Mr. Unexpected Comes to Dinner

Last night we ate dinner in the midst of a storm.  As we sat inside our warm, dry dining room, outside the wind howled and the rain, like it does every year at this time, completely saturated my back yard, turning it into a soggy bog.  

At one point, the wind gusts felt so strong, that I was preparing myself for lift-off and contemplating what life would be like in Oz.  Those thoughts quickly faded, though, when Dave, bravely pushed away from the table, walked over to the back door and opened it.  My first thought was that he was checking to see that the new shed he'd recently erected in the back yard hadn't toppled over or blown away.  That wasn't his intention at all; and when he uttered his next words, I was even more blown away... (get it?) 

"Here kitty kitty!  Here Cooper!"

"Are you calling the cat?" I asked,  trying to hide my surprise.

Nora, happy to have an excuse to avoid eating her dinner, turned away from her plate and said, "Dad I let him in a little bit ago."  

"Oh, good" he said, as he closed the door and walked into the living room, to see if Cooper was hiding in there.  

"There you are!"
Which was followed by an even more surprising: "and nobody turned on the fireplace for you!"

Cooper:
Safe and Dry on the couch
with his friend Kit

Nora and I just stared at one another; and I thought, perhaps we had landed in Oz after all.  Well, Dave must have seen the surprise on my face when he returned to the table.

"What?"  he asked.

Oh nothing, I thought.  It's just nice having company for dinner.

xoxo-

S

What's Next?

Well, I'm caught up with the comings and goings at "Downton Abbey," (will Matthew and Mary actually wed in the next season?) and I've just finished what I fear may be the last Harry Hole book by Jo Nesbo.  (I hope not)  So, now,  I'm on the hunt for new stuff.  I've been hearing a lot of good things about:

•  The Art Forger,
• The End of Your Life Book Club,  and
• Flight Behavior  (I love Barbara Kingsolver)

I think I might need to read Unbroken first, though.  It's been waiting a long time.  

Happy Reading,

S-

Tomayto, Tomaughto

I have always loved the color turquoise.  I don't know why; maybe it's because it reminds me of the sea, and my love of the beach.  Maybe it's because it goes well with my eyes; which are blue, not turquoise, but whatever.  Maybe it's because I find it calming. Maybe it's just because it's pretty.  For whatever reason, I am always drawn to it: turquoise jewelry, in particular.  However, I have been known to stop abruptly--right in the middle of a crowded aisle--when something as simple as a turquoise pillow, or candle, comes into view.  I'm even considering purchasing turquoise Fiesta ware; which would be quite a bold move for me.  And, though it's hard to admit now, in my foolish, foolish, youth I even owned a pair of turquoise 501s. 

But I'm a grown-up now, with grown-up tastes; which basically means I'm boring and wear a lot of black.   Oh, sometimes I'll throw in a touch of grey, or charcoal, but really aren't these just shades of black?  But I can't help it; I love it.  It's slimming.  It goes with everything.  And, of course, it's the perfect backdrop for all the WHITE fur my YELLOW lab leaves in his wake.

Until recently, I'd never given much thought to one's color preferences.  I just assumed we like what we like.  But maybe there's more to it than that.  Maybe, for instance,  genetics are involved.  Or, maybe one's preferences are based on the environment; what we see around us, what our friends and family wear, what we see as comforting, comfortable.  Well, I don't know if it's nature or nurture spinning the color wheel at my house, but there seems to be A LOT of black clothing making the rounds in my laundry room.

While most of it belongs to me, Dave and Nora both seem to gravitate to this color as well.  As a matter-of-fact, if you ask Nora what her favorite color is, she'll quickly reply, "black."  Much to most of her friends' horror, for purple, followed by blue, seems to be the most popular color among eight-year-old girls. As such, her recent request for a new bed cover, in--you guessed it--black, did not come as a surprise.  

Dave's tastes, I believe, are governed by gender. Or simply put, he sees black as an approved manly color, much like navy blue or grey.   Oh he will don a little red from time to time, when he's feeling wild, but this comes in the form of a WSU sweatshirt,  ergo* a major fashion faux-pas that we will continue to work on.  

Anna, unlike the rest of her family, tends to veer toward the sunny side of the closet.  Oh, she will wear black from time to time, but I don't think she'd say it's one of her favorites.  I don't know if she'd even be able to pick one color as her favorite.  As her closet clearly demonstrates, she likes them all.  And, like Roy G. Biv himself, she proudly wears them all; even if they are tights, in "berry," or pants that look like mint ice cream.  And she never thinks about mixing and matching while she's shopping.  She doesn't care if her new purchase will "go with" ten things or nothing.  If she likes it and it's colorful, she buys it.  And you can not talk her out of it; believe me, I've tried.

When it comes to turquoise, however, I think most of her "collection," is in the form of jewelry.  So I had to laugh when she told me of a recent conversation, regarding turquoise jewelry, with a girl at college.  Apparently, as the story goes, this girl hails from California.  A very wealthy area in California. Actually, the very wealthy area of California, wherein the residents don't know how to pronounce simple words, like turquoise.  For it was during this conversation, that said girl mentioned to Anna how much she loved the color "turquoi," which Anna carefully pronounced to me as tur-kwoi.

When Anna appeared clearly confused by this proclamation, said girl demonstrated her point by showing Anna a ring she was wearing.

To which Anna replied,"Oh! you mean turquoise!" 

To which the girl replied, "No. I mean turquoi.  That's how we pronounce it at home."

To which Anna said to me, "Can you believe that mom?  I tried to tell her it's actually called turquoise, but she wouldn't hear it!"

To which I laughed and replied, "well, to-may-to, to-maugh-to.  Sometimes you just can't win kid."

This point was made evident to me, yet again, a few weeks ago, when Nora ventured out of her Miss Mary Mack-ness and dressed herself for her school's Veterans Day assembly.  Per her teacher's request, she was asked to come to school wearing the patriotic Red, White, and Blue.  So I was a little surprised when she came downstairs that morning in a RED headband, WHITE t-shirt and BLUE turquoise cardigan.  When I asked her why she was wearing a turquoise sweater, she replied  "Mom!  It's blue!"

"Um...no dear," I thought.  "It's tur-quoi."  You see, like Anna, I, too, know when I cannot win.

xoxo-

S

P.S.  Recently, Nora and I have both encountered the word ergo in our readings.  I told her it was my goal to use it on my blog. I'm weird that way.  And she agreed that this was a good goal. As you can see, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  But if you need more proof, she also asked for a thesaurus for Christmas--I kid you not!!!


P.P.S.  I'd like to thank Anne K. for introducing me to Roy G. Biv at our kids' soccer game last saturday.  Apparently, I've been living under a rock for the last forty-five years!  

How To Spend Wednesday Night

How To Spend Wednesday Night:  

A:  Read the long-awaited Jo Nesbo book, "The Phantom,"  (yes I caved and bought the book)

B:  Watch Modern Family

C:  Watch Downton Abbey: Season 2, episode 3

Answer:  

B:  Watch Modern Family

C:  Fall asleep during Downton Abbey

A:  Read "The Phantom," at 5:30 a.m. on Thursday morning, while Dave gets ready to go hunting

Dear Rachel,

I have been thinking about renaming this blog.  What I've got now, just seems so...ordinary, I guess.  But since I'm still finding my way in this vast world of blogging, still finding my "voice," if you will,  I'm not sure what to change it to.  I'm thinking something without my name would be cool.  And I think a change, at this point, is appropriate, as there are only a few people who know this blog even exists,  and most of them live in the same house as me.   

However, there seems to be one other person who reads it occasionally and her name is Rachel.  She's funny, sassy, and not at all sarcastic--ahem.   She also has the cutest little boy named Camden...(okay boys and a girl) and she shares them with the world at  andthenshesnapped.com.  (Okay, this was my first attempt at being techie: linking up?  We'll see if my expert: "Blogging for Dummies" did its job)

As such, sometimes I think I should just title my blog:  Dear Rachel, and write to her.  I mean I'd love it if someone wrote to me every day.  Unless they were weird, or a stalker.  But, then, stalkers are weird.  So I'll just stick with weird, it covers it all.   

Dear Rachel,

It has a nice ring to it; kind of like Dear Abby, or Dear Pioneer Woman, but without all the advice.  I don't presume to be that smart, nor do I have free stuff to give away--COOL, free stuff--that is.  

Like The Pioneer Woman, though, I do know about methane gas, thanks to Nora.  But who wants to hear about my kid's flatulence?   I don't even want to.  So we're working on that.  Let's just say, she has tummy issues.  

And I'm really not the best cook, or baker. 

Now if someone wanted to know where to find the best coffee shops, or the best running trails, or what kind of wine I had with dinner, (always red NEVER white) or seek advice on parenting, (although, honestly, that's still a work in progress) then I'm definitely their gal.  

Fortunately, for everyone, I'm not interested in giving out advice.  I'm just here, from time to time, to leave a few words about my life at random.   

So, as you can imagine, when my eyes settled in on the never-before-seen "1 comment," at the end of one of my posts recently, I was ecstatic!  And a bit scared.  So I just sat there, staring at those words for an eternity, okay maybe like thirty seconds, completely unable to move the cursor over them and click.  All the while, my mind raced:  What did they say? I hope they were kind.  Did they find my words funny, witty, interesting?  Or, at the very least, NOT boring?  Finally I could take it no longer.

I clicked.  

It was from Rachel.  

Of course it was!  

Who was I expecting?  

And her words were lovely.  Although, honestly, getting a comment from Rachel felt a bit like getting one from my mother. Not that Rachel is like my mother, for she is NOT.  But she's kind of like the Mother Blog I aspire to.  She's funny, witty, and takes WAY better photos than me.  And she has like a zillion readers.  

Everyone, I assume, enjoys a bit of praise from time to time.  I am no exception.  It validates our efforts, makes us feel worthwhile, pushes us onward.  Yet when that validation comes from our mothers, I have to wonder:  is said praise based on merit or some sort of maternal, obligatory duty?

Thus, praised and pleased, I moved forward:  Blogging, blabbing, and thinking about my world.  Until, a few days ago, when I encountered those two blessed, little words yet again. This time there was no hesitation, however.  I simply pointed and clicked, ready to read what Rachel had written.  

But it wasn't from Rachel!  

It was from Shannon Zimmerman!

Who is Shannon Zimmerman?  

Apparently, she is the Shannon Zimmerman of The Pennsylvania Auntie Anne's family, and she was responding to a comment I had made about Nora's trip to our local Auntie Anne's pretzel shop!  How in the world she came across my little blog, within just hours of my post, is beyond me.    Are there really pretzel spies out there?  And, if so, then who else is out there, peeking, lurking, spying.  Well, maybe they'll stop by too.  This, obviously, illustrates my total lack of understanding when it comes to the management of information on the Internet.

In the end, while I did feel a bit like Big Brother had invaded my computer, I was happy he left a comment.  More importantly, I was happy he wasn't my mother.  

Thanks Shannon!

xoxo,
S-

To Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Our long holiday weekend started on Saturday with a soccer game. 

Note the fierceness. 

Note the shin guards inside the rain boots.

Nora and Meredith:
2 of the fiercest ladybugs you will ever meet

This Ladybugs victory was followed by a trip to Tacoma's newest doughnut shop:  Legendary Doughnuts.  And let me just say, YUM! 

Legendary Doughnuts on 6th Ave:
Check them out:) 

Here's what the girls had: 

Nora:  All Sprinkles, all the time
Meredith:   A purist through and through,
     The Glazed Doughnut

Here's what D and I had:  

Me:  glazed pumpkin (yum!)
Dave: The Tiger Tail,
(which was big enough to feed two, no lie) 

Now, if you are unlike us, and want non-traditional donuts covered in just about anything you can imagine:  gummy worms, chocolate, frosting, bacon you, too, will be pleased.  Or, if doughnuts made to look like famous celebrities (Homer Simpson, Sponge Bob)  is more your style, you can get those too.  But I don't know why you would.  

After all that sugar, Dave and I were pretty energized.  So while the girls played, he cut the grass and I swept the house and did laundry.  

And then it was time for dinner and a movie; a grown-up dinner, and a grown-up movie.  So Dave and I waved goodbye to Nora, Meredith, and Meredith's big sister, Abby, who kindly came over to keep an eye on things, and went on a real date.  A real date complete with a really big dinner and a really big glass of wine.  Too big, apparently.  For after settling myself into my seat at the theatre, I promptly nodded off.  And on.  And off again.  So I can't really say that I enjoyed Argo, but the ending was very tense and exciting, and, of course, they all got out of Iran alive.  

And here's our cool personal connection to the movie:  When Dave was in middle school, some of the former Iran hostages came to his school for a talk.  When I asked him what they said, he couldn't really remember.  I mean, it was a long time ago.  And he was like 12 or 13, so I'm sure all he was thinking of,  at the time, was getting the heck out of that gym and on to his bike or skateboard.  Still, I thought it was pretty cool.

And then came Sunday:  Veteran's Day.  To celebrate, we drove to the mountains and went geo-caching.  And I'm so glad we did.  There's nothing quite as wonderful as the first snow of the season; especially with your kid and your dog; and, especially if it's not at your house!  

Jack's fifteenth snow season

After some playing, and hiking, and searching, and searching, and lifting up snow covered bark, and searching some more,  we finally found it:  

the cache!

Inside this ammo box was a treasure trove that would please any eight-year-old.  Or at least our eight-year-old.  So, after signing the log book, Nora removed a horse figurine (of course) and left a beautiful colored stone.  Although, I don't think anyone will find her stone for a while.  No one had been to this cache for over a year.  Which isn't surprising, it was pretty far out there!  Which is what made it so wonderful.    

After all that hunting, hiking, and wild animal poop identifying, we were cold.    And needed to wash our hands!  So we stopped in Greenwater at one of our favorite watering holes, Wapiti Woolies, for some hot cocoa.  

Nora and Mr. Wapiti 

But by the time we got down to Bonney Lake, we were still hungry.  So we stopped again.  This time at Hop Jacks for some real food, and beer real drink.  And it was GOOOD!  

refueling with 2 of my favorite people

To finish off the weekend, Nora, and her fellow Brownie members, went on a field trip to Auntie Anne's Pretzels. (I know: who knew?)  There she learned the history of the pretzel, how to form a pretzel, how to stretch pretzel dough, how to squish pretzel dough, and how to eat a VERY sugared and cinnamon(ed) pretzel.  Oh, and she got a cool hat.  

Future pretzel makers?

So my long weekend pretty much consisted of eating and drinking.  And watching my kid exercise.  A pretty good weekend if I do say so myself.  

So thank you to all you Veterans for keeping my world a safe place to eat, drink, and be merry!  

xoxo-

S

Happy Not-Veterans Day

Today is not Veterans Day.  Since there is no school Monday, however,  Nora's school is holding a Veterans Day Assembly today--at 2:30 p.m. (or 14:30 for you Military Folks)

There will be Flags.
There will be Red, White and Blue.
There will be Veterans.
And, there will be Patriotic Songs.

Songs which Nora Jane has been practicing night and day (I repeat: night and day) for over a week. Songs which, despite all the practicing, still come out of her mouth sounding off-key, off-tune--just plain off.

But the show must go on.

Only this show will be one Veteran short:  Grandpa.  He doesn't travel.  And he doesn't like the spot light--At. All.

So, since Grandpa can't make it to the assembly, to see the star bearing his name in Nora's red correcting pen, or hear his grandaughter belt out a less than stellar rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner," this poem (from Nora's class) is for him--and all the other Vets out there:

 To:  Roger Jon Dahl

U.S. Army

WE HONOR OUR VETERANS WITH A STAR

WE HONOR THEIR SERVICE NEAR AND FAR

THEIR COURAGE AND WORK KEEP US SAFE AND FREE

WE WILL NOT FORGET VETERANS

YOU WILL SEE

With Love,

Sonja and Nora Jane

Lady of Leisiure

Although I am a stay-at-home mom, it is rare for me to find myself with nothing to do.  There is always laundry, grocery shopping, and, of course, the never-ending sweeping of the dog hair.  Today, however, is NOT one of those days.  While there are certainly things I could be doing, should be doing, I will not be doing them.  Because, after I took Little to school today, I drove downtown to my chiropractor's office and got a massage.  And this massage was going to be just what I needed,  the long-awaited cure-all for all of my ailments of late.  I just knew that post-massage, my back would no longer ache, I would have full range of motion in my hamstring, and, of course, I would feel great, invigorated even! 

Well, the end has come and gone.  And all I have done since driving myself home is hop on my bike and roll (downhill so I didn't even have to pedal much) to the met market with Dave for a cup of soup.  Presently, I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.  Hopefully, I'm spelling correctly.  

Prior to today, I have only had a couple of massages.  (Let's just say I have big space) And they were nice; relaxing.  So I didn't expect today's experience to be much different, especially when I saw the massage therapist.  She was a TINY Asian woman.  I could have picked her up with one hand.  (I like to think I'm stronger than I really am)  Tiny though she was, that woman knew what she was doing.  I felt muscles I have never felt before.  And as for the  sore and achy muscles I brought with me to her table; well, she wasn't easy on them either.  So when she asked, about half-way through, "Do you bruise easily?"  WHAT?  I got a little nervous.  Yet, I found it hard to answer;  her technique, while painfully good, still seemed mysteriously calming.

When she informed me," that's all for today, Sonja," I  rolled off the table, got myself dressed, and met her in the reception area where she instructed me to eat a good lunch, drink ten (TEN!) glasses of water, and ice my neck and back.  At this point, I was not feeling renewed.   

So, today, as of 1:06 p.m., I decided I would become one of those women:  those Ladies of Leisure.  Those ladies who do not go to work, yet do no work at home.  Because I can't.  I'm too tired.  I'm too sore.  Instead, I'm going to take some Advil, drink some (MORE) water, watch the very first episode of Downton Abbey and maybe even take a nap.  Two things  I NEVER do during the day!  And, yes, I am feeling a little guilty about it all.  I mean who needs to recover from a massage?

Goodnight.

S-

I'm Torn

Lately, I have been struggling with a dilemma.  Nothing earth shattering, like whether or not I should switch from The Blue Team to The Red. Nothing that's going to revolutionize my world, or make it a better place. Nothing that even involves my whole world. Just a little interpersonal struggle. The same struggle I always have: how best to cope in an ever-changing world. How to keep up. To fit in while staying true to myself, to my beliefs.  

What belief am I referring to?  

I, Sonja, The Bibliophile--And Lover Of All Things Book: library books, book stores, book clubs, book fairs, book mobiles, book shelves, even--want a tablet.  More specifically, I want a Kindle.  

could this be me?

How did this happen?  

It's not because they're cool and new.  Obviously, I'm way behind that bandwagon. 

Nor is my new found desire a financial one.  A new, hardcover book is about $25.00.  Downloading that same book, about $12.99 (I think).    Then there's the Kindle itself: $119. (gotta get the one with the back light I've been told)  None of these prices are so exorbitant that they'd break my bank, so what is causing my change of heart?  

Easy:  instant gratification. A tablet can provide me what I crave, when I crave it.  (Much like a drug addiction, I see, when I put it into words)  

I realize we have been brainwashed trained by advertisers, marketing experts to believe that we must have the latest and greatest the minute it comes on the market.  Why else would we line up at the stroke of midnight, when we should be sleeping, to be the first to purchase the latest IPhone, or IPad?  Why else would we let our kids stay up, way too late--ON A SCHOOL NIGHT--just to be among the first to see the latest Twilight movie?  Why else do our kids have no idea what Layaway is.  

Because we can't help it; everything is so accessible now-a-days.  Or can we?  We could retrain ourselves, right?  What's that old expression: anything worth having is worth the wait. (or something like that)  But waiting for a bestseller to hit the paperback table can be such a LONG wait. 

I haven't always been like this.  I used to have patience.  I just don't know where it went; maybe my kids drained it out of me, maybe it's just old age setting in.  I just know that it's gone.  And because it's gone, when I want something, (like a spoiled toddler) I want it now.  I don't want to wait for the paperback edition.  

Unfortunately, owning a tablet contradicts everything I've taught my girls: books need pages, made of paper.  They need a spine, a catchy cover, a picture of the author (complete with bio) in the back.  They need a brief synopsis on the inside flap, and loads of praise from book reviewers. 

So I can hear my family's comments now: 

Big:  Actually she will refrain from using words at all, letting her eye-rolling and jaw-dropping do the talking for her.  

Little: "cool!"

Mr.: "it's about time!"   

And what about the library?  Will I still go if all I have to do is sit at my computer, type in my card number and hit download?  And what about the book stores? As it is; they are slowly dying out. Luckily, my favorite book store, Liberty Bay Books, is still going strong.  But this, I'm sure, is the result of a savvy business owner.  An owner who has connected with her community.  An owner who makes sure her store always has something going on; a book club, a knitting group, an author visit. 

It wasn't all that long ago, this same book store owner transformed the streets of my hometown into the magical kingdom of Hogwarts.  And with a much younger Anna leading the way, I joined the throng of Gryffindor-clad children wandering the streets searching for signs of wizardry and magic. A late-night screening of an earlier Potter movie followed this scavenger hunt, and the night ended, outside said bookstore, where anxious young readers eagerly waited  for their very own copy of the newest Harry Potter book.  Finally, it was our turn.  When the tired bookseller crossed Anna's name off the pre-order list, handed her a book still wrapped in plastic, I swear she was beaming with excitement.  As soon as she got back to her Grandpa's house, she turned on the reading lamp, cracked that book open, smelled its fresh crisp pages, (she's weird that way) and dove in. 

I realize I could have waited and bought that book the next day, at a reasonable hour, and not missed a wink of sleep.  But that night was about more than just the book.  It was special for both mom and daughter, and has become a memory I will cherish forever; one that I hope Big still carries inside of her.  

What will become of these booksellers as more and more of us opt for e-readers?  Who will wander their aisles, perusing their new-fiction and bargain-book tables?  What will become of us as readers?  Will our children cherish their e-stories the same way Anna did?  

Right now, at this point, I don't care about any of that.  The spoiled toddler in me just wants her book.  She doesn't want to wait for the 22 holds at the library to read the ONE AND ONLY copy.  And she doesn't want to be a good role model for her children.  In fact, she has a new motto:  Life is precious, live in the moment!  Who knows what will happen tomorrow? 

Well, apparently, my moment will have to wait 5-7 weeks.  For that's how long the back order is on the Kindle.  

It figures!   

xoxo
S-

Calling All Coyotes

Friday morning, Dave and I were awakened at 3:20 a.m.!  

No, Little was not sick, or scared.  The dog, surprisingly, didn't need to go outside.  And the cat wasn't releasing a hairball on to the carpet.  Thank God!  

So what woke us?

Just our friendly, neighborhood coyote.  No, we have not moved to the country, and, yes, I did say coyote.  You know, those elusive, quiet, suburban-stalkers of the night!  Well, apparently, our local guy is still in training.  Or, someone forgot to tell him the rules, because he was neither elusive nor quiet.  He was  howling like a banshee!

Once Mr. realized what was making all the racket, he threw the bed-covers back, and, like a farmer ready to protect his hen house, ran down the stairs to the front door muttering, "damn coyote!" There was no showdown in the street, however.  For upon seeing Dave in the doorway, under the glow of the porch light, that coyote high-tailed it up the street, barking and howling the whole way.

I don't know what he was doing in our neighborhood.  Hopefully, not looking for a tasty pet to eat. Perhaps he was scared, lost, looking for his pack.  I haven't spent enough time in "The Wild," to even make an educated guess. From experience, though, I do know the sound of a youngster in distress. And this guy was, definitely, upset.  And I drifted back to sleep, hopeful he would soon find what he was looking for.  (and thankful it wouldn't be my cat who, also annoyed by the early wake-up call, was now on alert and looking out the window)

Later that morning, Mother Nature reminded me that coyotes aren't the only wild animals I share my city with.   As I rode my bike through a foggy, mist-covered Pt. Defiance Park,  I saw two little bucks: one, wearing only a single spike; the other: a beautiful three-point.  The first, was still young enough to allow his curiosity to get the best of him.  Thus, he just stood there, across the road from me, gazing at me with his beautiful, big-browns. The latter, however, was totally and completely unimpressed with me.  His age and wisdom have taught him that while cycling clad humans pose no danger, we simply aren't worth their time.  So off he went.

Due to my failed attempts to capture either of these beauties on film, (taking pictures with an Iphone, while wearing cycling gloves is not an easy task) I decided to ride a second lap, hopeful I'd see them, or their friends, again.  Sadly, I did not.  Feeding time was done; they had hunkered down,  somewhere in the bowels of the park, to sleep away the rest of the day.  I did, however, see a few squirrels and chipmunks, and heard a very well-hidden bullfrog.  It was the raccoon I encountered on my way out of the park, though, that stopped me in my tracks.  The look he gave me, from the side of the road, where, just moments before, I'm sure, he'd been sharpening his claws, made me sweat more than the big hill  leading up to the Five-Mile-Drive.  I just knew he was sizing me up, trying to decide if I was worth the ass-kicking that, apparently, he felt I deserved for not bringing him any food to eat.  Where's that coyote when you need him? 

Obviously, we aren't going to be friends with all of nature's creatures.  We do, however, have to share our world with them.  And I'm glad that, today, they reminded me of this.  So, while I wasn't happy about being woken up in the middle of the night, I did enjoy hearing the sounds of nature right outside my door. Additionally, I hope that little coyote is okay; because, from now on, keeping the raccoons away from my house is his job.  

xoxo

S-