Foggy Bottom Fireflies Flashing for a Mate

 Fireflies, a shining, luminescent mystery of nature. 

I love a mystery. 

I love watching the fireflies flashing their mysterious abdomens in the dusk shrouded woods along Spring Creek, a short distance from our Texas home. 

Sue and I sometimes finish our dinner before the long Texas summer sun sinks into the west. "Leave the dished for later, you wanna go watch fireflies with me?" I ask my girl. She always says "Yep; just let me put some shoes on. Let's go!"

We like to sit on a bench along side the trail, just off the Cretaceous limestone meadow and a few steps into the darkening woods at dusk. It's a grand place to hold hands and watch the frequent warm yellow-green glow of sparking fireflies.

We had a nice thunderstorm pass through in the afternoon, driving away the Texas heat in a humid pleasantness. We skipped along in the growing darkness on a meadow path through wildflowers on the last day of May. Just as the sun goes down, the flirting frenzy of flashing fireflies lights up the undergrowth. 

 

Perhaps we were a wee bit late to the mating dance this night. The flashing males were either a bit spent or many had already gotten lucky, landing alongside a female winking in response to his signaling search. The light show was not as intense and twinkling as we'd seen in these woods on evenings past.

It's still a wonder to behold the cool, bioluminescence of these beetles, one of my favorite things in Texas. With the show winding to a halt as the night shade thickened about us, we left the meadow and the hanging tatters of ground fog. It was a worthwhile event to witness. Ah, the season for splendor in the grass.

For a spontaneous surprise, I took my lady to Feng Cha, a specialty Chinese tea and drink place, on our the way home.  Maybe I can't make my abdomen light up in a lurid, sexy flashing glow this early summer evening; but I have my own ways of getting my girls attention.

Let's go home and make me glow.

Bountiful Bouquets in our Blackland Prairie

 The spring of 2023 is an outstanding one for Texas wildflowers. 

I returned to Texas in March and as I often do, I took time to wander out to the city's nearby Holford Nature Preserve, an undeveloped remnant of the blackland prairie, remaining wild along Spring Creek. Holford Preserve is a rarity in these parts, a variety of habitats tucked together with a spectacular flowering meadow developed on thin, black clay soil over Cretaceous limestone. 

The open, hardscrabble landscapes makes for a huge variety of wildflowers that appear in the parade of days from March through early summer.

I thought I'd share a few of my friends living out in the Holford Preserve...

Firewheel cluster

Flowering cactus

A family of Firewheels

Shy lavender forest-dweller

Sue suggests that I should take  photographs of a bunch of these Texas wildflowers and have them printed on cards and sell them on Etsy or somewhere.

I think it is a good idea. I just need to bring a tripod with me and get all of these vernal beauties in focus and find a print shop.

Some day...

 

Mother's Day Picnic in the Park

Our traditional cheesy Mother's Day Picnic

 

It's a good tradition. 

It's a cheesy tradition.

It's our tradition.

Mother's Day is noted on the calendar and we know we have to pick a picnic park place. We've done city parks, we've done rural grassland preserves, we picnicked by lakes and by creeks. We've driven far, we've stayed pretty close to home.

We always buy a fun and flavorful assortment of exotic cheeses to pack into the basket. Sometimes I surprise the Mother of our kiddos with my own cheese selections. More often these days we shop the cheese counter together.

To go along with the cheese, we always include ginger beer, a few samples of fruit and sometimes nuts and always gluten free crackers (unless we forget).

With the Mother's Day weather threatening thunderstorms, we elected the nearby Breckenridge City Park with a roofed pavilion. 

We enjoyed our six varieties of cheese, discussing our favorites. Tossing back strawberries and sipping ginger beer.

We repacked our picnic supplies and wandered down the sloping walks of Breckenridge to stroll among the wildflowers and under the large trees along Spring Creek.

Wildflowers in a plot of poppies and larkspur.

The skies grew gray, the storm front caught up to us and we began to skip quickly back to the car, dancing between large rain drops as the sky growled with thunder.

It was satisfying afternoon of cheese and walks among the flowers and trees with a worthy and beloved mother.

Here, I raise my fermented curd to all of those moms we do so dearly love! Fromage!

Sweet Magnolia

 Ah, Magnolia.

MAG-noh-lee-a. Just to pronounce her name, one's tongue has to saunter about in your mouth as your lips leisurely stroll about your face. One has to smile when merely mentioning her name. It's even more enigmatic and sensuous when the syllables are drawn out in a baritone. Mag NOOO lee ah!

The massive and fragrant citrus-scented blossoms are full, buxom beauties that open for my arrival back in springtime Texas. 

I greet her bold, unfurling petals with enthusiasm. I bend the supple boughs down to bring her audacious white blooms to my nose, I inhale and my being rises, enveloped in the scent of a southern spring while in the intimate presence of her petals; pure white appearing fresh in the humid morning air. She grows in confidence, spreading, opening her cool, succulent textured skin as she exposes herself to the smile of the sun.

 

Magnolia is a messy, big-boned gal. Her leaves broad, tough and waxy green with a furry, brassy underside. Her blossoms are not shy, halting in their purity and challenging for the world's attention in their enormity. 

I love a brassy, bold, large-leafed, bright blossomed girl with a sweet scent giving me a show in our backyard.

Like the pleasant spring weather in Texas, Magnolia does not terry long. 

She gives me an eye full, proudly displaying her attributes, then quickly tiring of the grandiosity of the adventure, and then it is over for us.

Her virgin white petals after a day or two, turn into the sensuous brown skin of a south seas island maiden before all the feminine, flowery pretense falls to the ground. Leaving a grenade formed of hard, prickly pods embedded with red seeds, bright and alluring.

My mulching mower makes her leaves, petals and pods all disappear as I tend to the green grass skirting her smooth trunk. I cut and trim around her in the Texas summer heat with but memories of Sweet Magnolia and our springtide fling.

Rolling with My Repairs - like a Bowling Ball

When I drove back into Garland on March 20th, there were many an item to repair; the blown down fence, the tortoise burrow, the fallen tree limbs in that the city Code Enforcement disliked, the non-functioning air conditioning in the warming Texas spring, the non-spinning washing machine, the dead car battery and maybe my marriage. I added all of these to my scheduled personal repair set for March 30, 2023. 

When I came to on the morning of March 30th, I had three holes drilled into me like a bowling ball.

I'd been wobbling around for awhile, not feeling like I was rolling straight and true. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like I wasn't always in my lane. I checked myself and determined I was rolling some gutter balls.  It wasn't getting any better either.

In fact, I was getting worse, having the unpleasant sensation of having to tuck my guts back up inside me when they oozed out too far. Something had to be done.

Tired of the late winter dismal solitude to which I had assigned myself in order to get my dream house built on Pilchuck Creek, I jump to a solution. I spontaneously booked a flight in February to the warmer climes of Texas and the warmth of my wife under shared blankets. While back in Dallas I scheduled an appointment with surgeon Birdwell. I told Birdwell I had a hernia. 

He checked me and said "No, mister you have two."

As some of you know, I am all about value. I and Birdwell dicker and I end up getting a 2-for-1 deal! I am excited by my bargain surgery. But -- Should I be?

Flashing my Medicare Card and Part D Supplemental Insurance for this newly certified old guy with oozing intestines, I scheduled an operation for the end of March. 

I was told by the my scheduling nurse that my surgery was going to be conducted with "the robot." She informed me, "the surgeons all love to use the robot, so it is good that we are setting up your operation this far in advance so Dr. Birdwell can call dibs on the robot."

She made it sound like this was a good thing. I had images from the movie Alien, where an egg-laying insectivorous alien in outer space would deposit her eggs in the thorax of a human, only to have them gestate and explode out of the poor victim's body. What a horrifying mess. Not a good image for me to hold as I go into surgery to meet a robot.

So I move on, only to have my mind snap from visual to audio; playing in my mind, The Flaming Lips song, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.

It is not far off to sing about oozing hips battling the medical robots.

+++

We are up at 5:30 Friday. I am fasting, so getting-ready-time is quick with no breakfast. Sue drives me to North Dallas Surgery Center for my 7 AM check-in. We witness no less than three vehicles running red lights in front of us at this early hour. What? Is everybody running late for surgery?

Dr. Birdwell is a little late (should have run a red light I guess), so my OR visit will be around 8:30 instead of 8. My name, operating theater and estimated time are posted on an electronic keno board, like airport flight arrival and departure information for Sue to monitor. I sleep like a dead man thanks to the anesthesiologist's good work. But unlike Michael Jackson, I wake up.

All has gone pretty well, or so I am told. In this case the good robots won the battle and put my guts back where they belong. Now I have to be strong, discipline my body, eat lots of vitamins and not lift anything greater than ten pounds for two weeks.

When I am in my right mind and now ready to be clothed, Sue comes in around the curtain to my bed and hands me my slippers. Over the next few weeks I will be practicing my 'bunny dips' as I recover from abdominal surgery.

I have but three small holes poked into me just below my ribcage. No stiches, the holes have been filled with super glue that will wear off in a few weeks. I am to see Dr. Birdwell in two weeks to check on my healing. 

Yoshimi drives me home so I can meet with the AC repairman at 1 this afternoon.

Yoshimi bakes brownies and makes a smoothie at my request. She gets busy and I shuffle into the kitchen to make dinner for the both of us, a simple shrimp boil supper with a remoulade dipping sauce enjoyed under newly repaired air conditioned dining and newly repaired intestines. 

I am tender, but thankful for the robots and only three tiny holes, rather than a scalpel and a groin incision and lots of stiches. 

I heal up pretty good listening to the Flaming Lips and watching Sigourney Weaver battle aliens with robots. 

Broken Things Back on the Home Front

Up home in the Pacific Northwest, spring is lingering in the wings. In February I tossed out a bunch of grass seed around the muddy perimeter of the house construction site, believing winter is all but gone. Only to have the anticipated spring weather cowered by a return to the gray, overcast skies and temperatures in the 40s F. 

I hear the annual call from the taxman - personal taxes are due April 18th. My tax files and info are stored there in Texas. I got to get back and file from my Texas home. 

I get calls from my wife in Texas about storm damage, as does happen in the topsy turvy Texas springtime meteorological cycle. Texas spring has its thunderstorms, tornadoes, pelting rains and forceful winds. 

I also hear the call to return to my wife after many months of separation. I am called upon to come home and take care of a few things around the house.

I get a call from my surgeon reminding me of proper preparation and prompt schedules for me at the end of March. I need to hurry back to meet Dr. Birdwell and his robotic knife. 

My dance card is full. This tune will be the ol' Texas Two Step and more!

I check the routes over the mountains between my home in Washington and my home in Texas. Freak snows, late-season heavy snows, send out cautionary messages to me, the overland traveler. I heed the calls to return, but I also heed the weather warnings; I will plan out a safer, slower, southern route for my calls to come back home.  

Homecoming, Spring 2023: I find many items in need of repair, some planned, others not, having all come to the fore to greet my arrival. I find everything is broken or about to be...

The week prior to my arrival in Garland, Sue had extremely strong winds and a tornado watch one night. No tornado, but several panels of my fence were blow off their posts, shingles torn from the backyard shed roof along with the dropping of a couple of large limbs from our pear tree. 

I arrived in Garland Monday evening, 3-20, the four head of tortoise we run there in Texas were stirring and were ready for the great outdoors, having awoken from their long winter's nap of hibernation. But with a broken down fence, they were forced to stomp around inside our house (their winter quarters) until I went to Home Depot and got some fence rail lumber to reconstruct the destruction of their secure enclosure ringing their backyard pasture. 

I spent a day rebuilding the fence and not doing taxes because I like reptiles more than I like the IRS. I'm pleased to say Isaac, Chomper, Morpheus and Li'l (Tex) Vortex are now happily grazing on dandelions in the enclosure during these warm Texas spring days.

An expected repair, my 4Runner was in need of an oil change after 2550 miles driven. I checked into the local Toyota dealership. The multipoint inspection included a warning that I needed a new battery, my current one was failing to hold a charge. I declined the dealership's battery installation and thought I'd look for a new Interstate brand battery later in the week. I didn't have that luxury. It did not start the next morning in my garage. 

An unexpected repair. I found a service that would come out and put in an Interstate battery for the cost of what the dealership was going to charge. I was pleased to have the service and that also meant another day of avoiding doing my taxes.

I tried a mid-week laundry run with my travel clothes, only to discover that the washing machine spin cycle does not spin. It takes a long time to dry clothes that are soaking wet, hanging outside in the warm spring Texas breeze. I see yet another repair needed around here. Later.

The weather was in the 70's; the fence repaired, the tortoises were happy being outside and it was time to switch to A/C from heat inside. I come back inside after a day of cutting up the fallen pear branches for which the City Code Enforcer cited me. Inside the house I think it should be cooler than it is. The thermostat is programmed for 74, the house is still at 79. 

I call the guy who installed the HVAC system in 2017. He can't be there until Saturday, early Saturday. 

How early I ask? Around 8. 

I call and leave a message after 9. Nine is not around 8 in my book. 

I get a text that he's sick. But, he can be out tomorrow if I can wait. 

What time Sunday? Around 10.

This time I don't bother to call after his no-show. 

On Monday I call another company. They will be out Tuesday. They arrive as promised. They look at the situation and tell me I have a bad control board. They tell me is looks like it is under warranty. I will pay shipping, about $25 for the part.

They call me back later and tell me they do not usually work with Lennox systems. I should find another company to do the work. 

I call Lennox in South Carolina, they do not have a list of repairmen in Garland, but they do have a supplier. I call the local supplier. They have a recommendation. I call and get my 3rd company to set an appointment for Thursday. He checks out my system as tells me my control board works just fine, but that the disconnect breaker was put in upside down. He switched it and the unit fires up. He then tells me that I may be low on Freon from a leak, he'll be back tomorrow to check my levels. There will be a labor charge, but no parts are needed.

I tell him to make it afternoon on Friday, rather than the morning. 

I have surgery scheduled for Friday morning. This time it me who needs some repair work done.

I am out of the OR, groggy but scheduled to meet the A/C repairman at 1. I move to the door very gingerly in my sweats and Hawaiian shirt with hospital ID bracelet in place and IV gauze wrapped around my wrist.

It is a day of repairs. I get 3 1/2 lbs of Freon in my AC system.

I get my intestines tucked back in place in my digestive system. 

Sue makes brownies and a smoothie for me. My pampered convalescence was short-lived. I end up cooking our dinner that night of shrimp with a spicy romualde sauce.  Moving around in the kitchen is what the surgeon recommends to keep my internal stitches from getting too tight. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't. Standing is fine. Sleeping on my back is fine. Transitioning between the two is difficult.

We are two days past April Fools Day. The jokes keep coming. 

Surgery on Friday. Day #2 was the most tinder, but by Monday I'm doing pretty well. The washing machine clutch was replaced this afternoon, so I stayed home and did not do my taxes. The fence is up, my car battery is working, the city is happy that my unsightly yard is clean, the broken doorknob on the laundry closet was replace. Progress all. 

And just maybe tomorrow I will get back to my taxes. But right now my wife has a lemon meringue pie waiting for me. Isn't life worth repairing so one can enjoy a homemade pie?

Leaving Home to Return Home - 4th Day's Journey

 Up in the frosty Gallup morning air, reluctant to burn daylight, I skip breakfast and strap myself behind the wheel.

As a seasoned traveler, I know I can get inexpensive fuel in Childress, TX (at $2/gal cheaper than CA!), so I make it my last fueling stop before Garland. I pull into the pumps at the Walmart outpost way up along the Red River in Texas. 

As I finish calculating my mileage for the last leg driven, a foreign fellow claiming to be "from tourist" asked to speak with me at the pump. He had a wife and kids in the car. Said he'd lost his documents, wallet and papers and needed money to get to LA. His English and hers was pretty good for being "from tourist." He offered me his 'gold' chain and 'gold' ring, demanding I give him $200 or more - he'd repay me double later if I gave him my address. A great deal he insisted. His wife pleaded with me hurry and close the 'deal' to feed her hungry children. 

I told him I don't carry $200 cash and I do not engage in gold jewelry transactions at Walmart gas pumps. He turned to shout at his wife in a foreign tongue. 

I thought I should tell him that in America anyone can call for help using the three numbers 9-1-1. I thought maybe I would call for him and tell the authorities in Childress that a visitor was in trouble and had to sell his gold for cash. 

I figured the sheriff would come and say, "Howdy stranger, us friendly folks in Texas would like to help out a family man in need and get you in touch to recover your documents. But listen up mister, if you is out here kickin' up a thieving ruckus in these parts, we'll hang you."  But I just left with all of my money in my wallet and my self esteem in tact for having not fallen for his scam.

At the other end of my journey from The Pilchuck, I too have still unfinished things down in the Lone Star State. Federal taxes are large and painful this year, complicated by the fact that we are married, filing a joint return with me a resident of Washington, my wife a resident of Texas. I'm hoping to claw back a few of the tax burden my itemizing all of the WA sales tax I've paid in building the house.

Great to be home! I have things to do and have I have the pleasure of getting re-acquainted with my wife. Yet, she has a job, and I have plenty of things to do. Many of which will be neither inexpensive or fun.

Leaving Home to Return Home - 3rd Day's Journey

 Breakfast the next morning, after a night of San Joaquin Valley rainfall, was home cooked at Pam's house. I got a late start, but I did not regret the extra time with the two ladies who had welcomed be back. There was more rain as I drove down Highway 99 to Bakersfield where I planned to cross over the Tehachapis and cut through the Mojave and catch Old Route 66; Barstow, Needles, Kingman,  - don't forget Winona, and into Winslow, Arizona. 

I called Sue from Winslow, and told her that: 

There's a girl my lord, 

in a flat bed Ford, 

slowing down to take a look at me. 

She warned me: 

Not to let the sound of my own wheels drive me crazy. 

I told her: 

I'd like to sleep with you in the desert tonight with a million stars all around... 

I did not have the Eagles CD in my audio player, but I didn't need to, I was living it.

I had filled the tank in Tehachapi with exorbitantly priced California gasoline, calculating this might be my last fuel stop in this highly taxed state. I was hoping to make a run through the Mojave and get across the border to fairly priced fuel in Arizona. I admit, I was a bit concerned; checking frequently the 'estimated range' readout on my dash. Do I stop and pay the price in Needles, or do I push to get across the Colorado River border and save some coin? I estimate I have a limited amount of fuel, maybe 20 more miles or less. I roll the dice and go gentle on the accelerator. I coast into cheap gasoline at Mile Marker 8 in Arizona. I am relieved.

Now fueled and flying into the lingering twilight of the eastern sky, I find that I-40, stretching through parts of Arizona, was unfortunately pocked with large potholes generated by a winter of heavy snow and ice. I passed by a few stranded motorists where their low clearance cars had hit these road hazards at high Interstate speeds and had their tires blown out and shredded and their wheel rims bent to hell. It was sad to see 2 or 3 cars on the side of this isolated stretch of road, disabled by the same wicked pothole, waiting for tow trucks to come from miles away. The state Highway Dept. trucks were desperately throwing asphalt patches into the breech. Too late for those half dozen disabled motorists I passed with my larger, high clearance tires as I now zigged and zagged around these pitfalls. 

I had snow falling on my windshield in Flagstaff. I remembered camping in Prescott, AZ as a family in March (1970?) and waking to 6" of snow before we folded the tent trailer and headed to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. We stayed in the rim-side hotel and got a wonderful hot bath in a claw-footed tub and I ate 14 pounds of fresh strawberries at dinner that night. Memories were frequent and good all along my route. 

I had reservations that night at a basic room in Gallup, NM and was gratified that the gas heat fired up quickly and efficiently warmed my room as snow and sleet fell in the darkness outside.

I text Pam and Carole whom I left in my rearview mirror in Madera at the beginning of the day, telling them I arrived in Gallup, as they had requested. I don't know what they could have done if I didn't make my preordained destination. But, they were kind hostesses to me and I returned the small favor of letting them know I was not swallowed in a desert pothole and was not stranded under a saguaro cactus.

I slept well. Dreaming of being home once again with a wife and a house in need of many a serious chore once I arrived back home in Texas from my home in Washington.

Tomorrow, Gallup to Garland was a doable day. The New Mexico geology is always a beautiful and fascinating trip for me. I'd love to spend winters in NM and bask in the orange sandstone canyons of this part of the country. 

Leaving Home to Return Home - 2nd Day's Journey

I dislike burning my daylight on my road trips, therefore I was up early and ready to roll in the morning. While tossing my bag into the back of my SUV, I found a stowaway in my, a field mouse from WA had been living in my vehicle and took a ride with me. I brushed her out and wished her well, having trapped 18 of her family already over the past few months in my root cellar at The Pilchuck. The field mouse now lives in exile next to the Great American Pizza Company in Ashland. 

Over the highest elevation pass on I-5 and across the border into my natal state of California. Mt. Shasta was covered with snow as I passed through Weed, CA with plenty of snow still on the shoulder of the highway as well. Pleased to see Lake Shasta with some water in the reservoir, unlike the dry lake bottom the last several times I've passed along that way. The fruit and nut trees of the Sacramento Valley were in bloom and lots of wild flowers visible at the edge of the fields as I swept down toward Sacramento, passing exits to Marysville and Yuba City - where it all began for me. March is a spectacular time to be in California. I put the Beach Boys CD into my audio player for some old times sake.

I had arrange to see Pam and Carol, a couple of High School friends in Madera. At the last minute, Carol offered me a bed at her place, insisting that I should not rent a cheap room on A Street in Madera, otherwise I might not live to see the next day she thought. Carol is a bit of a catastrophist. But I was grateful for her invitation and spacious digs offered by Carol in my old home town.

We three had dinner together at Carol's, caught up a bit on each other's lives and doings and a few glances back to old times nearly 50 years ago. Madera was a place of 16,000 souls when I was there in High School, now the sign says 61,000. By all accounts, it is not the same, and it is worse. 

Life moves on. But it was good to reconnect with a few people from my past.

Leaving Home to Return Home - 1st Day's Journey

My years of living my 'One, Long, Strange Trip' continues: I packed light and got a midmorning start on St. Patrick's Day on my drive to Texas. I usually make the drive in 3 days, crossing the Cascades and the Rockies into Wyoming and Colorado before sweeping south to New Mexico and into Texas. With the atmospheric river still making news and making frozen precipitation, I decided to travel due south on I-5 until I got close to the California desert and then turn east to Texas, thus avoiding the complications of snowy mountain passes this time of year. I planned on 4 days of travel.

I left The Pilcuck with a few things still unfinished; some flooring still to be put in the office tower, deck rails yet to be bid and installed and much of the interior millwork; window sills, door casements and base boards remain to be painted and put in place. Also, the final connecting decking from the front sidewalk up to the front porch remains to be built in my absence - I refer to this elevated ramp connecting part of the walk to the front porch as 'the drawbridge'. My contractor likes the terminology and I tell him that when I come back from Texas I want a moat under my drawbridge and I will put in a pair of Texas alligators in the moat. 

The night before I left The Pilchuck, I knew I'd missed Sister Sheri's (and Tony's) birthday, so I bought a generic card and planned to draw an armadillo inside and drop it off on their doorstep on my way south. Standing in the check-out line, a young boy asked me what I was buying, and I told him I was a bad brother and I was trying to make it up by delivering a late armadillo birthday card to my sister. He asked, 'What's an armadillo?" 

I told him it was a famous animal that lives in Texas and likes to drink beer on the side of country roads. He asked. "What's beer?"

I told him it was Texas silly juice. His mother thanked me for the education of her son and I paid my money and left them at the checkout with their groceries and a few things to think about. 

Sheri got her card, secretly delivered after a quick dodge off my I-5 route to hand deliver it to her house in Tumwater and then a return to my travels down the 'Main Street' of the American West, a route which I would hold for the next two days.

From Tumwater I called Inga in Portland and asked if she would be available for lunch around 1 as I was heading through Portland. She and Sean welcomed me. I suggested Mediterranean cuisine, but we ended up with Hawaiian tasty treats on Alberta Street at one of their favorite local places. Then, back on the road to the south end of Oregon.

Night 1 was in Ashland, OR. Across the motel parking lot was a pizza joint. I slipped in for a slice for dinner and started a conversation with a local. He told me last week the interstate was closed by all of the 18 wheelers parked at a stand still due to ice and snow covering the pass into California. 

Timing is everything. 

Swiss Weather

 Today, March 2, I enjoy the snowfall. 

Today's weather I believe comes to us from Switzerland. 

I look at the pattern of snow covering my back steps and I see Swiss Cheese. 

I look at the trees and I see Swiss Alps.

Beauty in a Mudpuddle

 I rise from my warm bed on the first day of March. I shower and dress and walk down into the chilled air to open the gate to my property. It is a routine, yet it is a beneficial routine to rise and walk the land and see what this new day looks like.

I stop to admire the pattern formed in the ice coating a mudpuddle in the driveway on my way to the gate. Concentric rings of ice have formed along the edges of the water overnight, I am thinking that a series of freeze-thaw events have created this geode-like layering in the crystalline structure.

I pause in my purposeful walk to enjoy the beauty in a mudpuddle on a crisp March morning.

Bloomin' 92!

 It's not everyday that one turns 92 years old, is it?

With that in mind, Sheri put together a gathering of all the family here in Washington to celebrate dad's 92nd birthday.

It has long been an observation by the Suneson family that King Alfred Daffodils bloom on Alfred Suneson's February 10th birthday. Dad and blooming daffodils are synonymous, synchronous and eponymous.  

Brisket, pork and chicken barbeque were ordered and we each brought a side dish to go with the limited carbohydrate birthday spread.

It is all the more special of a celebration when four generations can gather together. Atop the generational pyramid is Dad, flanked by his three 'kids', me and my two sisters. Generation 3 was represented by Wendy's son Brian and his wife Amy and they arrived late, needing to give Ellie, Generation 4, a chance to nap longer when the opportunity arrived.                                                        

Sheri's daffodil center pieces graced counter top and table amidst the cooked meats, baked breads and ultimately, the birthday cake and ice cream.

Brian and Amy dig into the birthday celebration

Birthday celebration meal finished, dessert served, dishes cleared and the planned family excursion to a waterfront state park was rethought. It was decided with the extended time we spent around the table together, we had burned much of our allotted February daylight here in the Pacific Northwest. It quickly decided that we would reroute the excursion to Tumwater Falls. This is the founding site of the defunct Olympia Beer Brewery, with the motto, "It's the water - and a lot more!"

We walked along the edge of tumbling waters and perched on the bridge that spans the falls that appeared on the can of Oly Beer. Dad gets along pretty dang well for 92, most of his peers are using walkers, canes or wheelchairs. Always something to celebrate, no? 

Tony scrambles to get in the frame with Brian, Ellie, Amy Wendy, Dad, Barth and Sheri

Bridge over Tumwater Falls

Would've liked to make a toast with a glass of Olympia Beer, but I'll settle for just the water - and a lot more.

Feast

 It was a feast in mid-winter, the food was real good,

We had turkey and fixin's in a house build of wood,

Our builder has kindly done way more the he should,

With great thanks we feasted him, so down in his belly he understood.

Sue Cook back cooking on The Pilchuck. Isn't that gravy?

We were dedicated to the task of giving a home-cooked feast of thanks to our general contractor, Phil. In the six years since the house burned to the ground, Phil has tirelessly watched the property, replaced the gate and its locks numerous times, chased off malicious trespassers and fought with the county permitting bureaucracies to get this rebuild off the ground.

I happen to know his favorite meal is a roasted turkey. Sue and I planned to honor Phil's efforts above and beyond what any other contractor would have done for us with a feast. It would be like Thanksgiving, only in January.

We shopped all over Arlington looking for a post-holiday turkey. We eventually
found 3 at Safeway. Entre secured, we had an easier time with the sweet potatoes, breaded stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberries and of course, Sue's exceptional home-baked pumpkin pie (with a dollop of whipped cream).

One of Phil's recent tales of woe; he cooked a recent Thanksgiving dinner and had his bitchy ex-wife crash the event with her boyfriend and when she left his table, she took all of the leftovers which Phil was looking forward to savoring in the coming days. For some justice and compensation, we sent Phil home with more than plenty of the leftovers this time. 

Phil deserves some good. And without a doubt, Sue served up some good home cooking in our new kitchen (installed by Phil).

DIY By the Cedar Your Planks

 Susan comes to town for Christmas. Oh by golly, it's a holly jolly holiday. It's the best time of the year. I take her to our new home, it is a phoenix home. 

On this spot was her home where she was born and raised. 

On this spot rises a new home from the ashes of her former home that was torched by arsonist in 2016.

On this spot, we still have a construction site, but we do have a decent and habitable dwelling. It is a good place to spend Christmas 2022 together and it is a good place to ring in the New Year for 2023 together.

The cold and snowy weather and the restful holidays keep the contractors at bay as we try out living together in a new space with limited interruptions from workmen on the premises. Yet, there are touches and additions still to be done in 2023 before our house is a home and we are granted the coveted Certificate of Occupancy by the county inspector.

In the spirit of building our home together, there are sixty-six raw, cedar planks  sitting in the basement in need of a finishing stain before they are mounted on the vaulted ceiling in the master bedroom. 

Susan dons, if not not gay apparel (fa-la-la, la la-la-la-la-la!); some of my most undistinguished clothes, and with brush in hand, administers a coat of stain to the cedar planks as she hums a yule tide carol... Fa-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la!

An elf in Santa's Basement Workshop, staining cedar lath to be mounted on the Master BR ceiling

Santa checks his list, then he's back checking it twice. Santa wants to know if these are nice cedar planks?

The elf in the workshop replies, "Why no Santa, these are knotty cedar planks."

Dazzle Me!

December's snow has turned to water, 

Christmas Days have come and gone; 

memories and dazzling colors are all that's left to linger on. 

[John Prine - sort of]

Sue and I paid a visit to dad, a two hour drive south to Tumwater, caught up with him in person and picked up a bedroom dresser that was mom's and mirror to haul back and put in the new house. We had supper with Sheri and Tony before driving back north on I-5.

The Tulalip Tribe has a large casino on I-5 in Marysville, just 12 miles from The Pilchuck. The Indians do have a flare for celebrating, 4th of July with the Swinomish Tribe in La Conner is spectacular and the Tulalip casino at Christmas is arrestingly dazzling in its own right.

Almost home, driving north at 9 PM on a frigid early January evening, to our left the winter's darkness is magically dispelled around the casino by light-wrapped trees. One can not help but be favorably impressed by the sight. One of the wonderful little things about having my wife with me is the opportunity to dash into a spontaneous adventure. I likely would not have deviated from my route home if I were traveling alone. It's different when you are traveling as a couple. It is fun to be married and to still look for chances to dazzle my sweetheart.

We sped past the display of a myriad holiday lights and some comments were made, something like, "I wonder how many lights are out there? How long does it take to put them up? They sure are pretty..."

I exited the interstate and made a U-turn across the overpass. My passenger shot a gleeful look at me, "Are we going to the casino?" 

I executed my U-turn, "I'm going to attempt to dazzle you, my love. Are you prepared to be dazzled?" 

She just beamed as we pulled into the parking lot. This was going to be a fun detour. We didn't have the warmest of coats for this 25 F night, but we could link arms and huddle close together as we strolled among the Tulalip Christmas Lights.

Beaming wife Dazzled by casino Christmas lights

Wandering the grounds was a bit of fun, post-holiday magic. I always liked taking a girl out at night to go look at the lights. It is still magic to do it with this girl.

I think I was told there are over 3,000,000 LED lights wrapped out to the tips of all of these thin tree branches. Impressive. We ducked into the casino, but didn't drop any coin there, just took a gander at the lighted slot machine rows and all of the players. Then it was back up the road to a warm, post-holiday bed. Impressive.

We were indeed dazzled.