Today is Meryl Streep’s birthday. I love her. I want her to come over to our house for dinner. I would make chicken enchiladas with cilantro/sour cream sauce, black beans, and grilled pineapple slices with honey Greek yogurt for dessert. She would swoon over this delightful meal and then we would all go for a long walk down by the river. We would take lots of pictures and tell her all about salmon fishing on the Umpqua River in September. She would promise to come back in Sept. and go with us on our next trip. It is a perfect evening of laughter and connection and fun. Then she would send us a thank you note every couple of weeks for a year and become our new best friend. She and her family would begin coming to southern Oregon to “…get away from it all…” which, let’s face it, is perfect, because you can’t get much further away- from-it-all than we are without falling into the Pacific Ocean.
Anyway, that’s my fantasy for today. So, Happy Birthday, Meryl. Dinner’s at 7. JS
Power washing is a messy, MESSY job. Just thought I’d let you know that.
A wet fall, winter and spring in the Pacific NW means lots of mold and moss and ook on the concrete and in the cracks around the pool and, even though I’ve split it up into 3 sections to get it all done; even though the power washer is mighty and true; even though I bought a special whirly-gig thingie last year at Home Depot which speeds the whole process up immensely, still, it is a slow and tedious and MESSY job.
Plus, I have sprayed our side of the fence, knocking off several years of grime, which means that I now look like I’ve been personally targeted by Monsanto to receive my very own chemtrail and it’s been deposited, so generously, in my hair, on my glasses, in my eyes and onto my t-shirt. NASCAR drivers got nothin’ on me today except a cool uniform. I am a mess.
On the good side, it’s a beautiful day here in Oregon. JS
Just planted a whole broken wheel barrow full of purple and white petunias, which is going to be so lovely in a few weeks. Also, our strawberries are back, bless their little hearts. Despite the fact that I rip them out of there every year so their vines don’t grow out into the yard or under the fence and trip someone, they still return each year to do their duty, which is to supply us with enough luscious strawberries each year to make me happy. I love going out early in the morning and plucking strawberries and blueberries to include in breakfast, although I rarely make it back to the kitchen with a full bowl of them. Must be the birds…yeah, that’s it. JS