Go Read These...(Please?)

I can't leave town without pimping a few great journal entries.  Wouldn't want you to have nothing to read while I'm gone...

Cynthia (Sorting the Pieces) doesn't post too many political rants, but when she does, they are thoughtful, powerful, and worth reading.  Go read this entry for the one and only time she'll ever agree with Karl Rove.

And then there's Jackie (pixels, Politics, Posies, and Pussycats), my good friend from the "old country," who continues to surprise me with her wisdom and good sense.  I knew there was a reason we've been friends for so long...  Here is her entry about the eroding effect of the "Walmart Credo" on our economy and our national psyche.

Happy reading.  I'll be thinking of y'all as I'm working like a slave this weekend.

 

Sensory Overload

I posted this photo just because it was what I wanted to look at after a day like today.  I only wish I could hear and smell the ocean as well...

Tom DeLay attacks the Supreme Court.  Pope Benedict XVI--God's Rottweiler.  Newt Gingrich positioning himself for a run at the presidency.  Mass murders, car bombs, and kidnappings in Iraq.  Bush's anti-UN nominee for UN ambassador shelved.  TOO much. 

Plus, I spend two hours attending a meeting that I THOUGHT was going to lead to major local contacts for my business.  Instead, it was a thoroughly bureaucratic, committee-speak snooze.  I never imagined an organization that is supposed to be about promoting the community would be so cliqueish, negative, and caught up in red tape. 

What a let down!  Felt like I'd been run over by a truck when I got home.  And then I had to iron and pack for my weekend event in Astoria.  I'll be sallying forth tomorrow morning to attempt the first solo set-up of the booth.  I just hope I don't damage myself or any of the equipment...  I was given some hope, though, when we were out for Chinese last night.  My fortune cookie said something to the effect that I would travel and get a lot of money.  Seemed to bode well for the weekend.  Wish me luck...     

Highway Haiku

Try propane herring
Then you’ll need the RV dump
For the end result

I'm No Margaret Mitchell

Main Entry: writ·er
Pronunciation: 'rI-t&r
Function: noun
: one that writes

 

Am I the only writer in journal land who does not want to publish a novel? Lately, I’ve taken pains to look at everything I read—magazine articles, blogs, online news snippets, newspaper reports, editorials, non-fiction, even ads—from the critical point of view of another writer. Much as I have always been a writer, I have never done that before. Maybe I’ve never thought of myself as a "writer" before. But I certainly fit the above definition.

In the minds of many, the terms "writer" and "novelist" seem synonymous. The ultimate work of fiction is the designated carrot dangling just beyond the reach of every scribe. The lifetime achievement. The Holy Grail. Fiction writers believe they have a monopoly on the creative aspects of writing. They promote writing as art, with the insinuation that if writers are artists, their masterpieces will be works of glorious, imaginative, flowery prose. Where does that leave the rest of us?

I have no desire to ever write a novel. Does that make me not quite a writer? I have nothing against "creative writing." I love poetry. I use it as my outlet for the purely artistic side of my writer self. But I never had any patience for all the literary machinations that go into writing fiction. I truly believe that one of the reasons I never went to college was that I was afraid I would be subjected to too many classes that consisted of having a gun put to my head to read all the most boring epics in the history of humanity, and then participating in the excruciating process of dissecting every bit of meaning, real or imagined, from these narcotic stories. Faulkner? Snore…Single sentences that filled entire pages. Dickens? He was paid by the word, for God’s sake. Tolstoy? Please! War and Peace?

Now I’ve gone and revealed one of my deepest secrets: I have no literary class. A deadly admission for a writer. I read fiction. But I read it for the stories. For the pure escapism of it. For its ability to immerse me in a persona, place and time that are not me, here, now. Any attempts at formulaic "Meaning of Life" symbolism generally go right over my head. I religiously avoid novels that contrive to teach me something. I really don’t want to have to think that hard about the fiction I read.

Why am I ranting about this? I don’t know. In my wanderings around journal land lately, I have noticed this almost sycophantic reverence for "published" writers. This gets under my skin, for some reason. It must be that little competitive gremlin that resides in me, who pops her head out and snarls from time to time, when I think someone is making a show of being better at something than I am. I’ve visited some of the blogs of our hallowed published writers, and it always seems to me that, as such, they are just a teensy bit smug; and somewhat pedantic in the way they relate to the rest of us. I suppose I just want to be comfortable being an unpublished writer, and I resent those that, by their very presence, suggest that isn’t good enough. I’m sure there are all kinds of convoluted psychological explanations for this. But I won’t bore you with any of my self-psychoanalysis. You’ll find that in my other journal… J

Nobody Wants My Money

Yesterday, husband and I set off at sparrow fart with the primary mission of scoring some hot buys at a restaurant equipment auction. If you’ve never been to one (and chances are you haven’t) you won’t know that restaurant auctions are an exercise in hurry up and wait. You rush over to the warehouse early enough to go through and review all the items in the auction, and scribble notes on the ones you are interested in. Then you sit (in a warehouse as cold and dark as a mausoleum) and wait until those items came up for bid. This auction featured more than 400 items, started at 10 AM and wound up around 3 PM. At the end of the day, we had one vintage chest freezer to show for five boring, chilly hours. For whatever reason, everything else we bid on shot beyond our pocketbook in a big hurry. At least they fed us…Costco pastries and coffee in the morning, free pizza and sodas mid-day. I’m happy with the purchase we made, but it didn't seem like a lot to show for five hours of freezing and beating the diet to death.

After the auction, we moseyed over to the nearby high class shopping mall. Because I had by God walked out of the house that morning determined to spend some money, and that compulsion had been nowhere near satisfied by our meager success at the auction. My wardrobe is in need of a bit of Spring…I thought I might have some luck at JCP or one of the satellite shops. The first store we hit was Penney’s, and as I broke the plane of the ladies’ department, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. My eyes were assailed by more psychedelic-bright, cheaply made (as in falling apart on the hangers) apparel than I’ve seen since I was thirteen years old, trying to stretch my babysitting bucks at K-Mart. Everything on the racks looked like the flimsiest of lingerie; lingerie created to fit miniscule Asian women, to boot. I am no behemoth, and the few pieces I took to the fitting room made me look like an oversized, flabby matron feverishly attempting to look like my thirteen-year-old daughter. I could only guess what this stuff would look like on a middle-aged woman of average size.

Figuring that JC Penney must have gone over to the dark side, I shook the seawater off my boots as I stepped through the mall entrance. I was on my way to the next major department store, one that has a reputation for being more upscale than Jacques Pennois. To my dismay, I encountered the same loud, cheap, ugly clothes draped over every counter and hanger at Meier & Frank as I had at Penney’s. And, as at JCP, every stitch had a label that proclaimed, "Made in India" or Vietnam, or Indonesia… The loudest, cheapest, and ugliest came from China. To the husband trailing behind me through the aisles, I exclaimed, "I haven’t seen so many cheap, ugly clothes since the sixties."

I practically ran screaming from M & F, heading for a smaller chain store where I have been buying clothes for the last fifteen years. And, of course, I was met with still more of the flimsy, floaty, cheapy lingerie cum daywear that the powers that be have deemed we all WILL wear this season. I turned on my heel and stalked out of yet another shop with husband in tow, shaking my head in disbelief. "Is it me, or does all this stuff really look like underwear???" Even the husband, who enjoys seeing me wear as little as possible, and certainly less than is seemly for a woman my age, agreed it all looked like something more appropriate to some cheap ho on the backstreets of Hong Kong than to middle-class, slightly paunchy American women looking for a little seasonal lift. I pointed into the crowds milling through the mall. "Look," I said. "Do you see anyone walking around actually wearing any of this stuff?" Not even the teens were dressed in the crap that dominated every display window.

And I was really getting angry. Here I was, at an upscale shopping mall, and I couldn’t find a stitch of clothing that was appropriate to my age or my pocketbook. If I had wanted poorly made, smelly, wrinkled clothes that had obviously just been unpacked from a cargo container, I would have gone to Walmart. Unfortunately, it seems all American retailers, even the "classy" ones that presumably do not share Walmart’s exact demographic, have decided to subscribe to Sam Walton’s credo of price over quality. And are flocking offshore to get it.

I am probably crankier than most people about crappy Asian imports, since my husband’s job will most likely become a casualty of "free trade" with Asia. Goods can be got from Asian suppliers for a small fraction of what they cost from domestic sources. That is, if there were any domestic sources left. The textile mills of the southeast have been devastated by the flood of cheap goods from overseas. My husband’s company, which used to be a factory that cut and sewed home fashions (decorative pillows, bedding, and draperies) has, out of necessity, turned into little more than an import house. Dozens of the factory workers have been put out of work. It’s only a matter of time before my husband’s job follows theirs into oblivion.

And I have heard stories that would stand your hair on end, about the condition of some of these imports when they arrive in port. Merchandise that arrives soaked, moldy, and smelling either of fish or diesel fuel from the hold of the ship. Goods so unbelievably and vilely soiled, presumably from slovenly sanitation in the Asian factories, that they had to be dry-cleaned before being bagged and shipped to the customer. And don’t get me started on the broken promises, botched designs, unmatched dye lots, and "cash before production" policy. At one time, I believed that the American work ethic had deteriorated to the point of nonexistence. But hearing some of the stories husband comes home with, I know for certain that American companies would not get away with the crap these Asian exporters are pulling. They are flooded with our business; have more, in fact, than they need or can handle. It doesn’t matter to them if they botch an order or completely screw a customer. If he takes his business elsewhere, there are ten more in line behind him to take his place. Oh, yes…they can get you what you want for that absolutely rock-bottom price. But we American consumers seem to have forgotten that ancient wisdom of "You get what you pay for…."

So the next time you’re about to pick up that $9.00 pair of jeans or that $15.00 bedspread at Walmart, give a little thought to where it came from, where it might have been, and which of your neighbors might not be working anymore so that you can save a few bucks on something that will most likely fall apart in the washing machine.

Questions, Questions, and More Questions

 

Did I open a can of worms with this interview thing, or what? I have spent many hours of the last three days both answering questions and composing interviews for those that asked me to interview them. That would be Robin, Lisa, Cynthia, Dave, and Gayla. As of this posting, everyone but Gayla has bravely muddled through their questions from the Polish Pundit (well, I’m not really Polish, but my husband is…and "Polish Pundit" has a certain ring to it. Or not.)

I had intended to sneak one or two hideously creative entries in here between the two interviews of me, but I invested so much brainpower into writing questions and answers over the last three days that any previously formulated creative ideas I had were tamped down into the muddy bottom of my brain. Had to get this out before any of the other stuff will have room to float back up to the top.

This interview is from Cynthia. I have been reading "Sorting the Pieces" since, well, since Christ was a corporal. In Cynthia, I found my first soul sister among my online friends. Though we live vastly different lives, and our personalities might be as similar as crawfish and dungeness crab, there is a place inside her that touches what is inside me in a deeply personal way. And she wrote great questions!

Oh...and refer to my previous entry for "the rules..."

1. We know how muchyou love living in the beautiful state of Oregon. If you had to live somewhere else, where would it be and why there?

My first thought was that I would go back to the old homestead—Illinois. I was born there, and I’ve never quite gotten it out of my blood. I’ve had so much fun the times I’ve gone back to visit. But, that’s the thing. It’s a nice place to visit, but I really wouldn’t want to live there, not anymore. I think about the snow, and the traffic, and the mosquitoes, and the flat, and the sales tax, and I think, "Nah!"

So I guess I’ll have to cheat and say that if I absolutely couldn’t live in Oregon, I’d have to live in Washington. Along with having similar topography (could I live without the mountains beaming down on me while I’m driving down the I-5 Corridor, or the ocean just a few hours away?), the State of Washington appeals to me politically. After all, it’s the only state whose governor and both US Senators are women. A decent tradeoff for having to put up with a sales tax…

 

2. What do you think it will take for the Democrats to effectively mount a successful presidential campaign in 2008?

Let me first say that, though I think she’s a smart politician and has a great deal to offer this country, it wouldn’t be Hillary Rodham Clinton. I’m afraid her husband is still too much of a polarizing figure, and will be an albatross around her neck for some time to come. Plus, I just don’t think the country would be ready make the jump from what amounts to a far right-wing Christian administration, to a government headed by the first woman president. Which is a shame, because I think she’d probably do an amazing job.

If the Republicans can’t continue to keep the country in a heightened state of fear and paranoia, I think the pendulum will be swinging away from the right anyway. Power has gone to the heads of the GOP majority, and they are starting to take it for granted, and even misuse and abuse it. The American people are not going to put up with that forever.

Even so, the Democrats have to come up with a decent candidate. John Kerry was not it. He was chosen by party leaders and Democratic voters for the sole reason that they thought his military record could stand up against the (undeserved) reputation of the "War President." While Kerry is a decent senator, he had little else to recommend him. For the last three decades at least, the voting public has demonstrated a deep-seated distrust of people they think of as "Washington insiders." Of the last five presidents,only one—George HW Bush—had held national office before being elected president, and it could be said that he was elected because people were looking for him to simply extend the popular Reagan administration. The last two successful Democratic candidates have been governors of southern states. I suspect we’ll have to come up with another southerner, one who might possibly take a large block of the south back from the Republicans. The South was loyal Democratic territory dating back to the civil war, but it has, over the last few decades, slowly swung over to the Republican party …believing that the GOP better represents their conservative views. So, I’m not really sure if there’s a Democratic southern governor of sufficient charisma and stature to fit the bill. Anyone got any ideas?

3. What would be your perfect evening out?

First of all, I would have to be able to wear a spectacular outfit that would look sensational on me, make me look ten years younger, and would include incredibly sexy shoes that would not hurt my feet. All right, since we’ve already completely left the realm of the possible… You know the night clubs they show in all those old movies? The ones where there were tables for dining, and a band (like Ricky Ricardo’s) or a floor show (featuring an act that looked amazingly like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers), and a huge dance floor where all the patrons could float around in their couture and whisper steamy lines into their partners’ ears? That’s where I want to go. Okay, I’d have to brush up on my ballroom dancing (hey, we took disco lessons back in the seventies, but I’ll admit, I’m a little rusty…) A light meal, just enough champagne, and dance the night away. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Oh…and something chocolate.

4. Do you think you'll ever try to have your writing published? And why?

I actually did send one story away, once, back when I was still in high school. It was rejected, of course. I suppose it wasn’t even really very good. I have a hard time with the idea of being published. First of all, I have no idea if there’s a market for what I do, and where that market is, if there is one. And, I guess I’m not really sure what it is I do. I write a fairly decent political commentary…but I don’t think the media are exactly out recruiting morepolitical pundits. That market is kind of saturated, if you know what I mean…

Secondly, I’m not sure I have what it takes to knock on every door, again and again, until I see some piece of mine in print. I’m way too sensitive. At some point, and probably sooner than later, I would become convinced that I’m just not good enough, and give up. And then I would have lost something that is really valuable to me. As long as I don’t have people telling me I’m no good, I can believe I am good. I would hate to think that my self-opinion is that fragile, that it could be destroyed by a little public rejection. But I’m afraid it might be. Which makes me too chicken to put too much effort into getting my work published. But, by golly, I spend so much time writing, and enjoy it so much, I sure wish someone would pay me to do it.

 

5. If you could only accomplish one goal in the coming year, what would it be?

If we’re talking about things I wish I could do, but have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening, that would be opening my own restaurant. I have no money, only a vaguely formed concept of what I want it to be, and husband is not yet entirely on the bandwagon. But, still, I can dream…

Something I might actually be capable of accomplishing? I’d like to complete my journey of independence from my family. By the end of 2005 I’d like to feel that I’ve completely moved on and away from the garbage of the past, and that I have finally, for good or ill, made a life for myself and my husband here in Columbia County. And that’s why I need to have that restaurant…

Lisa Gets The Scoop On Lisa

I came across this "game" at Lisa’s place (Wearin’ My Heart On My Sleeve.) I thought it looked like fun, so I asked Lisa to "Interview Me." I forgot that she is stuck at home recovering from ankle surgery, and has nothing better to do than think up really hard questions. But they’re good ones; I had a lot of fun trying to answer them without writing a tome (brevity has never been my forte…) If anybody else wants to play, we’ll start with the rules. And then my answers to Lisa’s great questions.

So here goes, starting with the rules because every game has got to have them, you know. Leave me a comment saying "interview me." The first five to leave a comment requesting to be participants will be interviewed. I will respond by asking you five questions. You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. (Write your own questions or borrow some) Fun and easy right?

Q. You’ve mentioned to me that you would love to have your own restaurant. Tell us the details of your dream eatery….the location, decor, and of course, what you’d be serving (sample menu) and what daily role you would take in the business itself.

A. The location would be right here in dear old Scappoose; this is an area that is about to become heavily developed as a bedroom community for people who work in Portland. We are going to need decent places to eat.

I have a couple different concepts in mind, but the most developed one is this: One of Scappoose’s biggest industries used to be Steinfeld’s Pickles, until they were bought out by a huge food conglomerate and closed down. So we have an abandoned pickle packing plant in the middle of town…a great location for something like an antique mall and a quirky family restaurant. I was envisioning the décor to be very old fashioned "general store-ish," with antique tables and chairs and the like. The menu would be gourmet comfort food, like pot roast, garlic mashed potatoes, and home-made apple cobbler. A selection of decent wines and microbrews…probably not a full liquor license (too much hassle!) And an in-house bakery will figure prominently in whatever concept I decide upon, since I’m really more of a baker than a gourmet chef… What role would I take? It would be mine, mine, all mine! I’d wear every hat in the place at one time or another, and it might take an act of God to pry me out of there to go on a vacation.

Q. It’s no secret that you’ve had some issues with your family that sometimes seem insurmountable. What would need to happen with each of you, to put the issues to rest? Could that happen?

I don’t like to look at the conflicts I have with my sisters as something that could be resolved if they changed. The only one I can change, or hope to change, is myself. That said, I think what needs to happen with me is that I just need to get over it and move on. I love my sisters, and we’ll always be close…but I need to bring other experiences and people into my life so I can put the problems we’ve had into perspective. Right now, though it’s been six years since all the conflicts that arose after my dad’s death, there has been so little else in my life since, that the problems still look larger than life. Once I put something of substance, and not just time (which obviously hasn’t worked) between myself and those conflicts, they will scale down to a more manageable size. I can see this happening. I’ve been making a concerted effort to move on since the beginning of this year, and I think I’ve made some progress.

Q. Describe your mother’s personality and what you admire about her the most.

Wow. This is a tough one. My mom’s personality is, in many ways, exactly opposite of mine. She is dependent where I’ve always been fiercely self-reliant. She is a social animal, and I am a loner. She deferred to my dad in every major decision they ever faced in their married life. Boy, is that not me! There are so many things she does that just drive me crazy… If she has a problem with someone, she will make it known to everyone except the person with whom she has the bone to pick. We always laugh among ourselves that Mom’s least favorite daughter is whichever one of us is not in her immediate presence at the time.

But Mom hangs in there. She has experienced so much loss in her life. Everyone in her immediate family died young. My grandmother made the oldest bones of any of Mom’s family, and she was only 63 when she died of cancer. By the time Mom was just a few years older than I am now, she was the last living member of her family. I can’t even imagine how horrible that must have been. And she has since lost a daughter, a granddaughter, and her husband of 54 years. She has the great gift of knowing you have to just continue to put one foot in front of the other, no matter how much pain you have to walk through. That is what I admire about her.

Q. You’ve been given an unlimited budget to create the perfect backyard and garden. Describe it, down to the perfect flowers and plants!

Geez, I could write a bloody book about this! First, I’d empty the entire yard, scrape off the top twelve inches of what passes for "soil" on this property, and throw it far, far away. Then I’d get as many truckloads of wonderful, rich topsoil as it would take to make a three-foot layer of decent growth medium from property line to property line, except for where we would have a nice deck off the family room, and a beautiful flagstone patio outside husband’s dining room door. THEN, I would buy some really big trees (mature trees can be had; they are expensive as hell, but, hey, I have an unlimited budget!) to place along the back fence line to replace the defunct poplar screen that my charming neighbor cut down last fall. I would have a proper brick fence erected between me and my dead neighbors (in the cemetery.) And I would have a real front entry built onto the house, with a covered porch, where right now there is a decaying deck with utterly scary steps leading down to the yard from either side.

The gardens would be planted with an eye toward attracting birds and beasts. With as little lawn as I could possibly get away with. I can’t even begin to list the plants I would use…for the last four years, I’ve had to limit my scope to what the cursed soil of this property could not kill. I love hydrangeas, camellias, flowering dogwoods, rhododendrons and azaleas, Japanese maples, a jillion different varieties of shrubs and trees; baskets and containers filled with begonias, pelargoniums (especially scented ones), fuchsias, sages, and trailing accents like lobelia, bacopa, and ivy. An herb garden, and a small salad garden (if I could figure out how to keep the bugs out of my produce!) Perhaps a fountain or two, but NO crappy artificial ponds.

In short, I would fix the yard so that the things I planted might actually grow, and then just have at it.

Q. Undeniably, you are a very creative person, whether it be in your writing, photography, home decorating or crafts. Tell us how you use your creative talents to make your home decor special.

When I was in high school, I took about as many art classes as I could pack into my schedule and leave enough time slots for the requirements like math, science, and English. I found that I basically sucked at drawing and painting. Luckily, I discovered that drawing ability was not all there was to being an artist. I discovered that I have an innate sense of color, design, and composition that translates into that creativity you alluded to.

I can’t say that, until recently, I’ve really made much use of it in my home décor, however. Creativity costs money, and we haven’t had a great deal of disposable income to spend on transforming the very vanilla personality of this house into something more my style. I did, however, redo my living room, which included re-covering an old sofa, creating "art projects" for the walls (with old photographs, my scanner, and my greeting card program) and refinishing a bunch of old furniture. Managed to make it happen for probably less than $1000 (sounds like a good idea for a television show!) and it turned out quite nice, if I do say so myself. However, I do have kind of a problem picking a theme for my home décor… Living room is a kind of British Raj/modern fusion, dining room is country French goes to the vineyard, family room is rustic/lodgey with Native American accents, and my bedroom is…well, mostly an eclectic mix (read "mish-mosh") of all the furniture that wouldn’t fit anywhere else in the house. If "What Not To Wear" merged with "Trading Spaces" into a show called "How Not to Decorate," they’d probably have a field day with my house!

I'm a Hopeless Pimp...

Once again, my friend Jackie has trumped me on a political rant.  Read what she has to say about Tom DeLay. 

Year of the Eagle

Finished taking all the beach-at-sunset pictures we could manage, husband, dog, and I turned and retraced our footprints back toward camp. A huge dark bird hove into sight ahead of us. The eagle soared right over us, its bright head and tail feathers tea-stained by the failing light. A second bird, the same size and silhouette, but lacking the coloring, soared several yards behind it. And that one was trailed by some yards by another adult bird. An eagle family returning to its evening roost, even as we were heading back to ours?

This year, the year I will be marking the passage of my first half-century on the planet, eagles seem to have become my guardian spirits. Normally I could count an entire year’s eagle sightings on one hand, and half of those I would have to go out looking for. But this year….walking the dog through the neighborhood, driving back from town along the Multnomah Channel, strolling on the beach scanning the sky for seabirds, I have encountered the great birds at least a dozen times just in these first few months of 2005. And not so high above my head that I could barely make out their signature coloring against a bright sky. But close by, just skimming the treetops…or sitting on a branch tossing nervous glances over a feathered shoulder as I stood below and gushed, like the hopeless seventies hippie I am, about its beauty and…major coolness.

It appears that the Great Spirit has chosen to send the escort I could not have hoped to ask for, to guide me into the second half of my life. Some naturalists disparage bald eagles as nothing but thieving fish hawks; Benjamin Franklin thought them so lowly that he preferred exalting the turkey over the bald eagle as the national bird. What do they know? I’ll take John Denver’s opinion over theirs any day. Eagles have always meant wildness and freedom and nature’s majesty to me. I will never cease to feel a thrill of discovery, the sense that I have witnessed something rare and untamed, when I spot an eagle wheeling overhead or sitting sentinel on a towering snag. I don’t know what I’ve done, nor what it means, that I have, at least for the moment, such a noble guide. I’m sure it means something. Something beyond my poor, nearsighted dreams. I’m so looking forward to discovering what that may be.

Rain

Sometimes living in Oregon is just...interesting. This morning, I arose to a clear blue sky, sun, a perfect spring morning. Decided that I would chuck my plans of going on a buying trip for the business, and stay home and work in the garden. "Rainy days are indoor work days. Nice days are for yard work," I emailed the DH. So, I jumped in the shower, all prepared to rush outside, grab my tools, and go dig in the dirt.

Of course by the time I got out of the shower, the clouds had blown in from nowhere...and I knew where the day was going. Right now, the rain is pouring down in horizontal sheets, the wind is blowing...and I'm finishing up my shopping list. I don't much like driving or shopping in a deluge, either; but yard work is definitely out of the question.

Here is a picture of where I'd rather be...and what I'd rather the weather was like. Took this on Saturday when we made a spur-of-the-moment camping trip to the beach (because DH HAD TO pull a trailer somewhere with the new truck, or die...) We SO lucked out with the weather...

  

Just another one of Oregon's endless beaches...