But then I realized, I just can’t take these fish anymore.
It looked like it would all come off in one piece.
Not so much.
I’m out of counter top. Can you reach if you stand in the tub?
That’s exactly the piece I thought would just zip off cleanly, the way the edges are already pulling away from the wall… Bummer. I hate it when that happens.
There’s got to be a product that will help get the rest of the backing off, right? Shall I get the bread scraper?
Bye bye, fishies.
Ahhhh……
Hey Rick… will you hand me the screwdriver, please?
* Yes, that is a stuffed monkey hanging off our laundry closet door. What? Where do you keep yours?
Two new ecru Poos flew through the dunes of Half Moon at noon.
Did we just win something? I feel like we should have won something…
The one in the green collar is Oliver. And the one in pink?
Lulu.
They’re five-month old Standard Poodle siblings. Lulu lives in Half Moon Bay. Bro Ollie lives in El Granada. Their respective owners got them together for a visit and a romp on Sunday.
There was some important skills-training going on with the older kids. The black Standard (from the same breeder, I think) was working the ball moves, showing them how it’s done.
Lulu caught on quickly.
While the twenty-yard tennie chase was fun, the pups had their fill of it soon enough.
Time to practice the synchronized prancing routine.
Of the eight available paws here, it seemed that only three were touching the ground at any given moment.
The new trick for the weekend? The half-circle split and return. They did pretty well, except Oliver couldn’t quite get the syncopated trotting thing down. No worries… there’s always next time.
And look! Kids!
We thought they were a mixed Afghan-Poodle blend at first, the way that kinky hair shimmied and shook. Lulu was working on the blond hair flippy thing that female teenagers seem to enjoy so much.
It turned out they were simply soggy Standards.
Like all youngsters, they were trying on different roles and poses. For instance, it occurred to Lulu that if she could get both ears flapping in time, she might get a bit more lift. She’s seen “Dumbo.” Don’t tell her what is and isn’t possible.
Oliver started the butt nipping circuit.
Lulu ended it.
I must say, I don’t blame Oliver. Lulu is so sweet…
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The road between our two valleys is 900 miles long. This means we have spent a LOT of time on pavement in the last year or so. Yesterday’s post reminded me how many photos I’ve shot in the last year at 65 mph (give or take). so this morning I did a quick zip through the archives with that perspective in mind.
Truly, there are some magnificent vistas along the way…
… with sky and water and land that’s so beautiful and changes so quickly you can’t quite believe your eyes.
But sometimes, it’s just hour after hour of this.
There are places that are so far away from anywhere that, although the locator app gives assurance that you are, indeed, somewhere, it doesn’t want to speculate on the details.
There are stretches where it’s mile after mile of these…
… with a rare shift in artistic impression to relieve the tedium.
It’s always a highlight when you catch a glimpse of a critter (coyote? wolf? Henny Penny?)…
… and even cows can gjve you something to do with the camera.
For instance, I was wild with excitement when we came across this herd next to an off-ramp on the way to a pit stop. For one invigorating moment, I thought they were really large ostriches. In formation. With their school letters proudly on display. In Idaho.
I still don’t know what they are (thrashers? threshers? thrushes?), but I’m pretty clear now they weren’t ostriches.
In an upcoming post, remind me to tell you about my love/hate relationship with Flying J Travel Plazas. For now, let’s just agree that I took a photo of a sign that advertised bratwurst, and this has meaning.
Eating is a great way to pass seven or eight minutes.
In the spirit of a public health bulletin, let me say here that attempting to eat a Carl’s Junior Low-Carb burger while driving is the equivalent of texting, flossing, and dropping a lit cigarette between the seats, all at the same time.
Not recommended, unless you’re the one with the camera and find that kind of thing really funny when it happens to someone else.
Personally, I don’t enjoy having my picture taken after I’ve been on the road for 13 hours, but maybe that’s just me. Rick is a much better sport about that kind of thing.
Note the bare foot up on the dashboard. This is always a clear sign of the onset of NBS (Numb Butt Syndrome), and that I’m likely getting cranky.
I sometimes wonder if these mark the spot where someone died of boredom.
Generally, though, we really enjoy road trips and find them great fodder for our journals, blog, and memory bank.
There’s a ton of good music to enjoy along the way, meandering conversations to start, stop, and rewind, and some stunning scenery to soak in. And at the end of a very long day, there is almost always somewhere to find a pot of gold.
I always rush things. I say that like it’s a good thing.
At least, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.
I prefer to think of it as a natural enthusiasm for what’s just around the corner… like spring.*
As a consequence, lately our posts have been about mud puddles, spring flowers, calves, outdoor restaurant patios, and soup.
(Soup is definitely a cross-seasonal topic.)
But this morning as we were wading through recent photos looking for inspiration for today’s blog post, I found myself not quite ready to let go of winter.
Or at least, I wasn’t ready to slide fully into spring without one last post of a handful of the 10,012 photos we took of snow this year.
I used to think that winter was a time of no color, but I’ve changed my mind. Without the desaturated foreground of black, white and shades of gray, would I have noticed the delicate, almost mango peachy palette of this sunset?
Late-season snow has a meringue-like quality that shimmers with pinks and blues and purples rivaling even the most flamboyant of the tiny box houses sprinkled on the hills of San Francisco.
Do you think it’s an issue that everything looks like food to me?
You’ll never see the effect of a full moon bouncing off a tin roof like this in summer. It was like looking directly at a partial eclipse. I had Mrs. Brommelly from Grade 2 echoing in my head with warnings of burned retinas and the certainty of going blind. I put my sunglasses on just in case.
Is the midnight night sky that blue in June?
There… I think I’m done now.
It was this shot of the Snake River that inspired today’s blog. I took it a few weeks ago out of the car window at 65 mph, rolling into Swan Valley from Idaho Falls.
When I saw it this morning, I thought, “Hey, that’s a pretty winter shot. We should do one last post on winter scenes before hanging up the mittens for the year.”
Warning: the title is misleading. There are no daisies in this post.
At least, I don’t think there are. I’m never really sure here about the local landscaping: I’m a transplant myself.
I know this one’s a passiflora. My friend Nancy knows her petunias from her peonies and has enlightened me.
That little purple fringe in the center reminds me of Disney-esque eyelashes. That epiphany a few weeks ago has literally colored my brain filter regarding California flowers. I can’t look at these now without thinking about poor lost little Nemo.
See this bush? It’s right outside our door in Half Moon Bay.* I shot this yesterday because once again, I was absolutely flabbergasted at the brilliant blue bush outside our door. It really is this blue.
For Californians, this is no big deal. They’re accustomed to indiginous flora that look like they have been hand-painted by the crew at Pixar. But back in the spring of my Canadian memory bank, the early blooms wear a more subtle palette: creamy crocuses, soft pink crab-apple blossoms, the blush of the variegated tulips.
But this is just so in-your-face yabba-dabba-doo pink.
Oh sure, in other places there is the sturdy unapologetic yellow of the forsythia and daffodils, but these flowers tend to be more forthright and unassuming. “I’m yellow. Okay, I’m bright yellow, but let’s not make a fuss about it.” It’s like they all come from Wisconsin and speak like Garrison Keillor.
But this? Who wears orange like this? This kind of boldness has got to originate in an unshakable confidence in the certainly of lots of hot weather to come.
I almost didn’t include this one.
Something about it being Monday morning, and trying to start out the week on the right foot, etc. Also, we try to keep it clean here (not to be confused with “nice” because sometimes I just can’t help myself).
But apparently I am going to include it, so I’ll just say this: I really was attracted to this shot by the water droplets. At first. But double take lead to triple take, which lead to an “oh my!” moment that made me wonder if I should use it at all. But it’s just a flower.
Maybe it’s just me, anyway.
Is it just me?
You know how sometimes your mind will hit a certain trajectory and then everywhere you look, you just see more of the same? I’m surprised now that a couple more bees and a bird or two didn’t show up to be photographed, just so I wouldn’t miss the message…
Spring is here!
*For those new to our site, welcome! And no, you’re not bonkers if you thought,”Wait a minute! Last week-end your neighbors on one side had a farm and on the other side a fine art gallery and studio in Teton Valley. Waddup?” This is true.
It’s also true that we have another home in California where our neighbors on one side have a little condominium just like ours looking out on to a golf course, and our neighbors on the other side also have a little condominium just like ours looking out on to a golf course.
We spend time in both locations as much as we can.
Rick and I were hanging out in the spring sunshine this morning on the patio of the Moonside Bakery and had the good fortune to meet Diesel, the 5-year old 100-lb. Rottweiler. The encounter once again confirmed my theory that some of the best people watching at restaurants happens from the knees down.