Right now, the entire 4 acres of the LLF is covered in two inches of ice with a nice, slippery coating of snow. Last week, the temperature plummeted from 42 to 4. Then it soared from 4 to 38. Now it's snowing. My Yak-Traks are permanently affixed to my wellies. I don't care if I pick up a pound and a half of mud, in between the ice events. Tough toenails to housecleaning. Pfft.
I managed to pare down my errands on Saturday to three, which was very nice. I should have known I couldn't keep it up. I went to feed 'my' barn cats on Sunday and there were trucks, hoses, various grimy bits of equipment and what-all all over the porch and driveway. Nary a cat in sight. I decided to come back later, after my jaunt to VT, and it was worse. I did manage to convince the workmen that they needed to clear a space on the porch for the cats. There was a lot of eye rolling.
I was short-listed for a rescue foster (I know, I know) and, just when I was getting things organized, the results of my hip x-rays came in and my doctor put the kabosh on any 'additional activity'. I always love it when I am told that I can't do this and that. Especially when this and that is what I do on a daily basis. I prefer the approach of, 'you can't do this and that the SAME way you used to do it. You have to figure out different ways to do both.' I am a bouncy little soul, ain't I? Bouncy being relative. I have 'moderately severe osteoarthritis' in my left hip. I now move my 50# feed bags on my plastic sled, right into the house. From there, I drag it into the furnace/laundry/tool/feed room and dispense it in small bucketfuls during morning chores. I find that I can negotiate my doctor into submission, if given the opportunity.
This week I am covering for my coworker in the City, which means I am tied to my desk and am busy. I am not complaining. However, in the midst of this week, I have to spend a day looking after my mother, as my sister needs to take her husband to a series of medical appointments. No problem, sez I. This causes the domino effect in HQ, where every square peg must fit in their square hole. Needless to say, I am a round peg and proud of it. That being settled, I have my week planned out.
Then I go out to the car to drive to town to meet someone who is using my quail egg boxes for her fledgling quail business (bless her heart) and see a small grey squirrel in the front yard, looking rather lost. When I return, he is curled in a little ball on the side of the driveway. I approach carefully and reach down to touch his little head. He does not move. Hmm. So I pick him up. Well, that got his attention. In the kerfuffle, I notice that he has an injured eye - but he escapes before I can examine him more closely. I toddle inside, but go out just at dusk and, sure enough, he is back in a little ball by the driveway. I grabbed Slimmie's carrier and a towel and scooped the squirrel up and put him in the carrier. He is now residing in the office, while I tried to track down a wildlife rehabilitator. There are three near me, but they are all 'full'. I did finally find one a distance north of me and, as luck would have it, she has a doctor's appointment on Thursday that will put her within a reasonable distance ('reasonable' also being relative). It also means I will be making six trips on Thursday, trying to watch mom and get the little fuzz ball some help. And I am picking up and delivering some local aquafarm-raised lettuce to Marianne, so she can check it out for their store. And I will be picking up some muslin to make produce bags for the aforementioned store.
Friends always ask me how I will manage to keep from being bored when I retire.