Over the Weather


Faced the day anew from the vantage point of the couch this morning. I’ve been holed up in my room sick as a bog (yes, bog, those things are foul) in bed for much of the week. Sleeping, dreaming, a hibernation of restoration.


Wish I could say all those hours down and out at least went to the art of reading, but no. The last time I really got immersed in a story was well over a year ago with Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One. Hmm, this photo visually recalls another. Yeah, the stack of books near my bed is outta control. Sometimes wish I had a second life where all I did was take in knowledge in every form that could then be USBed into my mind for this one.


Bringing old friends with me as I return to the land of food and sustenance today. Eggs, sourdough, marmalade, hot sauce. This is one of those live photos that captures a few seconds of sound and movement along with the image on an iPhone, and it’s really too bad that the frothing spitting sizzle of the browning butter crisping the edges of my eggs doesn’t translate to this page because, golly! A worthy little event to witness. And on the heels of nourishment? Audio visual needs met- finally gonna watch Hard Lovin’ Woman in a moment, a short documentary about Juliette Lewis. She’s crazy wonderful- her + a stage + all that manic energy = electric!


2016, I still love you, despite your harsh dealings with us, the people of this world. Defiantly declaring life is good, and will do so forever more. The camper on a ferry ride last year told me so.


Now, if I could just get a ton of snow for about three days straight past the point of this pretty frost nonsense. Thanks, 2017. ♦



I’ve got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle. Eh, not really. So I just Googled “no Christmas spirit as an adult.” It’s lacking this year, and I’m curious what the world has to say about it. The top search returns? Adult hospice events. Yikes! Turns out I typed in “ni” instead of “no” which connected me with “Northern Ireland Hospice Care.” A lack of spirit doesn’t seem quite so bad now. ♦

When Your Umbrella Keeps Opening In the Front Seat

And that’s how my week started off. Favorite umbrella, sporadic releasing mechanism, passenger’s side, freeway, crikey! Multiple openings, and though my lane control may’ve suffered momentarily, I’ve lived to tell about it. And still love umbrellas!

Gonna take a moment from wrap-wrap-wrapping to switch to a little write-write-writing. My home smells like spices- rich, Christmasey, and comforting. I’ll have to fend off an evening nap soon, I’m sure. I swear my eyes were just open, it was merely September, I’ve blinked and ka-plow!- Christmas next week! Only threw up some garland, bows, a few lights and a little greenery this time around.


Here stands the humble and lovely tree, fake though it may be. First fake tree ever! Bah-flippin’-humbug! I ALWAYS have a real one as the main tree! Harumpf. Fake ones are welcome in other rooms as long as they boast something fakely fun in the color, tinsel, or flockery department. I didn’t have the heart to pester my Dad and his now sore knees nor Shane to help lug the tree upstairs and into place, though I know they’d both have done so. Shane and Bean bought a house and just got moved in several weeks ago so they’re a tad busy. In faux tree contrast, this was THE YEAR of people heading up into the woods to chop one down and bring it home, it seems. Never gone that route. Next year. Next yearing life away.



Spotted this fun Christmas kitsch near a hitch while lunching with some ladies yesterday. This is the first year I’ve not put a wreath on my car. Glad to see they’ve done so. Step it up, Davis! Time to return to all the wrapping, and forego the napping despite the settee demanding attention. ♦