"Q" - ONE TREE HILL...

...on the Marin County, California side of the Golden Gate Bridge.

WATER - PT. 1

Don't know much about astrology except I was born a Sagittarian. Sagittarious is a "Fire Sign." Humph! This particular Sagittarian should have been born a Pisces. Isn't the Pisces "element" water? Is there such a thing as a Sagittarian-wannabe-Pisces? No? Guess I'm just all wet. What a fool!

Well, no matter, I'm drawn to water like a fish. I want my ashes spread over water somewhere. Just squirting them with a Dollar Store water gun would be fine too! I feel most secure in water -- certainly not fire. I love the color and patterns found in water and the sound and feel of water, even when it's cold and wet. I NEED water. No such thing as TOO much water for this kid!

This is Part I of a "Water Series," and because the post is pretty photo-heavy, I posted the photos in a small format. For better views, just click anywhere on the individual pix and enjoy. Or, if you feel like you're drowning, go watch the grass grow to dry out. Or something!

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Yes, tis I

Not a good day for snorkeling!

"Red Tide" in Baja

"Q" - IT'S A PUZZLEMENT...

...why anyone would put a new roof on this "building"? OK, if it's not a new roof, it certainly says a lot about the staying power of metal in rural West Virginia!

"Q" - INTREPID TRAVELER

Blue Ridge Parkway

His daughter-in-law rides on the seat behind him; his son trails after dad on his own, less-conspicuous bike.

And yes, that's a wheelchair folded neatly in the rear .
Looks like he might have recycled some Austin Healey parts. Or maybe MGA Coupe parts. Shoulda asked!

"LET DREAMERS WHINE OF THE PLEASURES OF WINE..."

In certain parts of the country, sale of products containing alcohol is heavily regulated. In fact, there are even some counties in some states that are "dry" -- no alcohol is sold at all. Anywhere, anyhow. Outlets, whether stores, bars or restaurants, simply do not exist. Nada. Well what's an old wino to do? No wine? Basta!

I assumed Kentucky would be different. Or at least that purchasing opportunities would be consistent across the state. After all, when you hear the word "Kentucky," what comes to mind first? Tobacco? Horse racing? Jim Beam? All of the above?

The alcohol laws vary throughout the state, and it's almost impossible to keep up with its "diversified" regulations. Interestingly, most counties in Kentucky are still dry -- of 120 counties, just 31 are "wet." Then there are "moist" counties, where liquor can be sold only under certain circumstances, in specified locales. BUT.....then there are "wet" cities in "dry" counties. And there can be "dry" precincts in "wet" cities and counties. Huh? And "dry" cities in "moist" counties. And then there are the "Exceptions." Exceptions can include "QUALIFIED" golf courses, historic sites and (DUH!) tasting venues in wineries and bourbon distilleries!

So when I saw the sign for "Chuck's" in Bowling Green (right across the street from my WalMart roost for the night), I ventured forth to check out Kentucky's wine selection. Think "BevMo" with some novel marketing ploys.

It had a walk-in beer "closet"...

You could watch TV in the gin and vodka aisle...

It featured "foreign" wines of the California variety...

You could taste wines ("Tres Leches" is considered a "wine" in Kentucky!) from an assortment of vintners...

Didn't bring your own glass? No problem...

Munch on cheese and crackers...

Meet interesting people and pick up strangers...

Check out peculiar brews...

Or make your selections at the drive-through, pick up window and never leave the comfort of your car!!!

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On to the hard stuff...

Some distilleries do "cute"...

The first distillery I visited (after driving umpteen miles on a twisty-turny, back-country road without shoulders, barely wide enough for the trucks and me to pass each other) -- Baja revisited -- had no area large enough for RVs to park.

So, on to Heaven Hill Distilleries that did have generous RV parking. I visited the museum, bought a little black cat lapel pin (it was October), eschewed the tour and tasting and learned all I needed to know about bourbon from the museum displays and dioramas. Ready?

After it's been distilled, the "white dog" is stored (aged) in NEW, charred white oak barrels. It's not considered bourbon until it has been "influenced" by its container -- usually in about two years. It entered the barrel as clear and colorless as gin. After seven years, the whiskey has started to soak into the barrel, has turned a deep caramel color and has the oaken taste with "vanilla undertones of classic bourbon." The charring of the barrel is what gives it its amber color. At this point, about a third of it has evaporated.

The barrels are warehoused in buildings many stories high called "Rick Houses." I call them "barrel prisons." The average rick house will hold 20,000 or more barrels. Bourbon ages differently in different rick house locations. For example, barrels located in the outer perimeters or near the top of the building are more exposed and thus more sensitive to seasonal temperature variations. Barrels in middle and bottom rows tend to age slower.

After twelve years, bourbon has evaporated and been absorbed by the wood even more until just a tad more than 50% of the original liquid remains. Distillers call that other, evaporated loss, the "angels' share" because of the fine vapors that have floated heaven-ward! (Sounds like an Irish fable, huh?) Well, there's the reason 12-year old bourbon costs more!!

"Q" - I'M HIS HUMAN

He's Little Black Sambo,

a true scaredy cat -- all 16 pounds of him!

"Q" IS FOR QUOTIDIAN

While I enjoy a lazy catch up in Santa Cruz, my blog has taken a seat on the back burner. Whipping myself into action while organizing photos and research from last year's trip, I decided to try a daily (QUOTIDIAN) post of odds and ends, this and that and good-bad-ugly photos to entertain you. OK, to entertain MYSELF! And keep me off the streets and out of trouble.

These mundane, silly, QUOTIDIAN posts will be prefaced by the letter "Q" so you, dear gentle reader, will know the post is just a QUOTIDIAN dose of folly!

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We begin with a tatterer. First of all, you won't find the word tatterer in the dictionary -- at least not in mine. And "tatters" is not plural for people who tat. ( Tatters refers to something torn or shredded.) So I couldn't refer to people who tat as tatters. Tat is the verb form of the noun tatting. She tats; she is tatting today; she tatted yesterday. Tatting is the process of making tats. Tats are a form of knotted lace-like knots -- knot called knotting, but tatting!

I ran into Tom, an adorable male tatterer at Museum of Appalachia's Tennessee Homecoming last Fall. Tom has big lumpy, hunky globs for fingers, but those hunky, globby fingers are frighteningly fleet! Meet Tom the tatterer! Watching his fingers and shuttle fly through the thread was a hoot. First, because I had never seen a tatting man, and second because he was definitely NOT half fast at it!

Note: Tom is using a tatting shuttle, knot a knotting shuttle!