The worst kinds of transitions…

Here’s a scenario for you. Person A says to Person B: “Hey, you should come hiking with me some time!” Person B smiles, ducks their head, and modestly responds, “Oh, I would love to, but really, I am so out of shape!” then gives a cute little self-deprecating giggle. When the time to hike comes, Person B dons their hiking boots (which they of course purchased at the REI garage sale), their designer sweatpants, and sportily carries along a Nalgene waterbottle. Then, to the astonishment of (self-proclaimed “in-shape”) Person A, who fully expected them to be hiking at a slow and laborious rate, Person B goes trotting up the side of a mountain, smiling, talking, and barely getting out of breath. Person A is astonished that they didn’t even have to adjust their normal rapid pace to accommodate Person B.
I am not Person B.
Meet Person C, who didn’t make their way into the previous scenario. Person C hears about hiking, and thinks to herself, “Oh, wow, I would LOVE to do that, as long as there is a view at the top.” Person C vaguely wonders what it would be like to be in shape. She then gets invited by Person A to go hiking, on an “easy hike”, and says, “Oh, I would love to, but really, I am SOOOOO out of shape!” However, since Person C is a trooper, she decides to give this getting-in-shape thing a try. After all, how hard can it be? Surely your muscles can keep working as long as you can breathe. When the time to hike comes, Person C digs around to find her old broken down tennishoes, any available pair of sweatpants, and, if she’s lucky, some socks that won’t slip down into the shoes halfway through the hike. Person A is thrilled to get Person C to come, and firmly believes that Person C can’t be as out of shape as she claims.
I am Person C.
Yes, that was me you saw, falling up the side of a mountain the other day. Why yes, I was the one leaning against the car for more than fifteen minutes after all the other intrepid hikers had energetically pulled away. That girl who was gasping as if it were her last breath, only two minutes into the hike? Me. That chick who barely pushed out monosyllabic answers in between ragged steps? Me.
And yes, it was me who stopped everyone halfway through, gasping out enthusiastically “Look at this VIEW!” Then, after everyone stopped, realized that there is no view from here; there were only thick forests surrounding us. I shrugged, and said, “Well, it’s all so green and pretty,” and stalled long enough to barely catch a breath. After my heart stopped beating in my eardrums, I closed my eyes tightly and started to take another painful step.
If you wondered why I didn’t start stretching immediately afterward, it’s because it was all I could do to merely stay upright. And you know how I wasn’t making eye contact with you? It wasn’t because I hate you for dragging me up the mountain at an unhealthy speed, it’s because my ears are buzzing and my sight is getting fuzzy so I can’t even really see your eyes. I didn’t answer your question, because all I know is that you were talking; it was physically impossible for me to focus on actual words, let alone comprehend a full sentence. Your joke was hilarious, and you thought I only gave a courtesy laugh and grimace… In reality, that weird sounding laugh was genuine, and the grimace was the closest I could come to a beautiful smile. You may have glanced down the trail and thought I was glaring daggers at your back, but really… Oh wait. I was. Getting caught up in agony and gasping and a pounding heart and aching muscles was just enough to lead me to indulge in a moment of anger. Anyone ahead of me on the trail is usually the focus of that irrational ire, especially if they have the gall to be both “in shape” and cheerful.
But actually, I did enjoy the hike. Well, I liked taking a cool shower later, anyway. And I enjoyed the company… for a few cognizant moments. In all seriousness, though, I DO want to do it again. If you are ever one of the unfortunate people who I finagle into hiking with me, you should know that while you are hiking competently, I will be stumbling up the trail behind you, wondering what you would do if I just fell over the edge and didn’t get up again. If you ask me to go hiking, on an easy hike, I might hem and haw. The cause of this? I am severely embarrassed by my lack of athletic prowess, and sincerely regret the inconvenience that experienced hikers are put to when I come along. Those two things are the sole causes of my hesitation.
If you have ever been where I am right now (i.e., very much out of shape), you understand everything I wrote perfectly, and have sympathy for me. You understand all my sentiments, and know what it’s like to struggle towards a goal at the top of a mountain. If not, and you are one of those paragons of atheticism that I so resent, then you are astonished at all these paragraphs of absolute gibberish, and are thinking “What? Hiking is FUN! Going up a steep trail is GREAT! Running down the mountain afterward makes me feel like the picture on an REI ad!”  Hopefully, you are somewhere in between, and have both a deep appreciation for the transitional pain I’m going through, and the triumph I may someday achieve.
I am excited at the idea of getting in shape— it remains to be seen if I enjoy the reality. Someday, you will get on my blog and see a post called “The joys to be found in the outdoors,” (or some such ridiculous title) and it will be full of oozing happiness at the latest hike I went on. Hopefully I survive to see that day...

This and That, Hither and Yon

How long does a blog retirement last, exactly? Is a week or two sufficient to call it a break? We’ll say yes for now, and if I retire it again, I’ll be sure to legitimize it by waiting at least a month before posting. I had sincerely hoped that I would have the remnants of a past blog to help me get going, but the words “No drafts” quashed that dream quickly. Recently all my creativity (and believe me, the stores are easily depleted) has been channeled into either my book or journal. That’s right—my book. I write, all the time. It’s not good, or even interesting, and is relegated to the dusty shelf where I keep my poetry notebook. My plan is to burn all those things (or delete them from the computer, in some cases) within the next few years, lest I die suddenly and the embarrassing results of my fanciful (and moderately dramatic) mind are open to the world. I would hate to “sport with your intelligence” (to quote Ms. Austen) by sharing them. To clarify, though, my book flows much more smoothly than any blog post ever did. If one cannot be random and choppy in a blog, then where on earth can they? (besides in everyday conversation, in which I manage randomness quite well.) After all, the internet is the breeding ground for the decimation of grammatical rules and spelling, not to mention literary correctness. 
Owning the entire encyclopaedia brittannica (macropaedia AND micropaedia) has come in handy for once. (not that they don’t often come in handy, but this time it was more practical). If I can’t sleep, I find something rather mundane to read. Of course, reaching for the encyclopaedia turned out to be not boring at all. Next time I’ll use a phonebook. The result of Monday night’s caffeine-induced insomnia is a remarkable amount of information about Finnish architecture. That’s right, Alvar Aalto was a scandinavian architect who apparently “made the leap from rational-functional to irrational-organic.”  His work was world-renowned, and characterized by flat roofs, ribbon windows, and plenty of balconies and terraces. You see how much you can learn about architecture from one article? Poor man’s wife died in ‘49, but he remarried in ‘52… I’ll bet his two daughters were just thrilled with that move. Yes, I realize how ridiculous it is that I am reciting facts from an encyclopaedia, of all things. I’ll stop now.
Often I claim that my brain is either fried, or not fully functioning, generally because I’m overly tired. As it turns out, though, all those times (mostly in the last two months) have absolutely nothing on the last two days. Being sick brings me to a lack of clarity that I never experienced before, which makes me afraid that my brain not working quite right is the rule, not the exception. Yesterday (the first day I woke up feeling Not Quite The Thing) I decided to either do nothing that I had planned, or go ahead and plow through all of it. Besides, if I must do the unpleasant things, despite how I feel, then I am going to do the fun things as well. It was a looong day, and I feel quite bad for anyone who I held conversations with… I was much less coherent than normal, and possibly even rude. I’m too tired to really remember. Today I am paying the price for not submitting to sicknesses demands of yesterday. I’ve alternated between unrestful (yes, i’m making that word up) sleep which provides dreams so vivid that when I wake up, I can’t tell if they were real or not, and a state of half-wakefulness emphasized by a pounding headache, a horribly stuffy nose, an unspeakably painful throat, achiness, and slightly blurred and unfocused eyesight. Needless to say, I’m exhausted. And I think I know who I have to blame. He is about three feet tall, and I distinctly remember letting him drink out of my Starbucks cold cup this weekend. Silly me, I couldn’t say no, when he was so fascinated by the red and white striped straw. Either that, or a sweet little moppet who blew her nose on me. Three times. She thought it was cute…
Nonetheless, I forced myself to muster up the energy in between naps to tidy my room up. If I am going to be miserable and feel that I am at death’s door, then I am at least going to do it in an immaculate room. The reward of the temporary effort is huge. Lovely instrumental music, (alternating between Swing’s Greatest Hits, Directors Cut movie themes, and random symphonies) two or three candles, and a pot of very hot white vanilla grapefruit tea are the only things motivating me to write. I should be practicing the piano, but that takes too much effort. Every time I begin to think that I have energy, simply standing up reminds me that it’s futile. At least I can be tired in a nice atmosphere.
I love my quiet little domain, but even the satisfaction of a clean, candlelit room cannot keep the desire to travel at bay.The longing for a road trip has come over me again. It usually does this time of year, when it’s been too long since our last vacation. I want to walk the rolling hills of scotland again, but there doesn’t seem to be a high probability of that happening, so I’d be perfectly happy to settle for driving the “going to the sun” highway. Isn’t that the Glacier National Park one? Well, either that or Highway 1 in California. Technically Hannah and I have a cross country road trip planned, but that won’t happen until 2013, and I simply cannot last that long. What I’ve been doing is looking at pictures, hoping that would temporarily satisfy any desire to go, but all that’s doing is making me want to go out RIGHT NOW and buy the Nikon D90 that has been calling my name for a year now. As fun as being (mostly) unemployed is, it has a few practical disadvantages. Currently, the camera and the kindle are the two biggest getting to me. Good thing I have a couple hundred hard copies of books to keep me busy until I buy the kindle. Oh… and the two thousand plus books  in papa’s office. Perhaps I shouldn’t be complaining, after all.
And specifically for Aunt Sandie—Over the last year, every time I complained on facebook about any sort of physical ailment or something that sounds thyroid related, you told me to get it checked out…. Well, I did. I temporarily overcame my IMMENSE dislike of doctors, hospitals, and all things medical just long enough to try out Rachel’s naturopath. Amazing woman. Overlooking the fact that my arm is still bruised from blood drawn a week ago, I’m quite happy with what she told me. Something about deficiencies in the vitamins D and B, cortisol and iron levels. Is it strange that I’m thrilled to find out that something is wrong with me? It’s quite cheering to find out that things will be going up from here. Oh, and here’s a technical detail for you—apparently the thyroid was 1.25, which is normal and okay. Now I can pull the whole “My doctor recommends…” in a sniffly, reedy, british accent. (I’ve been watching too much Jeeves and Wooster lately.)
Well, that’s really all I’ve got for now. I promise that my next post will have something more spiritually-oriented in it. I’ll look for a good excerpt to put up. Have a phenomenal day.

I really don’t… recommend… this.. one…

Hmph. I’m in a strange, exhausted mood, which would imply that it’s unwise for me to blog. However, I’m just exhausted enough to ignore my inner urgings not to post. I thought about deleting my blog, since very few people read it anymore, but for that same reason, I feel I can post whatever sounds good at the moment. And yes, chances are that I’ll delete it later.
For the record, I shouldn’t be taken seriously, because I haven’t slept well in weeks. The last week was worse than most, and when I exist on no solid sleep, my brain turns to mush, my energy is sapped, and I appear generally furious with the world. I’m not; it just looks that way, on account of me having one of those faces that looks snobby if I’m not being ridiculously smiley.
My brain is also rather fuzzy, with plenty of unclear thoughts floating around. I am hoping that getting them out on paper (or in this case “the screen”) will clear the cobwebs enough to make room for a little energy. If that is successful, I plan to do dishes, tidy up my room, then go work out with the punching bag… Meghann and Wes bought me hand wraps for my birthday. Yay for unbruised and not bleeding knuckles. Of course, with the way I’m feeling at the moment, simply getting the room part of that done will be a near-miracle.
Here it comes… the rash of observations that are both unnecessary, and likely untrue. Also a few questions, simply because a contemplative mood has grasped me.
1. Is there a time when you can look back on months in which you were going through hard times without flinching? Or, in my case, speeding through those remembrances, those journal entries, those blog posts, those songs. I think the fear of pain crashing back in keeps me speeding.
2. Marshmallow fondant is the new…well… fondant. I used my birthday as an excuse to make some. And eat LOTS.
3. Birthdays really are much better when you stretch them across as wide a span as possible. This year I managed four whole days. Triumph!
4. Are there any new good music artists out there? Please, shoot them my direction.
5. This post has stretched on much further than it should have, therefore, I’m ending it abruptly, and ungracefully. Au revoir.

I do beg your pardon for the amount of time elapsed since I last blogged. I really have very little in the way of excuses, except for one: the computer didn’t work. If the word “malware” means anything to you, I hope you understand and feel my pain. After multiple friends made efforts to help extract the dratted thing, a friend of a friend finally fixed it… Not only did he clear five viruses, he also reinstalled the system to be running at full capacity—something about 64 bit rather than the previous 32 bit. Anyway. When I went to blog the other day, I was shocked to find that Live Writer was no longer installed on the laptop…. Enter gaping mouth and vacant expression, followed by many attempts to track down and reinstall the binary file. After this, of course, come the windows popping up and saying things like “First, you must install this program” and “Do you have service pack 2 installed?” Somehow or another I managed all the application juggling, and, as you see, have retrieved Live Writer and am utilizing it to the best of my ability. It is entirely out of the question to consider going back to blogging within the browser again. Much too inconvenient. Too many times, I’ve finished several shining paragraphs of monologue, only to accidentally click some button and see the words “We’re sorry, something went wrong” appear.
Anyway. I am taking a short-ish sabbatical from the internet and blogging. By “short-ish”, what I mean is “hopefully two weeks.” If you need me, please call my cell phone.
*disclaimer* the sabbatical may last longer than two weeks. If that is so, then you may safely assume that I have done one or more of the following:
1. Moved into a cabin in the woods somewhere by myself. (this is the most hopeful scenario in my opinion)
2. Deleted my blog (this is the least likely)
3. Been kidnapped by pirates and held for ransom on a lonesome island. (perhaps unlikely… but very good novel research.)
4. Run out of creativity. (that’s one of the current issues)
5. Been too busy to make time. (less likely, but still an option)
See ya in two weeks. Maybe.

I am not attempting creativity. Nor am I endeavoring to provide entertainment. Neither of those have ever been my forte, so I am relinquishing all efforts to produce either. (And yes, I do recognize the grammatical and semantic problems in that sentence, but I have no intention of fixing it) This is one of my inordinately boring posts, in which I ramble, and as a rule make very little sense. Since this has been my consistent pattern, I simply can’t break from it.
I have just been introduced to the glories of google reader, and have quite mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I love how convenient it is. All the people I want to follow, right there at my fingertips. No extra typing, or anything… simply a click away. On the other hand, I hate that I am missing the beautiful blog templates, designs, and music that go with the blogs. They are gone on google reader’s format. It’s quite sad. Therefore, I am inspired to redo my blog, and that is what I am doing after I finish writing this one. I fully plan on revamping my music playlist with all kinds of wonderful rainy day songs. Yes, I realize that it might not be raining when I finish, but since it is Washington, the chances of it raining again soon, and thus re-validating my playlist, are very good.
Feet up, hair down, tea steeping, rain pouring, talking to friends…. I like this day. A lot.
I have something on my mind that will, doubtless, create enemies for me. Two words: Christmas music. Interesting thing about it, it’s supposed to be played at Christmas. Odd, I know. So then, the question remains… Why on EARTH must everyone play and sing it weeks before thanksgiving?? No, friends, I am not a hater, nor a scroogette… (Yes, I had someone call me that yesterday. It’s FALSE!)  I love listening to Christmas music, for days and days…. at CHRISTMAS. I am simply an advocate of keeping Christmas music special, and reserved for December. In fact, I fully intend on Christmas-ifying my blog on December 1. Hmm, which, I think is rachel’s birthday. Good thing I remembered… now I need to buy her a present.
However, despite my feelings about premature Christmas music, I can see that the joy of the holidays is on the way. In fact, one aspect of those joys just came in the mail… the Harney and Sons Christmas catalogue. Having been idly perusing it for the last hour (if poring over and reading every word can be considered ‘perusing’) I have come to the conclusion that bankruptcy will soon overtake me. And even worse, I’m looking forward to it. What better way to go, than to be thrilled to send my money to people who will send me brightly colored, creatively designed packages of liquid goodness and Christmas presents in return?
Speaking of bankruptcy… Last weekend found me tromping around ikea, along with the dear sweet niece and nephew, my favorite sister, my favorite sister-in-law, and my favorite sister-in-law’s sister. To put it simply, Rachel, Meghann, and Holly. Several Hoeglunds made an appearance as well, and I ended up spending much more money than I planned. Thank goodness for checkbooks. Friday night, we had a ‘girls evening’ of sorts. As you know, a girls evening absolutely must include chocolate chip mint ice cream, vanilla ice cream, and three varieties of sparkling cider, as well as copious amounts of peanut butter M+M’s. Needless to say, I did some serious working out on Saturday. Which of course, since I desperately need new boxing gloves, meant that my hands were sore and messed up on Sunday, and I destroyed my piano music. Lesson learned? Don’t work out, it’s not worth it.
Have a lovely evening, boys and girls. I mean, ladies and, and wots-its. (My deepest apologies if the Jeeves and Wooster reference is lost on you)

My groove has come back and snatched me! Either that or I am back to being stuck in a rut…. But who is concerned with pedantic obscurities anyway? I am in an oddly happy content mood, which, if I were to be honest, may be called caffeine-induced. Today is a conglomeration of random facts, so please bear with me…
Fact 1: Starbucks Salted Caramel Mocha is wonderful. I have had three in the last two days, and highly recommend it to anyone who dares.  At first it’s a bit odd to the taste, because of the dash of salt… However, I am convinced that if you try it (and you must try more than one sip) you will be as hooked as I am. Even the smell of it makes me happy. On a side note, my jury is still out on this year’s starbucks Christmas cup. I am convinced that it is hard to beat the one I have pictured here… --------------------------->>>>>


Fact 2: Job chapter 38 is excellent. A group I meet with is going through a book called Questioning Evangelism, and the latest chapter mentioned that particular section of scripture. I am slightly ashamed to say that I waited until about 1/2 an hour ago to actually read it. Dozens of God’s mighty acts are brought up, and if you read it slowly and think about it, it’s quite powerful. It’s a series of questions addressed to Job, meant to display God’s omnipotence.

25 “Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain
and a way for the thunderbolt,
26 to bring rain on a land where no man is,
on the desert in which there is no man,
27 to satisfy the waste and desolate land,
and to make the ground sprout with grass?

34 “Can you lift up your voice to the clouds,
that a flood of waters may cover you?
35 Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go
and say to you, ‘Here we are’?
36 Who has put wisdom in the inward parts    
or given understanding to the mind?

Fact 3: I would be greatly indebted to anyone who knows how to get my pictures off my phone and on to my computer…..

Fact 4: Skype is fantastic. There is something fun about having a two year old say “Me see you emi!!” through a screen… then ask you to help him open his fruit snack. Through the computer. 

Fact 5: I am once again looking for a job. While yes, I do love not having one, I also need money. And a vehicle. And insurance. I would also appreciate prayer for a job that, naively, I would enjoy. In the minds of millions of americans, the word “job” conjures up images of drudgery and daily frustrations that come home with you. With stars in my eyes, I look to my future and vainly believe that I can find a job I enjoy. Ridiculous of me perhaps, but prayer would be appreciate nonetheless.

Fact 6: I started this particular blog a week ago. Shame is my companion as I post it this late, but I will nonetheless. I would have liked to add more, but as my reader base has significantly dwindled, almost as much as my creativity, I’ll post it now and hope for the best.

Have a lovely Wednesday, friends. Actually I’m not sure if today is Wednesday. If not, then enjoy whatever day you read this on.

I can now be characterized by redundancy and inconsistency. Well may you think “So, what has changed? Why are you writing about something we already know?” My unoriginal, clichéd answer to this: “Because that’s who I am.” Marvelous, isn’t it?
I got knocked out of my blogging groove (Or rather, got unstuck from the rut) for a few months, but as of this moment, am back with a vengeance. If my reader-ship drops off slightly in the next five minutes, I understand and hold it against no one. Your waywardness may be forgiven on account of my randomidity. Also, the fact that I make up words when the occasion suits me. Now I am a neologist.
And now, ladies and gentlemen…..
Purpose The First: Disproving the Addiction Theory.  (The coffee one, that is… not the phone one… or the facebook one)
Yes, you read that right. I have come, ready and armed, to my longsuffering computer-blogosphere-interwebcyberspace-world to stand once and for all, proclaiming to the teeming masses (bring me your poor, your weary, etc) that I am addicted to practically nothing. If you have put up with my blog for very long, then you are thinking “Ah, but I KNOW i read a post once in which you admitted addiction.”  Well, yes, that is true. But since then, things have changed. I have changed, in fact, and only slightly for the better. I wish I was addicted to coffee. At least then I could faultily name it a disease, and be justified in spending copious amounts of money on overpriced liquid happiness, calling it “medication” and “necessary.” With many sad sighs, I admit to myself that I am not addicted, and thus remain unjustified. However, this doesn’t stop me from vigilantly marching myself and others down to Starbucks on a fairly regular basis.
Nonetheless, a defense is necessary, because my lattes have been taunting me lately. It’s as if every time I make one, there is a voice whispering, teasing, and trying to convince me that every macchiato or americano is simply a step into the way of addiction. I think it’s become a subliminal thing, because I have three or four people who believe I’m addicted, and have even tried to convince me that I am.
Fact: I’ve gone three days this week without coffee…. No headaches, no cravings.
Fact: I got decaf the last three times I went to Starbucks, with no ill effects. (well, mostly-- life without caffeine is like… sleep!)
Fact: I do not spend every last cent on coffee, as a true addict would do, nor do I scour the gutters searching for quarters to spend on caffeine.
Fact: If I was addicted, I wouldn’t be picky about flavor and lattes and such. I would just be drinking the strong black stuff that my papa manages to consume by the pot.
Fact: Yes, it’s true that  “I love coffee, I love tea, I love the java jive and it loves me.” (line courtesy of the King Sisters, circa 1941) This does not signify addiction.
Fact: Denial does not always mean addiction.
Well, that deals with that. I am clearly not addicted. :)

Purpose The Second: Explanation for you Observant people.
Four or five of my 205 facebook friends have noticed that I am, magically, gone from facebook. (I admit that I am not thrilled with the ratio) Here lies the explanation… Yes, I did de-activate my facebook. No, I didn’t get angry and delete you as a friend. Yes, I’ll be back eventually. No, I may not be able to last until my goal-date of December 4. Yes, I will post plenty of pictures once I’m back on. I think that covers that. 

Tomorrow morning will find me dauntlessly arising early. It’s an occurrence I hope to make into a custom. (I’ve never managed it in the past, but the future is equal to hope, right?) I must say, I’m rather looking forward to it. There is something about walking in crisp autumn mornings that brings a decided air of optimism to my step. Of course, this being Washington, the optimism may be slightly more rainy than usual. Thankfully, I am ok with that too.
At this point, I could use a good dose of optimism. About two times a year, I find myself in a slightly blue funk, mixed with a strong desire to go on a horrendously long roadtrip. I hate to call it like it is, but I think it might be termed discontent, which is ironic, since I recently heard a rather excellent sermon on contentment. With my typical lack of originality, instead of coming up with my own zinging points of conviction to share with you all, I will simply put a link to the sermon. 
http://sovgracewa.org/audio/Doug_Edwards_9.5.10.mp3
That being said, I think I will skip over the details of my latest doldrums, as I blog and listen to this sermon once again.
Autumn is on my mind. It’s the gateway to winter, which happens to be my favorite season. Autumn means sweaters are my constant companion, and that I can redundantly wear bright orange scarves. It means re-arranging the living room, so the fireplace becomes the center, rather than the ugly coffee table. No excuse is needed for long walks, and coming home to a cheerful, crackling blaze. There is something about looking in my front window, seeing people relaxing with spiced cider and books, that makes me warm and happy to be home like nothing else does. Summer and spring are wonderful, but the cold seasons create a hearth-appeal like few things can. When I was younger, it meant potential days off of school, but in the last few years, it’s meant enjoying the comfy home times with no school to dread. An added, rather major, bonus is that Fall lighting is fantastic for photography.
I hate the color yellow, but in Autumn, it’s bearable. I generally don’t prefer hot drinks that aren’t caffeinated, but in Fall, I’m willing to drink cider, with no addictive stimulant benefits involved. I don’t like wearing fuzzy socks in summer (in washington, summer isn’t equated with warmth) but in October, sweatshirts and fuzzy socks are acceptable inside. I don’t like sitting for hours at the stove, but in November, it’s worth it, because I’m making caramel. Autumn is a myriad of things. Redheads are in season in the magazines, caramel goes with popcorn, cinnamon goes with pumpkins, and starbucks makes special lattes. We can burn all the spiced ginger candles we got on sale.
Wow. Two long paragraphs of oozing optimism. Maybe we can call it “gushing.” Well, I’ve gushed long enough for this night, and probably bored you out of your mind. My enthusiasm for the season would write several pages, but the late hour (and consideration for your minds….cerebral evac isn’t particularly desirable in readers) forces me to stop where I stand.
Happy Autumn. Happy Winter.