Advice from a Small Town Girl

Because even though you might be reading this on Thursday, I'm writing it Monday, while spending time in the company of women.

And dogs.

And trees.

I may not be my usual wordy self, because I'm typing this with my fat index finger on the incredibly tiny keyboard of my "smartphone."

(If it's so smart, how come it didn't remind me to bring my laptop?)

Oh, that's right; I don't have one.

At any rate, I am on day two of a four-day quilting retreat at Palouse Divide Lodge up the road from Harvard.

Idaho.

I think there are 15 of us here, and I can't begin to describe the weird mix of anticipation and apprehension I felt as we were embarking on our adventure.

Mind you, I've been here before.

I've even been here before with virtually the same group of women.

But it always seems new somehow.

I always worry (just a little) that this will be the year that I make such an idiot (or ass) of myself that I will never be invited back. I don't REALLY think that - it's just one of those unsubstantiated fears that we tend to carry around with us.

Anyway, I'm loving it. About ten inches of snow fell last night, transforming a forest of dark green fir and glowing, golden tamarack into the set from a Disney Christmas movie.

I just returned from a walk down the hill with three of the lodge dogs. Only one returned with me, but I've been assured that the boys will be back. I have determined that Max and Dozer's purpose in life is to be petted. Idgy (guessing at the spelling there), on the other hand, must be sure that the humans are OK.

I love living in Irby, and there are no better people than those in Odessa.

But I really miss trees.

And dogs.