At breakfast over croissants and tea, Jayro said, “Wow, I think jetlag is finally catching up.” And Nicki said, “It’s called a hangover.” They each had 4 glasses of wine at dinner plus another on our rooftop overlooking the Acropolis. At the end of dinner, the waiter gave them a free glass on the house. It was buy 3 get, one free! Opa.
Okay, travel to Europe was looking more positive this afternoon until I watched the NBC Nightly (Bad) News to learn that the volcano was spewing more black smoke (Lost fans, read—smoke monster?). I am traveling to Greece Tuesday so I am appealing to the Lady of Athens herself: Girl, just do your thing! We need some help here!
Passport, check. Itinerary, check. Camera to photograph me at the Acropolis, check. Cute, comfy flats, check. Cute MK dress, check. Volcanic ash creating the most disruptive air travel since 9/11—what?!!! Noooo……..
The other day I reblogged this quote by Abram L. Urban (via bluezfire), which says in part, ”My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers and the dreams are as beautiful.”
Of course, I have known for a long time that gardening is an ongoing creative process and therapy for the mind and soul. That’s why I love it. But what I also know (for sure, Oprah) is that therapy is like gardening—in particular, weeding. You have to pull some of those thoughts out because you don’t want them growing there.
“In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.”— Abram L. Urban (via bluezfire)
“I’m ambivalent about a lot of places, but I am unrestrained in my love for Chicago. Only Chicago could convince me that the New York hot dog was not, in fact, anywhere near the apex of the hot dog arts (The Chicago Red Hot deserves that honor). Two respectably old school baseball teams, great, great bars, a tradition of unapproachably good and important music, its own, truly imposing style of architecture, an attitude both big city wise-ass and heartland lack of bullshit, a city open to the best and most excessive/creative of new, experimental cooking styles, loaded with great chefs (many of whom are pals), it’s simply another place I’ll use any excuse to visit.”—
WTH is this. They can’t just do that. Can they? 62 years, people! This is the kind of thing that needs to be grandfathered in by generation, there’s no way people are going to just up and change the way they play. Bull cocky.
In related news, Rooks can move diagonally now in chess.
No damages where we are in, everyone just a little shaken up. Here we go again, OMG!! Another tremor! we haven’t heard of any damages in San Diego. There have been several after shocks and really shaky—-this is a bit unnerving. Things hanging on the wall are swaying, my chandelier and some trivets over my stove.
OMG!! We just felt the biggest earthquake in all my years of living in San Diego, 6.9!! I was on the sofa and it was quite a roller that seemed to last a long time. I ran into the yard and still felt the ground rolling….No damages by us, but epicenter in Baja.
A Reliable Wife, by Robert Goolrick, published 2010, (paperback found in Costco for $8.99) is a quick read and definitely held my interest. It is set in 1807 in Wisconsin when the main character Ralph Truitt posts a personal ad advertising for a reliable wife. The answer to his ad is Catherine, who came with the intention of slowly poisoning him with arsenic. The plot begins to twist immediately. The story line is appropriate to the dark Midwestern winter setting. But, in the end, I have to say I didn’t really care much for the characters in this dysfunctional family. Up next on reading list, Noah’s Compass, by Anne Tyler.