Gone With the Wind

Overturned toy and towel bins.
Tipped over trash can and the contents strewn all over the backyard.
Flipped over rubber mat that seals the crack where the pool cover meets the decking. 
Mangled aluminum frame for pop-up structure over the pool equipment.

These are the benefits of a good, stiff wind. Now I just hope my skirt doesn't fly up around my neck as I cross the parking lot into the church building.

I am back from another jaunt to Sparks. Our girl is so sad. What can be done? I have no idea. I just keep her in my prayers and make myself available for whenever she might need me. 

I have a personal philosophy for parenting adult children. I look at myself as an airplane (sorry for the analogy item choice given the current crappy thing going on in the family) just circling the airport. While I’m circling the kids are living their lives, making their choices, taking care of their loved ones. They don’t need me in the middle of their business. But if there is a problem—a need—then I land and do what I can to help. I do a lot of circling because our bunch is pretty self-sufficient. But lately I’ve been parked in Sparks, and though I'm sorry for the reason I am there, I’m so glad that I can be if daughter #1 needs me. 

While at daughter #1’s I watched The Great British Baking Show with her. I was inspired and bought Mary Barry’s Baking Bible. I’m not a total loser in the kitchen, but these English recipes with their odd size pans and gram measurements are kicking my butt. Three recipes. Three failures. I’m starting to lose my confidence. There is a reason we abdicated from the British Empire, and it all boils down to the metric system.