Monday. Back from the family party in Seattle, a really nice get together, Jon and Ann's house packed to the rafters with pleasantly inebriated cousins and their kids and their kid's kids pulled in from various outer-lying cities, states and forests. Which is the way it should be, I'm thinking, the bachelor cousin, oldest of the cousins, in from the cold to count noses and be counted.
My sister and I catching up on the drive up, talking about the fact she and her family were headed for France for three weeks in January, I (light bulb slowly brightening in noggin) thinking, well, why don't I pack Ms. Emmy and house sit for those three weeks, use it as a base to photograph Portland (in the rain, no doubt) and its environs? Give me a proper chance to say hello to Mr. Mc in Salem instead of trying to drop by on the fly on the way up or on the way down? So we made the deal. Progress in the getting me out of my rut project. I can do it. Really.
Oh, and it's Christmas Eve. My, my.