Makin' a List

Plants brought in from porches: Check

Firewood for fireplace: Check

Pilot light lit on gas logs in fireplace in sun room: Check

Flannel sheets, Granny's crocheted spread and quilt on bed: Check

Socks, leggings, wool pants, undershirts, sweatpants, sweatshirts, sweaters, long skirts ready to wear: Check

Pantry full of canned goods: Check

Antique generator still cranking: Check

Good books, soft pillows and lamp light: Check

Willing Hubby to cuddle: Check

Brang it on!

Let It Snow!

For two nights running I have dreamed that there was snow on the ground.

I figure the third time is the charm, and if I can swing a dream like that tonight, we might have snow in October.

It won't be the first time. I can remember snow in October many times throughout my life.

And don't start whining about it, you know even if we got a snow in October it would not be deep nor would it last.

One of the dire predictions around these here parts is we are gonna have a terrible winter because there are squirrels/bears/deer/turkey and everything else you can think of running amok amongst us in more numbers than anyone has ever seen.

What, are they doing last minute shopping at Wal-mart before they get snowed in?

I don't know why lots of them being seen would have anything to do with upcoming weather - but hey - I'll pass it along.

I'm more fer it than agin it.

I admit to having a skewed memory of excessively cold snowy winters. To me it was all about missing school, playing outside until I couldn't feel my feet, coming in, thawing out and going back out for more. And eating snow cream in between.

I wasn't the one laying in the snow putting chains on the tires, or laying in the middle of the living room floor covered in soot trying to unstop the chimney so the heater would work.

That would have been my cussin', tool slangin' daddy.

I don't know what Mother was doing, maybe in the kitchen making snow cream.

Of course I prefer my cold snowy winter with electricity in my house. It isn't as much fun when the power is out and we are camping out in the living room with a smelly generator roaring outside so we don't lose everything in the refrigerator/freezer and can flush the commodes.

For now, I don't want to look at the nasty realities of a hard winter. I want to dream and romanticize it.

Crackling fire, cozy quilt, good book and snow falling gently outside my window.

Let it snow!

And The Day Continues...

I believe I left off my trials and tribulations about yesterday with my husband swearing to never let our dog out of the  house without a leash again.

Let's see...we couldn't get the generator started. Husband called our dear friend, Eddie who is a master fixer-upper as well as a bi-vocational preacher.

He has painted, plumbed, built, put in windows, and done electrical work for us. He's a good man, and I think he gets a kick out of almost everything that goes on at our house.

Gee, I wonder why.

He takes my husband's word that the generator has plenty of oil and gas, and that it just stopped working after two hours of perfect performance.

They lift the generator, huff and puff up the mountain, load it on his truck and Eddie takes it to the mechanic.

In less than an hour he is back with the generator. There wasn't enough oil in it.

Now, in my husband's (the therapist/artist, hint, hint) defense, you could still see oil. Apparently the manufacturer got fed up with folks burning the motor up by using all the oil and continuing to let the thing run, then wanting a refund or a brand new generator. So they rigged it that if it got one iota too little oil, it simply shuts down.

Eddie came in the house, talking about this, and one thing led to another, and I sort of mentioned the Saint Bernard incident from earlier in the day. Trying not to laugh, he told my husband he hoped he'd learned his lesson.

Husband was assuring him he certainly had!

I noticed Eddie kept glancing down at husband's feet. Finally he asked him to raise his pants legs a little.

Well! And this coming from a preacher, no less!

Apparently he had seen a glimpse of husband's socks.

They were Mickey Mouse Christmas socks.

Eddie asked, "Are those your daughter's?"  HA!

No, no, they are husband's.

Husband and I began to titter, then giggle, then outright guffaw.

Eddie never cracked a smile.

I suggested husband and I lay out of our church Sunday and hear Eddie preach.

Eddie nodded his head in the affirmative.  "Sister, I now have my entire message planned out."

Amen, and amen.