Dear Universe:
This has been my morning so far:
5:00 a.m.
Wake.
Feed cat.
Feed birds.
Feed fish.
Feed barn cats.
Feed dogs.
Feed baby hens.
Put on a batch of soap.
Make breakfast.
Stir soap.
Feed Mister breakfast.
Stir soap.
Clear the table.
Stir soap.
Set out the chicken for supper.
Clean the cat box.
Remake the bed (the sheets don't get smoothed by the other occupant).
Stir soap.
Pack lunch.
Wash and dry hair.
Dress for work.
Pour soap in molds to cool.
Make sure all the lights are off.
Check Wookie's bowl for food and water one more time.
Carry lunch and everything else to the car.
Drive the car an hour to work.
7:30 a.m.. Start work.... like I haven't already been working....
So, Dear Universe, will you cut me some slack?? Just for today, let's not have any of the stupidness of yesterday ("Dear Ms. H, It is your fault that I am so stupid that I looked at Figure 23.1 and not Assignment 23.1..." or, my personal favorite, Me: You will need to take English 111 in the spring. Student: Shut up.). Could we slow the wheel down, just a skoosh, please??
I will be forever grateful.
Love,
The Hamster
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
First Day Musings -- Life on the Farm
We had good friends drop in yesterday to admire our woodstove while they consider if they want one or not for their place. Of course, we are sold on it, even though there is that whole having to cut wood all summer thing. It is affordable, warm, and, most of all, heats the whole house --- which is a novel experience as we couldn't before.
They wandered the property, watching as I took the girls to graze across the road for a bit, fed the hens, and then the goats. And they followed the Mister as he fed the bucks and put out hay. They repeatedly said, "We could never do what you do" as they watched us. I just laughed.
Most days on the farm, I love it. And then there are the days when the goats won't mind, the bucks beat me half to death, the dogs drag in deer parts, and the rain or cold makes it nearly impossible to get out. Or there are the days when I just don't want to do this; I just want to live in a condo somewhere and someone else does the yard work. In short, I am run down at the heels dead dog tired.
When the Airman was a wee Airman and it was just the two of us, this is the life I dreamt of and wanted. Now that I have it, I am sad that I am more than half through my life and on the downhill side at that. Yet, I can see that living here, doing what I do, will keep me younger and healthier than if I were in that condo. I would perish there.
Jane has the most marvelous post about how we all find what we love even when no one else shares that love. I guess that is how I feel about here. My dear friend Darlene made the comment that this house would do until she could find something better, I have to remind myself that her idea of better is a modular home in town. It is warm, safe, comfortable, but it would not suit me anymore than living here would suit her.
So, for all its quirks, there really is no place like home. Even if the chickens are on the porch and the goats eat my roses. It is home. What do you love most about your home?
They wandered the property, watching as I took the girls to graze across the road for a bit, fed the hens, and then the goats. And they followed the Mister as he fed the bucks and put out hay. They repeatedly said, "We could never do what you do" as they watched us. I just laughed.
Most days on the farm, I love it. And then there are the days when the goats won't mind, the bucks beat me half to death, the dogs drag in deer parts, and the rain or cold makes it nearly impossible to get out. Or there are the days when I just don't want to do this; I just want to live in a condo somewhere and someone else does the yard work. In short, I am run down at the heels dead dog tired.
When the Airman was a wee Airman and it was just the two of us, this is the life I dreamt of and wanted. Now that I have it, I am sad that I am more than half through my life and on the downhill side at that. Yet, I can see that living here, doing what I do, will keep me younger and healthier than if I were in that condo. I would perish there.
Jane has the most marvelous post about how we all find what we love even when no one else shares that love. I guess that is how I feel about here. My dear friend Darlene made the comment that this house would do until she could find something better, I have to remind myself that her idea of better is a modular home in town. It is warm, safe, comfortable, but it would not suit me anymore than living here would suit her.
So, for all its quirks, there really is no place like home. Even if the chickens are on the porch and the goats eat my roses. It is home. What do you love most about your home?
Friday, November 11, 2011
Morning Has Broken
First, thank you and God bless all our Veterans and soldiers on this day! Veteran's Day has become even more dear to me since the Airman joined up. Thank you all for your service and sacrifice!
This morning the sky is a shell pink with rolling balls of clouds skirting it, giving it a sort of "oops! I put something red in the laundry" look. The wind is gusting, not blowing, shaking the trees, rattling them, as if to clear the last of the fall from them as they dress for coming winter. It is truly a late fall morning --- 22-degrees and frosty.
Most people complain about this time of year when the cold is coming and mornings challenge one to leave the snuggled hole in their sheets and blankets for the briskness of the waking house. I love it. Even though I have to wear a sweatshirt over my jammies and wool socks on my feet, I love it. There is something crisp about the morning that gives the day promise. We are, thankfully, back to the time that works for me -- no more daylight savings time.... which I don't ever understand because daylight can't be saved.
When the Mister goes to toss the morning hay, the gals are already awake, watching for his head to come over the small hill. The chickens are singing their morning song. Moose and Anabel dance and tease like puppies; they are both winter dogs and languish in summer's heat. Wookie, who has spent the night stretched across my legs, tumbles from the bed, fusses, eats, and rushes back to reconquer the now empty bed in hopes that I will leave it unmade so that he might snuggle down once more in his little nest.
We have had two skiffs of snow. Neither has warranted the celebratory "Snowman"movie and hot chocolate we have to mark the First Snow of the Season. But, it is coming. I have chocolate, our snowman mugs, and the movie waiting. Maybe by Thanksgiving we will have our little party. Have you seen this dear movie? It is based on the book by the same name by Raymond Briggs. We adore it. Before you tumble out through your day, enjoy this clip:
This morning the sky is a shell pink with rolling balls of clouds skirting it, giving it a sort of "oops! I put something red in the laundry" look. The wind is gusting, not blowing, shaking the trees, rattling them, as if to clear the last of the fall from them as they dress for coming winter. It is truly a late fall morning --- 22-degrees and frosty.
Most people complain about this time of year when the cold is coming and mornings challenge one to leave the snuggled hole in their sheets and blankets for the briskness of the waking house. I love it. Even though I have to wear a sweatshirt over my jammies and wool socks on my feet, I love it. There is something crisp about the morning that gives the day promise. We are, thankfully, back to the time that works for me -- no more daylight savings time.... which I don't ever understand because daylight can't be saved.
When the Mister goes to toss the morning hay, the gals are already awake, watching for his head to come over the small hill. The chickens are singing their morning song. Moose and Anabel dance and tease like puppies; they are both winter dogs and languish in summer's heat. Wookie, who has spent the night stretched across my legs, tumbles from the bed, fusses, eats, and rushes back to reconquer the now empty bed in hopes that I will leave it unmade so that he might snuggle down once more in his little nest.
We have had two skiffs of snow. Neither has warranted the celebratory "Snowman"movie and hot chocolate we have to mark the First Snow of the Season. But, it is coming. I have chocolate, our snowman mugs, and the movie waiting. Maybe by Thanksgiving we will have our little party. Have you seen this dear movie? It is based on the book by the same name by Raymond Briggs. We adore it. Before you tumble out through your day, enjoy this clip:
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
As Inigo said...
let me sum up....
1) New Washer and I are in love. We can't stop seeing each other. It is shameful how we are spending so much time together. I fear the Mister will figure it out.
2) It is possible to have one's car nearly destroyed by wildlife. This is primary research (as I tell my students). The deer hit me. An owl hit the windshield. Same day. Ten minutes apart. A little over $2000 damage to an 11 year old car. Yes. I was insured.
3) No, I wasn't hurt.
4) No, the deer didn't die. The owl might have. We aren't sure. No body, so we are hoping.
5) The Airman sent me flowers for his birthday with a card: "Thank you for making me who I am today." I guess I got it right after all.
6) Work is kicking my hinney. Really. Too many essays. Too many quizzes. Too much time. No time for blogging.
7) Solar is going into the barn. Yeppers. I have made the plunge and contracted a man to do it for me. I am thrilled. The Mister will know when he reads the blog. I hope he is thrilled.
8) Lazy Bee Farm is going international! I was asked to provide a child's hat and a pair of baby socks for a very nice person going to China on business. He wanted to take something local as a homewarming kind of gift. I was quite honored! Thanks!
9) We had snow last week. That's wrong, that's wrong, that's wrong. It should be after Halloween and not before!
10) Christmas caroles are playing in the stores. I will be doing all my limited shopping by Internet until January!
Hopefully things will calm down and I can get back to regular visiting and writing. I miss it! And you!
In the meantime...
1) New Washer and I are in love. We can't stop seeing each other. It is shameful how we are spending so much time together. I fear the Mister will figure it out.
2) It is possible to have one's car nearly destroyed by wildlife. This is primary research (as I tell my students). The deer hit me. An owl hit the windshield. Same day. Ten minutes apart. A little over $2000 damage to an 11 year old car. Yes. I was insured.
3) No, I wasn't hurt.
4) No, the deer didn't die. The owl might have. We aren't sure. No body, so we are hoping.
5) The Airman sent me flowers for his birthday with a card: "Thank you for making me who I am today." I guess I got it right after all.
6) Work is kicking my hinney. Really. Too many essays. Too many quizzes. Too much time. No time for blogging.
7) Solar is going into the barn. Yeppers. I have made the plunge and contracted a man to do it for me. I am thrilled. The Mister will know when he reads the blog. I hope he is thrilled.
8) Lazy Bee Farm is going international! I was asked to provide a child's hat and a pair of baby socks for a very nice person going to China on business. He wanted to take something local as a homewarming kind of gift. I was quite honored! Thanks!
9) We had snow last week. That's wrong, that's wrong, that's wrong. It should be after Halloween and not before!
10) Christmas caroles are playing in the stores. I will be doing all my limited shopping by Internet until January!
Hopefully things will calm down and I can get back to regular visiting and writing. I miss it! And you!
In the meantime...
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Quite Simply: I Forgot
This week I have been rather melancholy. It is the time of year, I think. I have two times that I am most blue: October and March. These are times when I feel that life is just empty -- vacuous -- and I don't want to talk to anyone or to even, really, leave the house. I Just Want To Be Alone, as Greta Garbo said.
And then, this happened:
It has been quite a few years since I taught British Literature. I won't go into why, but it was, in short, an effort to create a more collegial atmosphere with a co-worker. It didn't work, and he didn't like teaching it either. So, I was asked if I wanted it back. Heck, yeah! I thought. This was my passion in undergraduate and graduate school. In fact, the day of the World Trade Center attacks, I was to meet with folks that afternoon to sell my little farm so that I could go to the University of York to complete my PhD (piled higher and deeper) in Medieval Literature and History. The Airman and I were going; I wasn't married, so it seemed like such a fine idea.
But, as we know, that didn't happen. The buyers were stock brokers; they ran as fast as they could to their bomb shelter, bought gold and bottled water, and dropped off the face of the real estate world. Ultimately, it all worked out; I have to believe that my life is how it is to be. The farm didn't sell; I met the Mister; married; and, all this time later, here I am, writing you!
This is a long way around to this: in preparing my lecture today, I remembered how I loved John William Waterhouse and the Pre-Raphaelites as well as the Cavalier poets. And, how I adored John Milton. And William Blake. And all the Romantics.... And, well there you go. I thought of that and then how I missed graduate school where a group of us would sit up all night (me with tea; them with beer) and talk literature and ideas and such.... how we would drive up on the Blue Ridge Parkway and watch the stars and talk about things that wouldn't make a hill of beans in most people's worlds, but was all ours --- at least right then. In short, I realized that I have lost much of my joy.
This hangs in my entry way:
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
All this is the long way round to what I realized. Yes, time is fleeting (thanks Cavalier poets for that sweet reminder), but every day brings me closer to what I hope will be my reward. The things of this world are passing; most don't count for much of anything. This room of books in which I sit right now writing this, will turn to dust. The things I have worked and saved and spent so much on in my life will be nothing more than a memory for someone else. Perhaps I will be fortunate and someone will love my pretties as I love other's that I have collected in junk, thrift, and antique stores. However, the biggest thing, the greatest fingerprint I have, is that on other's lives and of living a useful life. Maybe, just maybe, one person will be better for knowing me. And, maybe, just maybe, they will touch just one person. Who knows?
In the meantime, I may still be blue, but it will pass. The sun will shine again. I will be happy again. And peace will find a nice little niche Right There in my heart.
And then, this happened:
John William Waterhouse
Virgin with Roses
It has been quite a few years since I taught British Literature. I won't go into why, but it was, in short, an effort to create a more collegial atmosphere with a co-worker. It didn't work, and he didn't like teaching it either. So, I was asked if I wanted it back. Heck, yeah! I thought. This was my passion in undergraduate and graduate school. In fact, the day of the World Trade Center attacks, I was to meet with folks that afternoon to sell my little farm so that I could go to the University of York to complete my PhD (piled higher and deeper) in Medieval Literature and History. The Airman and I were going; I wasn't married, so it seemed like such a fine idea.
But, as we know, that didn't happen. The buyers were stock brokers; they ran as fast as they could to their bomb shelter, bought gold and bottled water, and dropped off the face of the real estate world. Ultimately, it all worked out; I have to believe that my life is how it is to be. The farm didn't sell; I met the Mister; married; and, all this time later, here I am, writing you!
This is a long way around to this: in preparing my lecture today, I remembered how I loved John William Waterhouse and the Pre-Raphaelites as well as the Cavalier poets. And, how I adored John Milton. And William Blake. And all the Romantics.... And, well there you go. I thought of that and then how I missed graduate school where a group of us would sit up all night (me with tea; them with beer) and talk literature and ideas and such.... how we would drive up on the Blue Ridge Parkway and watch the stars and talk about things that wouldn't make a hill of beans in most people's worlds, but was all ours --- at least right then. In short, I realized that I have lost much of my joy.
This hangs in my entry way:
The Lady of Shalot
John William Waterhouse
This is from Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem of the same name:
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Which lead me to think of these lines from Ulysses:
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
All this is the long way round to what I realized. Yes, time is fleeting (thanks Cavalier poets for that sweet reminder), but every day brings me closer to what I hope will be my reward. The things of this world are passing; most don't count for much of anything. This room of books in which I sit right now writing this, will turn to dust. The things I have worked and saved and spent so much on in my life will be nothing more than a memory for someone else. Perhaps I will be fortunate and someone will love my pretties as I love other's that I have collected in junk, thrift, and antique stores. However, the biggest thing, the greatest fingerprint I have, is that on other's lives and of living a useful life. Maybe, just maybe, one person will be better for knowing me. And, maybe, just maybe, they will touch just one person. Who knows?
In the meantime, I may still be blue, but it will pass. The sun will shine again. I will be happy again. And peace will find a nice little niche Right There in my heart.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Number Two...
They say it comes in threes....
A 20-year-old over worked and very appreciated washer can rust out the bottom of its tub, leaving one with a very brown, icky mess on the floor.... and a lot of water... And it does it all without a bit of warning. Do you know how much water is in a washer? Sigh.
Result?? A very clean bathroom floor and a new best friend, Mr. F.L. Washer (Front Load). Let's hope we "make friends" soon. Right now, he makes me nervous. I think we need a better pet name for him, myself.
Gee... I can't wait to see what number three is.....
A 20-year-old over worked and very appreciated washer can rust out the bottom of its tub, leaving one with a very brown, icky mess on the floor.... and a lot of water... And it does it all without a bit of warning. Do you know how much water is in a washer? Sigh.
Result?? A very clean bathroom floor and a new best friend, Mr. F.L. Washer (Front Load). Let's hope we "make friends" soon. Right now, he makes me nervous. I think we need a better pet name for him, myself.
Gee... I can't wait to see what number three is.....
Monday, October 24, 2011
Warning!
Never, never, never, ever, evah, put a peeled hardboiled egg in the microwave to heat it and then, once it is heated, stick a fork in it.
Did you know an exploding egg can cover 250 square feet?? And still leave a gob in the bowl?
Don't ask.
Did you know an exploding egg can cover 250 square feet?? And still leave a gob in the bowl?
Don't ask.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)