Saturday, February 28, 2015


I know I shouldn't complain about the cold temperatures and the snow when the north east has been buried in the stuff for week after week .And there are some hardy souls who relish life in frigid conditions.  But I'm complaining anyway.  I grew up in Hermosa Beach, California where heat and air conditioning were rarely necessary.  I moved here 35 years ago when the winters were mild and most of the time the snow would be melting as it fell. It seems the climate has changed. The temperature stays below freezing for longer periods of time now and the roads are risky to drive on for more days of the year. An approaching ice age?  Global Warming?  I don't know but I'm beginning to yearn for warmer climes.

A precarious walk to the mailbox.

Snow doesn't seem to bother dogs.

Tank takes it in stride.

Sadie, the emergency back up dog, seems to enjoy it.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Birthday Party

Yesterday we had a birthday party for Burk and Gracen.  We had fried chicken sandwiches, french fries, and in lieu of a birthday cake we had a giant chocolate chip cookie.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Birds of Winter

A female cardinal and a downy woodpecker avail themselves
of our hospitality.

Wednesday, February 04, 2015

Lunch With Old Friends

I had lunch today with some fellow retired postal employees.

Del Johnson, Wally Blue, Kelly Fagan, Perry Jordan, Dennis Morton.

Dennis and his 1968 Chevelle.

Sunday, February 01, 2015

Quote of the Day

It is easy to sense and embrace meaning when life is on track. When there is a feeling of fullness – having love, goodness, family, work, maybe God as parts of life – it’s easier to navigate around the sadness that you inevitably stumble across. Life holds beauty, magic and anguish. Sometimes sorrow is unavoidable, even when your kids are little, when the marvels of your children, and your parental amazement, are all the meaning you need to sustain you, or when you have landed the job and salary for which you’ve always longed, or the mate. And then the phone rings, the mail comes, or you turn on the TV...
What is the point of it all when we experience the vortex of interminable depression or, conversely, when we recognize that time is tearing past us like giddy greyhounds? It’s frightening and disorienting that time skates by so fast, and while it’s not as bad as being embedded in the quicksand of loss, we’re filled with dread each time we notice life hotfoot it out of town.
One rarely knows where to begin the search for meaning, though by necessity, we can only start where we are... It somehow has to do with sticking together as we try to make sense of chaos, and that seems a way to begin.

--Ann Lamott