The view from here this morning:

Early one morning:

We found a pair of Airwalks in the park:

Just sitting there.

Not only have the plumber, the electrician, the roofer and the deck guy all started work on time, the guys who are re-leveling the house, and installing new skirting will be done next week. All of which calls for a bit of cheering.

Take it away, Miss Hoop:

Legacy Park, where the Chili Cookoff grounds used to be.

Spring greening up at the little lake, where the trees are feeling the season.

First it was like this:

Now it's this:

Also, this:

FUN!

Every now and then another board gets added to this tree house up on the hill. Clearly the kids need a new contractor.

There's a stretch of sand here where mansions give way to bungalows, quirky little beach houses that cling to the hillside, wood and shingles warped by sun and brine, the back sides blank, the fronts alive with windows and decks, the gardens humble but strategically placed.

When you're sitting there:

You're looking out here:

Not too shabby.

The slowest escrow ever finally closed yesterday and now, we've got to make this place livable. Downside? It needs everything, all at once. Upside -- great crew, great project, and I get to learn, once and for all, how to spell chaparal chaparral.

Also -- renovation blog.

Wish me luck!

One day it was all weathered wood and withered vines, the next, wisteria blossoms. Is there anything prettier than that swooping, silvery purple against the blue, blue sky?

The scent of them, vanilla and honey and a hint of secret spice:

It makes your head spin.

Because I miss him, and because Maisie just doesn't smile like this any more, we're all going to look at Jake today.

No words needed because--

...even if just for a moment, we saw the sun!

A few bars of the Hallelujah Chorus wouldn't be wrong.

All winter long, this tree has been invisible.

But now, with spring-like temps and a bit of rain, kapow.

The flowers are these crazy little yellow balls...

Not quite a substitute for sunshine:

But weird enough to get a smile.

For the last few days, if you drove even a short distance up into the Santa Monica Mountains, you'd find sun.

Not today.

It's Day Five of Catalina Eddy and his welcome, unlike this fog, has worn thin.

I can usually tell when the horizon is off on my photos, but not this time. It's blur and brrrr and stare at it long enough and you get vertigo.

The brightest thing on the beach this morning was the splash of red on this pelican's throat.

He stayed for a minute and then, as the clouds to the south of shifted, thinned just the littlest bit, off he flew and with him, the only hint of morning color.

Honestly? The guy driving this pickup was kind of intimidating so I tried a bit of stealth while shooting his bumper sticker.

Not a perfect photo, not even close. But the sentiment in question proved strong enough to overcome technical difficulties.

It's a coastal thing, this fog (thanks, Catalina eddy) (And h/t Lynda for the link) so chances are it's sunny where you are. But from where I sit at this moment, the sky is gray, the Pacific is gray, and a billow of cloud is oozing down the canyon.

So let's instead turn our attention to nasturtium season, that post-rain time of year when every shady creek-side patch of earth suddenly glows--

...grows bursts of gold and orange and ruby red--

...volunteers from who knows which original packet of seeds, who knows how many seasons ago.

After merely toying with us here at the coast yesterday, the fog rolled in early this morning and has every appearance of staying late. But for the weather-hungry among us (hello! blizzard envy!) this shifting, gloomy, moody light is about as much climate drama as we're likely to get so, sweaters! Another pot of tea!

Driving to Santa Monica last night when suddenly, at Topanga Canyon, the world went from warmth and sun to chill and fog.

Turn on your headlights fog. Please don't tailgate me fog.

This morning found the fog bank at sea.

But as the sun rose:

So did the fog.

It loosened:

And spread:

And the sun, it all but vanished.

There's a small avocado grove on the way to the barn, old-school, with a fading Cal-Avo sign which may or may not reflect its current status.

There are generally a few dogs lounging under the trees, a threesome Maisie likes to play with. And right now, the result of the recent (and not nearly abundant enough) rains, a carpet of gold, whether weeds or wildflowers I can't say, not being enough of a naturalist (hangs head in shame) to know the difference.

First, thank you for all of the get well notes, chicken soup suggestions, home remedies, and general expressions of sympathy. YOU HEALED ME.

Thank you also to the fellow Daylight Savings Time resisters. A MOVEMENT IS AFOOT.

Yes, I'll re-write my anti-DST rant essay and post it here. Eventually.

Meanwhile, I have three little words for you, within which are contained many universes.

Or one sad and shabby and oh-so-in-need-of-love mobile home.

Ready?

CLOSE OF ESCROW!

Details (believe me, you'll be begging for relief) tk.

I had this big long essay all written up about Daylight Saving Time and was just about to hit "save" when I realized it all boils down to this: not a fan. So I hit delete. And now leave you with this -- sunrise today in Paradise Cove.

This dual-message campaign button came from the estate of a friend who passed away.

I love how well the technology has held up:

As well as the sentiment:

It rained! A little bit! Which apparently loosened up the exclamation point key on this laptop!

So what did we see? So glad you asked.

Blue, lots of blue, with a side of white and some vibrant green.

The white tailed kite was there:

Adjusting his feathers:

A flight of pelicans sailed by:

As did a big BIG big ship:

The little dog did some exploring:

And some smiling:

Amid the raindrops and the widflowers:

And did I mention there was blue?

Where is it, this phantom rain?

The clouds are lovely enough, but it's the moisture we need.

Is this SoCal's climate change future -- even more more drought?

The difference between a cold and the flu, according to WebMD, is with the flu, you get a higher fever and a way worse cough. Here at Casita del Mar, I'm pleased to report, it's a cold, not the flu.

Another thing I learned from the internet is the reason cold medicines don't really work like they used to is that the drug companies have switched up their formulas to foil all of the meth cooks out there.

Thanks a bunch, Mr. White.

More (highly subjective) stuff I learned: Kleenex feel softer than Puffs. Halls throat lozenges have so much menthol in them they make you sneeze. (If you want no menthol at all in your lozenges, it's Pine Brothers for you. Or Burt's Bees.) Aspirin works better for aches and pains than those cold medicines. And no one makes a good canned chicken soup. No one.

The news says clouds and possible rain, and the beach says the same.

Clouds and weather when you've got a cold -- always gratifying.

Look! Pelicans!

To say I became obsessed with the spent tulips and candles and this splash of morning light would be an understatment.

In case you were wondering how Patsy plans to spend her Sunday...

THIS enormous machine has been busily helping a fabulously wealthy person build a new house here at the edge of our beach. (Note the Tiny Labrador, showing us yet again the true scale of the object in the photo.)

And because the name of this machine is ludicrous, we'll move on instead to the words on its side, a somewhat fascinating bit of sign language that concludes with my new favorite phrase: DOG EVERYTHING!

They rose with the sun, strong hot gusts. Fretful.

Tore the leaves from the trees, ripped the tops off the incoming swell.