The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

 

The Good: I have self control

The Bad: I wrote a rather long post over the past 20 minutes, accidentally hit the magic button (which changes with the moon phase) and deleted it, then while attempting to recover it, deleted that as well.

The Ugly: My language. I am cussing words I didn’t even know I knew.

The reality: It ain’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I’ll be fine. I might even fix myself a nice G&T with this stuff made in Alabama that is a remarkable gin that somehow manages to be gin without tasting of paint thinner.  It’s all about the perspective these days. I also need to figure out what to fix for supper. I have a chicken leg, some left over spaghetti sauce, and a bunch of eggs. And some banh pho noodles. oh! I know! We’ll have Cheerios! #problemsolved  #4 has soccer practice and claims to be going to the university library afterward to look at pretty girls  work on an English project, and likely won’t be home until 8-ish. Cheerios it is.

School for this semester is nearly over. I have a final exam in 2 days, and the remnants of a project to turn in tomorrow, and that will be that. I met with an adviser this morning and got signed up for Summer, then met with a financial person who said she just needs one last thing to get financial aid in order. Naturally it is the one last thing I can’t find, which is why she doesn’t have it.  If I have to, we will start with The New Financial Year in August. I DO have the necessary stuff for that.  My grades were good for these 2 classes. 3 of the classes for Summer will be interesting. The non-interesting one is a required thing on How To Be A Responsible College Student And Make Your Parents Proud. I begged her tolet me test out of it. “I’ve BEEN a responsible student! I grew up in University towns and my father was a professor! I know how to take tests and promise not to OD on caffeine and I can safely guarantee I won’t ever get wasted at a frat party and be taken advantage of! (Even if I did get wasted at a Frat party, I’m not the type they’d take advantage of anyway. More likely they’d ask me for a good hangover stomach flu remedy. I would be mistaken for the Housemother. Do they even have housemothers anymore?) At any rate, I am kind of loving school. Learning stuff, doing something with a concrete goal in mind, all that.

I have started going through stuff and deciding what to keep and what not to. The land for my house is supposed to getting cleared this week, then construction will begin. Thanks to Craigslist, I have found Old Things to use in the house- solid doors, etc. those need to be on hand before the building begins, so the guy can measure and make the door openings the right size. Thing about these old stuffs is that they might not be exactly of a size, so each door will have to be measured as the framing goes up. Kind of fiddly and complicates things, but I am trying to have a Old House built, and putting in Old Things like doors and fixtures makes it feel old. I found a bunch of like-sized old doors on Craigslist, and will go get them this weekend, thus legitimizing my truck for more than taking trash to the dump. Also makes me feel better about having a long-bed.

Cleaning out and buying doors and investigating woodstove styles is making it feel more real. Deciding what to keep and what to sell can be painful. 2 days ago, as I was doing some cleaning, I came across a basket full of ornaments I’d made for Himself over the years, and that did me in for the rest of the day. Looking at each one, dated and remembering making it, and how he laughed about them was bittersweet. Maybe one day they will go up on a Christmas tree, or maybe I’ll let the boys go through and pick out a couple for themselves. For now, though, looking at them and all, it was kind of gut wrenching. I know there will be many moments like this as I get the house ready to move. That’s why I’m starting 2 years ahead of time.  I am sure, as time moves on, it will get less bitter and more sweet. But for now, I can’t look in photo albums or handle the bits and pieces of the last 28-1/2 years without having to take time after to recover. It’s just how it is, and that’s the story of my life right now.

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Taking a breath for a day

I *could* go to church today, and *probably should*, but I’m not and here’s why: Currently the lessons are on the book of Ephesians, and he’s at the bit where Paul is exhorting husbands to be good to their wives and how that’s done. I don’t want to hear about husbands being good to wives today. My mood is good. Himself was a most excellent husband, and I don’t particularly want to hear exhortations about it, and see husbands and wives nodding their heads or making faces or whatever. In general I don’t want to think about married life. It isn’t something I may ever experience again. Maybe will, maybe won’t. I just don’t know and I’m too busy thinking about other stuff. Plus I’m feeling pretty cheerful these days and I like that as well. So, sorry church, not there. Only not really sorry. Maybe I’ll go this evening instead. Maybe. (different preacher and sermon).

I think it’s the Springtime. My mood always improves when things are blooming, even with pollen issues. My eyes itch and sneezing abounds, but whatever. There’s roses and wisteria and dogwoods making lovely things to look at. I would say the air is warm but for some reason today it isn’t. The heater is on because Mom and Dad were here and Mom was cold. Also windows are all closed and socks are on the feet and I’m wearing a sweater. In April. Apparently in other parts of the country that’s not unusual. Only, there’s a new girl-person in the family mix (#2, The Engineer Personality, finally got around to noticing The Opposite Sex …am I supposed to say gender? whatever…and has a female companion) who’s from Way Up North and doesn’t find this arctic blast unpleasant in the least.

Mom and Dad (as previously mentioned) came for the weekend. Dad has an antique tractor that he uses for pulling parade floats and hayrides, and #4’s school was having a fundraiser, and since he (Dad) kind of lives for an opportunety Pooprtunitey  chance to pull many children in the trailer, he was happy to bring it over and do the hayride for the school. He pondered how the trailer was empty, and he was pretty sure no one wanted a hayride, then a thousand children appeared out of the ether and populated the hay bales. I said kids these days are like that. “Huh.” he replied. “At least they seemed to be well-behaved.” He also commented that there was one teeny tiny little girl who refused to get off the trailer, and simply spent the entire time riding around. Since she seemed to be enjoying it and wasn’t bothering anyone, he saw no reason to say anything to her. There were also a trio of hooligan boys who, inexplicably, never got hurt nor hurt anyone else, so he didn’t say anything to them, either. After describing them to me, I said at least one of them and possibly 2 were the older brother (s) of the teeny girl who wouldn’t leave, so if they’d done anything egregious, she would have reported it, and if anything had happened to her, he would have seen to it.

The whole event was fun, and there was the constant rhythm of a chugging tractor and raucous music of screeching children as a soundtrack. Fun stuff. Also the aroma of smoking meat, tables of cakes and bread …I nearly got into a physical altercation over a lemon velvet cake with someone, but we decided neither of us actually NEEDED an entire cake, so we split it and everyone was happy. Especially the woman who baked it because nothing is more complimentary than seeing people fight over your cake. Many items were auctioned off, ranging from tickets to Dollywood and a tank-driving experience, to baskets of goodies and bottles of wine. I love seeing the mixed bag of stuff people donate to such auctions (this was a silent one) and how invested some people can get in that particular basket or set of tickets. I am also pretty glad it’s over, because crowds of people are exhausting. Fun, but exhausting. Today I am hoping to speak to no one (another excuse to skip church.)

Today, while no one is speaking to me or making requests or requiring anything at ALL from me, I am going to read the instructions for the pattern of a prom dress. I’l read over it carefully, visualize every step, make the dress in my head several times, then get to work on it sometime this week. By the time I actually put scissors to fabric, I’ve already done it several times in my head, made the mistakes there, corrected stuff, changed something that was inefficient. It takes longer but beats having to run back to the store for for fabric because I messed it up.  I will, with permission from the young lady for whom the dress is being made, post pictures.

Or I might park in the comfortable chair with a book, an afghan, and a cup of tea. And a slice (or two… heh) of lemon velvet cake.

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Happy Birthday #4!

Can you believe it? I can’t. In my head he is still this sweet little 4 year old boy in overalls, shoving a Tonka truck all over the yard. Now? He’s taking a girl to Prom. He drives a big truck-thing-beast. He can argue effectively for hours, then smile sweetly and do that melt-my-heart shrug that the family baby always seems to get away with.

He’s a good fellow. They all are, but as the 8-years-younger-that-the-next-one he gets the honor of forever being The Sweet Baby Everyone Forgives…or maybe overlooks…or maybe he saw all the nonsense the others did and because he’s The Sweet Baby, chooses not to put me through all that. Whatever, I predict a heckuva midlife crisis but by then he won’t be my problem anymore. Only I hear that mothers never quit worrying.

Anyway, here he is. 17. Men his age were marrying regularly, a long time ago. Some were lying about their ages and joining the military. Some were supporting family, taking on the weight of being The Man Of The House. I can see him doing that. Sort of. He’s pretty conciensous consciensious…careful. He would have to grow up quick to do it, but he has grown up pretty quick already. This last year has been a growing event, for sure. Occasionally I get angry at Himself, for leaving all our sons without a father to guide them, but particularly #4, because he is on the cusp on manhood and that is a job I can’t teach him. He is, however, navigating those waters pretty well no far.

He isn’t without the occasional stupid act, like the time he sliced open his hand while sharpening his knife in the parking lot of the school. Fortunately it is a small private school and they understood. If it had been a large public one he’d likely be at the local juvenile detention center, charge with heinous assault (even though it was himself he assaulted). As it was, the worst that came out of it was a dressing down by the headmaster for not being more careful, and from me for interrupting my morning to take him for stitches.

This whole prom thing is exciting. I wasn’t expecting to have any sort of interesting involvement in it, but the young lady he is taking meets with my wholehearted approval, particularly since I get to make her dress. He has chosen carefully what he is going to wear, and it isn’t the normal rented tuxedo. No. It isn’t. It has been ordered and should arrive a few days before the Prom, to make sure it fits properly. I will certainly post pictures of his handsome self, and of her if she approves. Or at least of her with her face disguised.   His choice of Prom wear is SO HIM. We discussed at length the right thing, probably spent more time going over it than his date did over her attire. But I am going to do what I can to make sure she is lovely and they look great together and we have some amazing pictures of the whole thing.

Anyway, #4 is 17. Tall, blonde, and handsome in his own goofy-grin-and-glasses sort of way. He has those looks that will develop in a couple of years into someone who has girls trailing after him, and he already has sense enough to know how to pick an interesting one. I do not fear for his future, I am excited about it.DSC_0060

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hoops

So, how many hoops have you had to jump through lately? Tax stuff? How about finding the things you thought you had but don’t, or didn’t know you needed but do? Apparently I needed to have some form or another about insurance via Obmamaca Affordable Health Care, and didn’t but thankfully could get it online somehow. Which I did though I don’t remember how.

That happens a lot these days, forgetting something then discovering someone anticipated that and had a way for me to get it. So nice, those people who figured I would forget. And when I call them up and say something along the lines of “WHAT!?” and follow it up with “HELP!” they tend to be sweet about it and act like it happens all the time, middle aged widows who don’t know their teeth from their toes where health care is concerned call them up all clueless, so they keep everything accessible. Which I suppose ought to be worrisome, what with China and Russia and all these hacker people stealing numbers for their own nefarious purposes. I am not, however, concerned even though I should be, according to a certain Presidential Candidate Who Shall Remain Unnamed.

Today’s hoop involves transcripts from a school I attended 30 years ago, in a curriculum that has absolutely NO bearing on what I am studying today, and yet, for Financial Aid purposes, even though I have never used the stuff, preferring to pay cash-as-I-go, the school I am currently attending needs the information. Apparently to make sure I am not lying about having paid tuition 30 years ago, for classes unrelated entirely to the current course of study. I called the old school, had to jump through some internet hoops which were, inexplicably and inconveniently, NOT alphabetized  (the sweet and helpful woman on the phone admitted that was inconvenient and not her idea at all), and managed to find the form, which has to be sent to an entirely different place than the aforementioned school, due to the amount of time that has passed since my tenure there. Likely the transcripts are in a box in the basement, ruined by the Great Floods Of 1837, because it has been that long (just about).

I met with my adviser, who turned out to be the wrong one, so she sent me to the right one, only he wasn’t the right one either, given that I am having difficulties with math, though once I can pass the math he will become my adviser, so he just went ahead and advised me anyway. I am looking at summer courses, about 15 hours worth, all on Tuesday and Thursday, which makes for longish days but what else is there to do but sit in an air conditioned room and learn all about Human Resources and Occupational something-or-other. Summer isn’t good for much around here beyond iced tea and sitting inside. I can pull weeds on Wednesdays, and I’ve never much liked Tuesdays anyway. I will be dipping my toe into the pool of online classes, though I am feeling a little trepidation, as self discipline isn’t the strongest character quality I have. But, as is said, Knowing Is Half The Battle. Maybe,m since I like reading anyway and American Lit has a lot of Flannery O’Connor and Eudora Welty (both favorites) maybe it won’t be so bad.  Of course, all that is tentative, due to the transcript issue mentioned above.

But, as I say all the time now, it is what it is, and ain’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me. As long as the transcript gets there sometime before May 16, school will be good to go for Summer. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll do a lot of weeding.

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It’s uphill for a while.

I was warned by more than 1 person that the second year would be tough, possible more so than the first one. That first year is so busy, figuring everything out and signing paper, meeting with official people about nearly everything. I don’t think people are aware of how interconnected their lives are until they aren’t. All of the past year was spent trying to figure out how to do it all on my own, so there was so much brainwork to do and boy it was busy.

Now, though, everything is in place. All that stuff of households, the bills and the meals and car repairs, doctors and vet visits and ALL THE THINGS…all set in place and clicking along. I can do those things on my own now. I know where to take the car when it grunts disapprovingly. I know which attorney to go to when something scary comes in the mail, and how to shoot that compact .45 in case someone unwelcome threatens the household. I’ve never had to do it in such circumstances, thank God, and hopefully never will. I know where the bag of crescent, socket, and monkey wrenches is (are? bag is singular, wrenches is plural…)kept. And now that all is in order, the mental stuff kicks in.

Oh sure, it’s happened off and on for the past year, in between business and trips to Green Truck and the beach, but now that a year has passed and everything is in order, it happens and I can’t find an excuse to set it aside. And yes, I can comfort myself by saying things like “He’s in Heaven and happier than I can imagine” and “I’m in school now and headed down a whole new path” and so on, but that isn’t making 4a.m. any less lonely when the only things I can reach out and touch are either a pillow or a small curly dog. (and yes, he sleeps on the bed. Goodness knows it’s big enough for him and me, and by doing that he doesn’t leave a puddle on the bathroom floor at 2a.m.)

So yep, pretty darn lonely.  And not in that “maybe if I get a boyfriend” sort of way, but lonely for this one particular person with whom I can share memories. I think maybe that’s one of the biggest issues. I was remembering a trip he and I took several years ago, that we drove from here to Amarillo, Texas, all on back roads, then got on Route 66 and drove up through Missouri. My word that trip was fun! And now, half the memories of it are gone. I don’t have anyone with whom I can say “remember that pie place in Vinita? And Big Brutus? and Pop’s in Arcadia? remember the biscuits in …oh what was the name of that little town….Quanah! Right!” He could always remember the stuff I couldn’t. Now who is going to fill in all my blanks?

I know, I have an opportunity to make a whole new set of memories. There’s a grandbaby now, and maybe more in the future. There’s a house being planned, school being gone to, plans for the boys’ futures. I’m living very differently now. More out-reaching than inward-staying. I can’t decide if that’s because that’s how I am, or because staying home is uncomfortable. Now that there’s no particular reason to stay home, no one else for whom I can do things (#4 is wildly independent now, what with a car and all), why not go to Savannah and buy bacon from Lucky’s? #4 isn’t going to be home until 7 anyway.

I guess it’s still a change thing. it takes more than a year to get used to the demise of a 30 year relationship. I’m still trying to figure out WHO I am, now that who I was is a was and not an is. I woke up at 4a.m. this morning (I was pretty sure the time change would fix that nonsense but apparently not. My clock is still Amish Dairy Farmer) and pondered on the past year, particularly the week Himself died, which cause me to start bawling, to the degree that the surly little dog became concerned and licked my ear. He’s a dachshund so you know it was bad, as they are not the most empathetic creatures.  Once the hiccups stopped and I wiped my nose on the bedspread (I can do that now, there’s no one to complain.), a cup of hot coffee and Charles Spurgeon reminding me that God knows what sorrow feels like set things to rights.

So I’m ok now. The reminder that this is the path I’ve been put on, and for a very good reason (even if I don’t know what that is), and the knowledge (even though I need to be reminded of this as well) that Himself is quite busy up there, probably swapping woodworking ideas with Jesus, and learning to play the guitar, set me back on course. There is always a bit of a hangover after a solid cry…a headache and stiffness and an inability to think clearly for a while. But that’s ok too. It’s all part of it. Maybe God gave me that fog so I would remember to rely on Him for the guidance through it. Not being able to do anything but sit down and talk to Him about what’s going on gives me permission to do just that. Otherwise the powerful Protestant Work Ethic would beat me over the head and cause guilt for not working on the top for the file cabinet.

 

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A/C and Grand Plans

So, according to the weather widget, it’s 84 outside. Also, according to some people, anything over 80 calls for the A/C, lots of iced tea, and complaining about how hot it is outside. I, for about 2 seconds, considered turning on the A/C in Himself’s honor, as anything over 80 called for the A/C, etc. But then I thought “WHAT!?” as I remembered it is mid-March, and my Presbyterian Sensibilities (that being Frugality and a desire for Things To Be Done The Proper Way) (Which isn’t part of the Westminster Confession {that I am aware of} but is definitely part of the Presbyterian Personality) refuse to allow the A/C to be on so early. I remember way back when I didn’t want it on before June, but relented last year, as mid-April saw temps in the low 90’s and we all know it’s easier to sleep in a cool room.

All this warm weather has resulted in a happily growing garden, though I fear it may be too warm for the peas. There are tomatoes and assorted summer stuff out now at the garden centers, but anyone who knows anything knows that one simply doesn’t put stuff like that out until after Easter.

Which brings me to another question (ok, the first question but whatever). In my experience (and I may be wrong), Easter has been the last Sunday of Passover, since Jesus went to Jerusalem for Passover and then He was crucified. However, according to my calendar (and those are never wrong), Easter is March 27 and Passover happens sometime in April. Now, I suppose I could do what the Younger Generation does, and google it (isn’t it sweet how google is a verb!) to see what’s up with that, but I’d rather be old school and ask a question and act confused. I’ll probably google it anyway.

Ok, I googled it:

1. How is the timing of Passover calculated? Why does Passover sometimes fall after Easter?

The two holidays are based on two different calendars. Easter is based on the solar calendar, the calendar commonly used today. In Western churches, Easter is dated as the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring. It therefore occurs somewhere between March 22 and April 25. Eastern Orthodox churches have a different approach based on the lunar calendar.

Passover, on the other hand, is based on the Jewish calendar, a lunar calendar that has twelve 28-day months. Every two or three years, there is a thirteenth month called Adar II included in the calendar. Over the course of a 19-year cycle, this “extra” month occurs in the 3rd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 14th, 17th, and 19th years. The year 2008 was one of those years with an extra month. Passover occurs from the 15th to the 21st of the month of Nisan – which is the month right after the “extra” month of Adar II. The inclusion of the “extra” month in the lunar calendar thus caused Passover to fall nearly 30 days after Easter in 2008.

Anyway, there are loads of lovely things blooming right now. The Japanese Magnolias and daffodils are finishing up. The redbuds and Chinese witchhazel are going great guns. My next door neighbor has both, and I get to enjoy them.  The pines and oaks are also blooming in full force, and all sort of cleaning and dusting is put on hold for a month, because it is completely pointless. Not that THAT has ever kept me from not dusting, but for at least one month of the year I can legitimately say “there’s no point” and people would agree. It is entirely possible that, in a couple of weeks, I will have a fit of domesticity and actually clean things. There is always a sort of brief attitude change that happens afterward, a conviction that Yes, I Will Clean Regularly Now, because everything looks so nice! That usually lasts until the next project is started and my attention has wandered into different territory. Currently my attention has been focused alternately on the garden and on sewing projects. Peas, chard, and spinach are up. While technically tomatoes, squash, etc can be planted after March 27 (Easter), they likely won’t get in until May, when the peas and chard play out. Oh and potatoes. I planted a bunch and they’re coming up. See, isn’t that more interesting than baseboards and closets? I think so. I have a theory (not tested but sounds plausible enough) that if you go long enough without dusting, you can spritz it all with water, and peel it up like felt. That was developed by the same part of my brain that says if you have a cold, and drink enough gin, the alcohol content in your blood will kill the virus and once you get over the hangover, you’ll be well. See, plausible, right!? It is probably best that the people to whom I have expressed this theory are smart enough to nod politely and offer me a Sucrets.

School is going well enough. Midterms this week, which sounds more imposing than it is. One is an exam, the other is an essay. Neither has been graded yet, so I have no idea how I’m doing except that previous grades have been pretty good. in a little less than 2 weeks it will be time to sign up for Summer semester, and I am not too sure what I want to do there. It has been a VERY VERY long time (let’s see, I graduated from high school in 1983, so..33 years) since I’ve had a bona fide Summer vacation, and with #4 approaching his senior year of high school, thus the end of Summer Vacation for a long, long time for him, the idea of having a Summer Vacation with the 2 of us, maybe going some place or doing some thing, especially since I will be going to work in a couple of years…it seems like a thing to do, take a vacation and do some things with the last kid.  But on the other hand, he may get a job and be working all the time (which is sort of what he wants to do) thus here I would be, might as well go to school. I’ll have to meet with the adviser and see what happens. The idea of being able to plan a thing and go there, without as much risk of interference (do you remember how I’d complain because Himself’s job would inevitably have a MAJOR CRISIS that required cancellation of plans? So very many times that happened) is kind of interesting. As much as I’d rather have Himself here and have plans cancelled, that isn’t reality anymore, and the risk of cancellations is significantly reduced.

One of the major things The Process of Widowhood, and Himself’s very sudden demise, taught me is that there are no such things as set-in-stone plans. There are only plans that could most likely happen if nothing gets in the way. I could plan a trip, and #4 breaks a leg and can’t help drive, or one of the other boys has a major crisis and requires help. I have learned to be flexible through all of this, and when something throws a wrench in the monkey-works, I can shrug it off and change direction.  It beats getting all worked up over it and is certainly better for everyone involved that I not be the one people fear upsetting. Nope, if something comes up and I can’t do (whatever), then it probably wasn’t meant to happen in the first place. Like being married 50 years and sitting on the front porch watching  the great-grandchildren wrestle in the front yard was obviously not in the plans. It was pretty upsetting at first, when that realization hit me, but now I can say “it wasn’t in the plan, let’s go figure out what is.” I’ve quit feeling like God has taken something away from me, and He’s awfully mean for doing so. Now I can say that He did something amazing and wonderful for Himself, and has a Grand Plan for me as well. Even though I have no idea what that might be. For now, I am going through the door that has opened up, and that involves school.

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Bits and Pieces

Ok, since Spring Break starts today (for me, anyway, #4’s doesn’t start for another week, awe.) my attention span is short and choppy. Plus things have happened that keep me from pondering too hard. Nothing is wrong with pondering, mind you, but the oak trees and pine trees are (as Himself put it) very busy fornicating and leaving evidence all over the place, including in my sinuses. This results in a headache and sneezing. That’s ok, it’s worth all the pollen to be able to put the top down on the…

Oh.. my goodness. A pair of eagles just flew past the window. WHERE’S THE CAT?! ok there she is, asleep in the chair. *whew* And yes, they were eagles, not buzzards. This time of year there is this pair of golden eagles that nests in a nearby copse of pine trees. The cats need to stay inside for a while. Majestic creatures, they are, but definitely cat-eaters.

I fell yesterday morning, in the parking lot of the community college on my way from the car to a class. Splattered all over the parking lot, wrenching a vast assortment of joints and causing an explosion of salty language. Fortunately there was no one around, so the only stuff injured involved phyz, no emotional damage done. So the past 2 days were spent on the couch, with ice packs, textbooks (midterms), and the remote. And a glass of iced tea, as it is now warm enough for such treats.

Oh my how I love a nice fresh glass of iced tea. I do not drink it Southern Style Sweet, as that causes headaches and tooth decay. Here’s how I make it: 2 Family Size Teabags (or 3 regular ones), 1/4 cup sugar and 3 or 4 springs of fresh mint in a small pot of water (roughly 4 cups). Bring it to a boil. Put about 4 cups of ice in a 2 quart pitcher. Then the tea comes to a boil, pour it over the ice and stir until the ice is melted. Then fill the pitcher up with water. Yum, y’all. Mom always put mint in the tea when we were growing up. So now, that’s how it’s done. It tastes funny if there’s no mint in it. Also, there must always be a patch of the stuff growing, because dried ain’t right.

#4’s school has a fundraiser thing upcoming. I am in charge of Long Distance Donation Solicitations for the Silent Auction. That involves sending letters off to past donater donatoeurs   providers of donations asking for another donation. I can totally do it that way because I don’t actually have to get face-to-face with anyone. The thought of actually asking a real person to their face for something kind of makes me queasy. But writing letters and mailing them off is a snap. I only hope they reply because…there is always that fear. There is a spell of time between when the stuff is mailed and before replies come in that you start thinking no one is going to reply and the silent auction will be an abject failure. And it will be ALL MY FAULT. Because of course it will be.

The garden is planted for early Spring stuff like english peas, spinach, and chard. Also early potatoes. The spinach is up, and the potatoes are starting to peak through. They will need to be protected if it gets cold, but that’s why Himself built this fabulous cold frame a couple of years ago. Just plop it on the bed and there it is. Some creature got all the garlic I planted last Fall. I blame the dogs for not during their duty, tho to be fair, it was likely something nocturnal like a raccoon. But I still blame them because someone needs to take responsibility for such things and since I am the Manager, I can do that. Next time I plant garlic, there will be a hog wire cover over it.

With the advent of #4’s independence via vehicle operation, it has been interesting how our schedules have become non-schedules. He has soccer practice 4 afternoons a week, and likes to go to the university library afterward, to watch pretty college girls do homework and project stuff, and often isn’t home until 7 or so.  Since I go to school in the mornings now (ok, not as grand as it could be, but I like to pretend it is), sometimes leaving before he does, we get an hour or so in the evening before one of us poops out and goes to bed. Usually me but I’m like that. Consequently I am rethinking the evening-class thing. initially I wasn’t going to take any, but since he isn’t really here anyway, why not? The school is about 5 minutes from our house, so taking a couple in the morning, then a couple in the evening wouldn’t be horrible.

I have been doing a lot of machine embroidery lately, making aprons and kitchen towels. The beauty of those things is that they’re quick. A bit of design work, and aprons take about 45 minutes to sew together, and there you are.

 

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