Ashland Aesthetics

My Dears,

   I needed a getaway. So when I learned that Ashland, Oregon is only 3.5 hours away, it became my destination. 

   Ashland hosts an annual Shakespeare Festival. Well, it did until COVID hit. I'd heard it was a great place. I'm glad, too, that it wasn't swarmed with people there for the Festival. 

   Folks in Ashland very courteously wear masks, even when walking down the streets. They're friendly and nice. Buildings and benches are tagged with the four-letter word, "love." (Imagine gangsters deciding to tag public property with "love.") 

 

   On my way home, I caught these white beauties out of the corner of my eye. I'd keep driving, though. Wait, no, I gotta turn around! A few minutes later, I pulled into a bike lane. Camera-phone in hand, I rolled down my window. No, that won't do. I got out of my car, walked closely to these glorious creatures, and took a handful of photos. 

 

   Here's the most exquisite scene I've ever captured, plus a few more:

 

 

Dining by a fire-pit.

Note the man's fingers in my hair. A little creepy, but I didn't mind. (Downtown sculpture).

Green, green, green.

Verging on the Bern, Cayenne Cocoa Snack

 Dear Sillies,

   How are you, my friends? Please be and treat yourselves well.

   In the midst of things, I tried to experience that Berning sensation that my favorite senior man incites. So I sampled a snack, Western Cocoa Cayenne - granola with cocoa nibs, cayenne pepper, and other yummy stuff. It's very low in sugar and thus a healthy snack for me. I'm trying to cut down. Sort of. Smiles. 

I've mixed it with some cashew yogurt (also very low in sugar). Mmm. It's good. Unfortunately, though I wore my favorite t-shirt*, this didn't get me there. I'd describe the flavor as sweet, fruity, crunchy, and rustic. *("Feel the Bern 2016") It has a bit of a kick; no burn, though. None at all. A bit disappointing. It's a yummy snack, though. I'd recommend making it yourself with a mix of nuts and cocoa nibs, perhaps some cranberries or raisins. Otherwise, it's not worth the $7. I give it a 5 out of 10. My tens are reserved for the man himself.  Because I love him.

 

Fun With My Dream Boy

Dear Sillies,

I was pretty upset over Clark, so I did something I hadn't done in years. I dove back into the risky, sketchy, weird world of on-line dating. Yikes. Boy are there winners in that swamp. Take "James," for example. He seems and looks so perfectly dreamy. Only thing is, James input the wrong age by seven years. This made me suspect. Thus I had some fun with him (or a robot).

James: Your profile got my attention 😊 , I am 55 yrs old mistake on my age 😊 

(Note: Age says 62.) Work as a Senior Project Architect and a project coordinator who supports project managers on major projects. You do more projecting than a frat boy during pledge week, sweetie.Robyn: How is it that there was a mistake on your age, James? You can simply go into your profile, click on the pencil/edit icon, and change it. James: so what you do work ?

Robyn: Are you really that stupid that you can't figure out how to change your age on your profile, even though I gave you the simple instructions to do that? For work, I'm a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. 

James: Awww thanks . Have a mixed background and an interesting heritage ( Swedish and Italian). I enjoy the small things in life. Would be lovely to take this wonderful conversations ahead , please leave me with contact lets connect on the phone lol  

Robyn: Awww yes. I cannot wait to get ahead with you and check out your blue prints lol I don't like small things. I'm sure yours, being part Italian, is like a fat and long sausage. Call me at (415) 926-5818. * 

James: Awww thanks, would text you tomorrow

*That number is a San Francisco area number for ordering Viagra discreetly. You can thank me discreetly too. Wink.

Weirdest Breakup Ever, Clark part II

 My Dear Sillies,

   I don't usually cut to the chase. Instead, I cut out the chase. So I'll just tell you that Clark gave me one "installment," (I suspect it was 5.5 or 5.25 inches. I didn't take out my tape measure.)

   Quality-wise, the night was dreamy. He'd brought over dinner and drinks, we talked about past relationships and what we're looking for. A positive, thick tension thickened.  

   "What do you want to do now?" he asked.

   "I want to kiss you." 

   Things heated blissfully smoothly, and we slept well too. It was a wonderfully pleasant and pleasurable night. Clark checked in the following afternoon. 

   He made a salmon dinner for me the following weekend.

   Clark asked me questions, didn't interrupt my responses to tell me tediously boring factoids about himself, and I really, really liked him.

   As soon as he bit into the salmon, Clark felt sick. A few minutes later, I was politely, apologetically asked to leave.      

   What a disappointment.

   "How about if I bring you some homemade matzo ball soup?" I offered the next day. Good move, right? I'd win him over for sure. 

   My soup turned out great. Clark appreciated it so much that he bargained for potato latkes next. I agreed, with a playful (but serious) disclaimer, "That's going to be it for my Jewish dishes, though."

   The night arrived.

   "Mm, mm, these are great! Thanks for making them."

   "Well, truthfully, I used a mix. It's too easy," I grinned. "And I had to taste-test plenty of latkes for you."

   We moved to the couch after dinner. 

   He took my hand. "I planned for you to stay the night," Clark said stoically, "but you like me more than I like you." Okay? "I hate hurting people, so I want to keep dating without the sex."

   Say what? "What would that look like? We already crossed the line."

   "Yes, and it was wonderful. But I potentially want to see other people." You're hurting me so as to not hurt me by refusing to have sex again with me because the sex was wonderful and you assume that I have more feelings for you than you do for me? 

   "I think you're projecting stuff onto me," I shrugged. "Okay, then."

   I got up to retrieve my purse and the left-over latkes.

   "Why are you--? Okay, okay, yeah, you're NOT staying the night after that. I regret ever having sex with you in the first place." 

   Clark walked to his kitchen, retrieved a roll of aluminum foil from a drawer, and tore off a large piece. He very meticulously wrapped the left-over latkes in foil, then handed them to me.

   Damn straight, you don't get these!

   Numb, I took my other belongings and walked to the door. What do I say now? I turned to him. 

   "Well, have a good night," is all I could think to say, because I'm too nice like that. 

   He looked at me sadly, patronizingly. 

   I'm still hurt and perplexed over this non-super man. He probably should've just "ghosted" me, but I guess he really, really wanted potato latkes.