maybe a movie or two.  No lawn mowing, pruning, watering, gardening, sweating, cursing at the heat...nope, none of that.  Just rain and chilly weather and toasty warmth indoors.

And yeah.  I'm totally smiling.

At the park this morning, all dark and gloomy, I took a shortcut behind the theatre whilst walking the boys because the rain was really starting to come down hard and I wanted to get them into the car before they drowned.  As we came around the building to cross the parking lot, these wonderfully beautiful flowers caught my eye.  They're so vivid and cheerful against the dreary backdrop of gray clouds and rain.

When I got home after the walk, this was the view across the valley from the back deck. Great contrast between vibrant yellow and blank void...

Pizza for dinner tonight, not something I do regularly but the occasion calls for it, at least to my mind, especially washed down with a nice cold bottle of Dos Equis.

Happy Hour at my place, peeps...

Wild and Crazy

The winds have been ferocious, strong enough that I almost didn't take the boys down the mountain to the park this morning, but since they don't care about wind or rain as long as they can have an adventure, we went anyway.

Things seemed calmer in town, more a stiff breeze than Cat 1.  I parked by the Arts Center, we walked across one edge of the soccer field to the path between the park and the old VA cemetery and began to stroll toward the river.  A cop drove into the parking lot, went to the end, turned and parked.  I'm now walking toward his car, though still about twenty feet or so away when out of nowhere this incredible blast of wind strikes.

I was knocked back about five feet, literally just hammered almost off my feet. The air was suddenly filled with swirling leaves and dust. Ozzy--the 9-lb wonder--was rolled like a ball for several dizzying spins, but Max, 18-lbs of solid, was literally lifted into the air about six inches, then dropped into the grass several feet away. For a brief moment, Max became Toto and there wasn't a single thing I could do...

Except laugh like a crazy person.  Seriously, it was wild and scary, and so totally unexpected, there was nothing else to do but laugh.  And then it was gone.

The cop immediately drives his car toward me and rolls down his window.  "You alright?"

I'm still half stunned, half laughing.  "Wow, that was bizarre."

He looks at Max, who has now glued himself like Velcro to my left leg, then looks back at me and smiles.  "Thought he was going airborne for a minute there."

I reach down to reassure Max, then call Oz to me to make sure he's okay after rolling like a child's toy. As I'm picking leaves and debris out of his long hair, I say, "For a minute there, he was."

We both start laughing.  He reminds me to beware of falling/snapping limbs from all the trees that line the river and drives off.  The rest of the walk is quiet, uneventful--except for my occasional bursts of laughter.

Storms and Sun Tea

Last night the predicted storms arrived.  I woke up, sometime before dawn, to rain and wind and the low, faraway rumble of thunder.  One of my favorite things is to listen to the elements whilst snuggled in bed. It must be some kind of primal thing...or childhood memories of waking in the dark, the house quiet around me, warm and toasty under the covers as I listened to the chaos outside.

I've always, always loved a good storm, the wilder the better.  There's just something so raw and scary about the unpredictability, the sheer force of nature, that resonates to my soul.

It's been raining for most of the day--storm after storm--though it's not in the least bit cold.  I have the doors and windows open, the breeze wafting in is warm and humid, almost tropical.

Five minutes ago.  A brief vision of blue skies, though it's raining far across the valley as the clouds roll over the mountains from the coast...

Over the weekend it was still unseasonably warm--82* on Saturday.  I mowed the lawn, hopefully for the final time, and made my last pitcher of sun tea.  Then I tried to drink it sparingly, savoring the unique taste of Chai brewed and mellowed by the sun, because it will be months before I make another batch.

Except.  I didn't restrain myself enough apparently.  This afternoon, and my last taste of sun tea...

Ah well.  I'm ready to make the switch to hot tea, and cocoa.  Definitely.

The Abyss Was Deep

I've had a weirdly bad week.  A crisis of faith (not religious) one day, slogging through the Slough of Despond yesterday, then this morning I woke up as Eleanor Rigby.

Like I said, weirdly bad week.

My crisis of faith?  I don't think I have one shred of belief that, as humans, we are worth saving. Honestly.  If aliens came down and took a look...we'd be toast.  Though at the rate we're going, we'll nuke ourselves way before they get here.

I opened my laptop on...Thursday?...and all the despair and horror and crap that makes up our world these days just overwhelmed me.  Normally I skim the news, try to save my head and heart from the torture of details, but for some reason the headlines were graphic and succinct enough to give me more info on the stories than I wanted.

Who decided it was okay to bring the most deadly disease on the planet to our shores? How many women have to be murdered, abused, subjugated and treated like chattel before we say fucking enough already because--believe it or not peeps--men are not superior beings.  And what kind of parent forgets their baby is in the back seat of a car and goes off to work?  Why is it that every day--every single day--some person goes nuts and kills his entire family.  Take yourselves out instead, you crazy bastards, leave the innocent alone. How many wars can we fight?  How many ways are there to kill the environment, living creatures, people?

My crisis of faith dropped me headfirst into the Slough.  I wallowed. I tried to crawl out but kept sliding back down the slippery slope.  The hopelessness was just plain daunting. I stayed off the internet, didn't turn on the television.  I walked the dogs for miles; spent long hours in silence with just them, my books...and whiskey.  By last night I'd gotten a grip...maybe seeing life through whiskey fumes helped in that endeavor.  Whatever. When I went to bed, I felt marginally better.

Then I dreamed.  About love and sex and bone-crushing hugs and sharing a life.  It was so vivid and wonderful that when I woke up this morning, I forgot for a second--just a tiny little second--that it wasn't real.  My man is gone.  There is no love, no sharing, no sex. I'm just a different bloody version of Eleanor Rigby.  Without the Beatles to sing my song.

I'm out of the Slough now, and though I'm still shaking the mud off my boots, the turmoil in my mind has eased.  I kept my head in the moment today as the boys and I walked through the VA complex, the Sumac and Maple trees turning such incredibly beautiful colors, I couldn't help but smile.

And I learned something.  Smiling is like good whiskey...minus the burn.

Connections

I was walking the boys at the park on Monday.  Light drizzle, cool air on my face, and for the first time since, I don't know...maybe April?...I was wearing my hoody.  And a flannel shirt, jeans and my boots.  It was heavenly and comfortable and felt so...right.  Now, don't get me wrong, I love my Hawaiian shirts and flip flops, but after six months?  I'm so done.

As I'm walking, enjoying the freshness, dark clouds, totally great crap weather, I was thinking about my plan to head down south into northern California next Spring with my sister on a fact-finding mission.  I'm considering a move to the coast and away from the brutal intensity of inland heat. There are a couple of unfamiliar places I want to explore, and I want to refresh my memory on areas I already know.  This part of the world is very beautiful, with rugged mountains and dense forests that run from the stunning coastline to the Nevada border.

So.  Walking, thinking, wondering about starting over.  Again.  And then this story pops into my head. The whole first chapter was fleshed out before the boys and I got back to the Blazer. I couldn't wait to get home and write out my thoughts.

Yesterday, torrential rain squalls off and on all day.  I spent a fair bit of time thinking about the story, debated starting something new before finishing the serial. Then NaNo strolled down a neuron pathway and meandered to the front of my brain and I knew two things immediately:  I was going to write this woman's story, and I was going to do it for the NaNo challenge next month.  So I signed up. What better way to spend November than by losing your mind, right?

Connections.  Weather, wanderings, writing, and full circle...

My new mattress topper is holding up perfectly.  Over a month and it's still as lofty and cloud-like as the first night I slept on it. This morning I woke to a chill in my bedroom accompanied by the ferocious sound of pounding rain, but the pleasure of burrowing beneath my duvet, enveloped in the warm and cozy topper as the weather howled and raged outside was just so incredible, I seriously didn't want to get out of bed. Maybe ever.

Probably a good thing then that I have the dogs...

Movies and Musings

This has been an...oh I don't know, introspective...kind of weekend, I guess.  Songs, movies, the perfect sentence in a book, have been enticing me to ponder and mull.

Friday night, cozy on the couch, dogs snoring away, book in hand, low hum of white noise (television) in the background. Opening my book I glance up at the screen and see 47 Ronin, (Keanu Reeves version) is just starting.

Absolutely no idea in the world why I set down my book and turned up the volume...and then got completely absorbed.  The movie was about honor, and doing the right thing even knowing there's no way to win, brotherhood and sacrifice.  And heartbreaking love.

Near the end--in more ways than one--I'm blowing into a soggy Kleenex, tears rolling, heart swelling with an odd sort of pride at the strength and bravery of these men, the real 47 Ronin, because of course the movie is based on actual events.

At about the point where I finally realize things aren't going to turn out well here, Kai, one of the Samurai, tells Mika, the woman he has loved all his life:

I will search for you through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes until I find you again.

Oh man.

**swoon**

After much nose blowing, throat clearing, and more wine, I take the dogs outside, stare up at the stars and reflect...on the nature of love, what honor really means, and the cost of owning it.

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Saturday night. This time I'm really going to read.  I reach for the remote to find a music channel on the television just as Fast and Furious 6 comes on.

Okay, you know what happened next, right?  Yeah, I watched the whole movie, every car chase, explosion and annihilating crushed-by-tank scene.

Except, know what? This might have been an action film, fraught with violence and danger, but it was also about honor and doing the right thing, brotherhood and...love.

Two movies that couldn't be more different--

And here's exactly why I've had a pensive weekend: two stories, two widely divergent cultures, three hundred years apart and yet...

47 Ronin/Fast 6

Band of brothers?  Check
Weapons?  Check
Martial Arts skills?  Check
Honor without question?  Check
Man's love for his woman?  Check

I'm glad I was in the right place at the right time to see both movies this weekend. I love that honor hasn't become a cliche, disappeared or died, that honorable men can stand together and not hesitate to do right.

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I also love getting up early on beautiful autumn mornings to mist and mountains...

Bugs and Bounty

My post yesterday was very short because what I'd planned to do was show some photos but in the mysterious world of Blogger, the photos wouldn't load.  I wasted way too much time and effort, even using two other browsers, to no avail...hence the quickie post before my frustration grew large.

Today everything works fine.  Glitches, nanobugs, solar flares...who knows what the problem was.

So. Let me finish what I'd started yesterday...

Remember this?  It's the harvest basket of squash and apples that my sister brought me a few weeks ago when she was visiting...

All the exotic and unusual squash are edible, though I've never eaten any of the ones in my basket. Tuesday, whilst rummaging through the varieties, one very cool name on a little sticker made me smile, so I decided to try it for dinner.

Sweet Dumpling.  How did this odd looking plant get such an endearing name?

I cooked it like I do an Acorn squash: wedges with a butter and brown sugar glaze, which gives the squash a wondrously nutty/caramel flavor...

The Sweet Dumpling tasted much like an Acorn and was delicious.

Earlier in the day, I also realized I had to do something with the large apples. I'm not much for just eating an apple.  I prefer them in stuff, like pies and salads and crumbles. Or best, apple butter or sauce.

I decided on applesauce.  I got three small jars out of the four apples, and promptly ate half of one jar before dinner and the other half with dinner.  I added honey and a dash of maple syrup to the mix while it was cooking and, oh yes, this is definitely the perfect way to eat apples...

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Bill and Ted have big ol' flower heads, now bursting with little seeds.  I'm hoping they will keep maturing so I can hang the heads in the pines for Winter bird food.  I love that Bill and Ted showed up on their own, dug in and are thriving.  

Nature.  You've just gotta love the power, the beauty, in always finding a way...

Last Hurrah

Still overwhelmingly hot--yesterday edging over 100* and today high 90s--but the latest weather forecast has the temps dropping into the mid-70s by Sunday.  And maybe rain by next week, though I think that's just a clever ploy to prevent people from going nuts. Sadly, way too late for me...

As it's apparently the Frigging Summer That Won't Die, I'm going to have one last hurrah for my dinner tonight, a sort of picnic-style affair with my world famous potato salad (hey, it was loved in Scotland and America...world famous counts), sweet & sticky pork ribs and bourbon baked beans. The salad is already made, the ribs are marinating, and yummy goodness is on my dining horizon.

Then I'm going back to dreaming about Kodiak pancakes with raspberry syrup and maple sausage links while winds howl around the house and rain runs in torrents down the driveway. And more dreams of chili bubbling away in a cast iron pot on a cold Sunday afternoon, cornbread and honey balancing the hot spice; pasta and garlic bread as the snow falls; Irish stew and biscuits after a freezing, mile walk to the mailbox.

Oh such wondrous dreams...such flights of fancy.  Dreams so hard to believe in today as the heat builds and humidity rises.

Just...Monday

After walking the boys this morning, I had to take Ozzy to the vet for his semi-annual heart checkup. Every time I hope he's improved enough to drop even one of his five meds. He's just a wee dog but has to take eight frigging pills a day.  To say I worry about what's ahead for him doesn't come close.

The place is mobbed.  I'm glad I have an actual appointment because nearly everyone in the waiting area are drop-ins.  Bad weekend for critters it seems.

So, long story short.  I tell him Oz has been doing this weird cough thing and after an intense listen to his heart and lungs, the vet whisks him away for a chest x-ray. Back in twenty--I paced for fifteen--to hear that his heart has enlarged a bit more and is pressing on one of his bronchial tubes--hence the coughing.  My own heart expands with every frantic hammer blow as I wonder what this means.  Then I wish the doc wasn't such a good guy as he shares each and every problem with me as I stare at the x-ray. Ozzy weighs ten pounds.  His heart looked nearly as big as mine and I could see it squishing stuff in his chest.

I hate knowing this shit.  Now I can't look at my boy without imagining his Frankenstein heart or his bronchial tube looking like a collapsed subway tunnel, or his tiny little ribs keeping it all in.  Dammit.

Anyway.  Sorry...I said long story short, didn't I??

Bottom line:  He has to take a cough syrup-like concoction.  Whatever happens over the next few days will determine where we go from here. I guess the stuff is supposed to do something for his tubes--relax or shrink or widen?--unfortunately, the vet was explaining whilst I was frozen in horror looking at the x-ray, a quivering dog in my arms with a heart as big as mine.

It sucks, getting old.

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On the way home, I decide to stop for a coffee after the bad news and the vet's bill so pulled into my favorite drive-thru.  I like all the baristas--they're funny and goofy and really nice twenty-somethings. I'm handing my money to the girl and she notices the bracelet I wear on my left wrist.  I love this bracelet, it's cool, handcrafted in Tibet and the beadwork is amazing.  I've got several bracelets on my right, but only this one on the left.

She hands me my change, then takes my hand and turns my wrist so she can see what the beads spell out.

Frowning, she says, "What's a tibbet?"

I blink.  What?

She shakes my hand back and forth like I'm a dolt, then says again, pointing at the bracelet, "Is it a whale or dolphin or something?"

Free Willy blazes across my frontal lobe. I thought she was kidding and I start to laugh but immediately realize she's looking uncomfortable, wondering why I might be about to laugh at her.

Biting my tongue, because really, it's totally unacceptable to laugh at someone when they're genuinely clueless, I twist the bracelet around my wrist--showing first the word FREE, then the Tibetan flag, and finally TIBET, all spelled in beadwork, and I read, "Free Ti-BET.  You know, that country over by China."

Another frown, then she grins.  "The place where the Buddha man came from.  The one who's always smiling."

My tongue is sore.

"Yes, and my bracelet is saying to Free Tibet from China, so the...ah...Dalai Lama can come home. To Ti-BET."

She nods sagely.  "Yeah, that's the Buddha guy."

I nod back, smile, and drive off. I get across the parking lot and can't help laughing. Oh come on...tibbet???  That's definitely funny.  And I needed the humor after the vet stuff. We won't look deeper into this odd conversation to question the American educational system, or the fact this young woman is in her third year of college. I'm serious.

Tibbet?

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Moving on.

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Another reason I love Fall, especially while on this mountain: The mists begin to wind around the hills and dales in the valley below the house.  I can watch them slither and undulate, crest and fall like otherworldly waves.

Up early this morning, dawn just breaking...

Even a Monday can have some redeeming value...yeah?

Magpie Tales 240...Captive

photo by Tom Chambers

Her dreams urge escape

to neon and city life

Nightmare barbs hold fast

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The Magpie Tales prompt this week is a cool photo--to me, this looked like a failed dash for freedom...

Fires, Photos and Blank Walls

Late in the afternoon yesterday, as I finished up my huge pile of paperwork and filing, the familiar taint of smoke began to permeate the air, though this time I looked out the windows first before I jumped to the conclusion the house was on fire.

Digress:  Earlier in the morning as I opened the blinds, the view of the mountains and clouds just struck me as such a lovely thing to see at the beginning of my day that I couldn't resist taking a photo.

Early morning across the valley...

Then, late afternoon, smoke strong and irritating in my nose, I took this shot:

Pretty amazing difference, isn't it?  Sadly, this fire was set by a human. On purpose.

On the first of October, farmers are allowed to burn their fields--a practice I am wholeheartedly opposed to--so, regardless of the drought, the air quality or tinder dry foliage, these fires are legal. However, this one got out of control.  It raged all afternoon and into the evening, the sound of sirens echoing for hours as several community fire stations around the valley tried to contain the blaze.

Today things are a bit hazy, but at least I can see the mountains again. Until the next farmer torches his land.

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And speaking of amazing differences...

Last night I was prowling the internet--having just finished one book and not ready to start the next--when I clicked on the Bored Panda site and found this: Before and After photos of 12 places around the globe, shots taken in the height of Summer and the glory of Autumn.  Truly worth checking out, peeps.  The photographs of the seasonal changes are stunning.

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I procrastinated a bit yesterday and though I only had four things left on my nightmare To Do list, I just managed to finish two before I said enough. So, because the fairies didn't come in the night to help, I'm off to mow the lawn now before it gets too hot.  Yes, too hot. Close to 90* today.  In October.  **sigh**  

But then I'm going to hang my pictures, which will be cool and fun.  I have a series of black and white photos and a blank wall.  Perfect canvas that I can't wait to "paint"...

Too Busy

I've been rushed off my feet since my sister left on Monday.  Seems like suddenly there were a hundred different chores and errands and lists that needed to be dealt with this week. But at last, today I only have four things left to do and then it's a kick back, do nothing weekend ahead. Good thing, too. All work and no play makes me cranky.

One major hurdle is finally finished: the deck work is done!  Both front and back have been cleaned, sanded and stained. And with any luck at all, I won't have to do this again for a couple of years. Hopefully.  

Front steps and porch/deck...and yeah, there will be wine tonight to celebrate crossing this epic achievement off the never-ending household chores list.  Woo hoo!!!

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I found a new place to buy my Buddhist-type stuff: incense, mala beads, flags, etc. Dharma is a shop that supports artists and crafts people in Tibet and Nepal, and helps fund the Khachoe Ghakyil Nunnery in Kathmandu where the Buddhist nuns make the most incredible incense.

I bought Rhododendron Forest, made from the trees and herbs of the high mountains around Nepal. According to those who know--and I wish I had first-hand knowledge myself--it smells like the breath of the snow-capped Himalayas.  I burned a small stick this afternoon and the scent is indescribable. Truly.  It's a soft, gentle fragrance; subtle and clean, like that first tang of snow in the air on a cold Winter's day.  I love the exotic familiarity of it.

Also got a beautiful Nepalese bracelet that I've added to the plethora on my right wrist and a beaded mala to hang amongst the other philosophical icons on my rear view mirror in the Blazer. When it's time to replace my prayer flags, I will definitely buy them from Dharma.

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I've been sadly remiss in my writing of late. I blame it on the Gates of Hell and the ferocious heat of the past two months.  It's really aggravating that I haven't written a single word in the Dark Wind serial since August, although bits and pieces of conversations and thoughts are scattered across my desk on little pieces of paper.  I'll be in the shower, or walking the dogs, and a scene will play in my mind. Course, if too much time goes by, I don't have a clue what I was thinking when I wrote the note!

Like this, on a torn scrap of paper:

"Men do these things because they can, Rafe, that is the way of it."

And on the back of a grocery receipt:

"You don't believe in the gods?" she asked softly.

"The gods don't believe in me."

I'm toying with expanding the serial into a long novella for NaNo this year, though I'm not sure yet if I even want to commit to the whole grueling month-long event. Still, it would get my butt planted in front of the laptop every day.  On the other hand, I'm also thinking about something totally, entirely different instead: just sit down and begin writing whatever comes into my head.  Forget being a pantser, this would make me a leaper...as in leaping into the abyss.  It might be fun.  It could be terrible.

My main issue with writing the whole month of November is that I find it exhausting--exhilarating, but totally exhausting--and then I'm usually too tired to read. Since I have numerous books stashed for the coming dark and dreary months ahead, not escaping reading is a hard thing to sacrifice.

Still, there's time to mull things over before I make a decision.  Though, if October goes as fast as September, I'm screwed.

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Time to finish my chores and get on with the weekend.  I have an overflowing inbox of paperwork that needs to be filed, new pictures to hang, the blasted lawn to mow and a big window that has at least four ghost birds that need to be washed off--thankfully no bodies to dispose of--then it's freedom and books and wine and relaxing.  I'm in...

Too Fast...

My sister arrived safe and sound early Friday afternoon.  As always it's great to have her here...and the boys are so happy to see their favorite "auntie."  She comes bearing gifts:

For them...

And for me, including this old-fashioned harvest bucket filled with cool squash and crisp juicy apples, pumpkin seed brittle, my favorite Italian cookies, and a rare tea blend with blue Bergamot flowers that I will savor in the chilly days ahead...

Then for dinner we made the Roasted Garlic soup and Asiago crostini (here's a link to the recipe if you want to check it out.)  We had a great time making the soup together and an even better time eating it with a good bottle of red wine.

Six heads of garlic, roasted for about 1-1/2 hours until soft and sweet...

After adding the other ingredients, making the crostini, and about half an hour later...

The soup was creamy and nutty, sweet and garlicky...the crostini had a little bite (from the paprika--see recipe) and was deliciously crunchy and cheesy. We didn't talk much, it was mostly ummm and yum and omg.

Next day though, when we got to Mom's and did the big hugs and kisses stuff, Mom reeled back after hugging my sister and said, "What in the world have you been eating?" Apparently the side effects to the soup could kill a vampire at twenty paces.  Since my sister and I had eaten the same dinner, we couldn't smell the garlic at all.  It seems that garlic is stronger than toothpaste and Listerine.  Good to know.

In spite of our garlic-ness, we had a nice day with Mom, went out to lunch, talked and laughed and had a really nice drive through the mountains both going down and coming back.

Yesterday, after taking the boys for a long walk in the morning, we drove several miles out into the valley to the monastery cafe/store and bought organic, fresh out of the brick oven bread, and gooey, caramel/pecan sticky buns and almond biscotti--mostly for my sister to take home for her husband. And okay, yeah, I had a sticky bun, too and it was worth every calorie and carb.

We stayed up too late, ate way too much food, talked until we were hoarse.  The boys are now conked out, exhausted from all the excitement, and I'm reminded once again that I live far away from the people who know me best.  Ah well.  It just makes me appreciate them all the more when I do get to see them...

Thanks for the great weekend, sis...

Fun Ahead

Gloomy, foggy day.  That is not a complaint...it's a smile-inducing observation.  The past few days have been cloudy, a bit chilly even, and I couldn't be happier.  Seriously.  The Gates of Hell have closed once again.

Walking the boys to the mailbox last evening, I passed one of my neighbors as she was working out in her garden.  She waved, then said, "We lived through another Summer!" See peeps?  It's not just me...

My sister is coming this afternoon.  She's making her last trip of the year before the mountain passes become...well...unpassable.  Saturday we're heading down south to visit the Mothership, taking Mom to lunch, visiting and catching up. It will be a good weekend.

I took the sunflower photo yesterday--a bright gleam of color in an otherwise dreary day. It's amazing how those two little seedlings have grown in just a few weeks.  This is Ted and he's lookin' good. Survival of the fittest...Darwin would be proud.

So, housecleaning this morning, then my sister arrives, followed by a new recipe for dinner (Roasted Garlic Soup with Asiago Crostini), and at least two adventures--or maybe three--over the next couple of days.

Last weekend in September, dear readers.  Enjoy...

Oh yeah...

I woke up this morning--on this second day of Autumn--to lashing rain and wind.  I couldn't believe my eyes...or ears as the rain pounded the roof.

The dogs got soaked on our walk, I got drenched running across the parking lot to the grocery store, even more loading the car after shopping.  I had rain cascading down my face; I relished each and every drop like it was ambrosia.

It's still pouring and now I'm home and dry, totally enjoying the crazy-wild of the first great storm of Autumn.  It's glorious and wonderful and cool and refreshing and ohmygod exactly what I've been dreaming about for weeks.

So, my word for the day?  Bliss.

Colors of Change

Along the river walk this morning

I love this:  Poetic, evocative, the words still echo down the long centuries. And that first line?  Plots and stories swirl in my head...

A good season for staying is autumn,

there is work then for everyone before the 

very short days.

Dappled fawns from amongst the hinds,

the red clumps of the bracken shelter them;

stags run from the knolls at the belling of 

the deer herd.

Sweet acorns in the wide woods,

stubble around the wheatfields over the expanse 

of brown earth.

There are thornbushes and prickly brambles

by the midst of the ruined court;

the hard ground is covered with heavy fruit.

Hazelnuts of good crop fall from the huge old

   trees on dykes.

                                                     Irish, Eleventh Century

Yes, I love this, but I love even more that it's the first day of Autumn...

Dancing on the Deck...

...well, when it dries.

Early this morning, hair sticking out every which way, barely dressed, Jack (gardener/handy guy) pulls in the drive.  He's ready to help with staining the back deck.  I nearly fall over from surprise, and lack of coffee.  It's ear...rrrr....ly.

Before, all bare wood and clean:

(The sun was just coming over the rise behind me--that's the lighter strip in the bottom left of the photo above. Seriously, the dude came before sunrise!)

But at last, ta da, one deck done!

It took about four hours--one hour spent driving back to Lowe's for another can of stain--and though that seems like the project took awhile, there's another section of deck to the left that wraps around the house to the back door, plus two sets of stairs that aren't in the photos.  And frankly, I wouldn't have cared if it took all day as long as it was finished. And it was!

There'll be celebrations down the pub tonight, dear readers.  No matter the pub is the kitchen cupboard where I keep my favorite whiskey...

Saturday Stuffage...

I was out in the backyard doing some gardening chores this morning, making a mental list of things that will need to get done soon because, although it doesn't seem like it--100 degree days and all--things really are winding down.  Well, except for two sunflowers that suddenly sprouted on the slope a few weeks ago.  I debated about pulling them out, but then my internal Darwin said to leave them be. Good thing, too.  Today I figure Bill and Ted are about four feet tall and have cute little sunflower heads.

My fence looks weird, doesn't it?  Like a snow break/fence. Interesting effect of the blazing sun and harsh shadow.

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I did a little test strip on the deck--one whole step actually--so I can see how the new stain is going to look.  And whew!  I really like it.  Now, if I could just find the Goldilocks Moment: not too hot, not too cold, I might actually feel like progress is being made.

After checking out the stain, I straightened my prayer flags, a task I do every day.  It's sort of become a ritual for me.  Because the flags are silk, very wispy and wonderful, it hardly takes a breath of air to move them, which means they're often wound around and around the cloth tape they're attached to.  I unfurl each flag, spend a moment thinking of peace, compassion, love, wisdom, strength--whichever flag I'm touching--and imagine those prayers and mantras floating on the wind.

Today I see that the green flag has a long rent, and a few others are showing wear after two years of sun and wind, rain and storms, though overall they're holding up pretty good. Besides, that's the point of the flags really: as they fade and get tattered by the elements, they become part of the universe.

The green flag represents water.  I find it a bit startling that the first flag to show such wear and tear is the green when the entire region--southern Oregon/northern California--is struggling through unprecedented heat and a severe drought.  There are 400 mantras on each flag...I wonder how many have been used up after such a summer?

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I have a bird bath in the front yard that I've had to fill way more than seems necessary of late. Course, it's in full sun during the hottest part of the day, so for weeks I've been thinking it's just nuclear-intense evaporation.

Ha.

As I'm writing this post, I catch movement through the half-closed blinds that look over the front garden.  I should have known...

Very crappy photo, through the blinds, the window, the deck rail and twenty feet down the yard. The Evaporators...Mom and little spotted kidlet...

When I took this shot, it was just wafting over the 99* mark on my thermometer.  Click on the photo and you'll see how hot the deck rails are; the heat waves are rippling over the metal like liquid.

Okay, I'm heading for a nice, cold glass of Lambrusco now, peeps.  I've got a new book, a full bottle of vino, two napping dogs and most of the weekend ahead.  That totally works for me...

Irony, A Geek and Brian Bosworth

Yesterday afternoon I went to Lowe's and finally settled on the color for the deck stain. The back deck has been power washed and though the front still needs to be cleaned, I decided to forge ahead with staining the back since the temps were supposed to be in the low 80s for a few days. My plan was to start this next phase of the project on Friday, when my gardener/helper, Jack comes.  I was really looking forward to getting part of this epic chore out of the way.

Do I find it ironic then that I woke up this morning to find there had been a most ferocious rain storm during the night?  The first rain in weeks?  A storm that nobody saw coming? My deck is now soaked. It will be at least four days before I can again attempt to stain the wood. By the weekend it's to be back into the 90s.  Too hot to stain.

And on that note...August was the hottest month in recorded history, across the globe. On Sunday it was 101.5* in my part of the world.  In mid-September. I'm so deeply, seriously, agonizingly sick of the heat and humidity.  Worst Summer ever.  I definitely need to head north.  Far, far north.  Igloos and icebergs and snow-capped mountains sound about right.

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The printer guy came this afternoon.  Just prior to his arrival--because what could be more fraught?--I was on the internet when suddenly I lost the connection. I fiddled with the internet access button, then rebooted the router.  Twice.  Nothing.  After a few more tries, I disconnect everything: router, modem, computer, everything.  I'm on the edge of hysterical laughter because the guy is coming any minute and I have no working machines. More dinking, no internet, no connection, but just as he pulls into my driveway, it all miraculously comes back online.

Holy crap.  I can't take the drama, people, I really can't.

After I explain the last two days of my printer issues, he sits down, taps a couple keys, and the frigging printer kicks out a printed page.  My jaw drops.  I begin sputtering in utter disbelief. Turns out I most likely fixed the problem myself when I disconnected all the electronics. Ken said sometimes the router will glitch, or the modem will forget how to talk to the internet, or stuff just gets scrambled and all it takes is a total reset to get Tron back into the game.  He set me up with a separate IP for the laptop/printer so they can talk even if there's an internet issue, which I thought was cool.  Or, wait.  Maybe it was the printer/modem?

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I got my flu shot earlier this week.  I was in Walgreen's and as they were very quiet and no one was at the pharmacy counter, I decided to get it over with.  As some of you know, dear readers, I have an absolute phobia for needles.  If I think about getting a flu shot, I never will. However, if I can trick the inner fearful kid and just do it, spur of the moment, I can get the deed done with a minimum of fainting, nausea and/or making a spectacle of myself in public.

The pharmacist is Brian Bosworth.  Or his doppelganger.  A giant of a guy who could have been Bosworth's twin. I'm tall, he towered, all muscles and hugeness.  The syringe in his hand looked like a small toy.  I follow him into the It's Gonna Hurt room, sit down and try to relax as he swabs my arm. He's commenting on my shoulder tattoo, chatting about the different strains of flu, until finally I can't bear it.  If he's trying to calm me, the opposite is happening.  The wait is killing me.  I'm all tense, expecting the jab at any moment, but no, on and on he talks.  Finally I say, "Oh man, just get it over with!" and he stabs me in the upper arm like he's just harpooned Moby Dick. I flinch, squeak and feel the burn shoot down my arm. I'm pretty sure the guy doesn't know his own strength, but at least the pain helped me to focus: didn't faint or throw up, though I might have staggered a bit when I left...

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The sun is beating in the windows now, rain clouds long diffused, leaving behind a hot, sticky mugginess.  It's so hard to imagine chilly air, visible puffs of breath, a cold nose, while still under the influence of that wretched orb.

Ah well.  This too shall pass.  Right...?

Arrgghhh...

Yeah, photo just about says it all.  I think yesterday afternoon I looked exactly like this, and my hair-pulling shrieks of exasperation were no doubt heard in San Francisco.

Monday, for no known reason except the gods were apparently in the mood to mess with me, my printer stopped working.  Right in the middle of a project.  Between one photo and the next...no connection.

Though I love my photo printer, I have had some issues over the past couple of years. Sometimes the scanner won't work, sometimes my laptop says I don't have a printer installed.  **sigh**  I dig out the software CD, uninstall, reinstall and usually the printer comes back online.

Except. On Monday I spent four hours, peeps.  Yes, truly.  4 hours of my time, energy and mental stability trying to make the frigging printer work.  After jumping through all the hoops, thinking--for the tenth time--that everything was good to go, I would get an error message.  No explanation, no definitive reason,  Just...error.  I finally gave up and figured a new printer was in order.  Damn and blast.

So, yesterday I went to Staples and bought one.  It's much like the original--same brand, same photo printing capabilities, just newer--therefore familiar.  I get everything out of the box, set things up, all is well, this is totally easy, I'm making plans to finish my project as I install the software.  I print out the test sheet.

And get a message.  The same message.  Error.

Uninstall, reinstall, my frustration level rising, my curses getting more colorful, threats hurling skyward, heedlessly courting the wrath of the gods, those bastards.

In the end, nothing has worked and I have the sinking feeling I've just purchased a printer I didn't need. I call Staples and talk to a very nice techie named George.  We go around and around, try all kinds of tricks, spend an hour on the phone...to no avail.

End result of two bloody wasted days?  A guy has to come to the house. It's going to cost me $140 just to have him pull into my driveway.  *sigh*  But, if all goes well, they'll take back the new printer and that's a good thing.  It will help pay for the house call.

Heaven

A while back I started to notice that my mattress was just not as comfortable.  With the new mattresses, you can only rotate them top to bottom, not totally flip them over like the old style. Greed is a factor here for the manufacturers, I'm sure.  After all, no sense in making a mattress that can be used for twice as long is there?  So, because my mattress was a good one, and bloody expensive, I wasn't in the mood to replace it after just a few years.

Then I remembered sleeping on a most excellent mattress at a hotel in Dublin--London, too; same hotel chain--and it was all due to the mattress topper.  So.  Rather than buy a new mattress, I began the search.  Which took me nearly a month.  I went to all the shops in my area, then went online. The disparity in fabric, stuffing, price, was astounding, and made it difficult to make a decision.

Ultimately, after hands-on research (stores) and reading recommendations and endorsements (online), I finally settled on a company back East. Everything is made in America, and the reviews from actual buyers were pretty much straight across the board exceptional.

I bought the Extra Plush Double Thick, which looks like this:

It arrived yesterday.  I'd kinda been stewing about the purchase--would it really be well-made?  Really be soft and cozy like the European hotel version?  I got it out of its ginormous box and spread it across my bed to get the full-on puff effect.  Wow.

Quickly stripping my bed, and remaking it with the topper, fresh sheets and pillows, it was all I could do not to crawl right in. The siren call was almost irresistible, though I forced myself to wait until it was time for bed.

Holy Hallelujah Chorus, peeps.  It was like being enveloped in a warm embrace, having a cuddle that encompassed my entire body, like being drugged with a taste of Nirvana.  I couldn't even concentrate on reading my book, the lure of snuggling was too enticing.

I woke up this morning at 9:30.  9:30.  I haven't slept that late since...well, since I don't know how long.  Surprisingly, the dogs didn't wake me either.  Or, maybe they tried and I was so far away in la-la land that I didn't hear them.

All I know?  Right up there with a sizzling kiss, a great book, whiskey neat and the love of a good man, I'm adding my mattress topper to the Best Things In Life list...

Capture

On Sunday afternoons I watch a show called Capture, on the Ovation channel.  It's hosted by photographer Mark Seliger.  He interviews two people per session--one of the world's best photographers and an amateur, usually an actor--to discuss their work.  It's an amazing half hour that I often wish were longer.

I recorded last Sunday's program, then sat down last night to catch up.  I was beyond excited that the professional was Mary Ellen Mark, one of the people who set me on the path to want more than just a "picture" from my camera.

It was an excellent show, Mary Ellen was just mesmerizing, even more so at 74, and I was glued to every word she said.  Then. Toward the end of the program, Mark was rifling through some of her celebrity black & white shots when suddenly I caught just a glimmer of...something...before he set the photos down.  I backed up, replayed, backed up, replayed and there it was.

The memory...

Somewhere in the mid-90s.  The BFF and I are at Seattle's Pike Place Market on a crispy autumn Saturday.  On the lower level there were wonderful shops of vintage clothing, prints and posters, antiques.  This part of the market is removed from the bustling tourist stuff above where the fish, food and restaurants are.  We went there at least once a month for the cool clothes, but on this particular day we were headed for the poster shop where you could get just about anything ever photographed.

J wanted a particular shot of this goth guy, with tattoos and spiky hair, that she'd seen in a magazine. She's talking to the owner and I'm browsing around when I turned a corner...and had one of those life-changing moments.  I actually felt it sear through me, for two reasons.

Reason One:
At first, I thought the photographer had to be Annie Leibovitz because it was a celebrity shot, in black and white, and sort of her style. On closer inspection however, I knew it wasn't her work, but then, who's was it?  The owner of the shop clued me in. Mary Ellen Mark.  And I fell totally, utterly, forever under her spell.  I did research at the library, talked to art gallery people, bought her photography books (this was before the internet, Wiki, Google) and began to look through my camera lens in an entirely different way.

Reason Two:
Hanging on the wall was her photograph of my ideal man. I was completely lost in the vision. It was like someone had probed my brain, finding all the bits and pieces, and here was the result. I still feel that way--hence the total body rush last night at that little glimpse in Mark Seliger's hands as he shuffled through Mary Ellen's photographs.

I give you a man in his prime. 42 years old, incredibly great hair, ruggedly handsome, tattoo, abs and low-slung jeans.  It transports me, peeps.  It did back then, it does right now.  A stunning photograph.

Jeff Bridges, 1993

photo by Mary Ellen Mark

A World Unto Itself...

I live in a foreign land. Sometimes I understand the language and feel at home, other times I wander, clueless and alone.

The geography runs the gamut from harsh, frozen tundra, to parched desert sands.  In between are lush hidden valleys; snow-capped peaks reflected in deep pools; untrammeled forest, not yet felled by axe.  And although there are still jewel-bright glades and shining stars, there are also rivers, sluggish with the weight of pollution; stagnant lakes and pockets of toxic poisons, and seas that rage against the despair.

The lives within my country, like the landscape, are diverse: kind, loving, intelligent, caring…also rude and thoughtless, ignorant and fiercely angry at times.  There is pain and sorrow, but often laughter and joy.  Balance is hard won, acceptance harder.

There are many stories here. Layer upon layer of seemingly endless stories that echo from past voices, and make my heart yearn for future tales.  Every day is new and I treasure each unveiling, even if I don't comprehend the meaning.

What is the name of this place, you ask?

Mind.

Alaska Might Be Calling Me Home...

Yesterday afternoon, after chores and dog stuff and whatnot, I plopped down into my comfy reading chair, new book in hand.  I had barely read the first chapter when the dogs started doing this odd throat-clearing, hacking thing.  Distracting, but whatever. Until I started doing it and then smelled smoke.  Strong, acrid, shit-the-house-is-on-fire smoke.

I jumped to my feet, trying to follow the scent like a drug dog at airport security.  The smell completely permeated the house, giving me one of those prickly rushes of anxiety, coupled with a frantic desire to find the frigging flames before the house was engulfed.

Where was it coming from?

I calmed down after a minute or two when I realized the entire valley below me was filled with smoke, not just my house. Thick and strong, it made breathing difficult; the sky tainted with a sickly pinkish hue. Somewhere a forest fire was raging.

Yesterday afternoon...

I turned on the Northwest News channel, and sure enough.  Three separate, out-of-control fires to the north, east and west of me with evacuations, homes in jeopardy, acres of trees burning to ash in the tinder-dry forests.

Smoke, like water, is impossible to keep out.  I could almost see it wafting under the door, sneaking in the windows, creeping up the stairs.  Last night sleeping was a misery, not just from the smell, but the residual heat from the blasted sun. It's still in the mid-90s, still no rain in sight, still no ease from one of the worst droughts on record.

Early this morning... 

Have you ever wondered what you would save, dear readers, in a scenario of "grab it and go?"  Are you prepared for an emergency?  I know that many folks around the LA area, during the Santa Ana winds and fires, keep what they want to save in their cars so all they have to do is get in and drive away. Last night I wondered what I would snag on my way out.  I wandered through the house, mentally discarding this, grabbing that, questioning myself over importance, what I could live without.

Bottom line?  I figure I could be out of the house in under 30 seconds. Purse, phone, camera, two dogs.  Toss everything in the car and hit the road.  Stuff doesn't matter in the whole scheme of things really, does it?  But living to fight another day sure does...

A Beauty and a Perfect Fit...

The other day I was at Michael's (the craft place) to find a frame for a photo I took of the BFF's very sweet dog, Lucky.  Whilst on the Idaho trip last month, we were sitting in her backyard at the picnic table when Lucky leaped onto the top like a gazelle--a very large gazelle--to join in the girl talk.  I had my camera close at hand because we were heading out on one of our excursions and in a most serendipitous moment, just as I raised my camera, she turned...

Lucky, the Chesapeake/Chocolate Lab beauty queen:

I'm going to send the shot to J, as a surprise, so was rummaging around in the frames and matts at Michael's looking for the right combination of colors and style.  I found the perfect frame, but the matt is still eluding me. Hopefully this idea won't end up being a Christmas present!

After my semi-success at Michael's, I went next door to Pier 1, just to see the cool Fall stuff.

In the Hallowe'en section, I spied this totally cool decorative piece that just called my name, and actually made me laugh out loud. When I got home and set it on the counter while I decided where to put it, I could hear Alan in my head, winding me up as he loved to do...

"What do you think?" I would say.
"Nice colors," he would respond, blue eyes twinkling. "Matches your broom."

Musings On An Elevator

Yesterday I was reading a short story--well, more like a novella--that was so clever and thought-provoking, I mulled over the plot well after I'd finished the story.  This isn't a book review, but let me give you the gist, dear readers:

Guy is in the elevator, girl shouts to hold the door.  As she rushes in, she drops her phone, her purse slips, her hair covers her face, the elevator door closes.  Neither person has gotten any kind of look at the other and as the elevator starts to drop, it abruptly jerks to a halt and everything goes pitch dark. The kicker?  The guy is afraid of the dark. Course, over the hours they're stuck, we learn why he's claustrophobic, but I loved the twist that she was the calming influence.

Basically, the whole tale takes place in the dark, in the elevator.  They told each other things that normally--in the light of day--they never would have revealed; secrets and fears, sadness and joy. And all without knowing what the other person looked like; no preconceived notions based on what they could see--just two voices in the small, enclosed space. It was a great premise. And a really good story.

So, after I was done reading, I couldn't stop thinking about how this couple got to know each other, sight unseen, when most likely they never would have met or had a conversation otherwise.  She was sort of high-powered exec, he was an EMT, but tattooed and pierced, and yet they had so many things in common.

How often do people disregard or judge others based on how they look?  All. The. Time. Every single moment.  Imagine the people we don't get to know, the stories we never share, the lives that will never touch ours...because of what we see in another--or think we see.

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On an entirely separate note, though still elevator-related, a memory was brought back to life by the story...

When I was a senior in high school, I had a most vivid and horrifying nightmare.  I can recall it just as clearly now:

I was going to the dentist.  His office was downtown, on the twelfth floor (as in real life). I got into the elevator with a woman and a baby in a stroller.  We got to the tenth floor and the elevator slammed to a stop, jolted up and down, then began to fall.  I will never forget that feeling, or the look of shock and terror on that woman's face.  I woke up just before the crash, my stomach in my throat, my body in a lurching arrhythmia of imminent death.

Two months later, I had a dentist appointment.  I stared at that elevator door.  When it opened, I couldn't force myself to step in.  Shaking, I turned away and took the stairs.  For years after--truly, years--I refused to take an elevator beyond the tenth floor.

In the world of dream interpretation, I still haven't figured that one out...