On a tear.

Since I had officially pronounced last week the WORST WEEK EVER, following my terror-stricken trip down the mountain and a DayFromHell at the office on Friday, I did what I usually do when I have been stressed to the max.  I filled every waking hour, Saturday-Sunday, with work.  Work I like.

The dogs and I took two good, long walks, plus a few short walks.  One was even in the snow, although Bernie and I were the only members of the group who enjoyed that one.

I moved furniture and ripped up all the carpeting, padding and tack boards in the living room.  Then I took my needle-nosed pliers and pulled each and every staple out of the floor.  All 60,000 of them.  Then I took my cordless drill/screwdriver and tightened every last screw - and pounded every last nail in flush with the surface.  Then I cut the carpeting and padding into manageable pieces and hauled them to the transfer station.

Then Bernie had a meltdown because it was just TOO different.  Then she got over it.  Then I started a fire in the fireplace and we had another meltdown.  Then she got over it.  Then I took down the folding screen between living room and kitchen, and moved it between dining room and kitchen.  Then Bernie gave up.  She was a good girl, given all of the upheaval and change, alot of it right around her feeding station. 

Cats ALWAYS have to be the first on anything.

Speaking of change, I put down the first five rows of tiles on the living room floor - many more to go, but this is a pay-as-you-go project.  The transformation of the room is quite remarkable.  Of course, so is the noise level, which prompted me to do some canine pedicures.  And, even as careful as I am, I managed to nick the quick on one of Scrappy's nails.  It's amazing how much blood can be produced by one little nick.  I stuck his paw in some styptic powder while he got all faint and dramatic.  He doesn't need much prompting.  I even showed him the dime-sized piece of skin I had worn off my finger.  I wasn't all whining and moaning.  He wasn't impressed and demanded extra treats for mental and emotional anguish. 

Hand ground spelt flour, cheddar, garlic, yumminess.

I also managed to get feed, get gas, worm a cat (fun), worm the goats, worm ONE sheep, do laundry (twice, thanks to blood stains on the sofa cover), go to the dairy farm, and bake a GF coffee cake (FAIL - it was, on one hand, gummy and, on the other hand, gritty).  I also did a lot of knitting and cleaning.  The only downside to the weekend were persistent computer problems.  It's off to the computer doctor, hoping for some magic.  By Sunday night, I was exhausted and happy and had almost forgotten about the dreaded job.  It's always very satisfying to check a lot of things off the lists.

Monday Musings.

Besides being overrun with squirrels this winter, the rabbit population seems to be keeping pace as well.  When I go out in the mornings, it looks like there was a Rabbit Jamboree all over the front, back and side yards!  Many fast and furious renditions of the Hokey-Pokey.  Lately, not only do I have to shoo (polite word for shoot at) squirrels off the birdfeeder on the deck railing, but there is a resident deck bunny as well.  Contrary to my War of the Squirrelz, I tend to have a soft spot in my heart for rabbits.  When I was a kid, I found a rabbit that had been hit by a car and injured, so, weeping copious tears, I brought it home and put it in a cardboard box lined with one of my mother's towels.  My uncle, the veterinarian, happened to be visiting (probably hoping for Mom's fabulous meatloaf dinner) and, with even more copious tears, I pleaded with him to "save my bunny!"  I don't recall any eye-rolling, but I am sure there was plenty.  He rummaged through his black bag and came up with some iodine, which he promptly poured on the abrasions on the rabbit's hind leg.  At which point the rabbit came fully back to life and tore through the house, kids and adults chasing behind him.  We finally managed to get the front door open and he shot out to freedom.  Then there was the time when Dad accidentally ran over a rabbit on the road.  A chorus of three wailers from the backseat and an ocean of tears.  We refused to talk to him.  My poor, long-suffering Dad.

On an oddly-related subject, I have, at this late point, come to like celery.  Not exactly earth-shattering news, but I have managed to loathe it most of my life.  I can trace the core of my celery-abhorrence to my brief stint in the hospital at 17 to get my tonsils out.  Expecting ice cream, I got endless bowls of institutional cream of celery soup.  Gak.  After that, the only way I would eat it was with a heavy load of peanut butter gracing the groove in a ratio of 100:1 (PB:celery).  This new appreciation for celery has come gradually and from the fact that I am so frugal by nature.  My co-worker, who is constantly bemoaning her weight, brings a large package of celery to work every week, a virtuous attempt at eating a more healthy diet.  This usually lasts for one day.  Then the celery languishes in the office refrigerator for the rest of the week, along with the carrots and other vegetables and fresh fruit that is shunned for restaurant meals.  Then she throws it all out.  OMG.  So I go and fish it all out of the trash and take it home.  Where I have to use it or show myself as a phoney-baloney.  Quite honestly, I had to choke it down the first week or so.  Now I add it to almost everything.  Except soup.

Wake me when the snow's gone.

We have been hard-pressed to get much walking in the past week.  Lots of icy-ness - ice on the deck, ice on the walkway, ice on the driveway, ice on the road.  This hasn't bothered Scrappy much.  He is just as happy to rocket out the back door in search of squirrel invaders.  Bernie and I miss our walks.  We're hoping to get a couple of nice, long walks tucked into the weekend.  Ice permitting.

The importance of focus and do-wogs.

I am going to have to go out and slog through the snow this morning to search the interior of my car for Bluie.  Bluie became separated from my right ear somewhere between sliding into the snow drift and careening towards the trees last night.  Let me back up (if only I had been able to...)

I knew there was "weather" coming our way for my evening commute last night.  The forecast was for rain that would eventually turn to sleet, and then to snow.  So, having gone through this routine a few (thousand) times, I planned my trip home accordingly.  Which was fine until I got a call on my cell phone on my way home and chattered away - oblivious to the sensible part of my brain which was yelling - DO NOT TAKE THE MOUNTAIN ROUTE!  I did, indeed, take the mountain route because it is the rote route.  In doing so, the eventual change to snow happened a lot faster because of the elevation (what happened to 'hot air rises'?)  By the time my focus kicked in, I was past the PONR (point of no return) and had to forge onward.  I still chattered away, although my teeth were beginning to clench.  As I crept along where no car had gone before me, in driving snow, twisting roads and no light or clear road markers, I finally shrieked into the phone - "I've got to go - we've got FOG!"  I will spare you the gory details, but the final, very steep descent to level ground and my farm-sweet-farm, was made by inches, brakes to the floor, with the car sliding sideways - luckily into the high snow banks - then toward the ditches and trees, then back and forth, until I finally reached the bottom.  This is where a utility truck met it's demise (along with the driver, very unfortunately) a very sobering thought that was constantly in the back of my mind.  By the time I reached my mailbox, my hands were shaking so hard, I couldn't get it open.  I'll tackle that this morning, too.

I have just printed out a little sign to be taped to my dashboard:  NO MOUNTAIN ROAD UNTIL APRIL.  I owe my safe arrival last night to a combination of the skill that driving for years in Cleveland and in this mountain area during winters has given me - and to divine intervention.

Since I was so completely wired, I didn't make it to bed and to blissful sleep until much after my normal bedtime.  And then, clearly and distinctly, do-wog retching woke me abruptly from a sound sleep at 3A.  Bernie had been eating the rug again.  Out they went - hopefully, Bernie brought up her early breakfast by herself - there was too much snow and darkness to tell - and I went to work duct-taping every exposed edge on the rug.  I didn't bother to go back to bed. 

I sit here, with my fourth cup of coffee, contemplating giving up my job and do-wogs.

Amen.

Monday Musings.

It is humanly impossible to maintain a diet during February.  This was my mantra as I slid the world's greatest comfort food into my oven last night:  Buffalo Chicken Lasagna.  You read that right.  I tried to make light (pun intended) of the fact that I used partially skim milk mozz and ricotta.  And, after all, I HAD to make a dent in the case of brown rice lasagna noodles I got from the co-op, didn't I?  I hunted down (then changed my mind) low-fat white cheddar.  I mean, really.  I rationalized that it was chicken and not beef that went into the sauce.  I called upon my foggy recollection that spicy foods were not only good for you, but ramped up the metabolism (hot wing sauce - aLOT of it).  But I couldn't pull out of my hat-of-delusion any rationale for the 7 oz of blue cheese.  But, let me tell you, it was G.O.O.D.  Picture hot wings without finger-eating and bones, all cheesy and oozy and gooey.  God help me.  As it made enough for a small army, I was very, very good and cut it up in single-serving portions and froze it.  ASAP.  Is it Farch yet?

This morning, I made a three-hour round trip journey to meet and deliver some of my Barnevelder hens to their new and enthusiastic owner.  It was a little intimidating to wake up to very low single digits this morning (a whole 3 degrees) and there was a tiny bit of whining to be heard.  Especially when I realized I had forgotten to dig out a space behind my chicken yard gate to allow me to open it.  Soooo, I paraded a dazed hen out of the coop, across the poultry yard, through the house and out the front door into the waiting crate four times.  Canines and felines were very excited.  Barnevelders are some of the most mellow chickens ever and didn't seem to mind the trip.  It was a beautiful morning, temperature be damned, and the route from my house to Greenfield, MA is so picturesque - it winds up and around and over the mountains, with a hairpin turn and spectacular views, through park lands and past icy streams.  It was, all-in-all, a most pleasant journey.

And now I am doing my very best to ignore the fact that I tore up a portion of the living room carpet and need to start tiling.  I did order all my seeds, strawberries and replacement chicks this weekend.  I also spent most of Sunday talking.  Pity the poor person who lands within my reach that is interested in farming, homesteading and animals.  Two such souls were subjected to hours of my jabbering and they were very good sports about it.  All the arrangements have been made for Sage's 'lying in' at the end of March.  I will have to get a good back view shot of her.  She looks like a tiny steamboat.  Or a barnlet.  It also appears that Chickie is going through sympathy gains to make her feel less alone.  He is very sweet that way.

Butter.

Thanks to my lovely little Jersey cow, Jasmine (and her BFF, Rosebud), I get a lot of cream when I pick up milk from the dairy farm.  Lots.  I usually skim it off and freeze it until I have enough to make a batch of butter.  Since I was snowbound this past weekend, in between bouts of shoveling (1/4 mile of paths) and knitting (hand towel finished - up to one and three-quarters socks), I decided to thaw the cream and make butter.

Little did I know that I would spend most of the afternoon at it - I uncovered over a gallon of cream in the freezer!  Thank goodness for Churnie (and, if you look closely, you'll find Churnie's helper - Mixie - in the background...)

I found this gem on eBay a few years ago.  It's an old Sears churn in pristine condition - perfect to crank away while watching a DVD.  However, given the sheer amount of cream, I did also press Churnie's friend and helper, the Mixie into service as well.  I ended up with almost two pounds of butter!  (Of which there is no picture, as the ones I took resembled over-exposed yellow blobs, which are now in the freezer.)  If I keep this up, I will have to start searching for a churn with an electric motor.  I'm not getting any younger....

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Celebrating POST Valentine's Day, the official winner of the mystery Valentine's Day giveaway is....

LindaCO!

Randomly selected (evidence of which would be posted if I could figure out how to put it on here...) this morning - Linda, please send your mailing address (again)!  Such talent out there!

A Valentine Fake-u.

(Not to be confused with a haiku, which it ain't.)

Kisses, cuddles, koochy-koo

Will read about them

But not get them, boo-hoo.

Just to show there are no hard feelings for those of you who DO get all of the above, along with chocolates, flowers and dinner out, I have decided to throw an impromptu giveaway.  And I have no idea what I'm giving away, but it will be something nice.  Or interesting. 

To be entered, write your own fake-u on a Valentine's Day theme in the comment section.  Cut off for entry will be midnight tonight.  Winner will be chosen and announced tomorrow.

Have fun - and don't make me cry.... :)