Tag Archives: photos

I don’t care if the pig is blind, that porker knows how to mix a drink.

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I love finding a new watering hole, and recently we hit the jackpot.

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The Blind Pig Tavern. So named because sympathetic policemen were known to turn a blind eye to speakeasies back in the day.

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This place has a modern rustic feel, randomly placed pigs and the most fabulous craft cocktail list I’ve seen in years.

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Ooh la la!

From the breadth of selection, I knew it was going to be a long afternoon.

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First up? The raspberry basil martini. I’m a sucker for mixing fresh herbs in alcohol and this was sheer perfection. The bartender must have known I was in it for the long haul because she brought me the bonus amount as well. Waste not, want not.

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Next up was the pineapple sage gimlet. As it was being served, the bartender told me she went easy on the sage because a few people said it tasted like tree bark. Amateurs! I took one sip and asked for the full strength version. It was sublime.

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And lest you think all I do is drink, there was food as well. Parmesan garlic brined wings to share…

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And a pulled pork Mac and cheese that was rich, creamy, delicious and enough for three meals.

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There was also a blackberry violet sour. The bartender said a few people told her this one tasted like soap…. which made me marvel at the masses of unrefined drinkers who came before. Go back to the 7-11 and pick up a pack of Bud you heathens! This cocktail was tart, sweet, fragrant and complex. A layered masterpiece.

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As we rounded toward evening, I ended on the Butterfly martini. With gin, St. Germain, violette liquor, hibiscus simple syrup and rose water it was a veritable flower garden in a glass.

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Random picture of the husband’s giant bowl of haddock chowder because yes, he was there too. Someone had to drive me home after all.

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Cute touch. I left the bartender a big tip, but no bucket for the kitchen this time around.

The Blind Pig has earned the top slot on our visited once, have to go back list. So many cocktails, so little time…

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What’s blooming?

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It’s daylily time.

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When we bought this house there were no gardens to speak of and very little in the way of plantings but there were two bunches of oranges daylilies .

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I can’t honestly say that’s where I would have planted them, but they thrive so who am I to complain?

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Orange seems to be the hardiest and most prolific color in my part of the world.

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And honestly they’re the easiest no fuss, no care flower there is.

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I’ve planted a few others over the years….

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But it really is a shame they’re true to their name. Each bloom only lasts a day.

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Stone garden border project… day 2, disagreement 2.

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I was helping.

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In so far as the husband would let me help… with what was my idea to begin with. That’s usually how things go at Casa River. I want to do something and come up with a plan… then the husband gets involved and does it completely his way.

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Granted he knows more about stone wall building… but I had a vision ya know?

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I like weird looking rocks, like this bird’s head skeleton I placed in the corner ….

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And these two that look like ham steaks. I wanted them prominently placed to give the border some quirk and character.

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So of course the husband moved all three and buried them. When I said something? He got ticked off and told me I can let him build it or hire someone else to do exactly what I want… and believe me that’s tempting.

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I love my husband. I do. He’s a wonderful man. But it would be nice if we could a work project together… in harmony, like we used to. Whether it’s male menopause, adjusting to retired life or basic old man crankiness .. lately he tests my patience to the point where I just have to walk away. Why must every difference of opinion turn into a fight? It’s exhausting.

Do you work well with your spouse/significant other. Or do you have to take a hike as well?

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The one where His Lordship takes a dirt bath, battles a peony and checks out the man cave.

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I think he does it just to aggravate me.

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On every walk, he will find every patch of dirt.

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And roll until he and his harness are filthy. The spot underneath the bird feeders that’s mixed with empty seed husks and poo is a favorite.

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And when you can’t find a woodchuck to play with? Peonies have to do.

Hard to believe in the year since we adopted his Lordship, he’s never made it out to the man cave. There’s something about the barn which always gives him pause. Oh, he’ll walk around it and try to crawl underneath it.. but it took me a good 9 months to get him comfortable sitting on the porch. Then yesterday out of nowhere he scratched on the door….

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And viola!

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A whole new area to explore.

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I thought he’d enjoy it, but before long he was whining and pawing at the windows to get out.

He’s a strange little dude our Dudley.

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Stone garden border project… day 1, disagreement 1.

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Work began on the perennial bed stone border recently… though not without incident.

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The existing bed measured 10×20… and when I first discussed the project with my husband I told him I wanted to expand it by at least 4 feet due to the apple tree that took up residence a decade ago. He heard me, but clearly didn’t care.

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Because when I looked outside the other day and saw him staking off level lines at the edge of the dirt… I said something.

Big mistake.

Huge.

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He heatedly explained the stone needed to be laid on flat earth and if I wanted him to do it, they would be laid inside the bed border. Period. End of discussion. Numerous hours of anger to follow.

Ladies? Never doubt the existence of male menopausal mood swings. They’re real.

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His way means I lose a good foot on every side, making my garden bed 4 foot smaller instead of larger. Not what I wanted. Not what I’d planned.

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But apparently what I’m getting.

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It’s hard to argue when I’m clearly not the one doing the majority of work. And I’m sure it will be lovely when completed…

But it would be nice if just once, we could come to an agreement without acrimony.

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A coffee drinking cat and other random photos of his lordship.

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Lord Dudley Mountcatten is an odd bird. His latest quirk is stealing a few sips of my husband’s coffee in the morning.

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I thought he was attracted to the cream, but pouring him a bowl of that of his own earned me nothing but a turned up nose.

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This is his favorite hosta. Every time we go for a walk he’s determined to find something to chase in there.

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The cat knows how to chill, no doubt.

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Until the dreaded vacuum is turned on. Then the ears go back and he beats feet to hide under the bed and dream of vengeance.

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