Because I have allowed too much food to go to waist (spelling intentional) and as a result my clothes have shrunk which is clearly the fault of the nasty dryer and I am so hot but have so much sweaty work to do and it feels even harder after spending two days alone overnight with my husband sans kids for the first time in 17 years celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary (more on that later) and the Middle Child, whilst we were gone, had to clean up Big Guy barf and major dog messes (it seems the dog took exception to our absence) but now that we're back, all of that kind of thing falls on my shoulders, plus the store and promoting my book and taking care of the house and the flowers and church stuff and being a good neighbor and then there are my friends who are being sadly neglected and trying to find time to see my beautiful neice and her cutie-patootie husband and her cutier-patootier little boy who are visiting from out of state and, well, it just makes me want to sit down and weep.

I wish you could come to my house for a little chat. I can imagine you coming up the walk and seeing the spread of the sweet valley at the foot of the hill. In fact, if you stood in front of my house and spun in a circle, every view would be filled by a hill. For a few months of the year, they are grass green. The rest of the time they are the color of golden wheat.

At the turn of the walkway, you would spot my little cottage behind the gate. The white expanse of wall to the left is part of my home. The white expanse of wall to the right is not. It's a pretty small little cottage but it is sweeter than sweet.

As you approach, the world behind the gate comes into view.

If you come on a warm summer's night, you will be treated to an assortment of heavenly smells.

The Abraham Lincoln roses on the right . . .

the Coat of Many Colors at the door . . . .

the Queen Elizabeth's on the left right next to the Star Jasmine.

More likely than not, you would be greeted at the door by one of my boys. They love company and usually wait outside for anyone said to be on their way.

And then you will be here and I will be happy.

I will invite you to sit on my couch--it's strong and sturdy and after 18 months remains undestroyed by The Big Guy.

Not that he doesn't do his best.

The Little Guy tries, too. At any rate, should you come to my house, you would meet both of them (or meet them again if I am lucky enough to have had you in my home before).

I can promise you a fairly unique experience in meeting my children (even if it's again) because they are True Individuals and have highly developed senses of humor. It's pretty much due to this and their good looks that keep us feeding them. (We prize a good sense of humor and good looks highly in this clan.) (I promise to have my priorities more squarely in place when the grandchildren arrive.) The Middle Child will want to hang out with us which I will allowe her to do since she has proven to be skilled at "pouring out".

The Spouse will be here, too, but he's a bit camera shy so I don't have a photo to share on this virtual visit. But when you see him, you'll be surprised at how cute he is. Meanwhile, you're sure to get licked by this filthy creature below. (Could someone please give this darn dog a bath?)

By this time, we shall be glad to escape into the backyard. We could drink lemonade in th shade of the umbrella (no dogs allowed).

Or we could sit in the flower bower and eat tiny sandwhiches with the tips of our fingers.

Speaking of flowers, you should be sure to come in May when the New Dawn climbing rose is at its spectacular best.

We could compare notes on the most eye-catching, sweetest-smelling, awe-inspiring gardens (or rose bushes) we have ever seen.

Or we could just label this one the best and call it a day. (It would be the polite thing to do.) (Of course, if you've been to England or France, I'm pretty much sunk.)


Naturally, there ARE other flowers than roses. These geraniums, which started out as a single stem stuck into a broken strawberry pot (where it still dwells) did not disappoint this year.

If it gets too hot (and it probably will) we could escape the heat and the dog and kids by moving down the hall into my bedroom to sit on my cool, comfortable and very white bed.

We could discuss the advantages of painting two of the walls pink and wallpapering the other two with yellow. In the winter, the room glows in electric light yet still feels crisp and cool when I open my eyes after a luxurious summer snooze.

My closet contains a desk and is draped with curtains. It is very soft and romantic and I am quite taken with it. (Indeed I am.)

We would take a peek out into the back garden through the lace at the window and talk and sigh about how soon it must all be over . . . and chat some more.

All too soon, after some hours or days or weeks, depending on your patience, tolerance and all-around strength of character, it would be over and you would have to go. If you take your leave as the sun is setting, this is what you would see as you walk out my front door.

And then I would walk with you through the tiny courtyard and give you one last hug as you walk out into the view.

Adieu.

There's a good reason so many choose to live in the San Francisco bay area: it's quite simply magic. From the Golden Gate it is a matter of hours (and often much less) to the mountains or the beach, the country or the city, the snow or the surf, the sophisticated to the primitive where buildings, so new and modern they glisten in their patch of light, stand just down the street from structures hundreds of years old.

What's more, the bay area and its surrounding satellites offer up a whole world of, well, a whole world. From San Francisco's China Town with its narrow streets and open air markets filled with jewel-toned fabrics and various fowl hanging from string wrapped round their necks, to the rolling hills of Napa/Sonoma lined with grapevines that would look perfectly at home in France or Italy, to the green-hilled valley near Santa Cruz that Scottish settlers found so like home they named the local lake Loch Ness, there is such a variety of treasure to see and enjoy.

Over the weekend, we had the soul-deep pleasure of visiting a little bit of heaven, otherwise known as Ireland-in-California, after hearing about its ambrosial delights from friends. Since I have sworn on a stack of holy bibles I would not reveal the location of this particular piece of California Gold (not really) (but only because a stack of holy bibles wasn't available) (though I'm pretty sure a curse is hanging over my head as we so-to-speak should I divulge the location) I can't tell you the name of the beach or the town. What I can tell you is that it is in the heart of earthquake country which is one reason we didn't pack up our bags and move there forthwith. Having said that, Ireland, or anything resembling it (such as England, Scotland or Wales) is the home of my soul and this little No Name beach/town/area looks like a piece of Ireland broke off and rode the ocean tides to our shores where it weighed anchor and waited, glowing in the sun, until I could learn of it and find it. (Now that I have, I hope it doesn't disappear into the mist, Brigadoon-style.)


The first half of our drive was weighed down with the rain that has been plaguing our area this spring (rain is winter-only weather around here yet we are expecting aNOther big storm complete with thunder and lightning later this week) but by the time we got to the green rolling hills and finally the beach, the sun had come out and blued the sky.

I was seduced by the way the rugged cliffs ran right into the water, the bank of clouds hovering above, mimicking the shape of its earthbound neighbor.

The Middle Child and the Little Guy lost no time in heading out into the water, leaving their parents to hike all the food, sand chairs, blankets, towels and other paraphanalia on their own. Um, wait . . . make that, leaving their father to do all of the above whilst I took pictures.

We've been to many beaches all over California and loved them all but this one is different somehow. (Because it's magic and came from Ireland, that's why!)

Once we got all settled and the kids had a chance to play tag with a few waves, the storm clouds started brewing again. "Tell it to the hand," said the Middle Child when I explained that we had to pack up and go, (except, not really--she just didn't want to have her picture taken--clearly I did it anyway).

Evidence of the storm clouds brewing. However, we did have enough time before the deluge to visit with the gentleman below.

Wanting to know who he is, we kicked the Middle Child out of the car to read the plaque--but there wasn't one. Not wanting to make a waste of a trip, she struck the following pose.

I love the way the statue seems to fade a bit into the mist, creating the almost-illusion of the Middle Child's shadow (minus one sword).

We stopped in town for a bit before heading home and the kids thought it would be fun to imitate another work of art. (They're nothing if not consistent.) The Middle Child does a good job but the Little Guy can't quite manage a genuine grimace--he's just too darn sweet, and genuinely so. (If you are young(ish) and your eyesight still good, you might be able to read the plaque. It's worth the trouble.)

The Middle Child snapped this photo through the car window whilst we were in motion (actually, it was the car that was in motion--we were fairly motionless as I recall). I defy anyone to say that this does not look exactly as if a little bit of heaven (code for Ireland) didn't drop down on the California coast.

I have been greatly smitten with photographing clouds lately, probably because we have had so darn many of them this spring. I call this one "the twins". Those with poor eyesight are probably wondering why so I give you what I call "the close up".

See that second cone shaped cloud behind that there weed? As alike as two buttons, they are! Meanwhile, the amount of green for the end of May was truly mesmerizing (and to be expected considering the buckets of rain we've had). At one point, driving through a little country town, the green suddenly parted to reveal something white and dreamy. The Spouse heard me gasp and immediately began to look for a place to turn around (he knows me well).

There, in the clearing, was a dear darling house swimming in green. Again, I would have packed my bags and moved in a trice if it weren't for that earthquake thing (and that pesky lack of funds thing and that current occupant roadblock, etc. etc.).

Still, we managed to get a few more shots before the gardeners appeared out of the surrounding jungle, chain saws in hand, causing us to scamper off in a hurry.

Still, I think I could be really happy here, just camped out on the front lawn.

Other than where you currently live with people you love, where is the home of your heart?