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!

That was Fast!

So, how did  you enjoy spring? And summer, for that matter. Whoo-ee, it was hot!

I know you can't trust March, and the first week or two of April aren't much better.

But it was so warm, I couldn't help myself.

Off went the heavy crocheted comforter. Off went the dark ruby and forest green colored quilt. Off went the flannel sheets.

On came cotton sheets and the pastel pinks and mint green comforter.

Off went my sweat pants and sweat shirt.

Hello, lightweight cotton pants and T-shirt.

Until this morning...hello, sweat pants and sweat shirt.

We sleep upstairs and it got so hot one night I came this close to turning on the air conditioning.

Instead, on came the fans, up came the windows!

This morning we turned on the heat.

Mid-forties again tonight.

Who knows about tomorrow night.

Not me, that's for sure.

When it is Hard to Let Go

Husband says he thinks I'm from a different planet. Not the  male/female thing, just that I'm, well, weird.

One of the things I am weird about is the dread I feel when I think about seasons changing.

Right now I am overly fond of the well worn quilt that graces my bed. It is dark in its colors, deep ruby and navy. It serves us well all winter, looking warm and cozy and ready to keep you snug throughout the cold night. Oh! And how it feels when I slip beneath it to be wrapped in the flannel sheets underneath the quilt. Between the two is a comforter that my grandmother crocheted out of heavy wool.

I love having a fire in the fireplace, or at least the idea that I can have one anytime I want to.

I love the throws I have throughout the house, ready for use.

I want just one more snow.

Then a day like today comes along. Stepping outside I was overcome with joy. Birds calling to one another, blooms bursting forth as though they couldn't stand it one more minute. I can actually feel the heat of the sun.

And my mind turns to getting out the summer comforter, its pale and flowered presence awaiting. I think of opening windows to let a warm breeze in before it gets too hot. I think of turning on ceiling fans, and visiting greenhouses for plants - flowers and food alike.

I love watching my porches turn from dull and barren to full of color - pots of flowers and plants, cushions in the wicker, and birds nesting behind things on the shelf.

Spring will turn into summer and the windows will close, the air conditioning turned on, and when dog days show up, I ain't so misty about them. I just praise the good Lord for the cool air he allows in my home and cars.

Do I hear an amen?

It's the only time of year I truly dislike the weather in Georgia.

But that's just for a few months. You  open your door one morning to see a sudden pink in the dogwood leaves, that first hint of fall. I feel anticipation returning, anxious for the splendid job God does every autumn.

I may dread the change, but once it occurs I embrace it: whether it's to shed winter, say good-bye to spring, or say hello to fall.

Maybe I'm  not so weird after all.

Makin' Up The Bed...With Help

First of all, let me say there is nothing worse than making up a bed while there is still body heat trapped under the covers. I mean, it seems to me the quilt is calling me to come back to bed.

But that's not what I'm blogging about today.

When Daughter was very small, she always wanted to help me do whatever it was I was doing, like making up the bed.

Now, if you've ever had a toddler "help" you, you understand that everything takes at least twice as long to do.

Of course, Daughter is grown (sorta) and I have to ask for her help. Twice, or thrice.

Her toddler kind of help has been replaced by cat help.

Usually, Lily suddenly appears when I start making up the bed. She sees this as an invitation to be petted. She's afraid if you reach down while she's on the floor, but if she is up level with you on the bed, she can't wait.

Then Frost jumps up, after hissing and growling at Lily, who looks at him as if to say, "You are one stupid cat, man. I am fully loaded and you are full of hot air."

Which is true.

Anyway, he sees this as an opportunity to stalk the snake that has suddenly appeared under the covers (his tail). He watches it closely, then slowly rises up on his back legs and pounces! Never catches the thing, because when he pounces, his tail whips out behind him and is gone. Alas.

He never tires of this and wants to do it over and over.

Then Eli joins the fray. His job is to watch the lint brush I use every morning on the foot of the bed where the small "cat" throw is, where one, two or three (even four if I'm very unfortunate) cats bed down for the night.

I have to watch Eli as closely as he is watching the lint brush, because the back and forth motion is irresistible to him, and if I ain't pretty quick, I'm liable to get slashed.

This equals about forty-five pounds of feline on top of the covers.

Try smoothing them out with that on top.

So, it's no wonder my bed looks like a wreck most the time. This is a better excuse than the real one, which is I have to lie down two or three times a day to rest my back and legs, so there's no reason to make it up "fancy". That only happens when company is coming and likely to go upstairs for something.

I know this has been an exciting blog for you.

I feel the excitement and the expectation of your venture out today to the nearest pet store to purchase at least three, if not four, cats.

At least, when I am a thirty years older and am officially the crazy cat lady, I won't be alone.

Hurry! The pet store closes at six on Saturdays.

I Love Getting Up in the Middle of the Night

I love getting up in the middle of the night.

Awakening gradually, your body tells you it can’t wait till morning. I roll over and sit up. As I toss the covers, gooseflesh rises on my limbs. The air is cold, crisp and quick on my skin. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet fumble for the thick slippers lying on the rug so they may escape the hard floor that will feel like an ice rink. I gaze about the room, still fuzzy headed from sleep. The cat, sleeping at my back, looks up at me and blinks in confusion. Then she puts her head back down, and covers her eyes and nose with a paw. The dog, sleeping on her blanket next to my side of the bed, doesn’t even twitch.

The nightlights in the bedroom and bath cast a golden glow, a gentle light that settles around the baseboards. I shuffle to the bathroom as quietly as I can, so my sleeping husband can continue undisturbed. The full moon is glaring at me through the skylight, and I squint at it, trying to make the blurred edges sharper, but without my glasses, I fail.

Climbing back into bed, I scoot way down under the quilts. The flannel sheets are soft and still very warm. I feel my skin begin to heat up immediately. The cat puts it in reverse and nestles underneath my shoulder blade with her back. She seems to always know exactly where the pain is there, and soothes it with her higher body temperature. That’s a God thing, for sure.

As I drift back off to sleep, snuggled safe and content, I think once again: I love getting up in the middle of the night.

As long as I can go right back to my nest, while it’s still warm and inviting.