The last few weeks have taken me on many adventures, traveling some of my favorite veins of California's water system. I've been camping in the woods along the Big Sur river, swimming with family in Lewis Creek, and drifting on lazy parts of the Merced River in Yosemite. A couple of the state's greatest hits, really.
Last Monday, I went to a movie with a friend. Having sort of skipped dinner, I did something uncharacteristic and actually bought food (or the closest approximation thereof) at the theater. My hotdog came with a medium drink. When the clerk hoisted the beverage onto the counter, the resounding thump was followed by a beat of total silence, before my friend and I burst out laughing. The receptical before me was a 44 ounce trough. I would only be exagerating slightly if I said I could fit my cat Weasley in that cup. And Weasley? Not small.
A Treatice on Speculative Fiction:
Why We Read it and Why We Write it
Yesterday was Star Wars Day. We celebrated with bursts of Yoda-speak. Luke and I made wookie cookies while listening to the score of "A New Hope" and in the evening we all watched a little of "Empire Strikes Back", which, of course, is the best of the three. (Thus speaks Swingbug.)
What makes them wookie cookies, you ask?
Well, they're chewy.
We hope you enjoyed this most auspicious of holidays as well. May the force be with you always.
Happy Easter everybody. We had the standard sort of affair. The rabbit showed up and made a god-awful mess of a carrot and some lettuce in the living room, but he left behind jelly beans and a chocolate self-effigy, so we'll let it slide, I guess. We dyed eggs, and our fingers, in many merry colors and otherwise had a pretty chill weekend. A walk to the park, dinner with the folks, some sewing and lego building and whathaveyou. Good times. Two friends dropped by with baked goods.
I had an unorthodoxly sportish weekend. I played hockey on Friday, softball on Saturday, and hockey again on Sunday. Just about every muscle I have is sore to the point where it was too much to knit last night. I had been thinking I might pick up a ballet class this week, but now I think I'll curl up in a ball for a few days and wait for my body to start speaking to me again (or at least stop swearing at me).
Last night, I was startled by an unexpected frog, Weasley caught a moth in the backyard that was so big I thought it was a bird and tried to rescue it, and then a centipede decided to join me in the shower.
Plague of locusts, anyone?
For the record, I'm not generally squeamish of frogs, but padding out to the mailbox in bare feet, I placed my foot on the sidewalk next to leaf roughly half the size of my foot. When the "leaf" alarmedly hopped away, I alarmedly hopped in the other direction.
As to the centipede, well, that's just rude. A gentleman would knock first.
Happy Saint Paddy's day, everyone. I hope you're wearing something green. The ground sure is. Everywhere around here is fresh grass, clovers, daffodils and little white blossoms on the fruit trees, so I guess it's spring. It was never truly winter--not in these parts--but there's no use arguing with a polar vortex. Best just to put on a tank top and enjoy the 75 degrees.