Casita Klatsch

Spooky Pumpkin 2009

Ah yes, it's that time again...

We've just finished cleaning up after the Pumpkin Mutilation Party we just hosted.  (In case you're already scowling wondering, the seeds of the slain pumpkins were saved and roasted, and the innards were placed in a paper bag for deposition in a compost heap.)

This year we were also celebrating Patrick's birthday.  Happy Birthday, you handsome devil.

Patrick, disgruntled, displays his gift from Homer

It was also the celebration of Martha's birthday.  She's a year old now.

Homer deigns to give Martha a birthday hug (even though she's making his life an allergy hell at the moment)

Fueled with copious amounts of Sandy-made lasagna, Homer-made cake and various French-made wine, we all dug in and soon found ourselves elbow deep in pumpkin goo. 

Zane gets slimy wit' it

F.O. contemplates his next pumpkin strategy..

Getting the little pieces to pop out is half the battle.

Some started out with pre-drawn designs, but in the end, all pumpkins were done free-hand.  I think they're fantastic, each of them.

47

Yes.  Forty-[bleepin']-seven.  I can't believe it either.

Three things rescued this day from abject poverty of value:

1. my partner, who wished me a happy day when I arose at 5:15am to get ready for a work teleconference (sometimes the time difference really blows) and then treated me to breakfast afterward;
2. cupcakes handmade and delivered by Homer and chocolate-dipped strawberries sent by Rob;
3. and Facebook, on which I received countless happy-day messages from mates here and abroad.

Thank you, everyone.

Back from the Dead

After five weeks of bronchitis, or six--I lost count after a while, and nine days of diarrhea, a trip to the emergency room, a fistful of atomic antibiotics, and a fair amount of bedrest, I am tired and weak.  And behind.  But that's enough complaining.  I am back, and that's good enough for me.

I have this notion of morning therapy.  For as long as I can remember, I have made sure that I take the time to engage in something just for me, before I begin the workday.  (Or school day, if you want to go back that far.  As it's my birthday very soon, I have no desire to, but go ahead.) 

My morning ritual, to which I am very happy to return in better health, is pretty simple. Get up at least a half-hour before anyone else in the house.  Void the bladder, wash the face, check the wrinkles.  Stagger to kitchen, drink water, make coffee (a ritual of its own), and head outside.  In the limitless expanse of our backyard, I do things like sweeping the patio, checking the pool and gathering dogtoys.  

The pool wearing its winter cap

Mostly, however, I potter around with my Coffee-From-Hell mug, checking out the plant life and watering as needed.  I'm not a true gardener, but my rural Southern roots are surprising sometimes.  I like to play in the earth.  Having said that, I am mindful of the fact that we live in the desert and limit my play to that with drought-tolerant plants, or reserving those that need a bit more water either to pots or very small spaces.   The trees were already here, and I do what I need to to keep them healthy on as little water as possible.

One of these days I'll have the time to research what type of tree this is.  (Anyone care to save me the suspense?)

I have plans for this little piece of concrete-locked earth.  Zinnias.  Lots and lots of zinnias.

Baby zinnias (which you could see better if there weren't so many dead olive leaves)

More babies on the way, of many kinds.  (The previous tenants left a small greenhouse behind.  They're nice guys.  I have met them before and am pretty sure they will be happy that it's getting some use until they come to collect it.)

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In other news, I am singing a bit this weekend.  If you're local and up for some interesting choral music, jump here for more details.