Winter At Its Best


Courtesy dannyboston.blogspot

  1. Wet dog (it stinks I know, but it means it’s actually raining in Southern California).
  2. The dusty aroma of the first time the heater clicks on for the season.
  3. The mintyness of Claritin (relief for my aching sinuses is on the way).
  4. Musty smell of the electric blanket.
  5. A Christmas tree lot (although we have a fake one now).
  6. Christmas cookies baking in the oven.
  7. Our family’s Christmas breakfast (chili eggs, which I don’t partake in. It’s overnight oatmeal for sisters, Mom, and I).
  8. Sometimes-stench of Maggie (her bed is right by mine. She only sleeps in it when it’s cold).
  9. The crispness of cold weather.
  10. The refreshing aroma the day after it rains.
  11. The wool of my cashmere throw that I have after my electric blanket is turned off.

As you’ve probably guessed, the eleven items above are smells of winter. My favorite smells of winter, at least. I’d love to hear your additions!

Is It Summer Yet?


Okay, maybe Southern California doesn’t get THIS cold, but it sure feels like it. Courtesy

This post comes with a warning. Readers in certain parts of the country, especially where you get snow and extreme weather, may be disgusted by what I am about to say. Read on at your own risk.

I am always cold. I don’t know why. Maybe because I am always in one position, but right now the thermostat is set at eighty-one and I have goosebumps! I love fall and winter. The crispness, the bright sky, the occasional rain. I love it all. From inside the warm house!

Last night was 49. I had two blankets. One of them being an electric one! In my defense, it wasn’t turned on, but that will come later.

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, please, God, make me come back as a lizard. I could scorch myself on a rock all day. My dream.

Wednesday we leave for Seattle to surprise Kelley for Thanksgiving. Fourties every day we are there. Mom has packed accordingly, but please wish me luck!

Summer Morning

I had no idea about what, I just felt like writing today. I guess you can call this a post about nothing. Actually I have a point; it’s just not the most important.

What’s your favorite season? I am a warm-weather person. I love summer. Feeling 95+ temperatures on my skin and looking out my French doors and seeing the backyard full of color is my favorite. I have wonderful summertime memories: Playing in the sprinklers (this was obviously before the drought), riding bikes after dinner, and also after dinner visiting with Mary, the elderly woman across the street. So sweet, but as with lots of old people, she could be cranky. Mary would be puffing on her cigarette, while complaining our very uppity next-door neighbors.

About September, though, I was ready for winter. I had grown sick of my summer wardrobe, but would need it for at least another month. I would look at sweaters and long to wear them. I was tired of hearing the air conditioner click on longed for the dead-skin smell of the heater the first time it’s turned on for the season.

I guess you could me fickle. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. It is currently 9:48 a.m. It is 73 degrees, but there’s supposed to be a high of 92. People in other parts of the country would kill for such weather! I am in the backyard, the sky is bright blue, the plants are full of color, and Maggie is taking a nap in the shade.

No sweater needed this morning!

No sweater needed this morning!

I guess I shouldn’t complain about my wardrobe—maybe sweaters are overrated.