Where am I?

 

A tale of two windows. Is that the river I hear outside, or rain? 

It's rain. May was the wettest month in Seattle since Harry Truman was president. That's right, the rainiest in 75 years.

The first morning I'm home (either one) I always wake up not sure where I am. Both houses have almost identical comfortable beds, soft pillows and down comforters. Still needed here in Seattle, where the furnace keeps running this morning.

The holiday weekend was pretty much a wash-out. My ukulele group is meeting up outside in a park this afternoon. Cloudy with a high of 59. Jacket and a lap blanket in order, but at least it won't be raining. Probably. Planning to make steaks on the grill for dinner, hope springs eternal. It sure doesn't feel like the official start of summer.

I keep saying this, but have never seen such rampant, healthy growth in the garden and so many flower buds, especially the roses. All we need is a touch of that incredibly strong June sun, hiding somewhere above the clouds. 

It has been a terrible week in America. The mind can't comprehend such evil. So many of the same words spoken again, and still nothing changes.