Musings in no particular order:
When I pulled up to my mailbox last night, after a rather dicey commute on icy roads, it took me almost 10 minutes to extract everything in there: two birthday cards, birthday presents from both sisters (THANK YOU - I LOVE THEM!!!), Yak Traks (dropped off by my neighbor since I couldn't find my own), a large plastic bag containing more birthday loot from my neighbors and second set of parents, a box containing a jar of home-canned pickled okra (OMG - I can't WAIT), and a cd of Handel's "Messiah". Gold mine! You couldn't fit a dime in there. This says a lot for our rural postal guy, who - thank goD - decided not to retire quite yet. He does not care if random objects find their way into our mailboxes: notes, empty egg boxes, full egg boxes, the occasional zip baggy of cookies (for him...)
Chickie left the building on Sunday. Can I get a few hundred "Amens"? Last seen riding shotgun in AnnMarie's van, he went off to join her band of wether miscreants. He is now learning how to S.H.A.R.E. Sage and the girls celebrated with a large pine branch all to themselves. Just to let me know there were no hard feelings, Chickie managed to wreck the hay feeder (again) and harass Willo to the point that she got stuck in a piece of fencing which was then wedged in the barn. She was very happy to see me. Bon Voyage, Nut Job!
Water and ice do not mix. Unless there is a large dollop of Jack in there, too. Monday I awoke to ... rain. And lots of it. We managed to go from -12 Saturday morning, to 6 Sunday morning to 48 Monday morning. We were back in the negative this morning. I have eliminated the phrase "It can't be as bad as last year!" from my vocabulary. It can be and WORSE. My motto for 2014 is ... "whatever".
The Forester (Florence), seems to take umbrage with major holidays. Her check engine light came on during a trip up to VT on Thanksgiving. Her check engine light came on again on a trip up to VT on New Year's Day. The next major holiday (and all minor ones, too - just to be safe), we are going nowhere.
Scrappy finally got his Christmas sweater. Which he hates. It's so, so, Christmas Story! I did, however, force him to wear it to make me happy and for some photo ops.
|And, yes, the living room floor is still |
not done. I've run out of tiles. I'll finish it this
I gave him a rawhide strip to make up for it, but he just looked at me glumly, so I took it off. He bounced with glee. I am one of 'those' parents. Speaking of...I am going to be a foster mother to a winsome lass of 9 years - Lucci (pronounced "Lucy"). Right after I decided that what we needed was a youngish, medium sized girl with playing power and a love of kitties, Lucci appeared needing a home. Yes, she is not actually 'youngish' - although Scrappy is 14 going on 2 - and, yes, she is not medium sized, being a black Labrador Retriever. But she loves kitties. And people. And dogs. And apparently everything. She joins us on Friday.