Ay! Caramba!

I think we have reached the point in our relationship where we would be kidding ourselves to think that I thrive on harmony and order.  Besides, harmony and order do not provide the fodder for titillating blog posts.  Let's just say that I headed into the weekend under full throttle.


TGIF has officially been replaced by OMGIF.  While I didn't walk into the usual chaos of Lovey vs. the living room, I did get blindsided by Bunny on my way to the coop to get eggs.  The little idgit managed to spur me and draw blood.  His days are numbered to the realm of the single digit.


After an evening of homemade pizza (using Brandless' GF mix - which, no matter how much I like it, I cannot order again because it comes in a plastic pouch, dammit), a glass of wine for medicinal purposes and three episodes of Shetland, I fell into bed, running my list for the weekend on the endless loop.


Up and at 'em early, I made my list (in chronological order - I need all the help I can get), then headed out the door in plenty of time.  Everything went south from there.  In my town, if you don't employ an independent trash/recycling pick up service, you take your trash, et al. to the town transfer station.  This is extremely cost effective and they have added better recycling service over the 12 years I've lived here (OMG, 12 years?).  The system consists of purchasing yearly a numbered tag to be displayed in your car, and then tickets to be used, one per bag, for your trash and for anything that goes in the big containers - metal (free), construction and general trash.  These can only be purchased from the town clerk, who works two partial days a week - Wednesday night and Saturday morning.  I pulled into the lot five minutes after she opened and noticed four cars already there.  Never a good sign.  In small towns (at least mine), it is the thing to do of a Saturday, to stand around and talk about this and that with the town clerk, the transfer station team, anyone stationary who will listen.  Instead of the usual in/out service, I was treated to a 20 minute wait while various small indignities and problems were discussed.  It must have been the fact that there was actual sun and it brought everyone and their Uncle Bob out from under their winter rocks.


I then had to streamline my list.  I stopped at the transfer station, now officially tagged for the year, and was faced by two long lines of cars and pick-ups, building up behind two old codgers who were chewing the fat with the staff.   I sashayed up to the front and suggested that they move their trucks through and off to the side and THEN continue their conversations so that the rest of us could carry out our business.  They begrudgingly complied and, when I sashayed back to my car, the people in line tooted their horns and waved at me.  Why, I ask you, didn't someone further up in line do this?  They obviously don't live by to-do lists.  I live in a town of complainers, not doers.  Pfft.


I skipped getting gas (not a good idea, it turned out) and stopped in to see the parents and admire my sister's new-to-her car.  It was a short visit because

Layla

The foster for a dog that was being flown up from Puerto Rico fell through at the last minute.  Who you gonna call?  ME!  Whatever.  I had to drive the hour plus to the airport to pick up the little fluff ball and then drive her home.  She is 10 years old, was an owner-surrender and is a sweet, timid little dog.  She must have felt she landed on Mars.  After being left at a rescue, she was (through voodoo?  I don't know how these rescues are all interconnected) put in a crate, driven to San Juan, put on a plane, then unloaded and put on another plane, then she arrived in upstate NY.  Then she was loaded into my car and driven another hour plus to an alien landscape where, upon alighting from the car, she saw sheep.  She froze in place and I had to carry her in.  We have been observing the usual newcomer protocol - gates up everywhere - and she seems to be fitting in quite nicely.  She is small - just under 20 pounds, blindingly white with floofy bloomers and a short, much-plumed tail, with light tan spots on top of both ears and two round tan dots on her lower back.  She will be adopted in a nanosecond.  We are negotiating our Spanish/English commands and making a little headway.


Sunday morning, I was up early - very early, it turned out, as the power had briefly gone off and I hadn't noticed and my clock read 5:30A, causing me to rocket out of bed, thinking I was frittering my morning away!  It was actually 2:30A, but I was wide awake by the time I realized it, so....sigh.


I baked a cranberry cake for the barn crew, did some knitting, reassured Layla, did my chores and headed up to my friend, M's farm to put in my first installment of labor-for-vege.  It was the first beautiful morning in what felt like years, and the view from her farm is breath-taking.  We planted asparagus, currants (red and black), gooseberries, did some clean-up around her new fruit trees, and schlepped plants out to the sun to harden off.  All the while, I was yelling (nicely) at her while she clomped around in her ortho-boot with her still-mending broken ankle.  Honestly.  After the two and a half hours, I was back in my car and zipping towards home, where I met my friend and his wife who were due to fix my roof vents!  While Steve worked on the roof, Christina and I helped my neighbor (who had also pulled up - there was an actual work crew!) fix my laundry tree, clear the fence line, and sweep off the top of the barn after clearing the tree falls.  I then worked on my raised beds and front flower bed, until my farmer/neighbor arrived with a truckload of hay.  It was like going from 0-60 without a seatbelt!  I was sure to pop a few ibuprofens before bed.  It just felt too good to be out in the sun to stop.  I figured I would fall into bed and sleep, coma-like, until my usual 4A.  This was the case until midnight, when Layla started crying, pitifully, and didn't stop for an hour.  I gave up, put her on the bed, she rolled into a tight ball and fell asleep.  Thankfully, so did I.  We have moved up the group interaction and all three dogs go out together with no problem.  I don't think she has ever lived with a cat, as Slimmie scares the bejeebers out of her.  This is the first time she will be left for a long stretch - I don't foresee any problems, as she is still separated but not crated and it will provide Lovey with the sense that her back is covered, in case her yard is encroached by the dreaded brown-truck-driving-dog-body-snatchers.


Remember way back on Saturday, when I skipped gassing up the car?  Good thing I was coming down off the mountain this morning on my way to work when the empty sign flashed on.  I managed to coast into the gas station on fumes....