Saturday, July 30, 2016


We must be getting better at this because I haven’t woken up once thinking, Shampoo!

Friday, July 29, 2016

Thanks, Donny

Again I find myself grateful to Donald Trump, although sadly, the first time my gratitude was premature. (Bless you, Donald Trump)

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Livestock and Projects

      I glanced over the kitchen sink last night and saw movement below the window.

Monday, July 25, 2016


Does this make sense to you? 
Do my "native" hot houses differ in some magical "local" way from hot houses in say, Virginia or North Dakota?

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Saturday, July 23, 2016

A day gang aft agley

     Today I woke up with no real agenda and spent the morning drifting about watering plants in the yard, reading emails, and out on the deck drinking my tea with the newspaper.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Table for one

          In the course of today’s errands I slowed down for a moment or two of reflection. 

Monday, July 18, 2016

Horror in the dentist's chair

You could say last week was a festival for my head: first the ophthalmologist, then the dentist.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Brexit Exit

I’ve always been grateful my husband never went into politics. Maybe, just maybe, I could have managed being charming and fully dressed on a fairly regular schedule, but introductions have me completely beat. When I meet someone for the first time, I do the whole ‘repeat the name back’ thing and even try creating a picture in my mind with their name. No dice. Seconds later that name is wiped as clean as a school blackboard at 3:15.

Pity poor Mrs. Cameron. All that time shaking hands, asking after each child (by name, no less) of a constituent she hasn’t seen since hubby last ran for PM in 2010. And where did it get her? Frantically rounding up the toothbrushes and Larry the cat’s food bowls.

Last I heard, David Cameron was sticking around for a couple more months to help smooth the Brexit transition. Then out of the blue comes the announcement that today is his last day in office. Now David and Samantha are reduced to calling relatives to see who has a spare room.

Do the furnishings at 10 Downing remain for the next tenant as they do at the White House? At least that will simplify a move so sudden that you can’t help but check to see if the First Couple is being trailed by creditors.

And how does taking up residence at one of these stately homes work? Is it similar to the house we rent every year at Cape Cod? You know, couches (saggy) and dinette set (a bit worse for wear) are provided, but you have to bring your own sheets and towels.

My husband only ever reached the lofty position of Finance Committee in town, thankfully an appointed position. Looks like I came out ahead – we’ll have been in our house twenty years this January.

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Caught between a litter box and a leash

We’ve been mired in a quandary here for weeks, asking ourselves – should we pull our feet out of our big metaphorical boots into the sloppy world of risk and commitment?

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Bean Binge

          The email from L.L.Bean trumpeted “20% Off!” so in an idle moment I scouted through the sale section to see if it might be possible to acquire a swimsuit for less than the cost of a week’s worth of groceries.

Monday, July 4, 2016

Christmas in July

     While we're on the subject of bike rides, here's a picture from another outing last week.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Slip of the mind

          The goal yesterday was a chunk of the bike trail from Easthampton to Northampton, about eight miles round trip. Biking still doesn’t come naturally to me - I only finally learned how to ride about five years after my kids did. But the sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, and more importantly, there was the prospect of a nice lunch afterwards. What could go wrong?

          The ride was like many before. Trees swept by on either side, we caught glimpses of backyards, and even went by a riding academy with the students in a row on their horses. We passed bicyclists going the other way, some riding two abreast, blissfully ignorant of my tendency to wobble unexpectedly into the other lane. I was still drawn like a lemming is to the sea to the four foot posts in the middle of the path marking intersections, and I almost ran into the sides of a bridge over the highway twice.
 At one point I had the bad judgment to release the handlebar long enough to adjust my tee shirt, nearly capsizing into the poison ivy creeping onto the asphalt. By mile five, certain parts of my body gave new meaning to the term “pants of fire”, and I marveled at how my husband, the man who causes me to hold my breath every time he descends our basement stairs, could swing so effortlessly backwards to check on me.

So lunch was well-earned and quite good – I had a grilled cheese sandwich mounded with fresh spinach and fat slices of tomato – but on the way back to the car we realized that our favorite water bottle was missing. I had a sinking recollection of parking it on the bumper ‘momentarily’ while we strapped the bikes to the rack. Instead of heading to the highway, back we went to the car park we had started from. 

We were halfway there when bone chilling noises filled the air. “This is it!” I thought. “Our 19 year old SUV has finally dropped an axle.” Fortunately, we were on a quiet road and we able to pull over immediately. 

The long arm of the Thule bike rack had dropped 90 degrees, dragging the bikes behind us on the road for at least fifty feet. After much untangling and assessing of damage, we managed to anchor the rack back up, tie the bikes on with some rope we had with us, and limp by way of back roads to our bike shop 45 minutes away.
Note the unnatural bend at bottom
They assured us the patients might survive and it might be no worse that a few bent wheels. 

Somehow the clip that holds the whole shebang must not have been securely in place. Hmmm. Makes my forgotten water bottle seem like not such a big deal after all, particularly since we could have been sailing down the highway at 60 miles an hour when disaster struck.