Sniveling About Snow

I’m ready to pack my bags.



One of my ancestors settled in a town called Summertown, Tennessee, after the Civil War. That sounds nice doesn’t it, Summertown?  Conjures up images of porch swings and lemonade.

I Googled it.

Population 3,552. It has 4 gas station/convenience stores, 3 resturants, 1 bank, 1 variety store, 1 grocery store, 1 auto parts store, 1 used car lot, 1 golf course and absolutely no traffic lights.

My kind of place!  And then I read more…

it also has a cult intentional community called “The Farm,” which is based on principles of nonviolence and respect for the Earth, basically hippies.

Shearing sheep and spinning yarn wouldn't seem at all weird there! But wait, there’s even more…
Average temperature in the winter is ABOVE FREEZING.

I believe I have met my destiny.

He Has 1000 Aliases

Most of which are not appropriate for a family friendly blog. But most often I just call him Turd.

My brother is moving. Not just down the street, he’s moving all the way to Florida. While he juggles the job change, locates a place to live and packs his belongings I’m keeping Turd and his brother Loki. It is impossible to get anything done with Turd around. He’s not a normal cat. I think he’s brain damaged. It’s really the only explanation I can come up with.

The night of the hay delivery for instance. I was beat. All I wanted was to sit down and relax for a few minutes in my favorite chair. I set my glass of wine down on the second bookshelf nearby, making sure not to put it on the top just in case Turd showed up since he likes to knock things over. Then I sat down in my comfortable chair with my ‘dinner’, a plastic cup of fruit. As I settled in Loverboy Loki arrived to curl up in my lap, that being his only desire on earth, to be adored. As I lifted the plastic cup and spoon into the air to allow him room, Turd rounded the corner of the hallway and immediately noticed a little orange bug in the corner of the ceiling directly behind me. It happened so fast I can hardly describe it, but I’m sure there was terror in my eyes as I realized my mistake. He came flying through (almost literally) like a bat out of Hell across the room, up my legs, the fruit and juice landing squarely on my head and chest, the spoon disappearing to who knows where, while he leapt from the chair to the bookshelf in an attempt to reach the bug.  Unfortunately he had underestimated the distance from the chair to the top shelf so instead of landing on top, he grappled with his font legs while his back legs kicked over the wine glass among other things I had safely stowed away. It was red wine. Sticky red wine. And there were books. Lots of books. And bloodshed - all of the commotion caused Loki to freak out and insert his claws into the back of my hand, his signature move. I stood there stunned, fruit juice dripping from my hair, chunks of fruit stuck to my glasses, splatters of wine and blood across my shirt as my son shouted up the stairs, “Are you okay?” 

“No,” I replied. “Not exactly.”

A week later I am still cleaning up wine splatter but I finally found the spoon under my sewing table.

There will be no holiday decorations around here this year.

Ol’ Tom Turkey

He wore a can cozy as a hat, puffed up and strutted about like he owned the place.  It is every girl’s dream to have a turkey come to her slumber party. An event that will be talked about for years to come. Even decades thanks to the power of Facebook.

Not every kid at Oxford Elementary had a pet turkey that would follow you around like a dog. I had two. Tom’s wife, Maude, was not quite as flashy him but had a more demure personality all her own. I was the envy of the neighborhood after that night Dad brought the turkey in the house. I’m sure of it.

Tom lived a long life, his destiny unfulfilled. I am thankful to have known him. He helped raise me and shape my worldview. As I sit down to the table today, I’ll remember him fondly.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Stocking the Larder - Again

I bought this winter’s supply of hay back in July. Before the drought. Before I knew I was going to have to start feeding it three whole months earlier than I expected. It was starting to look like it would be famine around here come February. I was nervous. Very nervous.

I had another 100 bales of hay dropped off yesterday afternoon. My mind is feeling better. Can’t say as much for my lower back. The kid wasn’t here to help this time.

I’m not complaining though. I’m glad to have it. It’s getting scarce and very expensive. The auction prices are enough to make your eyes bulge. People are already talking about having it trucked in from other states.  Having it stacked in the center isle isn’t ideal, but nobody will go hungry and that’s all that matters.

Let the Thanksgiving feast begin!

Resident Evil

You  might not have picked up on this, but I kinda like animals. I know, I know, I tend to keep it to myself but it is true.

I generally like all animals. I don’t discriminate. Except this one.

I am convinced he is the root of all evil.

My brother’s cat has some serious issues. He bulldozes everything off every surface.

EVERYTHING. And he never stops moving. It’s worse than having a toddler around.

Does Ritalin work on a cat? I’m seriously thinking about calling my vet. Surely there is some sort of kitty chill pill?

Crafting in the Hollow

Deep inside the Enchanted Forest is a very special place. A place where magic happens.

Where the trolls who live under the bridge and other woodland creatures come out to play.

It is a place where a few lucky crafters from across the country meet to make special things. Sometimes, if  not watched closely, the trolls might curl up and take a nap in the quilt blocks.

Or the bunnies might try to run off with a drink.

If you are one of the lucky crafters to meet in the hollow, you really have to keep your eyes peeled. Or else you could run into a cold, hungry monkey from Texas.

Or a reindeer with a nose that lights up from Minnesota.

The food is fabulous. It is never a dull moment. The projects are  incredibly inspiring. My only complaint is that is is always over too soon.  *sigh*

I’m Having the Time of My Life

Dirty Dancing. The original.

Remember the bridge scene?