For her morning spin, H prefers the picturesque Lake Harriet
Though she’d probably love to be walking the moors of Haworth . . .
. . .and greeting Patricia outside Branwell’s Pub a/k/a The Black Bull
though not necessarily in that order. . .
The magnifico eagle that swan-dived toward us, then swooped right as I fumbled for my camera,
and swooshed out of sight just as my lazy shutter lens decided to descend. . .
One day, I fretted a la Scarlett, one day I’ll catch him !
Yah you !
The burning question:
Do I need to go to the satellite now, or should I wait till later??
A 6-month old pup just rescued from the pound
gazes across the lake, drinking in the horizon
And what a horizon it is. . .
Genghis grins as we pass by,
Don’t hate me cause I’m breathtaking
“What’s the name of your pup?” I ask. “Venus,” the guy says.
“Venus?” I smile. “No, Beans,” the guy replies.
“Beans?” I say, puzzled.
“Yes, Beans,” both owners repeat in unison.
Talk about subliminal substitution. . .
Looks like someone could use a ” tira mi su ” Marcella !
People could learn a thing or two from Brio, eh?
H’s warm golden locks glimmer in the sun
giving all the silky salmon-fed doggies a run for their money. . .
A blustery day — just like H likes ’em. . . except for the allergens of course. . .
or those little specks that get in your eye. . .
circulating the globe from cyclonic wind patterns. . .
But she’s always loved the between-season waves that musically clink the shoreline ice
Up North or along Lake Harriet
The winds that upturn the odd flotsam and jetsam
or random rock stone washed up as polished glass. . .
or the rarely-seen message in a bottle from the seaway. . .
Yes, the wind delivers a variety of gifts, wanted and unwanted. . .
Much like life. . .
It’s all how you take those blustery offerings,
do you polish them, throw them back, ignore them,
or challenge yourself and gracefully balance on the glacier of life
(to murder a metaphor)
Angus makes a break to steal a smooch. . .
(Atta way to seize the day!)
Tasha do not read this part – Discipline plays a role too. . .
Almost as exciting as another of H’s favorite artist’s havens –
Cornwall, land of 99’s and rutabegas. . .
“Hmm, I just don’t know . . .”
Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she confided,
“I thought, ‘Whoah! Why’s that lady got a raccoon on her head’ ?!”
For dinner, H chooses the unassuming Tea House,
whose authentic Szechuan menu is anything but. . . (unassuming that is)
I text trusty restauranteur Marie for any advice
who texts back she loves her some smoked duck and scallion pancakes. . .
Turns out Marie is driving home from Lake Superior,
and is probably illegally texting
but having revealed her culinary crush, she warily adds, “Don’t tell Flo. . . ”
To whose portfolio I must now add a card-carrying dues-paying member of Ducks Unlimited?
Our waitress talks me out of ordering the ‘Whole Fish in Black Bean’.
“Er, no,” she says, sizing me up with a squint,
“Try this ‘Fish in Carcass’ instead. Only Chinese customers order the other one.”
Because fish in carcass would be less daunting to an Anglo-Euro-Slavic-bit-of-Atilla-the-Hun (according to ancient-history buff Dad. . .) customer.
Hmmm, I did wonder what the H–E–Double Hockey Sticks the other order must’ve looked like. . .
Auntie Irene and H smile prettily in the low light
“Is that my food?” Irene asks. “Hey, that’s my plate,” H says. . .
“I don’t think anything’s here yet,” I say helpfully
Eating in the dark can be tricky
The corner confessional . . .
The aptly named “juicy balls” appetizer
Non-Mandarin speaking customers will notice that
Tea House doesn’t get all fancy with menu descriptions,
for the Anglo visitors, i.e.,
“Dancing Fish”; “Boiled fish” ; “Unhappy Fish”; “Fish that scare non-Chinese”
Snapped in a happy blur . . .
Greeting us on Skype
is a Glowing Sari
from Big Sky country
sweetly topping the day off. . .
At Auntie Ireneys, a Skype set-up as sophisticated as CNN studios . .
Sari fills us in on the latest Montana news. . .
Tobie still sporadically barks at a blank wall and/or invisible visitor(s)
Josh seems to be (disturbingly) morphing into Mountain Man,
Sari is becoming a Tower of Babel linguist with her Rosetta Stone series and
Grandma (excitingly) received a letter from Oma and Opa’s granddaughter from Germany!!
The granddaughter (who is now 70 !) was only a baby on the farm in which
Grandma was sent to as part of Ukraine’s inscription into forced labor
Luckily Grandma was parceled out to a good family,
she always said Oma and Opa would refrain from doing the Nazi salute
when soldiers came to check on “the foreigner” . .
Where was I? Oh yeah, while skyping, even if conversation wanes, as Ireney says,
we all just like to sit and stare and smile at one another. . .
Sometimes its important to have those quiet contemplative moments, when
no words need to be said, when the stillness and silence speak louder . . .