Homemade kombucha in the house! That’s what’s happening to-day. Way back in our Portland days (we’ve been gone three and a half years! WOW!), we made heaps and tons of kombucha. As we didn’t feel like schlepping a SCOBY or two or three across the country to Pennsylvania, we left all means of production behind. Curiously enough, when we had our pre-move garage sale, the people who bought all the gear were getting ready to start their own brew operation. Great minds think alike, eh?

This time around, we are adding flavors, upping our game a bit. Or so I hope. I made these this morning and thusly have no clue if they will actually be worth drinking. Fingers crossed! Since my memory isn’t what it used to be, AND I bought a cool chalk board pen, I made my notes right on the bottle.

Also what’s happening – much, much planting! Over the past week, we’ve put in five trees, two shrubs, and thirty-eight plants, with about fifty more to go. I kid you not. Most of the labor done by yours truly because the hubster has been earning our bread AND busting up a hideous monstrosity of a patio, sledge hammer chain-gang style, while I dig, dig, dig. “What we have here is a failure to communicate…” Not really. We are ace communicators, the two of us, mind readers even. I just think of Cool Hand Luke at times of day-long outdoor labor is all.

Anyhoo, hopefully all will flourish and our yard won’t look so very, very brown.

Happy Friday!

How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live ’em. How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give ’em.

Shel Silverstein

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Look not for refuge in anyone beside yourself.

Tibetan Saying

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Surprising

What is it inside the imagination that keeps surprising us
At odd moments
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . when something is given back
We didn’t know we had had
In solitude, spontaneously, and with great joy?

Charles Wright

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When we were newlyweds, Greg’s Grandma Rouble, in between serious laments for my failure to change my name to Cooper (Are they really married?), sent us photos of Texas Bluebells and other wildflowers in an attempt to convince us to visit while they were in blossom. Though we did visit in springtime, we sadly missed the blooms. So, every time we drove past a  field dappled with every color and hue, we thought of her bidding us good day from the sweet hereafter, the pair of us offering our most cheerful “Hello Rouble!” in reply.

Good coffee and even friendlier service in Post!

Greg’s Dad grew up in Ralls. Hi Alan!

While in the Panhandle, we stayed with our cousin and very fine host, Cynthia. Juniper was ready to romp with her dogs. This is Groot.

League adjacent bowler…

Sunrise at Cynthia’s

Juniper in wild wonder at the sight of bison at Caprock Canyons.

Adorable babies!

Hello!

Cousins AND fabulous music fans.

Jimmy Dean – most notably of breakfast sausage fame, hailed from Plainview. We went to his museum and learned he was a singer, an actor, and super dandy dresser, too.

When I was a little girl, my Grandma Frances LOVED Furr’s. She would always convince me to go by saying that I could get anything I wanted, which actually translated to most anything (Jell-O!) but not everything. I could never-ever have a pat of butter or a beverage, because, at the time, they cost extra. So, when I saw the sign for Furr’s, you bet I wanted to go, and so we did, TWICE. You bet I got extra pats of butter and iced tea, too!

Kress sunset

A wee slice of Oklahoma.

Two Buttes

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