Pink Snow

I finally had my first surreal blogging moment this weekend.

There I was at CSCA teaching a Cinco de Mayo class and we were just winding down from a less than stellar class (everything that could have gone wrong in the background...went wrong) and I was talking to one of the revelers and his wife about their kids and their interest in food as we were packing up some flautas and empenadas.

"This job isn't stressful, working in IT was stressful...blah blah blah"

"You worked in IT?"

"Yea at Big corporate bank."

Suddenly he grins. "I think I've read your blog."

"Huh? Mine? Amuse Bouche or Counting Sheep?"

"Counting Sheep. I knew your name was Jo, but mentioning working in IT clinched it."

I had a laugh and enquired as to his blog name.

Say hello to Jonathan at the Constructive Nonconformist

It's all Adam's fault that we recognized each other as we have both been picked up on Universal Hub in

the past. It really is a small world.

The picture above is my favourite tree in the back garden losing its gorgeous blooms.
Every year we either have an incredibly windy day or like this year, rain, to remove the petals from the flowering plum far too soon.
On Sunday husband was out on the ladder with the loppers cutting out the bittersweet vine that tries to climb the plum every year.  As he would cut and pull out each section of vine showers of pink petals would fall over the Beagle and I like a pink snowstorm.

You will ignore the bags of mulch that he have not had a chance to lay. Go on now, look away.

Today is the 8th anniversary of going here:

and doing this

Yea, I just got him to get his haircut yesterday.  It was getting longer than that.  Mine hasn't been cut since the wedding so thankfully those bangs(fringe) are no more baby.

Sadly we going to the wake of our friend P's dad this afternoon. 
He had spent the last year in a locked Alzheimer's ward and P spent an every other evening there visiting with him.  It is sad, but I think that it will also be a relief to him as well.  It can't be easy to see the person who raised you unable to function anymore.

Maybe I'll whisk husband away to a restaurant after.  I can't remember the last time we ate in a restaurant.