You're Doing It Wrong

This is a swimming hole on the Salmon River in N. California. The water was low and the skies smokey when we visited this year. I’m not a great swimmer but we brought a floaty cushion and paddled down to see a waterfall. While we were out, some people came to swim a big long lap back and forth. It’s a good swimming hole.

This is Dad’s dog fence.

There are neighbor dogs who used to come into the garage and pee on things. There was a construction project and Dad saw this netting and had an idea. There were some steps involved to get Dad the netting. It involved a former federal highways employee and a tribal official. We are related to these people.

I wish I got a better picture because Dad rigged this so it will attach to the existing garage door frame. Then roll back for storage.

And, keeps the dogs out.

This is a marker up on Grayback on the way to Orleans.

I was hoping to make another trip to Orleans this fall but we were too over-scheduled and then my team made the playoffs. Which was awesome and thrilling and also something else to cram into the schedule at the last minute.

This happens every fall and I don’t know how to make it easier. (Not the playoffs, the over-scheduled.)

I’m always embarrassed to tell people how much I enjoy January, but there’s never anything going on. We get to stay home every weekend. I love it.

Regular readers (ha ha! Like I have random drop-in readers) have heard me talk about my giant potato harvests.

I still have a ton in the vegetable bin and out in the garden. But the garden has been tragically neglected due to the Lovey Project (you can pre-order now!). It seems like I never have time and when I do, it’s raining.

I was out there on Friday and was dismayed to find the tomatoes never looking healthier. In November. Everything needs to get yanked. Hopefully this week. I was hoping to do one more pot of applesauce but looks like I missed my chance.

But back to the original point of the post: those are potatoes I found when I was helping in Mom’s garden.

Dad made himself a desk for his new computer. This is me trying to see if there is a secret compartment.

Mom and Dad had a giant fig tree at the side of their house. This was taken shortly after it was cut down.

Don’t worry, they have other fig trees. I can still get my fig fix if I’m there during fig time.

This was the tree in August. Go tree!

I’m not sure if I can pull this off for the entire month. I think I’ve done 30 posts every November except one since … 2005? Who remembers when NaBloPoMo started? But have some extra difficulty thrown in at the moment. I don’t like to do a lot of personal stuff on my work machine and since the great ouchie back debacle of 2015 I haven’t brought my laptop to the office.

I have carried heavy bags since then. And although I have felt a twinge now and again, I consider myself to be a solid 99%. But I hate to tempt fate.

My main writing related activity for November is dealing with Season of Us (First draft was written during NaNoWriMo last year). My actual writing goal for this month is finishing my Indians in Space story which I have been working on since the Carter Administration. Wish me luck. Whatever state it is in on November 30 is the final.

In December: urban Indian romance. Or, maybe Adobe Illustrator tutorials. Let’s get done with November before we get crazy planning December.

I am rapidly losing my ability to handle two or more things at once. Last weekend I was doing my bread baking while I was doing manuscript things and later while I was exercising.

On the baking day there are several timed steps which normally I can do in my sleep. You bake 30 minutes with lid on and 15 minutes with lid off. During my rush I set the timer wrong. Luckily, I could tell the bread wasn’t finished and I use a thermometer to check the final temperature. But there was a long moment of head scratching where I was trying to remember what the hell I did.

In my defense, I’m still a wee bit over extended. I should be back to normal schedule when I retire sometime around 2030.

And yes, it would be easier to buy bread but now I’m so used to homemade I can hardly eat store bought bread.