Good golly.

Yesterday, I had to pinch hit for my middle sister and looked after my dad (97, dementia), my mom (96, almost chair-bound), my aunt (at 94, the youngster), and my BIL (basically, he tries.)  From 7:30 to 4:30.  I must have been totally delusional, bringing all my knitting projects and envisioning a cozy afternoon, knitting, tea, lalala.  Lalala for sure.  There is nothing quite so frustrating and maddening than a parent (or any person) in full-blown dementia.  I know that many of you have gone through, or are going through this painful experience, and my heart is with you.  I now believe that my sister has super powers.  I do not.  By the time I straggled home, I was exhausted.  Too exhausted to remember that we were in for a Nor'easter last night.

Fast forward to 11P, when the wind took on locomotive sound effects and the rain (what I could see through the gloom) was horizontal.  Then the power went out.  Tough nuggets, I was back to bed.  When I awoke at 3A, the lights were back on and I went around (foolishly) and reset all the clocks.  Then I made a cup of coffee, sat down with a book and the lights went out.  Will I ever learn?  The storm was still in full force, so I should have known.  I felt my way into the blackout supply area (back bathroom with it's glowy new toilet) and snagged three of my favorite solar light sources.

I sat back and listened to the storm, snugged Slimmie next to me and watched the blanketed enchilada dogs on the couch.  It was surprisingly peaceful.

The dogs, bless them, trudged out to do their business twice - we tried to time it in a lull.  Lull meaning the rain was no longer horizontal.  I went out when it was light enough to see and spent 20 minutes gathering buckets and other small objects that were all over the homestead.  I also watched the crows, who seemed to be having a ball, flying into the wind and hovering in place.

The drive into work involved dodging floods, branches, large limbs and whole trees.  I checked the rain gauge as I left and we already had four inches of rain!  It was such a relief to reach the parking garage!  Now I am off for home and the fall town rabies clinic.  After yesterday, three hours in a huge, cavernous metal building with no heat, filling hypos as fast as my little fingers can move, surrounded by an endless and frantic stream of barking dogs,screeching cats and hysterical owners, will seem like a walk in the park.

Amen.

OMG a new toilet! and a sweet surprise.

I'm not sure what this says about my social life, but OMG I got a new toilet!  It had been languishing in its giant box for over two years - waiting for me to make up my mind as to whether I was going to put it in or have someone who actually knows what they're doing put it in.  Luckily, common sense won out over delusions of competence and time.  It also helps that I finally found a plumber that will a) show up; b) come on a weekend (Sunday); c) not charge me an arm and a leg.  As it turned out, the Pat loved the plumber almost as much as he loves my handiguy, Billy.  I had to shut the door in order to let him work in peace.  The Pat wanted to be 'helpful', as did Lovey, but...

Saturday was a lovely day - one of those glowing fall days in the Northeast that makes all the leaves look luminous.  It was warmish, with a nice breeze and everyone seemed to be in a happy mood.  Lovey gets the zoomies in this weather, so I try to let her out in the back fenced-in part of the sheep paddock so she can safely get it out of her system.  The Pat just ricochets around, yapping.

I got my hair cut, met my sister at the farmers market, visited with a couple of farmers that I know, admired the pies at the apple pie contest table, and made my parental pilgrimage of the week.  Then I did a little shopping and stopped to see Marianne and hit the transfer station on my way home.  It was a very pleasant day, but I was knackered when I finally came through the front door.  Knackered or not, the sheep were bleating, and the dogs were pointedly looking at their empty food dishes.  Just as I collapsed on the sofa after evening chores, there was a knock at the front door (setting off the deafening dog alarm).  It was my neighbor up the road - with a pint jar of his own honey as a thank you for planting all the flowering perennials enjoyed by his bees!  Woot!

Sunday was a stay-at-home day.  I fed the farm cats and then applied myself to garden clean up and house clean up.  The fence is down, rolled up and stashed away for the winter.  I've gone around the raised beds with the weed trimmer, the grass has had its final mowing, and a goodly amount of trimming, yoinking and cleaning up has been done outside.  I steam cleaned the kitchen floor (I so love my floor steamer), did three loads of laundry and got it on the line, vacuumed and dusted(ish) and cleaned the bathroom so as not to horrify the plumber, then got dinner started.  I had invited my neighbor who mows and trims for me over for Sunday dinner.  As I sashayed around the kitchen, thinking about my new toilet and clean kitchen floor (so, so, smugly), I looked down and realized that my package of cornstarch had sprung a leak.  As any of you who have dealt with cornstarch knows, this is a disaster of epic proportions.  The more you try to contain it, the more it wafts over every surface within an arm's reach.  Within a nanosecond, I had cornstarch on my counter, floor, shoes, pants and dogs.  It doesn't pay to be smug.  By the time my neighbor arrived, everything had been recleaned and was in order - except, of course, for the cook.  My hair was standing on end (probably generously dusted with cornstarch) and I had started adult libations without him.

And then it was Monday.

There are definite drawbacks to having the focus of a fruit fly.

Bulgarian Carrot Peppers

When I was frolicking through my seed catalogs this past February, I came across the Bulgarian Carrot Pepper.  Ooooh, thought I, a sweet orange pepper that looks like a carrot!  So I bought a packet of seeds.  Did I read the actual description of the plant?  No, I did not, because my fruit fly brain was off to the next shiny photograph.

Even the Universe tried to intervene.  I started my seeds this year and, after three tries, only had one surviving Bulgarian seedling.  Did I heed the Universe?  No, no I did not.  I ran out of room in the pepper bed and planted the lone Bulgarian seedling near my cucumbers.  Where it was, more or less, overcome by the lemon balm, did not flourish, and I totally forgot about it.  Why?  (Chorus:  Fruit Fly Brain!!!)  As I was yoinking out the frost-zapped plants on Sunday, I uncovered two Bulgarian peppers.  I was so thrilled!  Today, I minced up a pepper and sprinkled it over my salad, quite smug with my localvore self.

I am still not able to speak without choking.  I feel as if the roof of my mouth has been in a house fire.  My nose is running like a spring brook.  All I can say is, CARROT?  Really?  To me, carrot connotes sweetness; rootiness.  Not freaking five alarm heat!  I suggest the following change to the name of the pepper - Bulgarian Napalm Pepper.  Can I get an amen?

The (garden) party's over.

We got walloped with below 30 on Friday night and that was it for the garden.  Am I the only one that did a happy dance when I realized it was kaput?  No matter how charged up I am in the spring, by October I am over it.  What a first world problem.

I had a surprise (another reason for a happy dance) visit by my BFF, so I took a half day off on Friday to beat a hasty retreat home so I could vacuum and raid the garden.  I picked everything that I thought would be usable, then tucked the kale, Swiss chard and herb bed under sheets for the night.  Sylvie took me out to dinner at the one (and only) wonderful local restaurant - true Mexican with the best fish tacos EVER. 

The house is festooned with flowers, both in containers and in pots:

My lovely Mandevilla

The fig tree looks like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, a drab little twig.  The Meyers Lemon looks good but has few lemons.  Not a surprise, as I had to do a major root trimming, repotting with it in the spring.  I covered the geraniums, but am loathe to pot them up and over-winter them in the house.  They take up a lot of space and I am always worried that Slimmie will start eating the leaves - even though they are kept in a room behind closed doors.

I have a box of green tomatoes, four zucchinis, three Bulgarian orange peppers, and a counter full of tomatoes in varying stages of ripeness.

I have quite a few pre-winter chores to do, but I am armed with my lists and will try to pick off at least one or two a day.  While I was out hanging up the washing, I decided to clean out the bluebird house.  Is this not the coolest thing?

Tidy Purple Martin nest on the bottom.
Total chaos of the Wren on the top.

One of the over-winter chores I will NOT have to do involves the turkeys.  They went to Marianne's farm yesterday and I am a happy woman.  I wouldn't have minded if they would have cohabited with the chickens, but oh, no.  No inside warm, dry shelter for them.  They much preferred to roost outdoors in the wind, rain and cold.  I swear we've bred the sense right out of them.

Saturday was a little too exciting, with the spotting of an obviously rabid raccoon.  While I was on high alert - following his erratic path, searching for my .22, I was also so sorry for him/her.  What a terrible disease.  By the time I was locked and loaded, he was gone.  I called all the neighbors to have them be on their toes, but no one has seen him.  Poor bugger.

Sunday afternoon, I beat feet out to the garden and yoinked up all the plants that were hit by the frost.  I'm down to Swiss chard and kale.  At this point, the kale is pretty tough, so I am leaving it to its own devices, while I repurposed the cucumber trellis over the Swiss chard so that I can tent it with plastic and try to stretch it into the winter.  I had wanted to plant arugula and spinach in the cold frame but have not done it, not having had the time, with one thing and another.  Next weekend I plant the garlic and cross my fingers.  It will be nice to put the garden to bed for the winter.

A lesson in patience.

The Big Move finally took place on Friday and Saturday.  The office administrator and her assistant, and the IT guy came up and we all held our breath - hoping the moving guys would show up on Saturday, too.  My 15 emails requesting assurance that they would be at our building Saturday morning - but what time? - were answered with one email.  Containing one word.  Yes.

We did what we could on Friday afternoon, since we didn't have a locking door until then.  The OA and and AOA left for their hotel, leaving the IT guy and me to run around like lunatics.  I was back at the office at 8A and - halleluiah - the mover was there.  But, wait.  There was L - in charge and with YEARS (hint hint) of experience; R - an adorable 300+ lb young man with loads of personality but little moving experience; and J - an adorable 90 lb young man with even less moving experience.

This is what we had to move:  an executive suite of furniture which included a massive desk with attached built in wall and cabinets.  Easily over 6' high by 6' wide.  A massive conference room table.  Two massive TV screens.  A lot of art.  Four oversized modern, heavy chairs.  A massively massive reception desk - with a full top and front slab of 1-1/2" marble.  Are you starting to see the problem here?

I won't go into the gory details, but we had to nix the built in part of the desk because it would not fit in the elevator and had originally been hefted up 8 floors by some very disgruntled professional movers.  We also had to nix the reception desk because a) it took our IT guy to figure out how to detach the return part of the desk (after almost an hour's struggle by L) and b) when it finally was detached (the new space is much smaller and the full piece would not fit), the front section, resplendent in it's marble armor, was totally unbalanced and would have toppled forward if I moved too suddenly.

During the entire event (9 hours), the OA and AOA took their supervisory seats in the new space - all the better to direct the action (or inaction) - while the IT guy and I worked our respective butts off.  Let me tell you, by the time I steered my shaky self up my driveway, I was knackered.  I managed to stumble through dog-cat-sheep-llama-chicken-duck-turkey feeding before collapsing in my chair with a glass of wine.  I was comatose by 8:30 and slept 8 hours.  I took a 2 hour nap on Sunday and then slept another 8 hours.  I am now back to my normal 6.  Holey guacamoley.  I am now dealing with the hot mess that is the new office.  And finishing up with the hot mess that was our office.

I do like the new space - it is airy and light and I am surrounded by offices with actual people in them.  Plus I don't have to take the elevator, now being on the second floor.  Of course, after 22 years, I've taken the elevator to the old floor six times on autopilot.  At least the worst is over and I can now concentrate on condensing all the junk into a space that is one-sixth the size of the old one!  I call it training for my next life chapter.

The movers enjoyed my apple cake - eating it
was the only thing they did quickly.

I can explain.

You will notice, of course, that this is NOT a photograph of the Shaker Museum or anything remotely Shaker-ish.  This, instead, is a pictorial description of how I felt, sitting in the Wash House at the Shaker Museum Mount Lebanon.  No matter how good my intention to arrive early and look around, I only managed to rush into the venue at the last second.  And we were sitting in a large wooden building with no open windows, sun pouring through those closed windows, working with wool and it was 88 degrees with 125% humidity.

Unbeknownst to me, there are multiple Shaker sites.  In my stubborn, itty-bitty, single-minded head, I ventured out on Saturday (with plenty of time, I thought) to the Hancock Shaker Village in MASSACHUSETTS.  Never mind that every reference to the event was for the Shaker Museum Mount Lebanon in NEW YORK.  When I arrived in MASSACHUSETTS, the one alert brain cell managed to struggle to the foreground and yell "Hey, you!  Where did it say Massachusetts on that invitation???"  I sat for a moment and then pulled out the GPS.  Son of a gun.  There was another Shaker site a mere 8 miles away - in New York.  By the time I actually got within range (many sharp right turns and poor signage), I followed a Prius out of desperation, thinking that the driver - a woman around my age - looked like she might be a knitter.  How is that for logic?  I was right, and we both followed more poor signage until we made it to the Wash House.

In spite of the sultry weather, it was a thoroughly enjoyable couple of hours and I was disappointed when it was time to go.  I managed 3/4 of one square to everyone's two completed squares, but I have never been a fast knitter.  **This reminds me of a video clip I saw some years ago - there was a Europe's Fastest Knitter (don't quote me on the name) contest and a young Dutch woman had been training intensely for the event.  It had come down to this determined young woman and a grandmotherly contestant from the Shetland Islands.  It was interesting to watch them - the young woman working herself into a hot mess, while the SI knitter sat serenely, knitting needles a blur.  She won.  It's nice to know - when you reach a certain age - that experience counts for something.  Too bad it hasn't sharpened my sense of direction.

I got my first local apples of the season this weekend and whipped out a GF apple cake yesterday.  It was mighty tasty.  I had a friend over for dinner - she has devoted the past 30+ years to bringing an endangered breed of cow back from the brink of extinction, single-handedly - and is now struggling because it is expensive to feed them and, since she is still doing it alone, she cannot have a full-time job and raise cattle.  She is a year older than I and I really don't know how she does it.  Still working through my freezer (I wonder where I stashed my family of 8?), I made a beef stew in the slow cooker with Randall beef, sweet onions, organic local carrots, and local shiitake mushrooms, cooked in red wine with herbs.  This was served over garlic mashed potatoes with an awesome shredded carrot and orange salad.  Yummo!  I always make plenty so that I can send dinner guests home with leftovers.  Then the dogs and I crashed after washing up (they are so helpful...)

And now?  Back to the grind!

OMGIF!

I would have been a lot happier about it being Friday, if the thermometer wasn't registering 38 degrees.  I shouldn't complain, as the morning before (actually - more middle of the night) was 33!!!  Since I do not have television, listen to the radio or read the news, I would have completely missed the Frost Warning.  Because, it is mid SEPTEMBER and I am not thinking about things freezing yet.  I happened to be procrastinating doing my evening chores and was thumbing through Facebook.  On a local news channel story, I saw the red banner - Frost Warning.  I looked at the date of the article to see if a) it was fake news and b) if it was real news, but from last year.  No such luck.  It was real news and it was actually going to get low enough for the chance of frost in mid SEPTEMBER.  (You can see that I am still in denial.)  Sighing mightily, I slogged off to get covers for the lemon tree, fig tree, basil, and mandevilla vine.  By the time I was finished, my deck looked like the dress rehearsal for a Halloween play.

I was very glad I forced myself out of denial and into reality.  The top of the lemon tree's sheet was frozen.  There was ice on my windshield!  Holeygeezloueeze.  Yes, yes, I know, Joyce.  But -- again -- mid SEPTEMBER.  Now that I am on alert, I check the weather each evening.  It looks like the next week or so is back to more normal night time temperatures.  I should hope.

I have had to rummage around and find sweaters in the morning, then peel them off mid-day, as the temperatures go back into the high sixties/low seventies.  I have yet to go out into the garden to see if there is any frost damage.  I may get up in the wee hours but, since we already are down to six hours of daylight, I don't end up with time enough to do more than basic chores in the morning before work and it's dangerously close to darkness when I get home.  Last night, after work, I met someone to hand off a cast iron frying pan (I did feel that having five was a little too close to hoarding), then swung by my neighbor's to pick up a block of feta that he picked up from BJ's for me.  I paid over $4 for a small, dinky piece of feta at the local grocery store and this bad boy is over two pounds (think 2/3 of your standard brick but in cheese form) and was $10.  Pfft.  I am going to miss my garden this winter - food prices continue to go up.

Tomorrow, along with my weekly trip to Goodwill and swing by the parental palace, I am going to a free knitting clinic at a local-ish Shaker Museum.  I am determined to go out and meet new people, as I feel I am starting to lean towards feral.  I love this museum - it's a restored Shaker community in a lovely rural setting - and the clinic is to knit squares for a charitable cause.  What is not to love?  If I have my wits about me, I will take pictures.  Sunday will be a work day, but I am having a friend over for dinner in the early evening - that way, I will have to stop myself at a decent hour.  It's a sad state of affairs when you have to try and trick yourself - and it works.  I am hoping, also, to unload more items that are cluttering up my psyche (you know, avarice, gluttony, whiney-ness, hehe...)