Mama - get lost!

When I was a child, this would have been all the impetus I would need to ditch the folks.  Happy Weekend, everyone!

*Edited to note that I now know why it's called a "murder" of crows.  It's how we  (I and all the parental crows) feel about the adolescent crows, those huge babies that NEVER SHUT UP.

Yes, this is all I have to show.

My lunch.

Saturday morning was spent at Express Care (Lyme's), herding cattle, battling migraines, picking up Roger, and hunting for my energy.  I have the sneaking suspicion that the Universe is getting tired of trying to get her point across, while I refuse to listen.  Pfft.

Another weekend lost to lack of energy.  I will have to say that that is my least favorite feeling.  It leaves (this) one with (mental) wheels spinning and stewing in frustration.  Which helps nothing and no one.  I have resigned myself to taking my doxycycline and being patient.  I seriously think that insects will take over the world within an alarmingly short period of time.  Adding insult to injury, doxycycline renders you super-sensitive to sun.  And guess what we had all weekend?  Yep. 
I did do some vacuuming, and managed a short visit with my parents after the EC visit.  I picked up quail eggs from Marianne and discovered their Highland cattle on the loose.  Luckily, her husband was home and we rounded them up between us.  It's rather intimidating, being faced with those hairy beasts, horns and all, armed with a stick - the only thing at hand at the time. 

I also picked up Roger.  Remember my reference to 'never say never'?  Well, our roosterless state lasted less than a month.  Friends of a friend needed to rehome a young RIR rooster and I, of the wet lettuce spine, said yes.  I picked him up Saturday, late afternoon, and integrated him into the coop when it was darkish.  One would think that he would be thrilled to be let out of the cat carrier, but that one would be wrong.  I could not get him out, even with shaking the carrier like a salt shaker.  I had to grope around in the dark and take the carrier apart.  However, all was quiet (except for crowing) in the morning and the mix was seamless.  He is quite handsome and seems very nice.  However, after my recent experiences (of the last four years), I am withholding judgement.  I was impressed that he refused to go in to roost until every last resident was inside.  The ducks gave him an extra dose of anxiety, as they are always the very last to go in - stretching it out until it is fairly dark.  Roger kept coming out and staring at them.  To no avail.  There is no hurrying ducks. 

Sunday was a repeat of Saturday, weather-wise.  Sun, of course.  It was all I could do to dart in and out, hanging up the laundry.  I was draped in netting, hats, veils, shirts, vestments, trailing about like a wraith.  Geez.  I did get my recycling to the transfer station; I did fertilize the tomato plants.  I did not much else.  Peanut spent some time in his brace - which he cannot get off, try as he might.  I gave them each a marrow bone and put them out on the deck on their beach blankets.  That bought me a lovely, restful period of about half an hour.  While I was pacing the floors, waiting for the miracle cure, I whipped up a batch of Chili Burgers from one of my Moosewood cookbooks - the one with fifteen sticky note bookmarks.  I believe it's their Low-Fat cookbook.  I will have to say they were and are delicious!  (See photo above). 

So, onward and upward.  I am most anxious to get my get-up-and-go back.  Hopefully, by the middle of the week, I should be feeling much better.  I have my yard sale coming up this coming Sunday and I'll be damned if I will continue this slogging around for much longer.  I've set up a makeshift table in the car port and I have been toting out objects every now and then.  This week I will spend time in every room until I have a nice, big pile.

Rising to the surface.

One would think that, having spent so much time away, I could at least make up for it with a riot of photos, memorializing all that was done.  Well, one would be wrong.  It's been a whole lot of hurry up and wait around here.  And there's a lot of the same on the job.  Which, I am happy to report, I have for another year.  I was hoping for two, but we take what we get and be glad about it.


I spent a futile night cleaning the guest room for my youngest sister - only to find out on the day she was to arrive that she had let her drivers license lapse and wouldn't be coming.  Ah, well.  As it turned out, the cleaning and fluffing was not for naught, as I had ordered a mattress topper (in my never-ending quest for a good night's sleep) and was instructed to place it on my mattress and let it 'come to life' for 48 HOURS.  What?  So, off to the guest room I shuffled for the allotted time.  This, in turn, stirred things up on the furry kids front - what was I doing down there?  Why was I up in the night?  Why did I not want company in the bathroom?  Tonight, thank goodness, my mattress topper should have come to full sense of itself and I am back where I belong.


The Pat is still under crate arrest and I have to carry him in and out, morning and night, to do his business.  I can tell he likes the additional attention, so I am sure I will have to wean him off after he's feeling better.  I will wait until its been a full two weeks before I strap him into his L'il Back Brace - I want to make sure that he can't twist himself into paralysis when my back is turned.


I continue to experiment with pickled quail eggs.  So far, every recipe I've tried, I've liked.  There was the bourbon, the shallots and white wine, and the soy.  I think the soy is my favorite, thus far.  Next on the agenda is mustard.  The four little girls seem to be settling in, being without fear of dismemberment. 


I do have a couple of pics...

Blossoms!

Squashette!

Granola

And knitting

Of course, over the period of the last week or so, I noticed that the zucchini plants were starting to sport yellow leaves - just to be thorough, I sprinkled some Epsom salt around each and gave them a good going-over with my homemade spider mite/aphid spray.   The beans are up, the chard is up, everything is holding its own, even with lots of rain, very little sun and much cooler than normal temps.  I only had one melon seed out of four germinate, so I am trying to decide whether to just go with the one (sensible choice) or replant six more (insane choice).


I still  have some things to do in the garden, but it is pretty well done - except for all the watering and weeding.  I am getting ready for a yard sale on the 30th, so that has meant lots of piles.  I have found that the most useful way for me to get ready, is to place a box/boxes in each room and then, as I am in the room, sort through things and put everything that's going into the boxes.  Then these will be sorted by price, etc.  I am only having it the one day because I thought it would be safer than having cars parked on the side of the road with all the idiot truck drivers zooming around the corners without slowing or looking.  Plus, I can only take interacting with the public for one day.  I figure I can work in the garden and on the compost piles when I am between customers.  If the weather is nice enough, I may set up doggy day care on the back deck.  It would be too much turmoil with all the comings-and-goings.


So, back down I go - into endless sheets of inventory and unending farm chores.  I will resurface next week with my own rendition of Never Say Never.  Hehe.

Really, you know me so well...

...it's almost scary.  After a totally unscientific procedure, wherein I went through many machinations and figurings and calculations, all adding up to nonsense, I decided to opt for pure numbers.  Since Michelle and Leigh were within a half-chore of each other, they win!  And, as I winged this whole process, the prizes are still a mystery.  To me, too! LOL!  But I do have some ideas...

Michelle, I have your info, so Leigh, would you please email your mailing address?

I am desperately trying to cut back on my lists.  The problem is, once I have it written down, I take it as a challenge to get it all done.  No matter how insane it is.  It's a condition.  I have always been very competitive with myself (and, honestly, just in general).  I remember, back in a past life, when I worked in the advertising industry, the agency had a 'teamwork building night' that included a volley ball game.  Apparently, by the end of the game, management had the idea that I was actually 8 feet tall and a spitfire.  Thereafter, my coworkers tended to hug the walls while passing me.  I got both a raise and a promotion.   Decades later (I'm not saying how many), I have a more laissez faire attitude about these things - except when it comes to competing with myself.  I could blame it on being raised to think that what I did was never enough.  However, that would be a complete waste of time and energy.  Once you've been dipped in that dye bath at an early age, it can become part of your DNA.  Best to just come to friendly terms with it!

Thank you again, you dears.  I appreciate those that think I am super-Sweezie and those who think I should sit down, have a martini and seize that diem!

(Now excuse me while I start my list for the weekend.... wash the dog (singular), bake bagels, laundry, Home Depot, weed wack my parents' place, plant trees, wash kitchen floor, vacuum, dust, sweep, clean deck, quit avoiding the sweater.........)

What, ho!

Ass over tea cups is an apt description of my week - I have not forgotten my promise to gift the presager of my to-do list!  Fathoming who was wily enough to know the workings of my mind (scary thought) will take more concentration than I can dig up at the moment.  I hope to have the winner sorted over the weekend.


The Pat is in a world of hurt, poor laddie, and is on meds and crate-rest.  My office needs to be dealt with and packed up and whatever (meaning 12 rooms of furniture, etc. need to be sorted by sell/donate/store) and out of the door by the end of the month, and my next port of call is still an unknown.


Add to that complicated family matters and the farm, and it's amazing I am still upright.  However, know that the BGPs are firmly pulled up and belted, the upper lip is reasonably stiff and one foot is still placed in front of the other.   Back to you soon, poppets.

The results are in.

Make lunar rhubarb cake
 Make granola
 Wash dogs
 Clean out cooler
 Clean off deck
 Visit parents
 Knit
 Two grocery stores
 Home Depot
 Goodwill
 Tractor supply
 Laundry
 Clean bathrooms
 Block sweater
 Summerize closet/wardrobe
 Clean winter shoes and put away
 Clean guest room

I believe I need a little more balance in my weekends.  (Mama Pea, would you come down and shake some sense into me?  Gently?)  I would have washed the dogs BUT, Mr. Fragile managed to hurt his back - again.  Has anyone been keeping track?  Is this the fifth time?  Tenth?  My neighbor had called and invited me to dinner and, being lured by the prospect of not having to cook, I said yes.  I had forgotten that he considers dinner to be the minute after the restaurant opens - which means I leave my door at 4P.  (4P, my dears, is when I start contemplating stopping my labors in the next hour or so, to be followed by a shower and a glass of wine, not necessarily in that order, with dinner following, vaguely at 8ish.)  This self-made pressure had me skipping Home Depot and vaulting home.  Even so, I only had 45 minutes to get the laundry off the line and get reasonably presentable.  I managed both, but decided to leave The Pat uncrated because I had crated and re-crated him twice and I felt a twinge.  Bad decision.  When I got home (by 5:37P - nothing like dinner out with an old guy.  You never have to worry about spending time on witty conversation - it's ordering as you're nearing the table, bing/bam/boom.  Out the door.) my Butter Pat was obviously very uncomfortable.  We are back to pain meds and crating.  At least I know the drill.  We've got a Thursday morning vet appointment - for something unrelated - so we will be refilling the doggie medicine cabinet.  Whoopee.

I will have to tally the bets - does swapping out my summer tees with my winter tees count as half a point? - and a big hug to you who actually thought I might come to my senses and have cocktails with my knitting or, at the very least, ignore most of my list.   I do have to tidy up the guest room, as my youngest sis is doing an over-nighter on Friday.  Her favorite pastime is cleaning surfaces, so I need to up my game.  At least for 12 hours.

Anyone taking bets?

Here’s my list for Sunday:
(Not in any particular order)

 Make lunar rhubarb cake
 Make granola
 Wash dogs
 Clean out cooler
 Clean off deck
 Visit parents
 Knit
 Two grocery stores
 Home Depot
 Goodwill
 Tractor supply
 Laundry
 Clean bathrooms
 Block sweater
 Summerize closet/wardrobe
 Clean winter shoes and put away
 Clean guest room

Here’s the deal: the person who is closest to guessing what I actually get done, will win a surprise something!  Of course, you’ll have to trust me and you do trust me, don’t you?  All will be revealed on Tuesday, so put on your thinking caps!

( my apologies if this turns out wonky. I’m posting from my phone.)

Getting creative.

While I have every intention of being frugal and stretching things to within a hare's breath (whatever that means), I am easily distracted (SQUIRREL!) and mending tends to be down towards the bottom of the list - right above cleaning the oven.


I have had my favorite jeans on the mending pile for, oh, several months.  I have randomly moved them around, trying to put them in my line of vision so that I will focus and mend.  Ha.  I have had them on my coffee table - right, smack-dab, in front of me for over three months.  I have even moved them to get at my reading material.  I finally pulled up the worn (and also in need of mending) BGPs and got to work.


I like the result.  These were my very best, favorite Sylvie-given jeans, and I have missed them.  They were pristine until I tripped on the vet's pot-holed driveway, while holding an injured Butter Pat.  Needless to say, I sacrificed the jeans (and my kneecap) and kept a firm grip on the stinker.  For a while, I tried to convince myself that torn jeans were au currant - and they were, if you were 18. 


I am now declaring them All The Rage.


And I wore them to work.  I am now hoping for more tears - without harm to my person - so that I can continue my creation.

An Historical Weekend.

This will go down in my personal history as the first time I was ever run over by a sheep.  And not just any sheep.  A sheep the size of a Shetland pony.  Norman, you know who you are.

Evidence.

Friday dawned as a lovely spring day.  I was fairly organized for a change, and had my shearing paraphernalia all in order and by the back door.  All I had to do was wait for the call.  Since my shearer was going in reverse order this year, I figured I would be early afternoon in the line-up.  That left time for some serious puttering in the garden, and for the sheep to graze before being lured into the shearing area and closed in.  All went smoothly.  It should have been a sign but, alas, I was blissfully ignorant.


I had decided to sit out my usual assistant role at my neighbor's but, after some thought, I decided that it would be more prudent to help - otherwise, I wouldn't have my boys done until dusk.  My neighbor is totally unfocused, unorganized and a general hot mess.  So I chuffed up and volunteered, then headed down the road.  It was as I expected.  After a chaotic forty-five minutes of wrestling, shooing, dodging, cleaning, and more wrestling, we had his five sheep, one angora goat and two less-than-helpful alpacas shorn. 


Back to the Little Lucky, all seemed quiet.  (Cue eerie music)  Joe and I headed for the barn.  Joe had gone through the gate and set up, then wrestled the fat eel (Linden) into submission, when Norman appeared at the barn door - hysterical - and shot toward the gate.  And me.  It was one of those moments you remember in slow motion - NOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo - as he broadsided me, gate and all and literally ran over me.   I was flattened, vaguely protected from his pointy hooves by the gate, with thoughts of mutton dancing through my head.  Joe was horrified, but, as we do, I pulled up my muddy BGPs, fixed the gate and prepared a bowl of grain.  If anything can be said for Norman (anything that can be said in polite company, that is), his stomach overrides his pea-sized brain every time.  By the time he trotted his fat carcass through the gate and over to the grain bowl, Joe was done with the eel.  So I had the satisfaction of having Norman wrenched from his treat and plopped on his sizeable derriere.


I managed to limp through the rest of the day and was totally knackered by 8P - so off to bed.  Interestingly, last weekend I was also totally knackered and was completely (well, 90%) reenergized by morning.  This Saturday, I awoke feeling as if I had not slept at all, and dragged through the entire day.  As it turned out, it was good timing, as I was on the road from 8A until arriving home at 3P, then out the door again at 4P, arriving home for good at 6:30P.  By Sunday morning, I was back to my old self.  Which, unfortunately, included a very sore hip and knee.  This lifestyle is not for sissies.


I managed to try some new recipes this weekend which were ... interesting.  I made some almond flour blueberry muffins - gluten free and low sugar - which turned out to be rather soggy.  I don't know that I have ever had soggy muffins before this.  I think it was because the recipe called for a quarter cup of melted coconut oil - which seemed to be too much.  The flavor is very good but they are odd.  I had my neighbor over for dinner - my way of reciprocating for all of his help around the farm - and tried a slightly altered version of a foil packet dinner from The Kitchn.  I don't know why I thought it would be roasted - sealed in a tight packet, it was more like poached - but it was okay; not great.  I also tried another pickled quail egg recipe (the bourbon recipe was great!) and will make some tiny Scotch eggs this week in my efforts to use up things in my freezer.


I can hardly wait to see what next weekend has in store for me.  I hope I live through it.