Somebody's dog got all the way home without his new yellow ball.  And you know he isn't going to be happy till he goes back to get it.

Making my bed this morning I thought about all the interesting people I have met on Xanga and naturally came to Michel, my favorite, which took me to a memory of Frenchmen past.

Several years ago Judy and I joined friends, Rita and Geoff, in Ireland.  They met us in Dublin and together we traveled The Republic of Ireland.  After spending a half hour in the rush hour traffic of a round-about, making several wrong turns, we finally found our rooms in Galway with a little help from a kind couple at a gas station.  They also knew the best place to eat and shared that knowledge with us.  Since Rita really wanted to see if we might find something more to her liking we wandered the town with the rest of the evening strollers, locals and tourists alike, enjoying the balmy evening.

By the time we returned to the recommended establishment the line was out the door, giving Geoff plenty of time to wander next door for his first beer of the day, while we ladies held our place in line.  Once seated in the attic dining room we were delighted with the intimacy of the ambience and the fact that staff happily agreed to Geoff’s drinking his second beer while we ordered dinner.

At the table across from ours a French group cheerfully chatted, agreeing on their choices.  When the waitress came, their fearless leader specified slowly and clearly that they would all like the same dish, six of them “wees saooce” and one “wees-out saooce” and confidently resumed his conversation.  A bit of wine later the waitress returned with the arm full of food, perplexed at the complaint that she had misunderstood their request for six dinners “wees saooce” and one “weesout saooce”.  The kind Frenchman assured her that his colleagues were happy to be sharing dinner and not to worry about the mix up on their order.

We all resumed our meals and conversations until it was time for dessert, holding our breath as the man in charge ordered seven desserts, all the same…..”wees- out saooce”, flashing us a grin.   The waitress headed back to the kitchen with nary a comment or smile and the rest of us enjoyed what we were served, whether it came with sauce or without.

As I sat composing a blog for Michel, this morning, I got a call from my dad.  He was checking to be sure we hadn’t floated out to sea.  Evidently our storm stories have reached the shores of Lake Michigan.  I promised to hike out to the wash and bring back a report. 

I shooed Charlie out from under the bed with the dust mop, donned my rain shoes and warm jacket and headed out.  There it was, the sight I sought, just a couple blocks away.  Once I was out from under the canopy of the giant live oaks of my neighborhood and entered a tract I inspected about 15 years ago I could see the foothills boasting a brand new coat of ermine.  What a rare sight!  Knowing my batteries had only been on the charger a short time I resisted getting a shot with asphalt in the foreground.  There were bound to be better shots ahead.  And sure enough there were.

I scared up several rabbits foraging on the new grasses, but they were way too skittish and far away to shoot.

After hearing the roar of the water long before I could see it I couldn’t turn back just because it started to sprinkle again. After all, how wet could I get in the 15 minute walk back home?  I got the shot of the muddy run-off but not without a rain drop or mist from my glove dead center of the photo.

He didn’t remember seeing the new bridge that replaced the one washed out in the floods of ’69 so I took lots of photos of it.

Someone had built a plywood shelter just behind this wall, but I cut it out of my photo only to realize that thier toilet was right there in front of me.  I couldn't resist that one.

The section of chain link replaced the aluminum rail that was so valuable that some thief ran off with it.

Back at the tres palmas I took a steeper climb back up to the top finding a tire swing at the edge of the bluff.  What a thrill it must be swinging out over the ravine.

 Just as I ran out of battery power the entertainment arrived in the form of two motorcyclists who nicely met the challenge presented by the newly moistened ascent.

 Just as well, since I was pretty much soaked by the time I got back home.  The pond beside the house had siphoned out in time for this next drenching and the water in the pool was still over the dam wall.  Annie and Berta were pleased at the excuse to come back into the house.

Notice Berta's white tummy, left over from her surgery.