It was pointed out to me (by my conscience in Arkansas) that it's not fair that I censure my musings. True. It wasn't fair - but I DID give you cute goat pictures/pictures of my cute goats.
A few facts: I live in upstate New York, a wintry area December - March. I live here on purpose. I like winter, although I am finding I spend a lot more time in recent years trying to convince myself I do. And I find that I like winter most when I a) don't have to drive in it; b) don't have to go outside too often; c) don't have to deal with water buckets, heated or not; d) don't have to wear six layers of clothes. Even when the sun is out (such as it is, poor weak thing), so much of my body surface is buried under layers of silk, wool and down (in that order) that I get no benefit from the natural source of D3. Just to reinforce the fact that I just may be out of my mind, I plan on one more move and it's probably going to be...north. Yes, that's right. Lock me up.
I am fully in mid-February funk. In January. It's like funk jacked up. I have been staring at my seed catalogs without opening them. I have my garden graph all ready for the Big Plans for Spring. Nada. It's been too cold to walk the dogs. I hate my commute. I have had murderous thoughts concerning one female Guinea hen. My fuel bills are astronomical. My income is not.
Okay, that was cathartic. Now that I've thoroughly depressed the lot of you, let's look for something sunny in all of this. February. Hmmm. Valentine's Day! Oh, right. NOT. It's a short month! Okay, that's better. Then it's Farch! So-so, on the good news. The egg count is up - I now average about 4 a day, instead of two. Not that that makes a dent in paying the feed bill, but it's something. (Think good thoughts. Think good thoughts.) After Farch is April! There we go! It's very easy, when you only have dogs to converse with, to drop into the doldrums. I am not a happy camper when I am forced to remain inside for days (and that includes being inside my car and inside my office). I chafe, I winge, I whine (obviously). And I tend to think that all liquid consumed should contain a mild sedative - Irish Coffee anyone? All kidding aside, by February, I am my own worst enemy. There is a lot to do inside - I did finish painting the living room, but I need to tear up the carpet and re-floor it, then there's finishing the guest bathroom (which only has taken six years), start on the master bath, skirt about 50 fleeces, sell my floor loom, organize every room, etc., etc. Instead, I knit. A lot. Which, in turn, has greatly aggravated the arthritis in my hands. Oy. I used to bake for therapy and now I don't. This is a good thing, as I've lost 15 pounds - which is in jeopardy because of February. I crave comfort and it usually involves cheese. Sigh.
So, aren't you glad my Conscience in Arkansas guilted me into this post? (You know who you are...) But, just as Holmes always bested Moriarty and came out on top, so will I emerge from February (is it over yet?), tattered but intact. Hanging onto my sense of humor by my fingernails.