parked atop a fresh mound of redwood chips, breathe in the gathering scent (cough, cough the air is heavy with smoke from grassfires east of here) homemade sandwhich in hand, work day complete, I am in a favorite spot.

pot of gold?

Friday afternoon, 330pm pst Smokey Joe  and I are out for an evening walk.  Passing through the gate and into the park warming sun shine basks us both  promising a long, pleasant walk  however, a quick glance westward revealed dark clouds trailing to the ground which means only one thing, rain!  Great wouldn’t you know it after being indoors all afternoon the one time…… Continue reading pot of gold?


A few years ago a discussion my sister is the basis for this story as my father grew tired of going  downstairs to do laundry and contemplated moving the washer and dryer upstairs.  As we talked, my mind drifted back to all the happenings down there but alas Dad never did this having passed away before his idea bore fruit and…… Continue reading THE BASEMENT

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