Monday Evening Rain

When I arrived for the meeting of the 'every other week new work review' group, I turned off the windshield wipers and captured these two.

In which Kodak goes to play with Tucker

Kodak and I went over to Bryan's house for lunch (and playtime). This involved taking a ride in the car.

A ride in the car is a fundamentally different experience for a dog than for a person.

Here we are, ready to head out.

Next stop, the end of our driveway.

Kodak can tell we're getting close to Bryan and Tucker's house.

Surly Youth

When I stopped by the post office today, we had a LARGE package waiting for us. Not heavy, just bulky and requiring two hands. So I piled our mail on top, picked up the package, and headed out.

As I approached the door, two kids zoomed up on their bikes. One of them spotted me (and my package predicament) through the door. She let her bike fall over, and raced to the door to pull it open for me. After I carefully squeezed through the door, I thanked her.

She muttered "It wasn't much" in that surly tone which kids use to indicate "I've just done something polite and helpful and I don't want any flack just because my parents are raising me right."

Maybe the world is not going to hell in a handbasket after all.

Parking lot

Judging from the behavior of everyone around me, I'm the only one who liked the clouds.

You know you're old fashioned when

The license plate frame reads "I'd rather be shoplifting at Nordstrom."

You know you're old fashioned when you see something like this and think "What sort of moral cretin would make a public statement like that?"

I guess it's supposed to be funny. Somehow, bumper stickers (and license plate frames) which are supposed to be funny rarely seem funny to me.

Bread is magic

A long time ago, my mom and grandmother taught me how to bake bread.

Today, Greg wanted me to show him how. So we got out the mixer and the big bowl and the pans, and Greg and I baked bread. In fact, we baked some White Bread Plus, from the recipe in Joy of Cooking - referring to the copy that my Mom gave me, ages ago. If you put the book on the counter and just let it fall open, it more or less opens automatically at that page. I guess the book remembers.

We put in the flour, we put in the water and the butter. We let the mixer run, and although at first I couldn't remember quite how things went, as we watched the mixer run, it all came flooding back. Maybe you never quite forget.

And then we dumped the dough out of the mixer bowl onto the counter, and I quickly showed Greg how to knead it. People have different kneading patterns and different styles, but I think my style is a close match to my grandmother's, who taught me a thing or two about bread years ago (including how to make absolutely fabulous cinnamon bread, for toast).

So I gave it a quick knead, to show Greg how, and then I had him take over.

Greg was a nearly instantaneous learner. Notice how his style matches Grandma's?

Two minutes in, and Greg is a confident expert. I don't think he even got his hands sticky once.

Ferry

Some time ago, Paula and I took the ferry to Whidbey Island, to go to a dinner at the end of the Hedgebrook Women Playwright's Festival.

Awesome plays. Awesome playwrights. Wonderful food and company.

And on the way over, I took this as the ferry crossed between Mulikteo and Clinton. The upper right corner is a problem I can live with.

Time to Head Home

Greg and I filled the last few hours of time with a visit to Cahokia.

Here, on the top of the main mound, it looks like Greg is more than ready to head home. So am I.

The Arch

The Arch wasn't falling down, but Greg indulged me in a bit of whimsy anyway.

How can you resist various compositions with the Arch?