photo by T

Muddle.

I muddle.

She muddles.

Her head, it is muddling.

Hmm, my conjugating attempts seem, er, muddled. Perhaps this is due to a weekend where I got to bed at 2:30 am Friday night and god knows when Saturday night and, in both cases, the gray matter of my cerebral cortex had a mighty pink hue.

I blame it all on these two:

photo by T

Yes, sure they look healthy and innocent and perhaps even sliding in close enough for a kiss there, but do not be deceived. These are city folk. Urban warriors who can party all night and then throw their kayaks in the water for an "easy" cruise out to some islands in the middle of a lake for a picnic, return to the house then go for a run-- needless to say, I was out of my league.

If they weren't so goddamned sweet and funny and generous to a fault I would so not be friends with them. Because c'mon-- who wants to be friends with people who are smart yet laid back, always game for a hike up the mountain but also ready to hang with a book on the window seat--- it's like a human version of high-low, non?

They also brought with them their adorable dog, a welsh terrier, who STOLE Henry's heart. Seriously, the only word to describe Henry's woeful expressions of love would be: smitten. Too bad he just couldn't play with the little guy as no matter how gentle he tried to be, a nibble on the ear became a full head swallow.

Whoa. Did that just sound as doubled with intendre as I think it did?

Time for this muddler to go clear the brain with a strong coffee wash.

Catch you all when the clouds part and some clarity returns . . .

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