Calamity

I despise clams. They are disgusting, stinky, gelatinous blobs of evil. I don't care what part of them you use or what you do with them: fry them, steam them, or ruin a fabulous potato soup or a perfectly good bloody mary; they are always gross and I wouldn't eat one even if the only other source of calories on earth was light beer. Yes, they are that vile. Also, I like to live and let live and no clam has ever hurt, scared, annoyed or offended me, at least that I can remember.

So you can imagine my surprise when Shane and I found ourselves at the beach with oddly shaped shovels, attempting to scoop their

sharp-shelled sliminess out of wet, cold sand. On the bright side, it was a beautiful breezy day at the coast, and the afternoon light was absolutely fantastic for pictures. Too bad I got only this single one before my camera battery went dead. Overall, it was a semi-successful trip, if you define 'success' as 'keeping Shane from throwing himself into the frigid Pacific and coming home with minimal bivalves', which I DO. We had a nice time with Grandpa, then stayed over for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes.

When we got home, Henry had climbed up on the kitchen counter, opened the cabinet with his food in it, and knocked the bag out on the floor. He DID have food in his bowl, in case you were wondering. Oh, wait. Have I not told you about our new cat, Henry? Look at him, isn't he FANTASTIC?! We LOVE him, even if he is a bit too clever for his own good sometimes.

I think I will stop typing now. I could write a lot more- I have rodents in my car (sure to be an entertaining tale!) and Lloyd and Weston are stuck in Montana with a truck, a boat, a dog, beehives and several relatives, but to keep on would really just be boastful, don't you think? Besides, it's getting on to wine'o'clock. Smell ya later, friends.