Getting Things in Hand

It's been such a long time since I played a guitar every day of my life, my calluses have gotten a bit soft on me. They're still there, but they've been sleeping. This past week, I've rather called Reveille on them, however, and they're proudly rising to the occasion.

I'm not a believer in "Play until your fingers bleed!" In fact, unless you're onstage and it occurs from an especially robust session, it's pointless. When I was younger and first learning guitar, my grandmother, who was a musician and knew about these things. told me to soak my fingertips in vinegar before and after playing. It really worked, and I developed a healthy, durable set of calluses that can still be called on after 50 years. These days I'm giving Eric Clapton's advice a try by soaking them in rubbing alcohol instead of vinegar. So far, so good. It in fact seems to work more quickly than vinegar. I also think that the fact that I'm switching between 6-string and 12-string guitar is helpful, because doing so covers the entire fingertip pad; it may be a little more painful, but not as painful as playing a 6-string, exclusively.

Working on getting both my playing and singing chops back into shape is proving to be a real joy. It's just my memory where lyrics are concerned that's the challenge. My hands know what to do (good old muscle memory never fails!) so I don't give that a second thought. Remembering the words of 36 songs, however, is proving to be harder, not to mention that all of my music was lost back in 2001 and I'm having to dredge up my own song lyrics. Most of them have resurfaced, and those that just won't, I'm simply rewriting. What's the harm? Who's to know? They're my songs.

I have five months until my house concert (I've penciled in the date as October 9th), and there's plenty of time to get everything in hand, so to speak, calluses and lyrics, so I'm not worried in the least. Meanwhile, all of this is completely silencing the old stage fright beast, and that was the biggest challenge of all.

Our First Real Snow

It was a good, low key weekend. I'm actually sort of enjoying the bi-polar personality the weather has taken on this winter. Saturday was like a spring day; it was in the 70's and the sun shone in a crystal blue sky. When we woke up on Sunday morning, however, there were several inches of snow on the ground and more coming down. I actually like snow, but that's probably because I no longer have to scrape the car windows or commute to a job 20 miles away. Snow's easy to like when you can spend the morning in a warm bed.

None of that for us, though. We'd already made plans to go to Brooklyn's for brunch. That was a very good idea. Strong coffee warmed us as we ordered their famous fried chicken and waffles. I have to tell you, I'd never tried this dish before even though I knew it would be good. Brooklyn's doesn't do anything ordinary, though. This dish was lightly dressed with a cranberry balsamic syrup, candied cranberries, and pralines.

So I move into a new week. With the recent web job completed, I'm free to get back to my book, although I never really left off working on it. The difference is, now I can dedicate all of my time to it. It's coming along nicely.

The photo is of Lowrider, who, when she came to the end of her little brick path, she looked at me like as if she expected me to shovel the snow for her.

Mood of Solitude

I've always compared myself to a lone wildflower growing outside a rose bed. At least that's how I was raised.

Did I say raised? That's not quite true. My parents, being bohemian sorts, kind of tossed the seed out there, then stood back and said, "Let's see how she does!" They supplied me with some support against the wind, but, generally speaking, I was left to my own devices. It was good for me. I learned to dig my roots in deep when things got rough and I'm an old hand at turning my face to that one ray of sun when the storms set in. Did I turn out alright? I think so. Other people I've known, who grew up in the rose bed — tended, pruned and dosed with various "fertilizers" — have always been the ones who were most drawn to me.

I don't know what brought on this feeling of being alone, or set apart, this morning. After two weeks of feeling fully engaged, I woke up feeling a bit outside of it all. It's not bad. It's where I create from, and the weather has turned back to winter after a week of unexpected spring. I also haven't slept well all week, but I'm used to that, too. I'm going to be alone quite a bit this weekend so I welcome this mood of solitude — I'll spend my time working on my new book and reading some of those on my list over there ----->

My mother had a saying she used whenever I did something she neither approved of nor understood: "You're growing up like a weed!"

Perhaps, but a flowering one! And I wouldn't trade places with the most beautiful hybrid rose for all the world!

___________________

Photo Credit: Christine at Homesteading in the Burbs

Progress Report

But First...

You who have been coming here for any length of time are already used to my frequent template changes; as one who constantly reinvents herself, I like this blog to reflect my latest incarnation. Those of you who are new, well, get used to it. This is how I've rolled since I began blogging in 2002.

Lately, I seem to be drawn to bolder, more vibrant colors, which is very different from my usual muted tones. I attribute this to my victory over depression, which I've been battling for over a decade. Ah, well. Who knows what lurks within any of us?

Since our mini-holiday at Tenkiller Ferry Lake (that entry can be read here), I'm feeling more positive, refreshed and forward-looking than I have in many, many years. I suppose that's what vacations are supposed to do to us, but it's been so long, I guess I forgot what this feels like. Here's a little rundown:

2000: Nettl and I left our blissful life in Denver, where I had a well-paying job and tons of credit, to live in Stillwater, where she was to finish her masters degree. Unable to land a job that paid what I needed to manage my financial health, I had to settle for the amount I'd made when I first started out in 1976. That's the economy here, folks. Just the two of us, we had plans for our future: to leave Stillwater and live either in Europe or California. In November, however, my mom had a stroke. She was in Denver at the time so we brought her to Stillwater to live with is, along with my son, Joel, who has Asperger's Syndrome. Doggedly positive, we set into more of a family life than we'd at first anticipated. Plans to move had to be shelved.

2001: Nettl was thrown into a bitter custody battle over her three kids, ages 7-11.

2002: Taking care of my mother began to eat at what financial reserves we had. Her health continued to decline and my depression started to raise its head. I was suddenly hit with chronic pain, probably exacerbated by having to lift my mom all day, as well as her heavy wheelchair whenever I had to take her somewhere in the car.

2003: Many trips to the hospital with my mom, who got cancer and nearly died of a staph infection that turned gangrenous. Gee, thanks, hospital, for your cleanliness ethics. Nettl got custody of her three kids in an emergency court order. Seven people in a three-bedroom house. Fun...

2004: Moved to a much larger house and began settling the kids into their new life. Mom died right before Christmas. Extreme financial issues set in and I began feeling grossly unwell.

2005: Excitement surrounding a documentary in which we were featured. Ten-day whirlwind location shoot in Vienna and Salzburg. It was hectic and wonderful. I'd never call it a vacation, though. It played hell with my failing health and nearly killed me. Literally.

2006: After experiencing sometimes daily mini-comas, I was diagnosed with advanced Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. Began the THS merry-go-round. My son, Micah, moved in with us.

2007: I don't remember anything about 2007; I was in a year-long Hashi stupor.

2008: Finances continued to plummet, I attempted to work outside the home, but soon discovered I just couldn't hold up. Began writing Beyond The Bridge in fits and starts.

2009: Realizing we needed to downsize, we moved to Bookends Cottage. All the kids (except my two sons) had moved out and the financial pressure relieved itself somewhat, although we still struggled due to the cessation of Nettl's child support income as well as my inherited annuities. Every penny had gone to basic survival.

2010: Published Book One of Beyond The Bridge. This was our worst financial year. There were days when we just didn't eat. Friends stepped in to help when they could, but the stress sent me to my bed for the next two years. All of my writing and blogging was done from there. My best friend of 40+ years, JP Deni, died. Worked on Book Two.

2011: I don't remember this year, either. I do remember living life through my bedroom window, though, wondering if I'd ever be part of it again.

2012: More of same. I did manage to publish Book Two, though! Thanks to Joel's financial contributions, I was able to go home to California for 10 days. I think this is what triggered the beginning of my slow but steady ascent out of hell. Ah, vacations!

2013: Published Books One and Two in a single edition that included extensive rewrites. Slowly, thanks to  my California trip, better awareness of my disease and finding the right medication, I began feeling better and could split my daytime hours equally between the bedroom and living room. Because I have no health insurance, I had to learn how to maintain wellness rather than treat illness. Micah finished school as a CAD engineer and immediately landed a job, helping to supplement our income.

2014: Health improved significantly and steadily. No longer in bed all day! Nettl got a better job, which she loves, and finances began to improve somewhat as well. Although things were still really tight, we were eating. At least I could cook a meal once a week! Creativity returned and I began writing music again, and water painting. Started a new book. Finally, after 14 years together, Nettl and were allowed to marry. Gee, it's nice to be included in that "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" spiel...

2015: Finances have improved (I can cook twice a week now, most weeks). Health is good as long as I take care of my body, mind, emotions, and spirit (thank you, meditation!), and my 10-year depression is gone. We're making plans for our future and are moving into our "golden years" with our optimism and hope intact. In all ways I feel better than I have since 2000. We're about to come full circle, and it only took 15 years. Oy...

Stay tuned for continuing positive progress reports!

P.S. We're returning to the lake house, with my sons, for Memorial Day weekend!

Far From the Madding Crowd

After days and days of grey, sullen weather, the sun has finally shown his face. It's still cold, of course, but the weekend forecast predicts it shall be "Sunny and delightful".

Tell that to my feet. I usually have my Rocket Dogs on, but they're in the wash so that they'll be nice and snug over our upcoming weekend at the lake house. Meantime, my favorite throw and warm socks do the trick.

I'm really looking forward to the long weekend (we're leaving Friday morning and won't be back until Monday evening). The lake house, which has been so generously opened to us by our friend, Amanda, is at Tenkiller Ferry Lake, about a two-hour drive east from here in a deserted, wooded area. There are other houses nearby, but Amanda tells us no one's out there this time of year. Silly us. But we're packing our favorite throws, board games, my guitar, books, wine and snacks, and are looking forward to being all alone, far from humanity both in actual life and on the internet. (There is no internet at the lake house, no cable, and spotty cell phone reception, and that's fine by us.) We can take Nigel out on walks without his lead, hopefully to the water's edge and all around the dusty lane. Of course, I'll take a lot of pictures.

I'm not sure if I'll be making another entry or not before then, so I'll take this opportunity to wish you all a very enjoyable weekend. Enjoy the sunshine, if you have it!

Cottage Cats

Lowrider & Mozie

We have two cats here at Bookends Cottage. Lowrider has been with us since 2007 when she was given to us by a neighbor at St. Michael's and Mozie, a kitten we adopted during the summer of 2012. Actually, Lowrider adopted Mozie after he was orphaned at the wee age of about five weeks. She was a good stepmother for a long time, but now she can't stand him and I think she regrets having taken him in. I took over the job of taming him, which took about two weeks of constant coaxing with food and the blinky eye cat thing, and now he's the most affectionate cat I've ever had the pleasure to know. At least with our family. As soon as anyone else appears, he's out the cat flap. Both of our cats are what I call "indoor-outdoor" cats as both of them were born feral.

"It's 5 o'clock. Feed me."

One of Lowrider's quirks is that she wants to be outside most of the time, regardless of the weather. She comes in only at dinner time after sitting on the little table outside the large kitchen window, staring in as if to say, "It's 5 o'clock. Feed me." Daylight savings time doesn't seem to faze her; she always there at five, sharp. She even prefers to sleep outside, even on the coldest nights, but I have no idea where. I always leave one of the garage doors cracked so that she can get in out of the cold, and she knows where the cat flap is and how to use it. Still, she stays outside unless it's raining, when she comes in, begrudgingly, to sleep on the counter in the master bathroom. Silly cat. There is soft, cozy furniture in our house. Before Mozie joined our family, Lowrider slept on the bed with us nearly every night during the cold months. Why his appearance should change this I don't know, because he doesn't sleep with us.

Mozie sleeps in the house most of the day, moving from the window seat in our bedroom to the leather chair beside the piano and then to the antique chair in the living room. After dinner, he begins his sprint in and out the cat flap, sometimes using it as often as every five or ten minutes. In, out, in out... I can't image what hell life would be if I hadn't installed that lifesaver. He finally settles in the antique chair about 2am when Nigel can be relieved from his duties as Cat Flap Sentry. Having decided he's too grown up for his crate, Nigel now sleeps in the maroon wing back.

Feel free to add your own caption

And lest you think these pictures are evidence that I'm a cruel cat mom because I kept the cats outside in the cold, they wanted to be there. I let them in a number of times, but they always wanted back out. And they do have a cat flap, after all. Silly cats.

Guitars, Biscuit Cans, and Champagne

Restringing my guitars has always been my least favorite thing about being a guitarist, especially when the guitar is a 12-string. It's not only time-consuming, it's stressful. It can even be dangerous. On my personal anxietyometer it scores even higher than opening a biscuit can or a bottle of champagne.

You know. Those biscuit cans by Pilsbury. The ones that require you to peel the paper label off and you never know when the cardboard can is going to pop open. Sometimes they do, if the pressure is higher than usual, and sometimes they don't and you have to press the edge of a spoon into the seam to force it open. Used to be, they never opened until you banged the can on the edge of the kitchen counter, but these days nothing's consistent.

Champagne bottles are the same. Most corks won't pop out until you twist the bottle a bit. (I learned the trick to perfect bottle openage from a pro years ago: tilt the bottle 45 degrees, cover the top with a cotton dish towel and twist the bottle, not the cork, slowly, and gently ease it out, allowing the pressure to escape a little at a time, thus, no spewing, no waste, no mess.) But sometimes, the cork will go flying the second you loosen the bale. I've seen this happen any number of times—the ceiling of our house on James Place probably still bears the mark of one cork and on another occasion I saw a friend receive a black eye from one. And on her birthday no less.

Life is dangerous, people. Shit happens.

Yesterday, I got a new set of Martin Silk & Steels for my Luna 12-string. It being my first time to restring this beauty, I had no idea what to expect. The scariest string is the 6th string—the octave G, which is actually just an E tuned up to either F, or, in my case, G. That's a lot of pressure to put on the most delicate string of the 12. I can't count how many times in the past, on other guitars, this string has snapped while I tuned it up. I used to buy an extra just in case, but this being a high-quality, custom instrument, I exercised a little faith. The only real mishap was when I removed the old 10th string (octave A) and the curly bit that came off of the tuner lunged into my thumb like a fish hook. No matter what I did, it wouldn't dislodge and my thumb is still bruised. After putting a Band-Aid on it, I got back to work and everything went really well.

My usual method of restringing a 12-string is to remove and replace one string at a time so as not to  release too much pressure on the neck; a 12-string bears up to 200 lbs. of tension and if a string snaps, it can do a lot of damage if it connects with a sensitive body part...like an eye. I start with the bottom strings—the heavier ones, E, A and D of which there are two each, one high and one low—then go to the top E and B (also two each, but the same gauge), saving the Gs in the middle of the neck until last. I don't know if this is the right way or not, but it's always worked for me when the time came to confront that tiny little 6th string.

They all went on great and they all tuned up smoothly with little to no slipping beneath the pegs, but to be safe I decided to tune it to D and let it sit overnight before taking it on up to E. Because of the superior truss rod in the neck of this guitar and the fact that the strings I bought are light gauge, I don't foresee any problems. Luna makes excellent instruments. Pilsbury, as well as a couple of champagne labels, could take a few lessons.

When Old Farts Marry

I've been married twice before. Once when I was 18 (which ended with my being widowed eight months later) and once when I was 23 (which ended in divorce after three and a half years). Since 1977 I've shied away from marriage; the cruel realities of it had visited themselves rather harshly on me far too early in life. When I met Lynette marriage just wasn't in the realm of possibility so I never even considered it. I never needed that "piece of paper" to strengthen my commitment to her and our blended family, or to ourselves as a couple and our life together. In 2001 we had a Holy Union ceremony and that was good enough for me. It had to be. Then, earlier this month, Marriage Equality was passed in our state and we decided to take the plunge. We already felt married, but making it legal would grant us all the privileges and protections other couples take for granted as their inherent rights. I know. I did too when I was younger. It wasn't until I realized I'd forfeit my equality that I appreciated all that was wasn't open to me anymore. So two weeks ago we began planning a wedding ceremony to be performed here at Bookends Cottage in the presence of our closest friends and family members.

I don't care what anyone tells you. To plan and prepare an in-home wedding and reception is hard work and it's expensive. Unless you're under 50 and can afford food caterers and a team of people to come in and clean, rearrange furniture, decorate, and then undo everything afterward, my advice is DON'T DO IT. If you can afford a catered affair at a restaurant, a hotel, or some other place, do that instead. But that wasn't practical in our situation. We simply couldn't afford it. Instead, I did all the cleaning, Lynette decorated and did most of the errand-running, and we had a friend who volunteered to help with the food, including the gorgeous cupcakes she and her daughter made. But there was furniture to move, clutter to remove (books, plants, dog toys, etc.), and the house to clean from top to bottom.

On Friday morning we went to the courthouse to get our marriage license and on the way up the sidewalk I tripped and fell flat on my face. I mean, on my actual face. I had scuff marks on my nose and chin, my hands were bloody and I wrenched my right shoulder, but I was damned lucky. Lying face-down on the sidewalk in shock, all I could think was, "Oh, man, I hope I didn't break a hip or something and we'll have to hold the wedding in the hospital..." Lynette helped me up and, fortunately, everything except my dignity seemed to be intact. Makeup covered the scuff marks, some bandage took care of my hands and, later, champagne took care of the rest and everyone had a wonderful time. Until the next morning when I could hardly move and I knew there was no way the house was going to get put back in order anytime soon. Then, while moving the TV into the bedroom and plugging it in, Lynette gave herself a mild concussion. What a pair! She was dizzy all day and I hurt all over. Still, we had a restful, enjoyable day napping, nibbling on leftover party food and drinking champagne. In fact, we spent the entire weekend in bed, but oh, how these things change when age sets in.

The house is somewhat normal now, but moving the furniture back, hauling boxes in and out of the garage, vacuuming, and putting all the gifts away is going to have to wait until my shoulder is better. Honeymoon? What's that? When old farts marry the closest we get to a honeymoon is rubbing Icy Hot on each other while cooing, "Don't worry, sweetheart. We need to conserve our strength for the cleanup."

Let Freedom Ring

After 14 years of shacking up, Nettl and I are finally getting married.

When I first came out in 1976 I never even considered marriage as an option. It was so far out there (and I was still such a hippie), I never considered marriage to anyone, female or male. But at the end of the millennium I started reconsidering things. Marriage? Yes, I was ready for that whole pipe and slippers thing... well, not the pipe, you understand. But even the idea of marriage wasn't open to me. Never had been, never would be. It wasn't a deal, I just accepted it like I accept that I'll never be able to publicly smoke a hookah in Cairo. It didn't bother me, it's just the way it was. That changed, however as the 2000's progressed and now, guess what? Marriage equality has been passed in Oklahoma.

What? Me surprised? Hell, yeah!

We had a holy union ceremony at College Hill Presbyterian Church in Tulsa on May 25, 2001, officiated by an ordained minister and everything. Family, friends, flowers, cake, attendants, the whole deal. Problem was, the papers couldn't be filed because for some reason we were not as equal as other natural-born citizens. Funny. I'd been equal all my life, but that equality was suddenly revoked when I fell in love with the wrong person. We got over it. We paid our taxes and paid into the system, we raised our young and we buried our elderly, but we were never entitled to the rights and privileges other Americans received. We simply weren't "created equal" anymore. But all that changed today. We are at last honest-to-goodness Americans, by golly. For me, it's mostly about taking care of that 14 year-old paperwork; I couldn't feel any more married than I already do.

Do you see that little bulge in my cheek? That's my tongue.

Anyway, the point of this is to announce that we will be heading to the courthouse on October 24th, after which we will come back to Bookends Cottage for one hell of a reception! If you're not on Facebook (where we created an event page) and would like to attend, email me via my Contact page and I'll send you the particulars.

If your marriage suffers on October 24th I'm truly sorry, but really, we have nothing to do with it. If we had that much power don't you think we would have used it by now?

The Season Falling Around Me

Every Fall, I wish I had a shredder-bagger like my dad's. Next weekend begins the usual between the heat of summer and the cold of winter manual labor that has become a ritual at Bookends Cottage. We have 9 old trees that drop their leaves every year, one of them an oak that is nearly 100 years old. It is the greatest offender in autumn, but you know I love it and the shade and contemplation it lends me in the warmer months. Still, being a California native I'm not all that work brittle where raking leaves is concerned. Well, I should say my back doesn't appreciate the job.

The other major chore on the agenda is cleaning out the garage so that no one has to scrape their car windows early in the morning. I don't know how it happens, but things grow out there. A bag of clothes becomes a dresser, a birthday gift bag becomes a stockpile of seasonal wrapping—you know how it is. And I never did find my winter clothes last autumn, which forced me to endure one of our coldest winters with just one sweater and no bulky socks. I'm not going through that this year; I'll find that bag or else. I'm older now and my body doesn't respond well to the cold.

That reminds me. I need to buy two electric blankets, one for me and one for Joel, whose body also reacts badly to waking up cold. I've been doing a bit of online window shopping and I think I can get a couple of reliable blankets (some that won't short out, thus causing a house fire in the middle of the night) for a little over $100. Yes, I comb through reviews!

With the signs of the season all around me, I look out the window at the crisp sky, the vivid colors, and the gently floating leaves and I sigh, "Ugh."

Into October

Usually, I find September a month of release. Probably because it's my birth month, I think of it as a time of new beginnings and a renewed sense of possibilities—my own personal new year. I think I had exactly six hours of that exhilaration this year. Then the doo-doo started hitting the fan and made the past two weeks a constant exercise in determination. But all is not lost. Most of the fires were successfully put out and the restrictions and setbacks seem to have fallen by the wayside. Enter October.

Not only was yesterday what would have been the 88th birthday of my maestro, but we spent the evening at the Wings of Hope  "Metamorphosis" fashion show, where Nettl modeled a great outfit. She rocked it! For the first time, I saw her past experience as a tea room model back in the '80s come to life. The audience loved her! Wings of Hope is a family crisis center that provides safety, hope, and empowerment to victims of domestic abuse and sexual assault. It also is where Nettl found a new and better job in August. Needless to say, we're both pleased and proud to be affiliated with them. (I include myself because they invited me to submit a website proposal; I'm now awaiting the outcome of that.)

Lynette rocks the leather!

What a great beginning to autumn! With a list full of projects that I'm enjoying and a head full of ideas for my current book, I'm looking forward to the season ahead. The darkening months are always creative for me and the idea of working while snuggled in sweaters and mukluks, the kettle always hot, excites me.

___________________________
A New Direction, by Carol Francis

Beyond Walls

It always happens. Just when you finally get your writing mojo working, a wall suddenly juts up in your path. In my case it was my laptop's keyboard. Since last Friday it's been impossible to use. Dead, Jim. Ville told me to use the on-screen keyboard, which has been helpful, but it's gotten increasingly tedious and frustrating. Over the weekend I ordered a replacement keyboard, which should arrive sometime this week. In the meantime I can use Nettl's laptop during weekdays, which is a huge relief. Being back on a regular keyboard makes the on-screen version feel like chiseling words into stone.

I really missed writing over the weekend, usually my most productive days, so I'm planning to spend this afternoon in some quality Ass+Chair+Time mode. (Hat tip to Skinny Artist for that little turn of phrase.) Once I'm back on my own computer I'll have web work to get to; there are a couple of projects that wait, patiently, so until then I'm writing, Jack!

Here's a picture I took yesterday. After five years of failure, I've finally managed to create a tiny spot of my native California here in Oklahoma. It was a joy to see.

California Poppy

A Big Hello from Nigel

This is a Good Day

On rainy days like today, when everything is tinted grey and the streets are wet and quiet, I like to remain as still as I can manage. A full week of physical labor leaves me feeling not only satisfied, but grateful. In the past week I've tended established flower beds, planted new ones, taken care of some much needed fix-its around the house, and I've even painted the front porch floor. Normally, these things would have taken me months.

The week's exertions have left me a little tired and a little sore, but no more than any woman my age should expect and, where fatigue is concerned, well, there just isn't any. I go to bed feeling that satisfying tiredness of jobs well done and goals accomplished.

Today is a good day to dedicate to music and to do some web design work. I hope your weekend is wonderful!

Lumbergh & the Cat's Ass

Some time ago I set up the dining table as my writing desk. This was a good move because the dining room of this cottage has an old world feel that inspires me. It is, in fact, my favorite room in the house. Everything I need is here: books, the piano, photos of everyone who means anything to me, my guitars, a china hutch full of wine glasses...

The table itself  is heavy wood, solid with no leaves, and seats six. It reminds me of the antique partners desk I used to have in Ventura, before my ex sold it out of spite after I left her in 1999. For some reason, though, I couldn't settle down here and write for long hours. Something was amiss. I put all of my favorite things on the table, but it didn't seduce me. Last weekend I decided to place the chair facing the room rather than the bay windows. Bam! That did it...

The Promise of Spring

"I don't mind complaining about the weather.

It's fun and makes for good conversation."

Arlo Guthrie

Everywhere I went yesterday, people seemed to want to talk about the weather. Even the morning's bomb scare on the OSU campus wasn't as popular a subject as the blue, cloudless sky and warmer temperature. Talking about the weather is only natural, I guess, since it's the one thing we all have in common. We're all subject to it and, whether we complain or rhapsodize over it, we generally agree...

Warm and Cozy

Icy Solstice

What better way to welcome winter today than with an ice storm and snow? Warm and snug indoors, I've set to my holiday baking while the rest of he family shop, relax with Windham Hill seasonal music, and play with the dog...

I Don't Need a Cell Phone

Vintage style

I've had a cell phone off-and-on, since, well, since my first one back in 1997 or '98. I didn't use it all that much then, either. Sometimes I go days without even remembering to turn my phone on. Almost all of my communication is done through either email or Facebook, so my phone gets used only when I'm out, which is seldom, anyway. I'm kind of a homebody these days...

The Audacious Autodidact

Springer Spaniel by Ron Krajewski

I took a little longer break from blogging than I intended, but I should caution you to get used to that between now and the new year. We're all busier at this time so I know you understand. Meanwhile, I'm trying my hand at something new. It has been a few years since I autodidcted myself (yes, I just invented that word). I think the last thing was CSS markup in 2006, so I'm way overdue. This is what I've headed into. Watercolors...

Grey Area

Wind chime

It's a gray day here at Bookends Cottage. As you know, I love this kind of weather and can enjoy it for days on end.

This picture is of a wind chime that was made by a friend of Lynette's. Made from a candy dish and a collection of spoons and knives, it makes a lovely sound when there's a gentle wind blowing. It hangs from the eave over our kitchen door. Today, I like the silver-gray of it against the autumnal backdrop.