It’s hard to believe it is really January. The high today was 48-f, more April than mid-winter.
Most of this beautiful day was shredded by the roar of motorcycles up and down our road. A warm day and not having to go to work brought out droves of bikers, racing along the street. Come summer, we can look forward to this every. single. Sunday.
We are having our annual Christmas Open House tomorrow, and right now the temp is 48º. It is forecasted to be even warmer tomorrow.
One year The Squire and I went to Tennessee for Christmas, and it was unseasonably warm and rainy, just as it is here today. The Squire’s folks had a space heater in the living room, and we were all roasting. The Squire took off his jacket and I removed my blazer. His father called out, “Vera! Come turn up the heat. These young’uns aren’t wearing coats!”
Said and done.
The Squire removed his fisherman’s sweater and sat down in his T-shirt. I had on a blouse and a vest, so removing the vest was the best I could do. “Vera! Come turn up the heat. These young’uns are sitting around in their underwear!”
Said and done.
With nothing else to safely remove, I decamped to the back porch with The Squire’s youngest sister, and we did counted cross-stitch. About fifteen minutes later The Squire and his brother joined us, as did Vera and Dad. Richard got out his guitar and we all sang Christmas carols and hymns until it was time to go out for dinner.
I don’t think Dad ever understood why we all had to go outside when he believed we were cold.
…and the kids walked to school in shorts.
The ground here is still pretty much snow-covered, although it is melting very quickly (The high today was 55), and our pond is covered with “floating islands” of string algae. Where the grass is poking through, it’s amazingly green for early February.
It rained today, which helped melt the snow, but it was incredibly foggy. We couldn’t see the barn or the street from the house. I have been fighting a cold, so The Squire went up to the Y by himself. I was supposed to be on the altar on Sunday, but stayed home from that, too. Nobody wants me sniffling and coughing all over the place.
I seldom get a cold, and when I do I take it as a personal insult. Really, other than a decongestant, there’s not a thing you can do, except treat it with the contempt it deserves, soldier on, and try not to contaminate other people.
The Squire and I were eating breakfast in the den this morning, and the cat kept reaching up and tapping the edge of the counter, waiting for The Squire to put some milk on his plate and set it down for him to drink. For some reason this gentle pat, pat, pat reminded me of an event that happened when I was still married to the Late and Unlamented.
I have slept flat on my back for most of my life, with one leg or the other pulled up like a flamingo. We had a cat who slept part of the night curled up in the “nest” of my knee. One morning, too early to get up, the baby cried, and I dashed across the hall to settle her back down and tried to get back into bed before Mr. Boh heard me moving around. Didn’t make it.
Just as I pulled the blankets up to my chin and closed my eyes, the cat jumped onto the bed and walked up to stare at my face. He went back to the bottom of the bed, and I could feel him sit down to contemplate the situation. Again, he walked up the side of the bed, but this time he gently, gently patted the side of my face. Again, I ignored him. Once again, Boh went down and I could just feel him staring at me. “I know I heard her moving around.” A third time, he tip-toed up the side of the bed – but this time, my husband sat up and yelled, “Dammit, she’s not awake yet!”
The Squire and I held our annual Open House on Sunday, the 13th. We’ve done this every year but one since we got married, and that was after Hurricane Floyd dropped a tree on the house.
The Godson came over on Thursday and Saturday to help swing a dust cloth and then acted as our head chef on Sunday. I baked like a mad woman, gluten-free stuff first and then my more traditional things. The Godson has been helping us for the last four years, so he knows his way around our kitchen, and doesn’t have to be reminded to keep an eye on the trays and so forth. He’s considering a career in culinary arts, so he really enjoys doing this for us.
In between all this, we had a cookie exchange at church and a Christmas dinner with the Daughters of the British Empire, both on Saturday.
Last night I went up to bed at 9:45 and staggered downstairs at 9:30 this morning. I not only never got out of my robe, but I also took a nap in the afternoon. Tired? Not a bit.
The Open House was not quite as well attended as it has been in other years, but it was nice. We had a chance to move around and visit with guests, and the weather was warm enough (70!) that we didn’t light the fire. Eldest daughter came down, bearing oatmeal cookies and crackers; she uses my recipe, but hers are always so much better, and The Squire seemed to think one box of Wheat Thins was enough for the crowd. Sometimes I wonder about that man. Both of the local grandchildren and their spouses came down, and brought the Little One, who charmed all the guests with her smiles and curly hair. Blazer wandered from place to place, looking for a handout or a belly rub. We, of course, never feed him, or pay any attention to him.
Somehow, the conversation turned to unwanted phone calls. I don’t answer calls where the name or number is “not available”. If you’re not available, then neither am I. I also don’t speak to entire cities. If I do answer a call with a number I don’t know, I speak Cherokee. One of the guests is from Tanzania and she laughed. “I use Swahili, and just keep saying “no English, no English”. We have another lady at church who is from Denmark, and she does same thing. Never use French or German, and Heaven forbid you should try Spanish!
The weather here has been incredibly warm. It was 70 on Sunday, and 72 on Thanksgiving day. The cherry blossoms are starting to bloom in Washington D.C., and our forsythia has little buds along the branches. The Squire was joking about possibly mowing the lawn on more time. Well, the weatherman is saying we may have snow flurries on Friday.
They were claiming we’d have a hard winter. When it comes, it should be a doozy.
thisendoftheswamp 