In a Van Gogh Painting

Sunflower Farm, Half Moon Bay

One Day

One day after another —
Perfect
They all fit.

Robert Creeley
via Pome by Matthew Ogle

Me Want

A hobbit hole house of my very own.

Here's another one:

Children, husbands, men in general not allowed entrance. Women allowed, but only those bearing books, coffee, bourbon, cheese and chocolate can stop by for a few minutes. Javier Bardem is exempt from above rules.

See more here.

The Insane Caregiver's Week-end Wrap-up

Lots of funny comments on that last post about how we caregivers are going to live a long, long time -- a lot longer than you normal folks.

I left yesterday morning for Palm Springs with my friend Cara. We had a quick, 24-hour getaway, which will probably guarantee that I live even longer than I might have, and I sat mainly here on the bed and played WordFeud with my friend D, read a New Yorker and a Real Simple, and started Jayne Ann Phillips' new novel. We also sat by the pool and then stood in the pool. Then we went back to our room and watched The Butler in the middle of the afternoon. I ate steak for dinner, drank a fizzy bourbon cocktail and a beer, took a bath in an enormous tiled bathtub and fell into bed slightly buzzed by more alcohol than I've drunk in a long time and the hot water of the bath. I fell asleep and woke once or twice to the hum of the air-conditioner and the relief of knowing that in the morning I'd still be here, on the bed with the cool, white sheets in the room with the cool, blue door.

Outside, it looked like this (no filters, baby! -- the sky is that blue!):

and this (no shots of me in my bathing suit, unfiltered!):

and inside it looked like this:

and I looked like this:

and not like this (remember, that's me, sometime in the distant future):

On the way home this afternoon, we passed these guys in this car:

and decided to get off the exit with them and drive away through the windmill fields:

There's no telling where we'll be tonight. Your guess is as good as mine.