I'm thinking this ought to be divided into two or three postings. However, in the interest of saving precious internet space, I will condense it. By doing so, I will be leaving more room for, well, more critical, deeper, or at least, funnier stuff. That said, these are the three main highlights of the last few days:
A few weeks ago, our friend Mike Canrinus passed away after a long struggle with an insidious illness that affected his brain. His wife, Francine, a friend for more than thirty years, could not have been more stalwart and patient as she fought for the best care possible for Mike and dealt with all the frustrations of his illness pattern, which was unpredictable day to day, all the while working hard to keep income flowing and raising their teenaged daughter, Anna. Both heroes. Mike had been a sailor and a yacht-outfitter, building his professional life around boats. We went on a few outings with them around San Diego Bay before his illness set in. We didn't travel to San Diego for the memorial service last Saturday, but I took one of the photos Fran had posted of Mike at the helm of a sailboat and made a drawing of it, accompanied by a poem I found and sent it to her. It's how we like to remember him.
Speaking of Saturday, my wonderful neighbor and friend, Lorri, and I had planned to go over to see a garden on the San Juan Ridge (oh, 40 minutes or so north-ish from here). I'd seen the notices in the paper every spring since we moved here four years ago, but had not yet checked it out in person . There's a religious community called Ananda that opens up its garden each spring for a few weekends to the general public. 
It's timed to coincide with the blooming of 9000+ tulips and other gorgeous features, including flowering cherry trees, other flowering plants, Japanese maples and water features. Fortunately, though we were going through a long rainy stretch forecast to last through to Monday (accurate, as it turned out), Lorri and I went on Saturday morning when, though heavily overcast and a bit drizzly, it didn't actually rain.
I could post pages of photos and still not quite communicate how beautiful we found it. I chose three to give you the gist (including one with Lorri in it). 
It's a terraced garden overlooking the Yuba River, far below. Stunning setting. All colors of tulips. Huge pink cherry trees. Daffodils, pansies, camellias-- more than I can list here. There are little lawn strips and pathways to walk in between the flower beds as we worked our way down the hill. We tried to imagine it in the sunshine. Although the official visiting time ended last weekend, the head gardener said we could come back anytime to see it when the sun was out. We might. For sure, we'll be back next year. And the next.
Saturday afternoon, Mike and Rachel arrived to stay with us for the weekend. It was raining most of the time, so we didn't go out much, except for dinner at Plaza Jalisco, as you can see. Check out the tiny plates. Oddly, none of us had yet seen "The King's Speech", so we ordered it up on the telly. Yup. Good one, as advertised. The rest of the time, we just, well, hung out, as we say. It's just the sort of weekend we like--lazy and unscheduled.
So, that's it. Three-in-one. I like to think of myself as a responsible citizen, doing my part to conserve and preserve for future generations.
[SNOOZE ALERT: yeah, this is just another in the interminable series of musings about living in a four-season climate. We've been here before.]
A few of my friends up here think my level of excitement about the snow is a sure-fire sign that I didn't grow up in snow country or have to deal with small children in snow suits, muddy boots and slippery commutes. Perhaps. But, after four years (exactly, as of last Monday), it still seems special and uniquely beautiful to me--a fact my camera tells me is not quite accurate, given the dozens of very, very similar "new" photographs I've gleefully snapped from year to year. We did experience three years of Colorado weather in the seventies (loved it), hence we're not brand new to seasonal changes (we'd had extensive experience with an ice scraper, for example), but snow is still novel and fun for me.
Owing to my gimpy ankle (which is gradually returning to a more acceptable color, thank you), I've been driving over to get the paper in the mornings and have had to scrape ice nearly every day, including today. But yesterday, we watched as it snowed big, winter-y flakes all morning--a bit of clingy winter refusing to let go. Not exactly history-making, but it created a buzz--and I discovered that I really am ready for spring, I think.
The daffodils have been buried by snow several times, now, and many are a little worse for wear. The red tulips I planted a couple of years ago (and had forgotten about) popped up a couple of weeks ago. They aren't as sturdy as the daffs or muscari, as it happens, and their eye-popping display has been shortened, somewhat. I find that I'm so happy to see the gorgeous color of the bulbs in the yard and, indeed, all over the county as well as the blossoming trees and shrubs (except the forsythia--don't know why; too much of a good thing? I could lose the forsythia), that I cringe just a little when they appear to be straining under the weight of a snow blanket.
Spring fever is going around.
Tom has discovered in the last couple of years, that he doesn't really Love the snow like I do. Much of that feeling is closely connected to the fact that we lose our power (and water and internet and satellite) nearly every time we get significant footage. A hassle, for sure--and we'll remedy some of that with a new generator this year, suspect. He's very glad about the turn toward warmer weather.
But it's just possible that my proportional appreciation of each season is beginning to equalize a bit. As usual, I've planted my little peat pellets with dozens of sorts of veggie seeds and am looking forward to the appearance of tiny green shoots to tell me that some of last years' seeds (leftovers--OK, I'm a seed-cheapskate) are still viable and anxious to wow us with the results of their unreasonable productivity. For me, the best part of summer is the garden.
And who doesn't love autumn?
So, I think the snow is probably over for this winter and I will pack the tire chains back into the convenient little bag and put them in the garage along with the comically-oversized shovel without regret. I'm ready.
But the scraper, I'll keep nearby for a little while longer.
[photos are--top: daffs and tulips last weekend, next: purple muscari (I have white elsewhere), third: potted daffs, fourth: yesterday's snow in patio, fifth: view from back deck yesterday.]
What's blue and purple (even a little greenish) and puffy and very inconvenient?
My new sprained ankle, of course. And I've decided to include a few photogenic perspectives of said injury. You're welcome. (Note to self: clip toenails)
For more than 15 years involving every-day power walks (even some jogging), backpacking trips and various and sundry other activities involving feet, I have successfully avoided re-injuring a much-sprained left ankle--until Sunday morning. It was a simple mis-step over the edge of the asphalt on the way home (fortunately) over a route I've taken more than a thousand times. I went down.
I was somewhat (but only somewhat) comforted by the fact that it took place so early in the morning and on our rarely-traveled little road in order that I wouldn't have to pretend that I was examining insect behavior should someone drive by and wonder why I was sitting on the ground. A good five minutes passed before I could get up and hobble up the hill back home.
The first time it happened, I was in ninth grade and playing basketball. That one required a cast and crutches for six weeks. Countless other times, it was tennis (walking backward, stepping on a ball), softball, stairs, etc., etc. My left ankle is just permanently bigger due to all the scar tissue (instead of actual ligaments) that hold everything together in there.
This one looks to be about a "grade B", as they say. Not the worst, but definitely not just stretched. I heard the familiar snapping.
So. For something new, I'll try to do all the right stuff so as not to extend the healing process any longer than necessary blah, blah, blah. It's a hassle, but I'll live. Now, for some grins, I think we'll do a little police blotter:
[This is just one example of a type of call where insufficient meds might be an issue. I don't usually pull them because, well, it's unseemly to poke fun at mental illness, especially when the reports--as they so frequently seem to--involve "midgets"--an unfortunate term. But this one was so three-dimensional, I couldn't help it...]
"11:22 p.m.--A caller from the 800 block of Sutton Way reported her son was being pulled to the edge of a parking lot by people with faces that looked sick and pasty, like ghouls. They were also satanic looking, she added. The people look like they are from the east coast and work in the entertainment industry, and have a hiding place behind the bathrooms at a local pharmacy." [I love the "east coast" entertainment angle]
"12:16 a.m.--A man from the 25000 block of Highway 49 reported vandalism to a vehicle. He said he bought the car for his girlfriend and she then damaged it with a pick axe. He did not want to press charges." [wrong color?]
"9:20 a.m.--A caller from Sutton Way reported two boys throwing snowballs at vehicles. They were gone when officers arrived, but a stash of snowballs was located." [get prints]
[speaking of snow...]
"11:40 a.m.--A man from the 400 block of Broad Street reported a large amount of snow fell off a building onto his vehicle and totaled it." [Exactly which parking spot was that?]
"11:03 a.m.--A woman from the 17000 block of Old Downieville Highway reported she could not get a signal on her television. She was advised to clear the satellite dish with a broom." ["Hello, Nevada County Sheriff and Satellite Service...how may we help you?"]
"3:59 p.m.--A caller from the 300 block of Columbia Street reported his 8-foot long boa constrictor escaped and he didn't know where it was." [What, exactly, was that address, again?]
"9:12 a.m.--A caller from the 20000 block of Harlow Place reported a stray Chihuahua was causing issues." [Alert Homeland Security]
"2:43 p.m.--A woman from the 10000 block of Lime Kiln Road reported her neighbor stole her leaf blower. She said she had left it outside running to annoy the neighbor's barking Chihuahuas." [Ah. The escalation begins...]
"11:58 a.m.--A woman from the 200 block of Dorsey Drive reported her husband took her debit card and $40, then brought it back." [Right. I suspect there's a special file for these kinds of reports]
"10:01 a.m.--A caller from the 200 block of Northridge Drive reported the excessive ringing of a doorbell last night. A blanket was taken and silly string was sprayed on windows and a fence." [it's hard to resist a police report involving the words, "silly string"]
"4:11 p.m.--A man reported counting 37 cars that were driving without using windshield wipers during a heavy rain." [clearly, one can be too alert and concerned...]
"1:37 p.m.--A caller reported three youths about 16 to 18 years old standing on the corner of Richardson and North School Streets. They were 'looking down and seem very guilty.' Police could not find the youths." [Really? Because that was such a specific description and they obviously had been up to no good.]
One can only hope the Blotter will generally be less lame, next time...
It's timed to coincide with the blooming of 9000+ tulips and other gorgeous features, including flowering cherry trees, other flowering plants, Japanese maples and water features. Fortunately, though we were going through a long rainy stretch forecast to last through to Monday (accurate, as it turned out), Lorri and I went on Saturday morning when, though heavily overcast and a bit drizzly, it didn't actually rain.
It's a terraced garden overlooking the Yuba River, far below. Stunning setting. All colors of tulips. Huge pink cherry trees. Daffodils, pansies, camellias-- more than I can list here. There are little lawn strips and pathways to walk in between the flower beds as we worked our way down the hill. We tried to imagine it in the sunshine. Although the official visiting time ended last weekend, the head gardener said we could come back anytime to see it when the sun was out. We might. For sure, we'll be back next year. And the next.
