Anyone who ever looks here knows I love looking out my windows.  I have done that every place I have ever lived and can remember all the views — a whitewashed plank fence and red cannas from my crib; darling children in St. Catherine’s uniforms walking to and from school on Barroilhet; a magnificent grove of redwoods on Newhall road.  Looking out is the first thing I do every morning.  Today, at dawn, these contrails striped the sky.

The beautiful circa 1947 original windows at 1880  have received loving care from me.  Most years, I patch and paint them.  But finally, I was filling wood filler with wood filler, so since PGE and Oregon Energy Trust offered a deal I couldn’t refuse, the windows are being replaced today.

After taking several bids, I went with this company .

Marshall and Kyle showed up promptly at 9 a.m. and went right to work.

All done!  These ones never need painting.

But 1880 is getting painted this summer.  Think I’ll choose some bright colors, but you feel free to send paint chips for consideration.

The new windows are so clean I keep thinking they’re open!  And this is the first thing I saw when I looked out to the east.

I love looking out my windows.

Valerie had the great idea that we should eat out for a change.  Organizing us and finding a moment when all five of us can gather is not an easy task — and we have never met without full attendance.

We rendezvoused at her house and then squeezed into her car for the short drive down town to Carmelle’s in the crypt of the Reed Opera House. (Not surprisingly, there was some singing in the car and later a very odd rendition of the birthday song harmonized in 4ths – and it wasn’t even anyone’s birthday. You really had to be there.)

Most pictures of us are either with me or with Georgienne as one of us takes the shot.

We all had individual pots of tea and each of us chose a different blend.  I went with the Lord Bergamot.  Here we are enjoying the salad/soup course.  Note the ancient stone wall.  Catherine,  our patient waitress, took this one.

Some of us could see across the way and into the Tattoo Parlor where we were distracted by a half-naked young man getting ink. I tried to zoom in, but, alas, this is the best I could do without fear of arousing the vice squad.

We entertained a brief conversation about getting matching tats ourselves.  Perhaps “BFF’s.”  Maybe later.

On our way out, we went into the hat shop to look for a cloche for Susan to wear for a gig where she is scheduled to play music from the 30’s.  She didn’t find one, but naturally, our hat girl Valerie did not leave bareheaded.

 Our eating out was such a success. I would not be surprised if we do this more often.  No need to dust off the living room furniture or put out guest towels.   And, for now, we can all squeeze into one car.

My dear friend Sharon is busily dealing with all the paperwork related to her husband Chuck’s recent death.  Meeting with the financial manager, contacting Social Security, transferring the retirement funds to just her name.  And writing proper thank you notes to everyone who brought food, sent flowers, made memorial contributions to OHSU Parkinson’s research.  As those of my generation know, these notes should be handwritten on fine Cranes creamy papers.  But, as many of us understand, Sharon’s handwriting does not come as easily as it once did.  Ever creative, she combined the best of both  modes — she typed up thoughtful personal messages on her computer, cut them into strips and enclosed them in the Cranes with her own signature.  What a great solution.!

Just before sunrise, I can see Mount Hood and Mount Jefferson from my upstairs windows.  Seeing Mount Jefferson is only possible when all the leaves have fallen off the deciduous trees.  Mount Hood is a regular treat.  These giants of the Cascade Range are each about 100 miles to the east.

Mount Hood:

And Mount Jefferson:

Snow-covered Mount Hood at mid-day:

And pink snow at sunset:

My old sofa has fine lines, so I keep on keeping it.  Judi Dench has fine lines all over her very fine face.  There is a fine line between an okay film and a fine one.  I just saw Philomena. It may not be a great film, but it is a very fine one.  Dame Judi is great.

I went with my friend Sue who was adopted seventy years ago.  I am an adoptive mother. We both think that, in our respective lives, adoption is a very fine thing, but there is always heart ache involved for someone when a mother needs to allow others to parent her child.  My daughter was the very best undeserved gift I ever received and I have always kept her real mother in my prayers with gratitude.  Funny how terms change over time.  Real mother.  Natural mother.  Biological mother.  Birth mother.  The lines between their connotations are very fine.  Recently, I have heard the term “First Mother.”  I like that one just fine.