Sound circle

During the hottest, soupiest summers around here, one of my dear aunts used to say, “This is the worst weather for murder.”

I don’t think there’s any good weather for murder, but we knew what she meant.

On Friday, Chef Nature finally turned off the burner on the soup, and yesterday I got the chance to eat breakfast on our front porch. 

It was a simple spread: egg, bagel, milk and coffee (made every morning by my husband). I read a bit of my latest mystery.* A light breeze lifted the scent of lavender. Our wind chime chimed. Song sparrows sang.

I may become a morning person yet. 

Ask me on Monday.

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My latest mystery is "The Fellowship of Puzzlemakers" by Samuel Burr. A perfect porch read.

Time for another installment of: It Helps When You Can Make Yourself Laugh.

Here’s a (very partial) list of things my eyes and mouth have tripped over:

In the grocery store, I turned down the aisle with boxes of those small, single-serve packages of pretzels, popcorn, chips, etc. I looked up and saw the sign:
                
“Poisoned snacks” 

“That’s frightening,” I thought, before rereading: Portioned snacks. Whew.

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Glancing at a friend’s phone numbers, I noticed one that’s obsolete, and thought:
 
“I should delete it. That’s their land mine …”

Better not drop that one.

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Spotting a shot of the Seattle skyline on TV, I remarked:

“Oh, it’s the Space Noodle.”

(If it’s cooked, they’re really in trouble.)

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Finally (at least for now), while flipping channels I spotted an odd title for a reality show:

“Vatican House Rules”

I must have had popes on my mind when I read that wrong. Sorry to disappoint, but the show features a real estate expert helping homeowners “unlock their vacation property's full rental potential.”

The Vatican has not joined airbnb.

They're back!

After years of leisurely flirting with fall, or rushing ahead to hang out with spring, winter took its job seriously this time around.

I can’t remember when I saw so many lows — and sometimes highs — in the teens. And don’t get me started on those “feels like” temperatures. (Do we really want to know?)

All of which explains, a bit, why I waited until last week to take down our Christmas lights. I froze on the front porch while I worked, but it was way past time.

This Christmas past I made the switch to artificial greens. We’re storing them in the garage, and I wanted to label them somehow, so I'll know which piece to swoop where come December.

I thought about my notes for how to string the lights. “Facing the street, start at left corner near the window ...” That makes sense to me, but it seemed a bit wordy for a label on the greens.

I asked my husband if he had any ideas.
He paused and said, “I would use east and west.”
Oh, I laughed … and should have guessed.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that men tend to give directions using those compass points. Unfortunately, unless the sun is rising or setting at that moment, I don’t have much chance of knowing which way I’m supposed to go.

Throw me a landmark, please!

Turns out science has noticed it, too. A brief Google search turned up references to about a dozen studies exploring that navigational difference between the sexes.
 
I finally made those labels today: “Left: window to stair post,” etc. Commonsensical landmarks, at least for my brain.

Together, my husband and I stashed them in the garage … on the north side.

Marriage is all about compromise.