Thursday February 19 2009

Fremont Lake from the Overlook

Two couples with dogs meet on the

x-c ski trail, click it to see them better

"The Boys" on the groomed ski trail.

It's pretty nice to walk on.

Another gorgeous day out so far. Perhaps the dogs would like to walk before the wind starts to blow. Yesterday I typed up a list of our more frequently called phone numbers. It will be a lot easier than looking them up. My address book is soooo out of date, so desperately need a new one of those. It's over 30 years old now and numbers called have changed a lot, most listings are obsolete. Today have vacuumed and got laundry done and beds changed.

I'm going to make some "Pink" cookies for our meeting tomorrow in celebration of Valentine's month, if not day. Beverly gave me the recipe. She made it when she had one of her young women's meetngs and said they are really good. Looks like about a dozen members will be coming and that's a good turnout. I haven't seen the cleaned-out art room yet, but hope it made it roomy enough for this larger group. We usually have 6, 7 or 8. It will be nice to see everyone.

Got Sparky brushed, a long ordeal for us both. He has a lot of dry shedding dander too, so hope the upcoming bath will help it. Then Raven had her turn. They really understand "taking turns". Then they get a treat and know how to demand that too, since they know they were so good. Joe went down to work on a project at Tom's. The ring he bought to lift the cover in his closet floor to go down to the crawl space doesn't work so he's going to reconfigure it. Soon I'll go on downtown to the courthouse to get that paper taken care of and get some groceries.

Not much happening to write about, but if it does I'll come back and report later.

It looks like John Updike knew how it felt not to sleep too.

Tossing and Turning
by John Updike

The spirit has infinite facets,
but the body
confiningly few sides.
There is the left,
the right, the back, the belly,
and tempting in-betweens,
northeasts and northwests,
that tip the heart and soon pinch circulation
in one or another arm. Yet we turn each time
with fresh hope, believing that sleep
will visit us here, descending like an angel
down the angle our flesh's sextant sets,
tilted toward that unreachable star
hung in the night between our eyebrows,
whence dreams and good luck flow.
Uncross your ankles. Unclench your philosophy.
This bed was invented by others;
know we go to sleep less to rest than to participate
in the twists of another world.
This churning is our journey.
It ends, can only end, around a corner
we do not know
we are turning.

Another Maxine - this certainly applies here!