SHORT TERM POSIES

The Redbud tree just outside my den window is bursting with blooms right now.

It's amazing how speedily nature's march takes place when the weather warms up.

Only a couple of days ago I remarked to SWMBO that the tree was full of buds.

But they began blooming yesterday and this morning the tree is full of the pretty pink and purple posies.

And it won't be long before green leaves sprout from these flowers and the tree will be covered with a protective layer of arboreal greenery.

Meanwhile, just below the Redbud is a ground-hugging Oregon Grape plant.

It offers a contrast to the rosy hue above with it's bright yellow flowers.

Now the sharpest of viewers will see in the next photo an example of my bravery as a nature photographer.

No, that's not a snake in the upper right.

It's actually our garden hose.

The lurking danger is difficult to see but I'll blow it up to give you a better view.

This makes it blurry but you can now see a big fat bee that was buzzing among the blossoms as I performed my photographic duties.

No danger, though.

He was too busy pollinating the flowers to pay any more than the slightest attention to me.

Nature.

Constantly fascinating.

THE ITALIAN VEGETARIAN

Judy stopped at our local Sprouts store the other day and discovered something she'd never seen before: baby eggplants.

Shoppers were scooping them up and she got a bagful and then asked a lady loading up on them how she fixed them.

The lady turned out to be Italian and she gave her a lengthy recipe which at one point involved cutting the eggplants in half and scoring them.

A man was listening in and at that point he said "Score them?  How do you do that?"

Apparently he had his mind on the NCAA basketball tournament but when eggplant scoring was explained to him realized his mistaken thought.

So . . .

. . . here, at home, are the halved eggplants, just a tad larger than a large egg, and some sliced zucchini.

And Judy shoots, she SCORES!

Go alongs include some garlic, a shallot, some cherry tomatoes and a sliced yellow pepper.

Throw all of that in a big pan and saute it with some olive oil and this is what you get.

Healthy and pretty darn good.

Judy called it sort of an Italian ratatouille minus the "gravy", as Italians call their red sauce.

(AMIT* - We had some chicken nuggets along with it so it wasn't a true vegetarian meal.)

<< *AMIT = A Moment Of Truth >>

AND NOT JUST THE PLUMS!

One street over the decorative pear trees are following the plums with a burst of ivory whiteness.

But I can't help wondering, as the temperature hovers at 85 degrees in mid-March, what will it be like here in August?

I have a friend and former colleague who grew up in Arizona but lives now in snow covered Maine.

The other day on Facebook she commented that she envies her Arizona friends right now but she'll be laughing out of the other side of her mouth when June rolls around.

SPRING IS BUSTING OUT ALL OVER . . .

I used to sing that (the title of this blog) and follow it up with "Spring better get a bigger dress!"

Well, Gentle Readers, I never claimed to have any couth.

What brings this to my mind is Tom of the Mediterranean Climate over in California.

The other day when I was braggin' on our mercury headed for the 70's (actually it got to the low 80's the past couple of days), he asked me if we had any spring blossoms over my way.

I said "not yet".

I had forgotten how the "decorative" fruit trees explode in the spring.

I took these photos across the street from our humble home this evening.

Those are the supposedly decorative wild plum trees with all that purply-pink foliage.

So, Tom, and anyone else I may have misled, I apologize.

Well actually, since these trees explode with these blossoms practically overnight, I suppose I could be forgiven.

After all, I don't get out much.

Though SWMBO and I enjoyed an evening on the front patio tonight until the chill came upon us.

Speaking of which . . .

. . . I asked my Master Gardener what was going on with this plant.

It looks like it does in the fall, when the leaves turn crimson.

She said she thought Old Frosty had caught it just a tinge as it was starting to put out new growth and put a hurtin' on it.

But right next to it this lady is doing just fine.

By the way, if you were thinking about asking me what the names of these plants are?

Don't you ever!

(Though that last one might be an Oregon Grape.)

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Oh, joy, it's time for the Friday Funnies.

And not only for Joy but for all the rest of you too.

O.K. for our first laugh let's start off (as Zhoen would say) with one word.

Ryancare.

Oops, there I go again.

Anybody here like wine?

(hic) Had enough?

Oh, wait, there's one more that's sort of related.

That uses up my supply of whacko drinking cartoons.

All of you Gentle Readers (and secret lurkers) out there in the cyberworld have yourselves a disgustingly hedonistic weekend and always . . . yes, always . . . remember to keep laughing.

As for me, I'm happy for Fridays for another reason than the Funnies.

It's pizza night!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

THROWBACK THURSDAY

Today's forecast from the Weather Gods calls for a high temperature of 76 degrees.

The photos are from a month and a half ago.

Very low cloud over StoneRidge.

A night time visitor revealed in the snow.

Looks like coyote tracks to me and they do inhabit the area.

Whatever it was it walked across my front yard in the night.

SAILING AND LANDING

If you ever wanted to know what it would be like to sail around the world alone on a small boat you may want to read Webb Chiles' log of his journey from Durban, South Africa, to St. Helena in the mid-Atlantic in a tiny (24-foot) sailboat.

It is a harrowing tale, at least for this landlubber, and it can be found here.

Keep in mind, this is a 75 year old man!

As for myself, I'll do no such adventuring.

I'll just wait for spring to come for sure.

The temperature has climbed to the 70's this week and the robins have landed once again.

Still, it is only the 8th of March and the Weather Gods have fooled us before.

TUESDAY TUPPENCE

Here's my sparse two cents for the day.

Webb Chiles has updated his blog with the story of his 2,500 nautical mile journey from Durban, South Africa, to St. Helena island.

If you're so inclined, you can read it here.

On the home (and culinary) front, I bought a dozen goodies from The Samosa Lady last week.

My provider is the one on the left in this old picture taken at the square in Prescott.

She shows up at the Prescott Valley Farmers Market.

I had never tried samosas before and got a couple of free tastes and then bought half a dozen with chorizo filling and another half dozen stuffed with egg and potato.

They were frozen and we had some of them the other night after heating them in the oven.

Very tasty.

Sorry, no photos.

I gave the Russian Rocketman Sage its annual spring haircut yesterday, trimming it back to the ground.

It looks a bit like a disaster area in its ring of rocks this morning but it will grow back quickly, probably taller than ever.

SWMBO loaded the debris into the dumpster and did some other weeding in the driveway and that was the end of our exertion for the day.

We sat in the warm sunshine a bit and reminisced about days gone by when we could do a lot more.

So it goes.

THE GRIZZLED TRAVELER

For those of you who may have read my post about Webb Chiles, the 75 year old man on a solo circumnavigation of the globe, here, you'll be happy to know that he has arrived at St. Helena Island in the Atlantic Ocean, having sailed there from Durban, South Africa without stopping.

As has frequently been noted, St. Helena is one of the most remote places in the world, which may be why it was chosen as Napoleon's final place of exile.

But it's only a stopover for Chiles on his round the world tour.

After what I would think would be an appropriate rest there he will set sail for Saint Lucia, at the entrance to the Caribbean.

And I gather once there he will decide whether to sail north to Key West or through the Panama Canal and up to San Diego.

But I'll await his blog entry from St. Helena to know for sure.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

First of all allow me to thank all of you Gentle Readers who expressed good feelings for the return to good health of Muggles and for making allowances for her feistiness.

Hmmm.

I got four "all"s in that first sentence.

Maybe I need a thesaurus.

And thanks to Fast Eddie, who inquired after my health today because I was late with these Friday Funnies.

It's always good to have a hall monitor.

So, let's get to it.

First one's in honor of Muggles . . .

And before I forget, let me wish you all a happy new year.

Okay, okay, that was a joke.

Let's be careful out there this weekend, Gentle Readers, but also enjoy whatever you can find to put smiles on your faces.

And always remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

(uh-oh)

THE CATS WHO RULE US

Some of you Gentle Readers may recall my telling you about our little cat, Muggles, and her apparently final sickness awhile back.

If you need a memory jog you can find it here.

She was seeming to be on a glide path to the Great Beyond before she began once again to eat and drink tiny amounts.

Well.

Never let a cat fool you.

In the past couple of months she has been eating like a horse, drinking lots of water and putting on the weight she had lost.

Her cough has nearly disappeared and she seems back to her old self, most of the time.

Today her big bully brother Blackwell came up to cower her into leaving "her spot" on the bed and got a smack in the face for his trouble.

I didn't witness it but SWMBO said he backed off with a stunned look on his face.

(Actually, I don't know how a cat can have a stunned look on his face but I do not contest SWMBO's telling of the story.)

So anyway, here is Muggles today, up on the cat perch studying things outside the window.

She is still "junior sized" but she's always been that way.

And here (in Muggles' spot on the bed) is her big bully brother Blackwell.

Our cats.

We love 'em but the title of this post says it all.

MACARONS!

When we lived in Phoenix a few years ago I went one day to a place I had heard about called The French Grocery.

It was a provider of French foodstuffs, a bakery, a wine shop, a bar and a restaurant, all under one roof.

I went because I had heard they sold macarons.

***A slight interruption here to explain something to the culinarily-deprived citizens of the U.S.  These are macarons, pronounced mac-uh-rohns.  They are distinctly different from the American cookie known as macaroons, pronounced mac-uh-roons.  I only explain this because I have heard the French sandwich cookies mispronounced so often and because I am a self-righteous prig.***

So I bought a dozen assorted macarons and brought them home.

Judy loved them as did I.

But when she learned what I had paid for them she said "I can make those for a lot less money!"

And she did.

For those of you among my Gentle Readers who have never enjoyed a macaron I have only pity.

They are wonderful!

O.K. so maybe they aren't quite as "neat" as those from the French Grocery but as I heard a pastry chef say this week as he smoothed the edges of a frozen souffle "we pastry chefs are perfectionists, you know."

Actually I thought her second batch came pretty darned close to that "perfection".

And, what the hell, the taste was spot on.

Well, all of this came up because I was going through the many food pictures I have accumulated over the years of this blog . . . editing some, dumping others and ran across these pictures . . and memories.

Which brings me to another story.

In spite of my friend Baseball Steve, who called me this week to inquire if I was up to 300 pounds yet because he had been seeing pictures on my blog of all the wonderful food Judy makes for me, I don't eat massively anymore.

I was out this morning and got a teensy breakfast sandwich at a fast food place.

Then early this afternoon, I made a sandwich at home for my lunch.

And I was through.

I told Judy that I didn't really think I wanted any dinner and would take care of myself (So far that's only been a vodka-and-water or two.  Or more.)

She, on the other hand, has been dining on some fine microwave popcorn and sending fumes through the house.

But, pure as my intentions were, as I went through the photos in my Food file I began to develop a burgeoning appetite.

However, I am the soul of goodness.

Besides we don't have any macarons in the house.

I think I'll go see if Judy has any popcorn left over.

WINTER'S LAST GASP?

If you look closely . . . very, very closely . . . you can see the tops of the Black Hills just outside of Prescott Valley have some traces of the storm that moved quickly through last night.

It's not like that banner picture at the top of the page.  

That was taken weeks ago when we really got some snow.

This time it was just cold enough during the early morning hours to put a light bit of frosting on the mountain tops.

But it's 50 degrees now and it should be close to or around 70 by Saturday.

So is this winter's last attempt to cow us?

Don't bet on it.

We had a pretty good storm during the night before I opened our book store back in 1996.

And that came in early March.

It's been known to snow later than that.

Still not enough to outdo the blizzard that hit my home state of North Dakota one year on my mother's birthday.

That date was June 6th.

AROUND THE WORLD

I have my friend and former colleague Robert van Klootwyk aka Bob Christie to thank for alerting me to the amazing saga of one Webb Chiles, who has spent large periods of his life sailing small boats around the world alone.

He is at it again, at the age of 75.

When I discovered him in Durban, South Africa, waiting for the winds to rise, I began to follow his journey.

He has a device called a Yellowbrick on his boat which allows anyone with access to a computer to track his progress every six hours.

After sailing from Opua, New Zealand to Durban in 2016, he laid up for awhile before heading for the open sea once more on February 10th.

After successfully rounding the southern tip of Africa he followed the coastline north for awhile before turning into the South Atlantic enroute to St. Helena Island, where Napoleon spent his final days.

I love adventurous stories and Chiles' tales of his travels fit the bill.

He has had six wives, loves a drink of Scotch and the open sea in a small boat.

If, like me, you're interested in following along, you can find his tracking map here and a blog which is updated infrequently here.

He should arrive in St. Helena, weather permitting, in another 5 to 7 days.

Keep in mind, he is 75 years old.

But as he described himself on New Year's Day, "a strong and tough old man."