Coming home today, the most extraordinary sky appeared as we crested a hill and came out of the woods--a mackerel sky, pearly and lit softly from above and below. The sun was shining through it as through a lattice, making dozens of little glory rays. I was so glad I had my camera. The skies and the moon lately have been stunning. Liam and I rode home the back way just to admire the moon last night--to get away from streetlights and other cars.
Squeezed a walk into our busy day today, much of it spent at Phoebe's holiday basketball tournament.
Phoebe plays basketball more like her mother than like her super-athletic daddy; she dreams across the court. I remember treating team sports as a chance to hide in the farthest outfield and watch birds and clouds. I loved being in the outfield, but not because I could catch or throw. I identify completely with Phoebe's look of intense ennui as she waits out her time on court. Basketball has been wonderful for her in terms of feeling part of a team, and she's bonded closely with the other girls in the process. It's been good.
Moving Scooby Doo is a sport better suited to my proclivities. Namely, one I invented. I stink at following anyone else's rules. See, it's a one-dog sport. We've got Scoob all the way past the oilwell now. Chet really digs bettering his last carrying record. I love the fact that he gets the whole point and he doubtless loves hearing my laughter as he gives Scoob a good shaking, then gallops ahead on the trail, the deflated ball flopping against his chest. When I was thinking about which breed of dog would best fit our lifestyle, my number one priority was that it have a sense of humor. After that, I wanted short hair and a smallish but athletic build. The googly eyes and smashy face went along with the package.
I thought I'd show you the well jack to whom we owe our toasty-warm home--it pumps the free gas. You can see Scooby in the lower right corner of the photo. It'll be interesting to see how Chet handles moving Scooby once we enter the woods. And even more interesting to see if he'll leap the stream or charge up the steep hill we call the Cut while bearing his load. Well, I've been messing about with this entry for a good hour now, when I was supposed to be at a Christmas party. I guess I've joined the ranks of those with blog fever. I have so enjoyed sharing this beautiful life with you all, even though I've no idea how many of you there are, or who you are. How odd! I hope you'll come visit me at my blog when Sharon takes back the reins at Birdchick. Seems like we ought to be hearing from her any time now. Is no news...good news? The less we hear, the better? Halooooo out there! Cottonmouth got yer tongue?