Sunday Comics

The Delight of Storms

I heard about possible storms, but really, one hears these warnings all the time. I tend not to pay so much attention. Then I looked out the north windows and saw the purple-black sky. We seldom see such a sky down here, such mass of heaviness and bearing down on us like a huge iron […]

via The Delight of Storms — Curtiss Ann Matlock

April Ocean


I got such a feeling of “home” when we check into our room at the Sandcastle in Lincoln City, Oregon.  The curtains are pulled back and I am once again in love with the ocean.

Friday was all sunshine and white wispy clouds.  The ocean was jewel colored and slow moving.  We got to town early and visited family having a reunion on the north side of town, high on a hill with a breathtaking view.  We got a tour of the house, chatted a while, and then hugs all ’round before heading to the next adventure.

On PBS, we learned of a art community nearby.  It was a lovely day for a drive, so we took off outside Otis and wound our way to the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology.  This lovely plot of land has a cluster of studios where people come to do workshops or residencies in a variety of mediums.  Robert and I enjoyed walking the grounds and chatting with a couple of the folks there.

Returning to the ocean we enjoyed the afternoon watching beachcombers and kite fliers, more than last month.  As the sun started setting, I marveled at how often the sky changed and how the ocean responded in its reflection.


Saturday and Sunday showed us a different side to the coast.  The rains came and the wind blew so hard mist rose from the whitecaps.  As much as the I love the ocean, this month I paid attention to the sky.  To say the coast was cloudy or gray would be oversimplification.


There were 100 shades of gray, clouds moving fast and slow.  Instead of deep blue, the ocean was the same gray as the sky.  Were it not for the sandy beach, I would swear I was watching an old black and white movie.  Stripped of color, the sky and ocean came alive with movement.

Our April visit was the same and different as the visits before.  The ocean, rain or shine, is ever faithful as a charger for my spiritual battery.  On the way out of town the traffic was noticeably heavier.  Ah….so this is what April traffic looks like in Lincoln City.  The quiet season is over.  Now the town begins to come alive.

Worth every minute.

P.S.  I was comforted to spot “our” seal again this month.


Sunday Comics

The Great Doggy Door Escape

Don’t you have those days that you just want to get away?  I sure do.  I follow Lynz Real Cooking as she shares stories about family, her life, and the beautiful landscapes around her home in Idaho.  Enjoy her story “The Great Doggy Door Escape.”

For a couple of months both Aiden and Bennett have been looking at the doggie door, watching Kenny make his exit and trying to figure out how he does it! Well the other day it happened! Bennett is the great explorer of the two boys and he was very pleased to finally make his move! […]

via The great doggie door escape — lynz real cooking

Sunday Comics

“safe from harm”

The following is a poem by Godistricksy.  I adore the squirrels that dash around our yard and hang upside down to grab seeds from the birdfeeders.  They taunt the neighbor’s cat but play nice with the birds and doves who come to share the back yard bounty.  Hope you enjoy his poem as well.

     safe from harm

i spent

a lazy afternoon

watching squirrels








running corkscrew

rings around ringed

trees flush

with verdant spring,


stopping only

to scratch an itch

or watch a plump

pigeon snoozing.


i wish

i was a squirrel.

tree dancing.

safe from bombsandcarsandknivesandguns.


a silver flash

in the canopy,

watching plump

pigeons snoozing.

via safe from harm — The world according to Godistricksy

The Weather Vane

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I remember a time when I could juggle countless activities with the agility of a pro.  No matter how (or from where) the wind blew, I could face the new challenge.

The harder the wind would whip the weather vane, the more creative I became.

Over time the wind stilled and the weather vane stopped its movement.

That’s what I thought at first.  But flying scarves, dancing leaves, and the sound of wind chimes told a different story.  It was not the wind, but the weather vane that had changed.  Broken? Rusty? Bent?  Something was wrong.

In the last few months, I have focused so much in one direction that my weather vane had frozen.  Creativity slowed…connections unraveled.

My task at hand is to take a clear look at the weather vane and bit by bit fix its frozen parts.  Oil for rust, hammer for true calibration, and polish for beauty.  This is the job before me.  I prepare myself for the wind and accept the challenge.


Sunday Comics