Tom and I took Wrigs for a walk in W. Seattle. It was 42 degrees and Tom was "roughin' it" in just a wool sweater. I think he's adjusting quite well to the weather. Good for him. I could barely feel my fingers as I snapped the photo:
Here's a pic of Wrigs and his buddy Frank cuddling up the couch. They cuddled a LOT trying to stay warm in this meat locker.
And now for a pic of Wrigs and his new friend Jasper at our house for a play date. They can play nice together as long as there are no bones in sight. Otherwise it's a fang baring-growl snapping- don't make eye contact or I'll chomp your nose - frenzy.
Tom and I hit a bunch of open houses this weekend. We found a few we loved, one in particular, but we weren't so thrilled with the nosy neighbor across the street. (click to enlarge) Chum would have a real problem with this guy. He doesn't like peepers.
I'm in love with my juicer. I've had it since 1998 and started using it for the first time last week. Now, I juice everything in sight. Here's a random concoction of various fruits and veggies and whatever colorful crap I could find in my fridge.
Breakfast is served: (throw in a shot of vodka and there you have lunch)
I've been looking forever for license plate frames with paws on them. Today at Joe's we found these plates that you could personalize yourself with letters and symbols. So here is my new plate cover (Wrig's face not included)
Great. Major construction starts tomorrow. Supposed to last a year so expect incidents of road rage to quadruple in the Seattle area. It's actually pretty bad here even without construction, but nothing like S. Cal so I will cease typing this rant right now.
Tom and I watched the end of the Grammys tonight. He said, "That was smart to have Stevie Wonder sing at the end of the show. He can't see everyone getting up to leave."
Lately I've been forgetting to wear my night guard and usually I'm in bed before Tom (either knitting, reading/writing or doing crosswords) so as he's about to climb in I'll ask, "Can you hand me my teeth?" He walks over to the bathroom drawer and carries the nightguard with the tips of fingers like a dirty diaper and says, "Stick this in your gob." I'm not quite sure what we're going to do when we're 80. Seems like we're hitting all the milestones prematurely.
I'm so hungry. I didn't eat dinner. Attempted to make home made Indian food (AGAIN) but discovered the marinade needs 12 hours to marinate. Would have been nice to know before I started cooking at 7pm. I guess that's what reading is for.
I think I'll have a bowl of fruit loops now.