Vero Beach, Florida. The outdoor antique fairs have got to be good here. Right? Little or no chance of rain, coatless weather, acres of antiques or junk as my husband refers to the varied treasures I pick up at such events. A person could stay out all day and acquire a healthy dose of Vitamin D to boot!

So snow shoeing looks real easy—strap on the shoes over snow boots and walk in the snow. Right? That’s what I thought too. My husband Tom certainly had a good laugh as he watched me struggling to put one foot in front of the other in the deep snow in our backyard.

The Sun Valley Nordic Center is a perfect place for beginning skate skiers. Despite my snowboarding fiasco, I’m going try my hand at skate skiing. I figure I’ll be a natural, after all, I’ve cross country skied without too much trouble ,and I think I’ve done some sort of skate ski maneuver on the flats on my downhill skies. Piece of cake . .

Yesterday I tried my hand, or I should say wrist, at snowboarding—today I attempted cross country skating. The human body is simply not made to take so much punishment in the span of two days. After a lengthy, moan-filled jacuzzi soak, I’m now ensconced in softest chair in my house. I’m a glutton for punishment, but it does make for a humorous story.

Sun Valley Serenade—a 1940’s comedy, starring Sonja Henie and John Payne, filled with intrigue, jealousy and dare I say it—curse words. No wait, wrong cast but correct location and correct dialogue.

I’m a friend of Daniel the owl—no I don’t make it a habit to form relationships with wildlife, but I do make exceptions when the wildlife is stuffed and a classroom project of my nephew. I try my best to be a good Aunt for my sweet little nephew, as long as my duties don’t involve mathematics, I absolutely draw the line at fractions.

“Conner, we’re here, what do you have planned?” This said via text—he doesn’t answer phone calls. God forbid if I leave a voicemail. He informed me ages ago that nobody leaves voicemail.

Spokane offers many amenities—the downtown area is vastly improved, the parks are fabulous but the cab drivers are another thing.

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.