There needs to be an After-Weekend to allow time for Weekend Recovery. Yikes.
Friday night I dredged up from my long-ago teenage past the vocal jazz skills I was fortunate to learn as a student in Mr. McManus' classes. Although without a nightly dose of diphenhydramine or other such potent anti-allergy med, there is a constant drip-drip on the middle and best range of my vocal chords. Nonetheless, I swung into full "Blackbird" action with piano, and (if I can remember correctly) saxaphone. (It might've been a flute.) Damn, we were swingin'!
Saturday there was Becki's Pie (strawberry-rhubarb, with orange zest in both the crust and the filling) (be still my heart):
And a family of nuthatches cracking black sunflower seeds with tiny beaks:
A container-packed ship slicing the waters of Admiralty Inlet:
Beach and upside-down beach at Fort Warden (it may have just been me that was upside down) --
Finally, a view of what will happen when The Big One (earthquake) strikes Seattle:
I fear we may all be tipped into the Salish Sea (aka Puget Sound).
But now it's time for coffee and a bit of foraging in the kitchen. Apparently the After-Weekend is only a fantasy.