My friend Dorkus says I have an abnormal interest in what she terms; “scatological humor,” otherwise known as “potty-mouth” or “toilet-talk”, you get the drift. I can’t help it, just like I can’t help laughing when a mom bends over in her low-cut jeans and exposes excessive thong or worse yet, no thong (commando) and excessive bottom? Or what about the cheerleader at my old alma mater, Highland Junior High school in Bellevue. She walked around half the day with her plaid skirt neatly tucked into the back of her underwear—none the wiser until her next visit to the restroom. To this day, I regret not telling her about her unfortunate choice of underpants. Granny panties don’t look good on anyone. But back to my absurd sense of toilet/underpants and juvenile sense of humor.

Today as I walked Mr. Big and Mr. Small along the beach at Three Tree Point, I noticed a lot of commontion in the distance. People lined the beach, each one yanking and pulling their long flexible sticks. (It’s not what you think.) Small children jumped about like rabid gazelles and seagulls darted in and out of the commotion. What is going on? I thought to myself. But the people were very far away, about a mile I suspect, and my peepers aren’t what they once were.

Our cabin at Lake Chelan is rather restricting for our spoiled dogs, Gus and Jack. Each morning we take them to the park for a walk. The mode of transport being our super-jacked golf cart. Mr. Big and Mr. Small ride shotgun in a box on the floor. They fully enjoy the trip because they know Tom and I stop for coffee on the way to the park at the drive-through Starbucks. The barista knows Mr. Big and Mr. Small and has a treat waiting for them each morning. This morning started as usual except that my friend, Dorkus and my daughter Leslie accompanied me today.

Our recent guest at the cabin, Tracy Codd insisted that I make the trip to Blueberry Hill, after he picked berries—lots of berries. Twelve freaking pounds of blueberries. Not one to dismiss a challenge, I headed to the blueberry patch the next day. The city mouse headed out to the country. The rows of blueberry bushes beckoned at the ‘You Pick’ farm. I’d been a patron before, as a waffle gobbler at the Blueberry Hills restaurant. Someone else did the pickin for the delicious homemade blueberry syrup.

I hope you enjoy this video montage of our very special holiday in Kenya.

So, my daughter, Leslie and I were walking on the beach in front of our house yesterday and a little black and white jack Russell Terrier playfully ran between Mr., Big and Mr. Small. “Look at that dog Leslie, isn’t he cute?” “Mom, that reminds me, my birthday is coming up and wellll—I really want another dog.” She spat out in rapid teenager fashion. I studiously ignored my youngest child as I watched the Terrier.