There was a break in the clouds yesterday, all too brief, but long enough to see that Schweitzer has a white blanket. Apparently that upper air is cold enough to make snow crystals.
Actually, the brief views beyond our yard and pastures during the afternoon were pretty. Thoroughly washed leaves and needles stood out against their dark backgrounds. Deep blues, greens and golds---no in betweens.
The larch is at its height right now, so the mountain views below Schweitzer are about as beautiful as I've seen this year.
Still, it looks like more rain. I'll take the Spokesman weather forecast, though. It says a little today and then fairly dry the rest of the week.
That means enough time to put pine needles around the base of my blueberries and to pull grass and weeds from my flower beds. The rain is good for the latter cuz it loosens up the roots. My biggest concern right now is whether or not the leaves fall from the trees before the snow comes.
In the meantime, I'm facing a fairly open week, which is a rarity. Heck, I'm even doing some housework. Sheets being washed, bath tub scrubbed, junk relocated to hidden junk locations.
There's a stack of Spokesmans and Daily Bees about to topple over in the corner near the dining room table, so I'll probably haul that off to the landfill today.
Earlier this morning, I taped up the ZAGS men's schedule on the back door. It won't be long before we launch the season at Barbara and Laurie's house with pizza and lots of expectation of what the ZAGs have in store for us this year.
Mother has her ZAGS poster and has been studying it closely, in readiment for her winter therapy. And, yes, Cis, I'll be bringing one by your house soon for your daughter.
I just finished my column for November about being a Sounder 'til I die. It turned out to be a fun writing experience, just like the experience itself.
That's what I love about being a writer anymore. Each chunk of life during each day is usually rich with material, sometimes even the nothingness of it all.
For example, there's that apple fritter from Chaps.
I bought two the other day. Bill ate one while I was outside.
"Those fritters are good," he said.
"Did you eat both of them?" I asked.
"No, I left one for you."
So, yesterday morning I started frittering away at my fritter. First one little bite, which substituted for my morning glob of peanut butter.
Later, I cut off another strip and loaded it with butter. In the evening, I evened out the border so that it looked almost like a smaller, untouched fritter.
Bill, who hates it when someone takes a bite out of anything, leaving the rest, broke his Cardinal rule this morning. He pulled off another section of that ever-diminishing fritter to go with his "Depression potatoes," omelet and sausage.
So, now there's just a little section of fritter left in that fancy box. I think I'll be nice when Debbie comes with the dogs this morning. She can have a taste of Chaps, and then this rather efficient fritter will be history. We've gotten a lot of mileage and good flavor out of it, to say the least.
And, therein, from slicing off pieces of that fritter, lies a nice little slice-of-life story.
Speaking of slices of life, the "Secret Sound" for Day No. 55 is coming up soon on the Breakfast Boys radio show, so I'd better get out to the barn to do my chores and see if someone wins.
Maybe they'll get an apple fritter from Chaps as one of their prizes.