Saturday, November 29, 2014

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Somehow...

this wasn't exactly how we had planned to spend Thanksgiving.  We got  a foot of snow yesterday, heavy, wet stuff that packed down as it fell,  with the shoveling consistency of wet cement.   Add to that,  the driveway was recovering from a half inch of warm rain,  meaning Mud;  So we have, basically, hot brownie with vanilla ice cream.  
Does not Plow Well.  Does not blow well.

We lost the power just after dark and spent the rest of the evening enjoying the ambience of oil lamps and the dulcet tones of an industrial strength generator in the shed,  so we could still use the computer, run water, and keep the freezer and fridge running properly.

Today I spent quality time on the kitchen roof getting reacquainted with the view up there.  While his relatives were happily sitting down to dinner 80 miles north of here I was shoveling the  roof off.  While they were swurping up deviled eggs and lemon meringue pie I was bringing in wood for the stoves  and shoveling off the porch.

The Bobcat got a serious workout today, working its way across hot brownie trying to remove the vanilla ice cream without digging  a six foot hole in the brownie.  Not a pretty sight.

All in all, a more productive day (if one must examine such things that way) than if we had gone a-visiting and stuffed ourselves full of turkey and ham and potatoes and lemon meringue pie (one must be polite, after all) if only to keep peace in the family.

I can hardly wait to see what the weather gods bring us for Christmas.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Land Trust Progress

At this stage we have finalized the paperwork; the two towns involved have futzed and convened and discussed, and agreed that this will happen.  two weeks ago we went to The Signing, amid small speeches and entirely too many photos  (and no you so do not need to see those) and papers signed in what seemed to be an endless number. Not unlike closing on a house, but with a  LOT more people involved.

So. It's done.  We learn to live with the rules we insisted on, and its just a damn nice thing to have done with.  And ironically, the people who border us seem to be intent on clear cutting with great resolve. It angers me, but its also nice to know we wont be part of THAT process.  Look on the bright side, as one neighbor said, maybe in a few years the undergrowth will come back and we'll have rabbits again.  And our view of the
ridge across the way will be clearer.

this was back in September, for anyone who wants to see where we were then.
http://mittens-stonesoup.blogspot.com/2014/09/how-i-spent-my-summer-vacation-land.html

Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore



The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore

cold, cold, cold, damn its cold (6WS)




Three stoves running and its not even December yet.
sorta wonder just how long before  'too much wood" will 
turn into"almost enough" wood which may or may not be
the same as "not quite enough" but still conjures up
images of chopping up furniture ("well how many chairs 
can we sit in at once anyway"--or, "I never liked that
table, could never find a place for it...") or hauling wood
out of the forest  on a sledge in February, bundled to 
the eyes to keep out the gale force winds.


Pitiful, ain't it. 

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Google scary




Yesterday I had to clear the cache and cookies (for various reasons) and in the process must have upset Google.  This morning when I went in they told me quite firmly that I was not me, and I had better do something about it.
(This is when your blood pressure begins to inch above the danger mark)

I looked up the password and was told, nahh, you changed that four months ago.
No I didnt.
So I tried another.
Nope.
It has become almost impossible to find help at Google now, because, haha, if you're not signed in
you can't, and if your password isnt working anymore, you can't get help to find out what your password might be.
I finally found a teeny button that said "help" and I started rowing toward that.  Finally got my old password changed (no no they say, you already used all those,  find another.)  and then I had to give them an altenate address. None of which are acceptible because, golly, they are already being used by google. "YES THEY ARE,  one of them is being used by my old blogger account and it worked just fine yesterday..."


so several tantrums later I have a new account addy, no verification second addy (since they are all locked up as google account addresses in the seekrit vault), no thank you, I cannot give you the number of the cell phone I don't own, and I pushed the magic button and here I am.

If for some reason I don't appear after a reasonable length of time it's because I can no longer access Google, yahoo, or the blog  and this blog will join the ranks of the thousands of blogs out there that were just fine until that last post and then WentAway.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Weather Report in Just Five Lines (6WS)



Perspective

You watch the east and say,
what a fine day
 its turning out to be
I watch the west
and prepare for rain

Saturday, November 1, 2014

For some reason this just fits--(6WS)





The Second Coming
                William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some  revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight; a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?