I Thought Al Fresco Was a Singer

We're waiting for eggs, potatoes and toast and breakfast al fresco.

I give up, I'm stuck. Here I sit in this beautiful spot enjoying the outdoors and all I can think of is..."Lombard St, narrow winding road...I don't care... do that flying thing...you know a sounding board, whatever...ya, I was on the hill and I stopped..." 

Here I sit in this beautiful spot and all I can think about is the conversation at the table twenty feet away.

I have no trouble talking to strangers so I think I'll go say hello and introduce myself. I'm fun at a gathering or in a crowd. That's me...Chuck, the life of the party. I've never put a lamp shade on my head but I have been known to drop my pants.

I'm glad I made the effort to interact with these people. I met a nice lady who told me she was windowed five years ago. She was here with her daughter, grandson and granddaughter. She said, "It took me a long time to get over the loss of my husband. I think women deal with it better than men. After all, we usually know how to do more around the house and besides, we're better at talking about our feelings." Then she said, "I've been dating a nice man. He's blind but it's not a problem. I don't need to do my hair or make-up and I have a picture of my dead husband on the dresser."

And to think I may have missed that.

I dug myself a blog hole. I've never posted when I've been "on the road." I store notes and ideas and have wonderful stories to tell when I get home. This Nevada City trip I decided to (more or less) do a daily diary. I started yesterday and here lies the rub...this morning I've got nothing. 

I suppose I could tell you about last night.

The Outside Inn is a few blocks from the shopping area of Nevada City and Wanda and I usually walk. Last night we went to Lefty's Grill for dinner. The walk is downhill going and uphill (obviously) coming back. I know just because a pizza is individual size doesn't mean I need to eat the whole damn thing, but I did. Walking back I cursed myself for consuming way too many calories but was glad I had the opportunity to burn a few off.

This morning I suggested we drive.

After dinner last night we came back to the motel, talked, read and ate a lot of Russian Tea Cakes. Regular readers know I'm often confused about a variety of things. Once again I'm in the midst of a quandary. Wanda baked these shortbread powdered sugar treats. They're a favorite of mine but I don't know if they're cake or cookies. I also have a slight problem with country of origin. I call them Russian Tea Cakes (or cookies) but am I slighting the Hispanic populous, after all, Mexican Wedding Cakes (or cookies) are the same recipe.

I just made an executive decision. I'm of Russian descent. Isn't descent a great word...the dog got de scent of de escaped chain gang prisoner...All of my grandparents emigrated from Russia and since I smell Russian I will for now and forever refer to these tasty treats as Russian Tea Cookies.

We just got back from a short walk to town. I purchased a $4.10 latte. Wanda saved $110. She did not buy the flip flops, $55 a shoe was a tad too much.

Sorry to say this lap top is giving me fits. It has crashed a half dozen times. So we're going to laze around, have some lunch and wait for Delaware Debbie to arrive.