Monday, November 2, 2015
Not Only The Honeysuckle...
But Dad's rose has a couple of buds on it. What gives?!? Rose hips I expect in November, rose buds I do not. They look a little bedraggled (LC might have toddler-handled one) but there they are, rose-ing away out there in the micro-climate that is the front of our house.
Today I didn't have to wait an hour to take sunup pictures, with the time change I get the bed made and can go right out and snap! Ah, plain old time, not fast time. Granted it gets dark too early in the afternoon, that I can deal with but I purely hated getting up in the dark. I did.
I looked up from my rewriting yesterday afternoon to see a camera crew interviewing a bearded guy in The Attic. Seems it was a slow news day since the Packers didn't play until 7:30 (and according to what I heard out of Durwood, they didn't really play after that either, must have been the altitude) so the girl reporter was looking for men with facial hair for No Shave November. Is that a thing? Yes, it is. It says they're eschewing shaving and grooming (????) to bring awareness to and solidarity with chemo patients that lose their hair. Um, shouldn't you shave off all your hair, not flaunt your hairiness? I don't get it, but it is a thing.
I got the next chapter, Chapter 22 rewritten, and did a little pre-planning for next weekend's chapter which I am kind of thrilled to say will be a freshly written one. I said before that I'm at the place where I have to spread the story out, where I started hitting the high points in the first draft so I could get to "the end" of the story in 30 days. So far I've tucked in little scenes and stretched out some places that were a little thin but I need a whole 'nother scene or three here to catapult her to the next big thing. Stay tuned.
I didn't knit or weave in tails yesterday, instead I did laundry and made meatballs. The meatballs were pretty good, I made them with a pound of ground chicken and three-quarters of a pound of Italian sausage, then doctored up a jar of sauce. Made a good supper, at least I thought so, Durwood said the sauce needed more Italian herbs, so he can add more to tonight's leftovers. *brushes hands together* My work here is done.
November 2--Michael DeYoung, Winter Running. Kay's breath fogged out in rhythmic blasts as she ran down the trail. It was just above freezing and the wind blowing up the river from the mouth of the bay felt like it came directly from the arctic. This was a dumb idea, she thought. The sun was barely up so she couldn't be certain of her footing. It hadn't snowed much yet but there were patches of black ice on the asphalt surface. She liked the illusion of solitude but she was essentially in people's backyards. In a few places trees and brush crowded close to the trail and a few times tramps had popped out just as she ran by scaring her. Now she carried a little can of pepper spray for peace of mind. She let her mind drift to the errands she needed to do on her way home and didn't notice the dark-haired man in jeans and a scruffy coat leaning on the bridge support just ahead.
Kind of creepy to be in civilization but not, especially when you're all alone. It's a work day, it's payday, so I'd better get my tilly in gear and start my day. Sayonara.