The power of prose.

Yesterday, we were hit with high winds and a snow squall and it made me nostalgic.

Way back in the day, on the cusp of my move from Ohio to the Netherlands, I had rented a room from a friend while my crated belongings steamed their way east.  She had a Victorian monster in the original settlement of Cleveland - Ohio City, on the Cuyahoga River.  This was one of those neighborhoods that was just beginning to rise from decay to decadence.  It wasn't even half way there at the time.  I sat in my garret room, surrounded by an alarming array of antiques and collectibles (alarming because a- they weren't mine, b- they were mostly fragile and c- I'm not known for my graceful movements), spending my remaining stateside days reading.  I happened to be reading A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle, while a blizzard raged outside.  About halfway through the book, I was overcome with a desire to dine on baguettes and Brie, washed down with a nice fruity (French) wine.  When I say 'overcome', I mean it.  I pulled on boots, hat, scarf, gloves, wool coat, and fought my way blindly through the snow until I reached the West Side Market, some 12 blocks away (including a bridge).   Let me say, here, that I miss that market something fierce.  Of course, the market was less glitzy when I was a customer, but it was like having a little pocket of Europe in your backyard.  

I got my baguette, my cheese and a cheap bottle of vino and battled my way back.  I finished the book, sitting on the floor with my repast.  Heaven.  

Good grief. Valentine's Day.

For most of my life, I have experienced Valentine's Day much as Charlie Brown experienced kicking that football.  Hope snatched away, right in mid-kick.  (Wah, wah, wah...)  Forget a sweetie pie, I've got friends who love me (you know who you are...xoxoxo).  To make this VaDa (to differentiate the day from the disease), even more special, I found out I was the victim of IT (unfortunately, NOT interterrestrial travel, but Identity Theft.)  I would have much preferred the former.

I suppose I should be happy that the perpetrator is not the sharpest tack in the box.  He/she opened a checking account online with another bank, in my name.  Fortunately for me, they had checks issued to my home address.  I have spent the greater part of today going from that bank, to my bank, and burning up the phone lines to all three credit bureaus.  I also reported the fraud to Federal Trade Commission and have tried to contact a human at the Social Security Agency.  After three tries, holding for 45 minutes each go-around, I gave up for now.  I'll tackle it early in the morning and hope to get a jump on the 500 million people they service.  It grates my fanny that this happened, but it was only a matter of time.  I am seriously considering life as a Luddite.  

On a sunnier note, we celebrated VaDa early and this is what made it special:

Resplendent in her VD outfit.

My youngest sis and her son came up from The City to spend the weekend with Mom.  At 98, we celebrate every day and every occasion.

I am so looking forward to Farch.  At least if it is less icy than January/February.  If it's not, it can go someplace else.  Just when I think I'm making headway on the ice accumulation, we get a spell of warmish weather, followed immediately by frigid weather.  I bet we have well over two inches of ice under the latest layer.  There was a lot of tree damage during the last ice storm and it looks like i may have to wait until April to clean up the branches.

I have the grid paper, garden journal, garden notebook and seed collection out on the dining room table.  I am ready for green things!

The end of an era.

 

The moment he realized he had been
duped.

Linden left for his new home last Tuesday morning.  My shearer, Joe, came with his gooseneck trailer and loaded up the remaining hay and my boy.  Linden, sweet as he is, does not cooperate.  So, I had a big pan of "Waldorf" salad (chopped apple with some romaine lettuce) to lead him down the right path.  He would plant his butt, then I would waggle the bowl under his nose, we would go a few more yards.  Rinse, repeat.  We finally got him loaded, all cozy with the 80 bales of hay, and off he went.  I stood by the barn and bawled for twenty minutes.  Everything seems so quiet and empty now.  I realized that this is the first time in almost 14 years that there has not been a sheep on this place.  I am consoled by the vision of Linden tucked in a barn, cozied up with his new flock.

It's a good thing, too.  We have had Arctic temps both day and night.  I can't believe I feel like celebrating when the thermometer shows double digits above zero.  There is ice everywhere and I finally cleared out the carport so that I can tuck my car under cover.  We've had high winds, rain, sleet, freezing rain, and snow.  I have brought out all my seeds and am in the process of sorting through them.  Now that I have over an acre and a half of fenced in ground, I might attempt winter squash this year.

I've finished a pair of socks, knitted a few more catnip mice, and have started on a glorious alpaca yarn cowl for my sister.  

I'm trying to emulate my friend, Sam, and get myself whipped into gear to finish a few of the hundreds of projects in various stages of completion (or not).  Then there is the stack of books that I need to crack open. 

With this gloomy winter weather so far, it's nice to know there are bright spots waiting in the wings.

 

I seem to be afflicted with AAOCKD.

 (Or more commonly known as ACK!)

Yes, I'm afraid it's true.  As the earth completes another go-around of the sun and I inch (if only) towards decrepitude, I have found that I am afflicted with Advanced Age Obsessive Compulsive Knitting Disorder.  I'm sure you already knew that, but I am slow on the upswing.

I stumbled upon a pattern for a catnip mouse toy and....have made about 20.  I even tried to refocus by starting on a pair of socks.  I made it to the heel, then knit two more cat toys.  Good gawd.  I will say they are Slimmie and Sadie Mae approved (a friend's lovely cat), so it's easy to justify the knitting of them.  Unfortunately, I only have one cat and I have made them for every cat I know.  If you all have a cat that is partial to catnip, send me an email.  I will be obsessing on these for a while.  Until the next shiny object comes along.

Winter was rather late in arriving, but it's making up for lost time.  We have had rain and fog, now snow and ice.  There have been some spectacular sunsets (no filters, honestly.)

This morning, I have watched the temperature fall from 6 degrees F, to - presently - 1 degree F.  They are predicting freezing rain tomorrow, which is just peachy, as I have to drive to the city to pick up a friend at the airport and then transport her to VT.  It's a good thing I learned to drive on the south shore of Lake Erie.  I am fairly adept at wintering on the road.

I am embracing the cold with a song in my heart because....

Is this not the most beautiful lap blanket EVER???  I tell you, besides the outstanding skill of the creator of this gem, the colors are fabulous.  I dare you to not have your spirits lifted at the mere sight of it!  Sam, you are such a dear.  I love it to death and refuse to share it with any of the kids.

Some randomness from the past few weeks:

Linden is going to his new home (fingers crossed) early Tuesday morning.  The fellow that shears my sheep is going to foster him with his little flock until he either finds a new home or passes to the rainbow fields.  I am so happy for him.  And it will be way better for his waistline, as I have been doling out a steady supply of guilt grahams.

The kids got some fantastic gifties from their Auntie C.  Peanut got quite possessive with the stuffie skunk and I had to pull out the back-up skunk to keep peace on the homestead.

ALL the toys are HIS

I cleaned out and organized the freezer in my fridge.

I rediscovered carrot rice.

2022 is gearing up to be a highly exciting year.  Snort.

Going full hygge

 I've given up trying to figure out the weather.  Once again, it will be a Winter of All Jackets.  Rain, vest, down, windbreaker.  In an effort to lift my mood, I have pulled out all the stops on the hygge.

The pups were all for it.  Lovey on top,
PB in the princess bed.

Although I am no longer canning and preserving like a 1930 prairie housewife, I did manage to put up some applesauce from a wonderful mix of heirloom varieties that Marianne gave me.

I have also been cooking up comfort foods, like mushroom rice.  There is a local business that grows the most amazing mushrooms - the concoction below has shiitake, lions mane and chestnut.

I've been doing a little knitting, but have been concentrating mostly on a big clear out.  I am girding my loins for a foray into the laundry/tool/garden/storage room.  My plan is to get rid of at least one third of what's in there, so that I can stop cringing every time I open the door.

Apria was finally buried a week ago, Sunday.  It was, unfortunately, as ungracious as I had hoped it wouldn't be.  (Sorry for the convoluted syntax.)  It broke my heart and I wept copious tears.  I think I totally unnerved the excavation guy.  When I asked him if I could write him a check, he said he would send me a bill and got out of there as fast as someone driving a large earth-moving piece of equipment could manage.  I haven't gotten the bill yet, which is like having the sword of Damocles hanging over your head.

Meanwhile...

...a sweet, older gentleman sheep is looking for a cozy retirement home.  He seems to be adjusting to the loss of Apria, but he is lonely.  Winter is never a good time to rehome a sheep or any other livestock.  He comes with his own hay and can be transported, so fingers crossed.

So complicated on every level

Bless your heart, you good, good
girl

On Sunday, Apria cushed (llama speak for settled in a bundle on the ground), gazing into the distance.  By Monday she had passed away, before I could get a vet to the farm.  She was in her early 20s and I had hoped for another five or so years with her.  It was not to be.  I think that her blindness, oncoming deafness and challenged dentifrice just wore her out.  

As if that wasn't bad enough, the process of removing her and giving her a decent burial has been somewhere between planning military maneuvers and juggling with swords.  It is a nightmare which, I hope, is over today.  I'm not holding my breath.  So far, I've had to cut trees down, remove a section of fence and I'm on the phone with farmers, excavators and loggers - leaving messages and waiting (and waiting) for return calls.  My neighbor and I managed to get four of the five trees that needed to be removed (all are pines and all are dying) cut down but the fifth needed a professional.  Enter Dreamboat Arborist, Llew.  He cut the tree down last evening as the sun was setting, climbing up the tree in near-darkness.  I have yet to see the excavator, but I hope he'll be here today to see what equipment will be needed.  A farmer friend has offered a spot behind his barn for her final resting place.  Now, if all the many pieces of this gawd-awful puzzle would just fall into place, Linden and I can get some peace of mind.  

Then, there is Linden.  I need to find him a home where he can live out the rest of his retirement years.  My only other option is to add a companion animal to the farm, but, frankly, my heart just isn't in it.  Neither is my pocketbook.  Fingers crossed that this lovely girl can finally be released to her next adventure, or go to the place where llamas gather.  Linden and I could use some rest, too.

Tsking and tut-tutting and curmudgeonly moments. The War and Peace version.

Thanksgiving Day was overcast but a typical fall day.  I met up with my friend, Rosie, and we took a mesmerizing stroll through a wetland reserve in Bennington.  I got to try out my new app that identifies plants - watercress!  (none of which is shown...)

It was magical (except for the litter strewn about the grounds - insert tut-tut and tsk-tsk).   Fresh from the forest primeval, we tottered to mom's for a wonderful dinner.

Then, "black" Friday. 

Turned into "white" Saturday.

No pussy-footing about this winter.  BAM!  From zero to 8 inches overnight.  There was a lot of tut-tutting and tsk-tsking, as I had to locate boots, gloves and winter coat.  I did have the presence of mind to haul out the snow shovel.  Having apparently morphed into a frugal old lady, I did toy with the idea that I would shovel out my driveway by hand.  That was until I viewed the Hoover Dam of snow piled up at the end of the drive by the town's snow plow.  I am now, officially, a frugal, old, kvetching, curmudgeonly old lady.

The snow plow guy was called and I did a half-hearted job shoveling pathways until I realized that I had to reach the driveway in order to pay the plow guy.  There were many breaks.  There was more than one thought about apartment living in the south.

Job done(ish).  We hunkered in for the night.  This morning, sticking my nose out from underneath my self-made weighted blanket (fleece sheets+fleece blanket+down blanket+down comforter) I immediately got frostbite.  After shivering into robe and slippers and re-covering dogs, I found that the furnace (just serviced this past Tuesday) was not on.  Nor would it turn on.  A call to the furnace guy got me their new emergency set up consisting of some unfortunate guy who asked me a hundred questions - most of which were beside the point.  When he requested my email address, I snapped.  "No way, sonny!  You have no business with my email address!  I will not have you sending me spam and promotions that I do not want or need!"  There was a pause.  "Okay, ma'am (curmudgeon).  It is not mandatory.  A technician will contact you shortly."  I harumphed and went to get wool socks.

An hour later, with no call from the technician, I was working myself up for another telephone tirade when the dog alarm went off.  It was pitch black and the fleece curtains were drawn.  I shuffled to the window and could make out a small, white sedan in the driveway.  WTH?!   Gripping my robe against the cold, I opened the door and saw a dark figure trudging up the path, holding what looked like a pan.  The figure said "Shelly?"  I said, NO.  I am NOT Shelly and who the heck are you?  What he had actually said was, "Chilly?"  It was the son of the local fuel/furnace guy who had serviced the furnace earlier.  Sheesh.  An old lady with bed-head hair and eyeglasses askew, surrounded by yapping dogs.  I can only imagine.

Wonder what I will morph into next - Pippi Longstocking's grandmother?

Peanut takes the Oreo sleeping position.

P.S.  I was in such a snit that I forgot to add that he did - finally - fix the furnace.  In an effort to make nice after my crusty beginning, I gave him a cup of coffee.  I always forget that my coffee is S.T.R.O.N.G.  I swear his hair was standing on end when he left.  Probably thought I was trying to poison him.