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Musings

Well, the white death is descending on the middle and southern parts of the country, and for once, I don’t think the weather prognosticators are exaggerating. This one looks like Minot in December 1983 all over again. If you know, you know.

A good chunk of the country is going to, at best, be snowed in for a few days. Some of the scrying foretells a good chunk of the mid-South being encapsulated in an inch of ice for the foreseeable future. For those who haven’t been through something like that before, imagine being immediately transported back to 1913 technology wise, except you likely have neither horse or sleigh and your house is probably neither heated nor insulated in a manner that would make that comfortable.

If the worst happens and you find yourself huddled around a teaberry scented candle for light and heat, all I can suggest is a high calorie diet full of complex carbohydrates and fat, several layers of warm clothing, and extensive cuddling to keep warm.

By now, I hope everyone has their french toast fixings, toilet paper, entertainment, and adult beverages all prepared. The Kroger in our neck of the woods looked busier than the day before Thanksgiving when I drove by, but luckily I got into Walmart between hordes. I happened to get the last loaf of bread they had, and I’m proud of myself for asking the young man who was also going for it if he had kids or a wife at home before challenging him to rock-paper-scissors for the bread. Scissors beats paper, and he had to go home with a dented bag of hawaiian bread rolls.

We’ve brought the outside cat inside, stocked up on a few perishables, filled up all the vehicles, and purchased a couple DVD box sets that were on sale. We’re currently slated to be about 100 miles too far north to get ice, thank the Lord, but that “8 to 14 inches of snow” thing is causing the Kentucky born members of my family to twitch just a tad.

Irish Woman made a swing through the liquor store, and came home with a bottle of pecan liqueur, some Wild Turkey Rare Breed, and a 1.75 liter bottle of Knob Creek 9 year. Didn’t know they put whiskey into bottles almost as big as a 1987 Sun Country cooler, but apparently they do. I picked up a twelve pack of Alani, her favorite flavor of liquid awareness. That was more of a self-defense move on my part. I buy my Community Coffee by the case and always have a month or two stocked up, but she purchases those little cans on a just-in-time basis. There is no way I am getting snowed in with her while she goes through the DT’s after she can’t get a can of caffeinated coolaid for a few days.

The snow should start sometime tomorrow afternoon, and I’m falling back on the old northern way of clearing a foot of snow – shovel every couple of hours. Irish Woman bought herself a little electric broom looking thing that runs on my drill batteries, but I think old fashioned scrape-lift-toss-repeat methods will be more effective if we get the amount they’re predicting. Time will tell, but if you see me walking around next week bent over like a little old man, you’ll know I ‘won’ that argument.

The dogs have mixed feelings about the snow. Maggie, the new dog, loves snow. In December, she discovered that if she can get up to 88 miles an hour on snow, she can slide for about 20 feet. Her coat is so thick it’s been hard to convince her that it’s cold the past few days. It must be entertaining for the neighbors to see me out there in my pajamas and slippers trying to convince her to come inside when it’s 20 degrees out.

Sophie, the dachshund mix, on the other hand thinks that solid water is an abomination unto her ancestors, and frankly refuses to go out the back door if her paws don’t touch lumber. I look forward to carrying her out and finding a spot where the snow isn’t taller than she is so that she can be carried back inside while shivering.

Moonshine and Ellie seem to be neutral on the subject, but I’m pretty sure that Ellie will appreciate the contrast between the white snow and Maggie’s black fur. It’s harder to T-bone your sister at a full gallop when you can’t hide in gloom.

Little Bear, who is now officially two inches taller than me, is fretting about getting back and forth to work this weekend, but seems to be OK with Monday and possibly Tuesday being snow days.

Irish Woman and I had a courageous conversation about her making any plans to keep me busy this weekend. She was making a list of ‘activities’ that all seemed to revolve around manual labor or home improvement. Not sure what she’s going to do to keep herself occupied, but I plan on napping and reading when I’m not shoveling.

I hope everyone comes through this safely and comfortably. I only have one more piece of advice for the gentlemen out there.

Guys, I want you to go and have a glance at your significant other for a moment. Think about how pretty and happy she is at this exact moment.

I want each and every one of you to keep that image in your head over the next few days, and don’t do anything to mess that up. I mean that for the immediate future of being snowed in, and for her comfort and sanity in the summer months. Nobody wants to watch some poor woman waddle around in the July and August heat, uncomfortable and possibly homicidal because you got bored during the blizzard. Be kind and loving, but not loving, if you know what I mean.

I’ll see y’all after the rivers thaw.

Peaceful Aftermath

The Minivandian leaned back on his bench, a peaceful look in his eye as he gazed out at the lightening eastern horizon. A chill wind whipped around him, causing his beard and a curl of steam to flutter.

Behind him, he heard the portal to the great room open. Soft steps and an extended yawn announced the presence of his lady wife, Ruarin of Glendalaugh.

“And what are you doing out so early?” she grumped. Her hair, more silver than auburn now, was tousled and messy, and her eyes blinked at the sight of her husband reclining in the morning gloom.

“Enjoying some roasted chicory root and the fresh air,” he replied in a low grumble. “I’m reminiscing about mornings on campaign, enjoying a morning cuppa, before a hard day’s fighting.”

Ruarin snorted. “But, my lord, you’ve never done a hard day’s fighting.” They shared a comfortable chuckle.

Behind them, the door burst open. The youngest hound, now almost grown, shot through its opening and ran circles around Ruarin before rocketing out into the courtyard. Behind her, his dark blond hair almost as long as his mother’s, Elsked shuffled out. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth and gave his parents a baleful glare.

“And what are you two doing out here so early?” he demanded. One bloodshot eye surveyed the tranquil scene. “Some of us treasure our rest!”

Dodzhevir rose and gave his son a courtly bow. He was careful to not spill from the earthenware mug in his hand as he did.

“Ah, my apologies, my lord,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I give you greetings of the morning!” Ruarin stifled a giggle as she gave her son, the last scion of her father’s house, a curtsy.

“I’m trying to sleep after a hard night’s work, and I find you out here, talking loudly, and… and drinking coffee!”

“We are sitting upon our porch, marveling at the glorious sunrise the Lord has yet again granted us,” the Minivandian replied. His smile was gentle, but the glint of sharp white teeth sought to remind his son who was yet the master of the house. “I’m also contemplating with whom I should share the breakfast I already prepared.” He suppressed an urge to wink at the Lady of Eyre over that.

“The cinnamon rolls your father made before coming out here smell particularly good,” Ruarin added. Her lips quirked as she fought a giggle that threatened to erupt.

“Cinnamon rolls?” the Young Prince asked. His ice blue eyes flitted toward the house. After a moment, he acknowledged his parents with a nod and walked back into the house.

The Northman snorted, then took another sip from his mug. He sat back down on the bench. He moved to beckon his wife to join him, but she was already taking her place. She pulled his thick arm around him for warmth and snuggled in.

“Children,” Dodzhevir grunted. He brought his mug back to his lips while he leaned back into the bench to enjoy the morning. Beside him, Ruarin nodded as she yawned yet again.

Musings

I just have to keep reminding myself that the puppy is cute, fuzzy, and will eventually grow out of it.

In other news, I’m going to be buying a new pair of hightop sneakers come next payday, along with new shoelaces for several other pairs of shoes.

Also, the custom embroidered dog collars I get with the pet’s name and my phone number take two to three weeks to arrive now.

A temporary collar from the pet store and an engraved tag cost as much as the embroidered collar did, but Ellie needs something until the new collar arrives in the mail.

Did I mention that the puppy literally chewed the collar right off of Ellie’s neck? Hey, at least she didn’t chew up and swallow the little carrier attached to the collar. That contains the little tracker thingie, along with the rather large battery it requires. That would have gotten expensive a lot faster, what with the emergency vet visit and the surgery and all that.

When you buy a new collar to replace the collar that the puppy chewed right off her sister’s neck, you will be tempted to buy a container of super-de-duper strong bitters to spray on the new collar and several other things the puppy thinks make good teething rings.

When you buy said anti-chewing spray and are applying it to a few things, you may be tempted to taste it. You know, just to see how bad it is and whether or not you should expect it to work.

Trust me, it works. Do not taste the spray designed to make a dog shrink back in discomfort when she tries to chew on something. Coffee, water, ice cream, and toothpaste still haven’t gotten the taste of what I imagine skunk spray tastes like out of my mouth. I may wash my mouth out with grain alcohol before this is all over.

Yeah, good times, good times. She’s sixish months old, so we’re about halfway out of the worst puppy months.


There are few phrases more happy-making than “Yeah, this is a gnarly job, and it’s gonna take a couple of days, but you’re still covered by the drive-train warrantee.”


Irish Woman’s obsession with not leaving any wall with original paint continues. Tonight, it’s the baseboards and other trim, along with the walls in the hallway that are being slathered in tinctured goose grease. She did a few test areas last night and asked my opinion. Imagine her disappointment when I looked, considered, and announced that they all looked like slightly different shades of green, and whichever she preferred would be acceptable.

She insists that at least one of them is ‘cream’ and not green, but I know green when I see it. I’m currently locked in my office with the dogs while a roller is aggressively run up and down the walls outside. It’s kind of like those horror movies where the good guys can hear the monster right outside the door, and they dare not open it.


Holiday season drawing to a close means sweet potatoes going on sale.

Sweet potatoes going on sale means I can buy a whole bunch of them.

Having a while bunch of them means five quarts of frozen sweet potato puree in the freezer.

Five quarts of frozen sweet potato puree in the freezer means sweet potato pie or casserole or bread or whatever over the next few months.


Everyone who scoffs at asperger people obsessing about trains and the details of Marvel characters versus DC characters has never sat in the back of a track listening to two MI geeks argue about the road wheels on a T-62 versus a T-72, or which aspects of the Polish AK are better than those on a Soviet AK.