Celebrate the equinox!

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June…haikuing out all over

June arrives on time

skies still hold sun rain sleet snow

fancy bull-shitsu

JSmith 6/01/2016

 

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Fall, indeed, has fell.

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PROCLAMATION:

Be it known that on this 29th day of September, in the year 2015, I did don a sweatshirt for the first time since storing it last winter.  

Because while out running errands, in thin t-shirt, floppy shorts, and flip-flops, I came this close to freezing my buns off.  Pretty sure the temp was only in the high 60s, so …  And the breeze was chilly on the balcony, in the shade, so hey, sweatshirt weather, fall is here!

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Halfway up the block I had to peel out of it, but it happened!  It’s official, my favorite season is gracing us with its presence.  I’ll shed the flip-flops by first snow.

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The wagon, in its autumn sweetness, was a part of my farm for as long as I lived there and many years before.  I don’t know where it is now, other than in my heart, but I still love it.

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Various and sundry nonsense … everything about the season brings it to the surface …

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Really? Are you kidding me?

See the post before this one?  Okay … GUESS. WHAT. DAY. IT. IS!!  Yes.  Again.

So it may or may not have been a somewhat challenging week in which whimpering, bitching, and one hugh-jass meltdown happened.  Pretty sure there was an afternoon where somebody cried for two or three hours and totally freaked out her husband and fluffy little dog.  The upside is that the eye — the sumbish in our story — actually felt better afterward, so there’s that.

The days have slipped by and the weather outside has gone from cold to warm to cold again.  We’re hibernating … but ready to be sociable.  Not today so much, because it’s snowy and wet and feels like 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and what you hear me saying is that unless you’re coming to our house we won’t be seeing you yet, because the fireplace is just too nice, and Maddie and I are snuggled at my desk with the divine little radiant heater Kim got us today, the same Kim who’s adorably zoned out “watching” TV …  and we’re just not leaving, you can’t make us leave.

It’s gray here, and cold.  I’m glad that never lasts.  Grass and leaves and sunshine always feel slow coming back, just like health and well-being, but it all gets here, and mostly on time.

Coming back.  Might even be back again tomorrow …

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Ranting about thankfulness on HumpDay …

Didn’t feel like losing it over anything on Monday, so you got a break.  Love it while you can because that’s over in 4 … 3 … 2 …

So Monday was okay, as I recall.  Tuesday afternoon we’re tootling along Hwy 10 when the tootle goes away.

Kim sits, hands on wheel, just long enough to assess how and why and mutter “F*ckin’ embarrassing” before he starts walking.  Li’l Truck inhaled the last of the fumes about a quarter of a mile short of an exit, beyond which there is rumored (according to the sign) to be a service station, but just before Kim gets to the exit ramp somebody in a big black truck pulls over, picks him up, and drives away.

Which, after the shortest, most obscure Monday Rant you are likely ever to hear from me, brings us to Thankfulness Tuesday.  Because yes, there was a service station just beyond the exit ramp.  WAS.  Extinct and crusty.  Enter Ric, driving back to KC after the cold burial of a much-loved friend.  Spots my husband strolling along the highway, hunkered against the chill, a heavy coat, stocking cap pulled over most of his face, imposing enough man that you’d notice, and of course pulls right over.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric.  Ric isn’t a big guy, but he sticks in your mind that way.  He repairs heavy equipment and does pipeline work, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t afraid of much, but his kind heart is a lot bigger than all that.  He insists on driving back down the 4-lane to get the Madster and me, carts us all back the other way to where the service station really IS, then west one more time where he uses his new truck to shield Kim from Highway Harm while he pours gas in the tank.  And yeah, then follows us back to the same service station so he knows for sure we made it, and tells Kim to give that piece of green to somebody who’s looking for it.

But wait, there’s more.  Kim’s a good mechanic, knows a lot about a lot.  For instance, he’s known since he bought the truck that it needs a new sending unit for the gas gauge, and probably a new fuel pump while you have the tank dropped, but since he doesn’t have a place to do his own work anymore and hasn’t loved the estimates he’s gotten, he’s just gradually developed a little system.  The system failed yesterday.  But only so we could start getting acquainted with Ric, and so he could offer to replace the unit for parts at his cost, plus labor.  Helps him, lets my husband win.  Think it’s gonna happen.

Also it’s HumpDay AND New Year’s Eve.  Do with that what you will, kids.

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Winter Solstice

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Ready for snowy days, fireplaces, and nesting.  

 

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From Buffalo to Kokomo …

Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take you to
Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo Montego,
baby why don’t we go
Ooh I wanna take you down to Kokomo,
we’ll get there fast
and then we’ll take it slow
That’s where we wanna go,
way down in Kokomo.

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And now, a message from our sponsor …

Due to circumstances beyond our control, Playing for Time is currently on hiatus.  It’s complicated.  First there was a road trip across seven states, followed by a reunion of great import along with great joy.  And in the interim, much fine wine and stellar food.  And since.  More of the same.  Frigid-ass weather has followed us on our journeys, so there has been nesting in Irish pubs with fireplaces and Guinness and pub frites and welcoming beer wenches.  We are now in the Deep South, but ensconced in a liberal enclave, basking in the deliciously sarcastic company of our son.  We shall return anon.  And on.  And on …

 

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Enjoy another Scenic Sunday!

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Halloweird Happiness to ALL …

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This is life, not a dress rehearsal …

After comments from Facebook friends like “I’m so jealous,” and “I want to MOVE,” I’m thinking I should add a disclaimer to yesterday’s post:

Lawrence is obviously not heaven on earth. All of life is what we make it, and we came here with a goal of making it amazing, to make of this part of our lives all the good we possibly can, and to overlook the negative. That colors our approach to what we see every day when we wake up, what we do, where we go. Someone else could come here and have an entirely different experience and wonder why they feel let down in view of all the “hype.”

1.) Life is what you make it, and 2.) no matter where you go, there you are — two clichés that are truth just because they are. Kim and I are making up for lost time — we met late in life, we’ve both lived places we weren’t wild about, we’ve both felt stuck in routine and longing for more “soul” food. We don’t have the luxury of waiting and hoping at this point, so we get up every day and make fun things happen, whether we step outside our own walls or not. Some may see my ramblings as bragging, but they’re my way of being thankful. I don’t want to wake up later and wish I’d appreciated life more when I had the chance.

Young people think they’ll always be that way — young.  And some people just need to be told it’s okay to be happy — to give themselves permission to live, from the inside out.  Just do it — regret is a killer.

HAPPY FALL!

 

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A Tuesday FULL of thankfulness …

On a perfect fall day, temps in the 60s, sun shining through a light haze, leaves turning every shade from gold to purple, Kim noodling on guitar and finding melodies and chord changes that bring tears to my eyes, the house in just enough disarray to feel comfy, and our tiny white terror (nope, not a misspelling) running back and forth from balcony to everywhere else, I’m thankful for my town.  Also all of the above, none of which would have happened without this town, except the guitar man.

We’ve been here a little over a year now, and it’s home in a way no other place has ever been.  From the University of Kansas on Mt. Oread to the tiniest neighborhood we love it all.  Lawrence is marinated in history, and as much of it as possible has been lovingly preserved — there are still rock houses standing since before the Civil War, and several businesses on Mass St. have original interior rock walls.  Following Harper’s Ferry and other John Brown exploits in opposition to slavery (don’t get nervous, there won’t be a test), Quantrill and his raiders came through town in 1863, killing 150 men but no women and children, torching every house and business they could, robbing all the banks, and looting what was left.  Lawrence immediately started rebuilding and the pro-slavery forces lost, end of story.  The town is founded on that legacy and hasn’t wavered.  Here people cheekily ask, “WWJBD?”  (What Would John Brown Do?)  The town’s beginnings were the roots of the open-hearted approach to personal liberty that permeates everything here and resonates so deeply with us.

We love the tree-lined streets full of dignified 3-story homes and whimsical “Painted Ladies.”  We’re equally in love with the more haphazard neighborhoods, where every block is home to at least one artist’s studio, gallery, or workshop.  A few more things we’re hooked on — Mass Street, with its blocks of stores and restaurants, housed in carefully preserved old buildings, all of it walkable and friendly.  Live music all over town, plays, art shows, nice weather, rain, trees, great food, beautiful lakes, and the wide Kaw River, which is endlessly fascinating to us after living with a dry dusty riverbed for the past few decades.  And KU Basketball, need I say more?

Here’s a small photographic sampling of what makes us so happy to be living here …

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The weather’s here, wish you were wonderful!

It’s Scenic Sunday, boys and girls.

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A feast for the eyes and heart …

Be at peace and enjoy another Scenic Sunday …

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Say hey to Scenic Sundays …

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