You know that feeling...

...when you're sliding down a mountainside with the rush of loose dirt, pebbles, and debris underfoot to the valley floor below?  It's exhilaratingly horrifying!  There's a small degree of control if you manage to stay upright (forget plopping on your butt and plummeting by the seat of your pants all the way to the bottom...you'll regret it), and if your hands succeed in finding anchored grab-it-fast stuff on the way down to impede that awesome flying like a speeding projectile to the target below type of apocalyptic sensation.

We took those ridiculous shortcuts when a mountain ridge would end brusquely with a drop-off straight down to purgatory, or mutate into a never-ending crest that seemed to fizzle out somewhere near China.  AND...I have slid by the seat of my pants on an occasion or two, but one's butt cheeks are notoriously inadequate in the navigating department and hoping to frantically wedge a heel into an obliging rock crevice is like threading an anchor chain through the eye of a needle.  BUT...I actually did that once gliding down the rock face of a waterfall and was (surprise!) successful.  I never looked at my feet the same way again.

Life sometimes messes with us, and some shades of me are now stuck in concrete, shades of me that I should chisel back out of that hardened block of cement.  I keep putting it off.  I seem to be knee deep in mud wallowing slap happy hog heaven apathy lately.  It happens when the responsibility load is fifty tons overweight and the perks program was outsourced to India.  When what I want and what I get aren't even in the same hemisphere.  I don't even consider the possibility of shortcuts these days.  My brain just wants to turn off the light switch and take a long winter nap.  What's happened to me?

This week most nights are in the 20's, most days are in the 40's.  Winter has already pushed out autumn with a vengeance.  Last weekend was so chillingly icy

that I just vegetated indoors with the thermostat turned up two notches above normal.  Gardens are bare boned and flooded in fallen leaves, with the bags of top soil and wood mulch lined up in sloppy stacks still patiently waiting.  Buggers!  They'll be waiting through December, January, and February.  The raised veggie beds were a semi-disaster or a semi-success. Take your pick.

The Italian curly parley is in bags in the freezer, last of the baby carrots were cooked with ginger and honey for Sunday dinner, the rest were ripped out by their roots and tossed.  The peach blossomed bean harvest is a decoration in glass now.  It is a display of humbleness to remind me that I don't always know everything there is to know about gardens.  I would say it equals one meal on the table, he-he.

Thanksgiving will be a relish tray of radishes, non-pickled green olives, cheese stuffed celery sticks, and deviled eggs with bacon bits, caramelized onions, seasoned salt, black pepper, and sour cream; veal marsala; roman style peas with caramelized onions, bacon pieces and white wine; and spatzle tossed with melted butter, salt and pepper.  Warm pumpkin pie for dessert with mountains of real whipped cream.  What more can I say...pure comfort food for me. Husband... well, husband's piece de resistance is anything cooked from scratch I put before him ;)

Life's running a bit late and so is this post...whatever will be, will be.  Windows 7 is a bit more involved than Vista ever was and I'm in last minute learning mode.  For those of you all who know me through my posts, I'm ever so thankful you're in my world and love you all to pieces.