Smiling skies

As I head out in about an hour for a night of driving to the fabulous wilds of Blythe and Yuma (don't keep your travel agent waiting!) for a week+ of all things alfalfa, I wish I still had this view staring down at me to cheer my journey. Shining Venus, winking Jupiter, and a happy moon



As seen from our backyard at sunset, around 5 pm PST.

Alas, they've set by now. And I'm not nearly as happy as the moon to leave kith and kin.

The benefits of marriage

I casually mentioned at a dinner out with the family that I was looking forward to a hot bath tonight, cavalierly stating maybe even with bubbles.

Not expecting even having the chance at any kind of hot water tonight, I was favorably surprised with a drawn hot bath, with bubbles, and a side of peppermint bark waiting for me soon after returning home. Ahhhhh.

Even better, I got to read Vonnegut's almost-last book, A Man Without a Country. In agreement with *nearly* all his observations, mixed with smiles of appreciation for his wit and style, I was sad, thinking of what he would have written November 5th, 2008.

Bath, bubbles, bon bon, bon mot - nice.

Saturday night You-Tube surfing

Had me cackling.

Yes we can.

There is Hope again.

This just in - Obama landslide in "real America"

The little hamlets of Dixville Notch and Harts Location, New Hampshire have done the stereotypical New England flip-off of bed and comfort to vote at midnight, and the results are in.

Obama wins, without a single black vote.

There's a small part, a VERY small part of me who wants to move straight-away to one of those towns just to be a part of such civic-mindedness. But the rest of me wonders just how devoted I would be to crunching through the frost at oh-dark-thirty to vote in what must be some sort of conscripted duty. Do folks have to sign an understanding with the local constabulary that every four years, if registered to vote, for primary and general elections, they must cast a ballot at midnight or face.... what? Tar and feathers? Ironing everyone's shirts?

BigFoot, on the other hand, doesn't want to live in Dixville Notch because he thinks the name is far too phallic.

Either way, so goes small-town "real America", so goes the Nation. One can hope.

Rest in peace, and Goddess bless, Toot.