What to do

Contrary to misconceptions harbored by some of my friends, I am not always traveling.  I am often home for the weekend.  And when I am, I need to determine what to do.

But first, a cop of cuffee.

Then a little soccer on the tube while I check the email and catch up on current events.
Yes, old people like to read the newspaper.

Can't mow the lawn.

Maybe I should work on the car
that I've driven exactly once this year.
Those old hydraulic clutches are a bitch.

Maybe I should return the empties.
Note that this mix is uncharacteristic of what I usually bring back.

Perhaps I should finally finish the last camping escapade...

...or work on the piles of crap people want me to take care of.

I could clean my messy nightstand.

Maybe I should share some music,
returning the favor a friend surprised me with.

Another option would be to clean my workshop.

Or I could take care of the pile so richly deserving shredding.
Don't you hate those people for sending you checks you didn't request?

Or I could make some beer.

All this sounds like too much work.  

But the beer-making has suggested something.

Maybe I should test some fine beer a fine friend has provided,

take a nap,

and then write this blog.

What do you think?

Misty Morning Paddle

I woke up early one day at the camp.  Several of my friends have told me that it is the best part of the day.  Can you believe an insomniac?  I went for a paddle to see.

Heading East

 The dew hangs on the spider webs and makes them so much more visible.  I had no idea that there were so many spiders, or that they wove webs practically everywhere.

Web for catching dive bombing bugs.

Another web out in the weeds in the water.
How do the spiders get there?

The shoreline grays in the distance.

A team effort.

All to myself.

Well, maybe not completely to myself.

How do you dew?

Glistening weed grass.

The dead tree has been there for many years.
All the others are gone...when will it fall?

The fog lifted a little on Lily Lake, a wider spot in the stream,
but still lurked above.

The geese were unconcerned.

There is a mountain back there.  Honest.

Lone loon lounging.

Colorful beneath the gray.

Excellent skills, nicely displayed.

 Almost home, I passed by another paddler who told me the location of a fine bush, loaded with blueberries.  I had to determine the veracity of his report.  

Truth is its own reward.

Project 3

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