Sitting and more sitting.

I tell you, it is very frustrating when you rise in the morning to a warmer-than-usual-sunshine-filled day and realize you will be spending it NOT on cleaning your garden, mucking out hoop houses or building your run-in.  No.  You will be spending it driving north for 40 minutes, switching cars, driving an hour and a half, sitting in a waiting room for an hour and a half, then reversing the process.  BANANA! 

I drove my parents into the city for my mom's annual eye exam with her specialist.  It is a good test of my patience and concentration (both of which are in short supply).  When I asked my mother for the address/location of her doctor's office, she informed me that "your dad knows where it is."  Somehow, that did not instill a lot of confidence in me.  Driving with my parents entails a great deal of input on their part on a) the speed at which we are traveling; b) the speed at which others are traveling; c) the number of cars on the road; d) the placement of our car vs. the car in front and behind us; e) the condition of the road; f) housing styles - which they want me to look at while I'm driving, but without taking my eyes off the road.  We did, however, end up in the right place with only two or three mis-steps.  I brought my knitting and Dad regaled me with stories from his stint in the Navy during The War.  As many times as I have heard these stories (thousands), I always hear something new and he loves to remember that period of his life.  The appointment went smoothly, we enjoyed a great Chinese lunch, and I almost made it home before dark.

I did take advantage of the fact that I had an extra hour in the morning, and cleared a path next to the goat fence, under the pines, so that I will have a more sheltered way to move hay from the front of the barn back to the sheep.  Sheep who are still baaing STRAWBERRIES! at me for putting them on a diet.  However, I cut up apples for them every morning and will continue to do so until the three bushels their Aunt Melanie sent over are gone.  Pfft!

Below you see the end result of lots of sitting and waiting:  my finished tea cosy on my lovely new teapot!

Somehow, I have found myself volunteered to drive my parents and two of their friends (both in their early 90s) to brunch a week from Sunday.  I did, feebly, try to weasel out since it was supposed to be this coming Sunday, and I have a commitment.  My mother who, though she may be in her late 80s, can run circles around me when it comes to getting what she wants, said very smoothly and without missing a beat, that they had ALSO discussed the following Sunday, so she would just change it.  Sigh.  I will be surprised if my run-in shed is finished before the snow flies.

Weekend? Wha' weekend?

Nothing like having house guests from Friday night to Monday morning to make the weekend vanish into thin air!  I, of course, had forgotten that the fiber fest they were part of was a two-day affair.  Sigh.  At least I got to try out some new recipes and all were big hits.  Friday night, I made my favorite pulled pork recipe - from Sylvia - that is so completely idiot-proof that it's impossible to get it wrong.  All you need is:  a crockpot; a large onion chopped; a boneless pork roast or tenderloin (mine was about 3.5 lbs), one bottle of beer, one bottle of your favorite BBQ sauce, two minced garlic cloves, and salt and pepper.  Put all ingredients in your crockpot, turn it on low and let it go for 10 hours.  Voila!  Haul out the pork, pull it apart with two forks and put it back in to heat through.  I served it with homemade coleslaw and pumpkin cornbread.  Everyone had seconds of everything - 'though I had to abstain from the cornbread.

Saturday was dealing with another long list at the folks', a trimmed-down version of my Saturday chores, then home to make dinner number two - roast chicken with pomegranate molasses, mashed cauliflower with cheddar cheese, oven roasted Brussels sprouts and chunky apple cake for dessert.  I did put on my big girl pants and have a small piece of the cake (how could I NOT????)  Those pants were awfully uncomfortable later, but it was worth it, I tell you.

Sunday I was less adventurous -- I did have to get some things done around the homestead -- and made a big pot of soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and leftover cake  for them with vanilla ice cream - for me - for dessert.  I sent the rest of the cake home with them out of self-defense.  I forgot to send the pumpkin cornbread with them, so the chickens will be happy with their treat tomorrow, ungrateful beasts.  Some heartening news, in a back-handed way:  their chickens are not laying a single egg, either.  First time it has happened to them, too.  Misery loves company.

It was so much fun to be able to have rousing conversations into the night!  Sheep!  Dogs!  Fiber!  Heaven! I spend so much of my time at home alone, that I was almost sad to see their visit end.  Almost.  I am very much looking forward to coming home tonight and NOT having to make dinner.  Scrappy, in particular, will be very disappointed when Frances and Suzy do not show up tonight.  They spoiled him rotten.  They cooed over him, petted him, fed him from the table.  Bernie is shyer, so only managed to get half of the loot that he did.  Scrappy is anything but shy.  He is Velcro Dog; Bert Lahr in a Dog Suit; he is ON FIRE!

I was able to check a few things off my list(s), got my laundry done - we all laughed at my frozen jeans on the line Sunday morning - and Flora seems to be coming along.  Of course, I was told that my sheep are fat.  Geez, it's like being called a bad mother.  So, now, they are all on a diet - including the portly little goats.  And my name is Mud as far as the livestock are concerned.  Work on the run-in shed is inching along.  I spent a good two hours trying to get the ding-dang lattice house apart - I had forgotten that Melanie and I had reinforced the thing to within an inch of its life.  As I have been trying to watch my language - as 'empowering' as it may feel, swearing shows a lack of vocabulary (or so I tell myself) - so loud exclamations of:  "CATERPILLAR!!" and "MOLASSES!!" and "DARN RUDBECKIA!!" were heard up and down the road.  I'm sure my few neighbors think I have finally gone over the edge.   The upside of my new colorful language is that it is so absurd even to me, that I end up laughing and that always puts me in a better mood and makes the job easier.  End result of 2 hours of wrestling with the lattice house?  Me: 1  LH: 15.  But I'm gaining on it~by cracky.

Monday Musings

Listening to Sylvie's four-year-old, Zuzu, chat on (and on - that girl can talk!), made me realize how similar her speech was to, say, my 22 y/o nephew.  And most young people I run into today.  Somewhere, within the long, rapid, stream-of-conscious mumbling, are words that I can understand.  With Z, it was the names of her three BFFs:  Kimberly, Hope and Ramona (her little sister).  With my nephew and other 20-somethings, I can clearly pick up many "likes", "ums", "actuallys", and, in his case, an occasional "Aunt Sue".  The rest is a glutenous mass of rapid jumbled consonants.  It causes me to turn into a fogey - "What?"  "What was that?"  "Can you speak more slowly?"  Could it be a global plot to instill unease and unrest in baby boomers?  Will we be drooling into our Cream of Wheat within a decade?  Mumbling ourselves?

The thrill caused by that extra hour of daylight we are getting, thanks to setting the clock back yesterday, sure fizzles out quickly.  I can hustle my bustle a little longer for what -- a week? -- before the day gets even shorter and it doesn't make one whit of a difference.  And it is totally dark by the time I get home, giving me nothing extra there.  So why, pray tell, do we keep going back and forth?  Just let Mother Nature take her course, I say!

Our family has finally stepped into the Age of Enlightenment.  We are celebrating our first No-Gift Christmas.  While I am sure that a lot of my reluctance to 'gift' everyone on the 25th of December, year in, year out, has to do a bit with my childlessness, I think it's more that I have come to a time and place in my life where I have too much stuff, don't want any more stuff (except, however, a SNOW WOLF), and would just like to spend a pleasant day with my family, listening to music, playing board games and enjoying a wonderful meal.  Bliss, I tell you.  So far, we are all on the NGC wagon - with the exception of my middle sis, from whom we have not heard on this subject.  She is uber-generous and it will be difficult for her.  But I know she can do it.

I have always had a very rich imagination.  When I was small, I had a very active imaginary life.  As I grew up, I could imagine myself in great adventures - doing amazing things.  Imagine how surprised I was when I failed miserably upon actually doing it!  Case in point:  I loved to watch skiers.  I KNEW I would be an amazing skier.  My first foray into skiing was in college.  I had gone from Ohio (f.l.a.t.) to Michigan, where, when the first snowflake hits the ground, skis come out, parkas are zipped up and everyone heads to the slopes.  Not one to be left behind, off I went.  I rented skis and poles and shunned lessons.  For crying out loud - the baby slope?  Not for Susan aka Suzy Chaffee!  I will give you the quick version of my day on the slopes:  wobble, fall, wobble, fall, wobble really fast, spectacular fall, hobble to chalet for hot toddy.  I hate to admit it, but I am still delusional.  I am just less inclined to break something, as it heals ever so slowly now.

Why are there so many sayings that involve poultry?  Something to crow about.  Pecking order.  Madder than a wet hen.  Talk turkey.  Nest egg.  Coming home to roost.  Chicken-livered.  Feather your nest.  Chicken scratch.  Comb your hair (I made that up....)  Okay - I know there are a lot more - anyone like to join in?  Let's see how many we can come up with.

Forging ahead - and falling back.

This week has fallen under the heading "Never A Dull Moment".  Besides the monster snow (any snowfall, in my humble opinion, over two inches BEFORE November is a monster), there was Flora's seasonal wheezy, raspy, snotty nosed self; Bernie decided - overnight, mind you, that she no longer cared for the kind of dog food she was being served; I discovered SEVEN pullet eggs laid next to the house, behind a fence, in amongst the depleted rhubarb; there are three flat tires on my garden cart.

So...I gave Flora her second dose of wormer (and extra apples), a big handful of comfrey and tomorrow I will give her some Vitamin E/Selenium.  Hope that boosts her immune system, as I don't want her to develop pneumonia, which then involves daily injections of penicillin.  She is getting up there (10 y/o) and has had respiratory problems since she arrived at the farm.  But she's a sweet old gal and I'd do anything for her. 

Luckily for Bernie, I had been planning on transitioning to a different food (read: less expensive), and just happened to have gotten a small bag to have on hand.  She inhaled it.  I swear my animals would rather eat at McD's than Sardi's.  Scrappy, however, would happily eat anything, anywhere, at all times.

Since I now get home in the dark, and my mornings are so much shorter, I have not done perimeter checks of the chicken yard and totally missed this pile 'o eggs.  It looks as though two pullets are involved, so that is hopeful.  Now, to get them to lay in the nesting boxes.  Too bad they don't have any older hens to show them the ropes (dripping sarcasm).

Air in the tires is on my list for the weekend.  I will spare you the gory details of my weekend list - you all know the drill by now - more hopeful than do-able.  But, "hope springs eternal", as they - whoever "they" are - say.

Can't wait to "Fall Back" Sunday morning.  That should throw me off for at least a week!  Hope you all have a wonderful weekend - forging ahead, falling back, or just standing still!

Oh, the indignity of it all!

Poor Scrappy!  There he was, curled up on the sofa, swaddled in his favorite fleece blankie, when Kramer decided he would make a nice mattress and climbed on top of him!  Scrappy was not happy at all with this, but he was soooo warm and comfortable, he decided not to move.  He has a very expressive face and managed to convey how indignant he was using only his eyes and eyebrows.  What a hoot!  It didn't impress Kramer at all and he fell sound asleep.  They maintained that pose for over an hour - until I made some noise in the kitchen and Scrappy rocketed off the couch to see if it meant FOOD.

You say Ketchup

and I say catch-up!  I have a lot of that to do.  Thanks to my lovely sister holding down the farm and cleaning my house, I do have a leg-up on my next round of visitors.  I'm expecting one of the women who started me on my path to Icelandic-dom on Friday.  She and a friend will be staying with me and commuting to the Big E for the Fiber Festival of New England over the weekend.  Their farm is called Hearts Ease Farm and they raise lovely sheep.  It is so nice to be able to spend time with both or either of them!  (Their farm sitter was thrown from her horse and isn't up to the job yet, so only one will be coming.)  I have to pull out all the recipes I have been wanting to try out.  You stay at Chez Susan, you are a guinea pig!  Cripe, that sounds rather bad, doesn't it?

Given the early warning system snow we had, I also have to step up winter preparations.  I have two gates to build, one building to erect, hoses to drain, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  (I always think of Yul Brynner in the King and I when I hear that...)  I also have to finish some crafty-type things for the craft fair in town a week from Sunday.  Luckily, I am a little ahead in that venture.

Yesterday, when I went in to check the water and feed for the so-called chickens, I found...are you ready?...a pullet egg!  I am sure it's Dotty's, the little cutie.  That is one tiny egg in 12 days.  The worst record ever.  I am afraid it's time to think about downsizing.  With the price of feed going up almost monthly, I cannot afford that many pet chickens.  I'd like to get down to about 18 chickens or less.  And get out of the egg business.  I need eggs for trade, as they are as good as cash, but I don't want the pressure of having to deliver X-dozen every week.

Another exciting event - a call from the fiber mill telling me my yarn is done!  Woot!  They will be at the Fiber Fest this weekend, so I may ask my house guests to pick up my yarn when they're there - or press Kay into service, since she's planning on attending.

I am still trying to catch-up on my blog reading and answering.  And trying to decide among three apron patterns.  It's a tough choice.  I may have to make two.  Hahhahahahahahahaha.

C'est Manifiques! Wunderbar! Now it's over.

The Wyeth exhibit building.

Lovely garden behind the Farnsworth Museum.

Three short sentences to describe my long weekend vacation!  I was immersed in cul-cha:  the Farnsworth Museum on Saturday, soaking up the beautiful paintings and sketches of Andrew Wyeth, with a pinch of Nevelson thrown in.  Then, on Sunday, the Portland Art Museum, for a lovely exhibit of Shaker furniture (most pieces came from the Hancock Shaker Village, right down the road from me!), a wonderful photography exhibit of shots of a Brittany farm (circa 1980), a movie (OMG, Sylvia and I were trying to remember the last time we had been in an actual movie theater) - in French, ahem, Mozart's Sister.  I was almost cultured-out.  Nah.

Taken through glass at the PAM - wish it was more clear.  The figure is formed with
thick metal wires, filled with rocks and stones.

There were the divine crab cakes at the Brass Compass in Rockport, TWO trips to Trader Joe's (be still my heart), tip-toeing through the colorful chaos of Mexicali Blues, not to mention, dinner with her daughter, husband and four wunderkinds.  I also discovered Reny's, which almost defies description - picture this:  within 20 feet of entering the store, you can buy snowshoes, gardening supplies, canned goods, clothing, shoes, cleaning supplies, home decorating items, and sleds.  Need I say more?  Should we ALL have a Reny's nearby?  Oui.  And the prices were L.O.W.  And there was Goodwill.  And lots of great, cheap red wine, wonderful conversation and another opportunity to discover the glories of Portland and South Portland.  The area has everything one could want - not too big, friendly people, lots to do - with most of it free, dogs galore (you just have to love a city that has that many dogs!), great architecture.

Henry, as always, with his nose in a book.

Hey, what's Henry reading?  Zuzu and Eli.

Oh, oh.  It's that scary woman!

The only dip in the bliss was the freak snow storm that came through.  Of course, I was way more stressed than my sister back on the farm - she just didn't want the power to go out.  We were very lucky at home - a foot of snow, but no power outages.  What would I do without her?  Portland got high winds, sleet, rain, and a little snow.  I did not get much sleep on Saturday, but made up for it on Sunday night - 10 hours.  Yes, you read that right.  TEN HOURS. 

We saw a lot of tree destruction on our way home and heard the reports of so much damage done just south and east of us.  After going through the storm at the farm, my sister had to drive home to no power.  She should have stayed!!!  And that has nothing to do with the fact that she cleaned my house.  Really.  Nothing at all.

Now, that's more like it!  Mony loves her grandmother.