Good evening, friends. I have lost my train of thought here, I suppose that's why people stop blogging, but once I get started I know it'll be fun. I love to write and was so sad these past weeks when my computer was so wonky.
It is a cold miserable night here at the beach. Rain, verging on sleet, howling winds, and oh so dark.We have gone from late summer to dead of winter. I can't believe I am again--already!---wearing my three or four layers of clothes, including snow pants, to take poor bundled up Mo out for a walk. November here should be crisp and breezy and golden. Mellow, happy, with the holidays ahead. But no.
My special drawer where I store what I call transitional clothes has mostly gone unopened. In it I keep cropped pants, cardigans in autumn colors, a couple cotton turtle necks, bright socks, wooly plaid scarves. My two favorite LL Bean sweaters that are 80% cotton/ 20 % cashmere. All unworn. It is just far far too cold.
The sweet little lime tree got frost bite! Flannel sheets on the beds! And--gasp--the heat is on, that never happened until last year when November was also very cold. I think we should call it "climate change" for accuracy, as global warming doesn't fit the bill of windchill in the teens on what is traditionally our first day of Fall here at the beach--Veterans Day.
Mo and I still have to venture out of course. Some days, when the wind is still, he trots along merrily. But when the wind blows hard, he lags and cries and our walks are no fun at all.
We inspect the grey fences for hints and remnants of the autumn we expected and remember better years.
after the early frost---the morning glory vines.
hardy roses, usually bloom til Christmas.
In late summer the koi pond was ''updated''....very craggy and slick now.
Only four koi remain, so sad. Used to be 13 big koi. I hope they were relocated and didn't die when their long time home was upended.
I think we sat out on the deck to sew just once since Halloween. Tail down, you can tell Mo isn't happy, he is cold.
Sometimes Mo sits out alone after breakfast. He seems to like his new sweater, it's loose and soft.
I have moved our hand sewing hour indoors, late mornings. We sit in at the dining table, like we used to do, backs to the warmth of the low northern sun.
Meanwhile I am putting together the tshirt quilt for my friend. It is much harder to do than I ever imagined. And today, just after I got the strips sewed up, my friend texted that she has another shirt to add. Um. No, I said. She wasn't pleased. I think non-quilters do not understand the effort involved in a commissioned project. Yet I desperately hope to please her and her daughter, whose quilt it will someday be.
Very off topic, for a few friends here [or anyone who cares] , friends--Mel, Kel, Bonnie, Wanda--- who were fans of the Stephanie Plum novels in their heyday. The next book is out, Number 26. You can read it or not. I always skip over anything with Grandma or Morelli, so there wasn't much there for me to read. But one page caught my amused attention. Stephanie is again whining that her job is going nowhere, and she says, "I'm 56 years old, I should have a career by now!" [or some such] And Lula says ''What? You aren't 56, your mom is 56. ''
The funny part of this short bit is that Stephanie was 30 in Book one, and has always been 30 since; yet if she had aged, she would indeed be 56 now, 26 books and 26 years later. It showed an unusual hint of irony and self-awareness on the part of whoever writes these books now. [Ranger is reserved and sexless. He only gets maybe 4 pages. How sad. He does give her a new Porsche though. Some things never die. Oh and Tank has a walk on moment but not a speaking part.]
gone to the beach....