crepuscular rays
Fuzzy, I know, the car was moving @80mph.  The sliver of moon didn't fare well either, but
sunsets on an open horizon are spectacular.
It's so good to be home.
I playfully speculate that the "crown" is over Albuquerque, New Mexico.

These two pictures are from the first good walk I've made time for in a while.  Walking some makes me want to walk more. I'm missing those two hour walks!  The little bird house, placed along the trail by a child I imagined, has attracted many tokens.  You can walk for miles and see no sign of mankind, well, excepting the trail itself which at times seems nothing more than a bunny trail. And the rock totems which arise out in the nowhere, just like a surprise.

Last night at choir practice the conductor said,  "let your voice lead you".  I thought that was interesting.  He was offering encouragement as we "picked through", sightread, an unfamiliar piece ... Bach ... lotsa little 16th note runs.  I made a mental note to take his precise words out of context later because I like the idea of voice, as in unique to you, your voice.  And not your singing or speaking voice exactly, more the idea of voice as uniquely yours, or more so - you.  So ... in the way I am thinking about it, one might manifest their "voice" by the way they fly an airplane (if they are have flown enough to have developed their way (and you can really only see that if you also have a flying voice I think).  Sure you can hear their actual voice as they speak, or sing, but I'm talking about how one expresses qualities that are subtle, and uniquely their own.  I think when you are able to "hear" someone very well who is expressing themselves at a higher level you may extrapolate "their voice" across a spectrum of activities.

I have one kid who also paints.  She could walk in to a room and select my five very different canvas out of 95 others because she understands me. Maybe it's how I hold the brush, the knife, whatever implement, maybe it is the color choices I most prefer, or the way I move around the canvas.  Whatever it is, it's telling.  I don't think my other four kids could do that particular thing, because none of them paint.  They haven't developed "an ear" for those "voices".

Back to that - "let your voice lead you" - 

I think we can and do develop observable and predictable "ways" of approaching life.  If you know me, you will accurately imagine what my kitchen drawers look like.  I bet.

I think that's the crux of why moving is such an interesting challenge for me.  I am, at my core, an everything has a place sort of person.  I'm like that.  

When the kids were at home, during their growing up years, I shifted to accommodate them ... towels weren't folded just so, canned goods weren't exactly where I would put them, mating all those socks became an impossible chore ... lol (sock therapy probably is a thing).  All that was no big deal.  Honestly, I think my husband is more comfortable in what I think of as  chaos.  His interpersonal boundaries are a lot more rigid and plentiful than mine but he seems unfazed by chaos.  I am his opposite.  He has a room that I simply don't enter.  It is his room.  Most of the time I don't even think about what he might be doing in there. 

Guess what?  This house is big enough for me to have a room of my own.  I hadn't thought of that until just now.  I wonder what I will make of it.

~ change of subject ~ 

I have gained an average of two pounds a month these past twelve months.  That sounds a lot better (to me) than saying, this year I gained 25 pounds.  It sounds better than saying I am no longer an 8-10.  I can think of worse ways to say it, but I will spare myself.

Earlier this year my internist referred me to an endocrinologist.  I didn't prioritize the visit because I wasn't feeling sick.  Getting on the scale has recently made me feel sickish so I made the appointment.  Yesterday a lab tech imperviously (I think it's the gloves that make them seem so disconnected) drew three big vials of blood.  Even as I thought I could spare it, it seemed a little creepy to watch it flow into glass tubes that were then barcoded and casually laid aside.  I left the lab with two plastic jugs and instructions on what to write with a Sharpie on their sides ... and what to put in them over the next 24 hours.  The lab tech asked me if I need one or two jugs and I said I have no idea what volume of peepee (I should have said urine, but I didn't) I might be able to produce during a 24 hour period. Anyway.  

Now it's time to deliver my results back to the lab.  I'll hear back in October.  I think my thyroid has glitched.  

As we (especially I *see above) sort through and settle in to our new home, many trips are being made to Salvation Army (etc.) with good items no longer needed here.  My husband has said several times (as he sees me filling boxes to go), don't get rid of your cute (smaller) clothing just yet.  He thinks I will lose the weight and want to wear some of my things again.  I think he is right about that.

All right - off to deliver my, the urine.  (I think it's kinda funny.)

painting!

One Amazon order too late this last box of "where's my..." was found.

Moving has been (and continues to be) a challenge. When we moved back to Texas after a 22 year absence we moved in stages. By that I mean, several trips over from Auburn, with unpacking (and organizing) in between.  I thought this move would be lots easier.  There is a 15 minute drive time between the houses.  I was wrong. It has been "trying".

I didn't know this, but I iron for comfort.  I thought I just didn't like wrinkles.  The iron had been missing since mid July.  Wrinkles were the least of my worries though.

The house we bought was what I would euphemistically call a mid flip.  There are several things to fix in the house, for example, none of the bathroom electrical outlets works.  The little reset lights are green, but there's not enough juice flowing to power a water pic much less a blow dryer.

My biggest concern about the house was it was painted the exact shade of rotten meat.  That disgusting grayish brown.  Every wall and ceiling in the house was that color.  It takes a lot of white paint to cover putrid brown.  I'm actually still working at it and while I paint, little else gets done!  That's not really fair to myself.  While it is true that the kitchen is the only room in the house that is functioning up to par, it is also true that we are making excellent progress.  It's also true that we've made several small vacation type trips since dumping, piling boxes everywhere.

Today I will completely finish painting the living room.  I have about a ten foot section of that ceiling beam to do.  That's it!  Then the air vent and electrical covers can go on.  It is my goal to get the living room "comfortable" this week.  I would also like to get the foyer painted and the light fixtures in there situated.  The door bell doesn't work ... all the weather stripping around the current door has to be replaced (not my job, and neither is the door bell ... yesterday we discovered that the wiring for the doorbell was pulled out and that became a bigger project than I can do) ... my job is to patch, and paint.  I'm glad I can paint.  I'm grateful that we can afford to paint over new paint that is unappealing.  That paint was never going to show wear because it was the very color of dirty.

(this is a picture of a door exactly
 like the one we are getting ready to install -
I haven't settled on a color yet -
soon though because it is bare wood right now)

This side of the living room is completed now.  We might have left the beam unpainted, but there was no removing the paint to make that choice.  The caulking up there is super hanky too.  Pure flat white covers a multitude of sins. 

part of today's to do

The kitchen cabinets are still that unfortunate color, but they will have to wait for their new paint.  I'm going to do them with Annie Sloan's light grey chalk paint.  The hinges, which were also painted by the flipper will have to be replaced and they're on order.  I really do love having a home to work in.

I am "guest" posting on my blog today.  I don't have the access figured out, but via my phone which was still connected to Blogger, I have invited myself.  It's not a complete work around because I'm limited to posting only with no dashboard access.

All of this house stuff has gotten me to wondering ... if I were a house, what would I look like.  I asked my husband that ... what would he look like ... he said he would be a massive concrete structure, contemporary, but like Wright's Falling Water.  I've toured some of the Wright structures and they are indeed quirky.  I think L intuitively chose a perfect representation.  I would be a tiny white house, with soft wooden floors and a wrap around porch with a swing.  I would have lots of windows which could be flung open ... and the house of me would smell like sunshine and mowed grass and gardenias. 

well - work time 

Btw - another thing I'd been looking for was that ice cream maker

we had a dessert of

piping hot apple pie

cinnamon ice cream

and

bubbly rum butter

while we were in Birmingham recently and it was the bomb!

It's on my list to perfect for Thanksgiving and I hope it takes plenty of tries!

When my brother was spending a lot of time in the hospital, I loaned him an iPad.  I deleted its "memory", set up his google email account on it for him, set up his Facebook etc., and just did what ever he needed me to do to make the device function for him. After he passed that iPad set unused for sometime before we wanted to use it again. I can't remember now if I forgot the password or what, but it took some effort to unlock the device. Apple was helpful and I did have to provide collaborating info to back up what had happen to make a device I owned "come on" for me. For one thing, I had "wiped" its memory again. Tedious story shorter - the google account on this blog somehow became associated with his name, my maiden name. I recently noticed that his name showed up as sender of emails sent from my google account. This is like two years later - so idk. Anyway, one of my kids wanted to use my laptop to sign in to their google account so they could send an email and I said, sure.
When I tried to sign back in - I can sign in to my google account but not his - and his is they one blogger thinks the account belongs to. My blog account.
I don't know how to solve this problem.
My phone is still signed in. That's how I'm noting this now. But I don't like to type blog stuff  from my phone.

Last week

At 25 of the 60/70 some odd miles in on the National Seashore (Padre Island near Corpus) I didn't expect to see so many tire prints.  While vehicles didn't hum by continuously, there was a fair amount of traffic.  Mostly trucks with customized fishing rod holders and kayak racks.  The wind wasn't blowing sand (even into my sealed Yeti tumbler) so it was a perfect day at the coast.  Except for one unfortunate turn of events.  My dog.  My dog Max cheats at Bocce Ball.  And to make matters worse, he doesn't "play" for my team.  He is a blatant and unrepentant scoundrel.  He attached my balls with glee costing me several rounds!

He's two full months short of his first birthday and shows every indication of maturing in to a fine dog.

See what I mean about fish in the water ...

 I don't like the idea of fish everywhere as much as sharks do (like the idea of fish everywhere).