Thursday, December 05, 2013
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
It's supposed to get cold tonight...California style. In Saint Plotniko it could dip down into the low 40s and upper 30s. Ehhhh! say I. But if it gets close to 32 we'll have some plants to be moving inside.
Dungeness crabs are in. It's time for a feast.
The whales are feasting on anchovies in Monterey bay. Just booked a whale watching trip out of Santa Cruz for when BZ and CZ are here. It better not rain. Apparently there have never been more whales and orcas out there, due to an unexplained super-bloom of anchovies.
Which makes me think this is the year to acquire fresh anchovies. Never have been a fan of the ones in cans, but the fresh ones we ate in Sicily have made me re-think.
We will never know which sea critters were in the seafood risotto in Siracusa. When they are that fresh it probably doesn't matter.
Thinking about the bay in front of Captain Crow's house in Maine, and all those lobster pots. How are the lobsters doing this year?
It appears that oysters will be on the menu for late Christmas dinner this year in Greenville SC. For once, we're going to get to share the wealth, alevai inshallah.
We were talking the other night about where we could move and be happy. It's really hard to imagine not being near an ocean. The Duck thinks a lake would be OK, but Plottie is disagreeing. A lake is a geological accident. The ocean is pure life.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Mom's not ill. She's just so tired. She's wearing the mask now, the look that says I am closer to sleeping than being awake. I don't know if she's crossed over a line, or whether she's just temporarily out of gas, or ... If she's just really, really tired.
She's got a right to however she feels. Ninety nine-plus means she's earned it.
It's hard for me though. Last Thanksgivng was fun and she had a great time. Maybe she'll bounce back. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
New First Verse to 'Who Will Be Our Mandela"
"Politics, a plague
Hatred out of scale
A hurricane, a gale
Of lies and obstruction
A country of such wealth
We're in declining health
It's each man for himself
We're weapons of self destruction
Where is he?
Where is she?
Who will be?
Who will be our Mandela?"