Gotta Hurry.

We've got to move faster today. . . we're springing forward . . . we're losing an hour on most of our clocks, and it's gonna be a nice day on top of that.

All the more reason to put a spring in our step and get into forward motion.

One of the clocks in my house could just stay where it's set.  It stays permanently on Pacific Daylight Savings time and then some.

Fun to watch people who come to visit, look up at the clock and almost jump from their seat to hurry up and leave, thinking they've been here far too long.

Sometimes we tell them the clock is 1 hour and 15 minutes fast.  Sometimes we don't. 

I don't know what I would do if that clock read the right time.  Actually, I'd better tell Elisabeth when she comes here to stay.  That knowledge might save her some stress and hurrying off to town to soon.

Anyway, fixing the clocks will take a few minutes of this day.  

Getting outside will probably take precedent over indoor activities until the hour before ZAGS time.  Then, I'll have to get the bacon and sausages fried, beat up the egg and pancake mixtures and lay out all the other goodies for our Bulldog-watching breakfast-for-dinner feast.

Part of tonight's spread includes some wonderful cinnamon rolls from Clark Fork's Pantry.  I hid the rolls so Bill wouldn't break into them too early. 

I picked them up along with some fresh-baked bread and those wonderful individually wrapped chocolates from the Pantry's bulk bin.   

With everything wet and soppy around here yesterday, I decided the scenic route to pick up grocery supplies was in order. 

After selecting the goodies for tonight's meal from the Pantry, I turned up Spring Creek Road where the old fish hatchery is.  

Thank goodness, the hatchery is not too far up the road because I quickly came to the conclusion that, even with the beauty of Lightning Creek flowing alongside the road, those folks must REALLY want to live up there. 

That road----and it isn't even fully into spring break-up time----gave me some real fits with my cup of coffee from the Pantry.  

With each new series of water-filled potholes, I drank bigger gulps of coffee, figuring that if I could get the glass to less than half full, surely coffee would quit jostling and splattering all over my car. 

The fish hatchery was a welcome sight.  I turned around and held the coffee cup firmly until reaching the highway again. 

The short drive certainly turned out to be an early spring adventure.  Suburu and all, I figured dry pavement and beautiful views of the lake and mountains would satisfy my needs. 

Yes, this is definitely early spring, a time we all await and celebrate, but here at the Lovestead, we don't celebrate every aspect of early spring.

I have a very difficult time celebrating "stink time," especially with five dogs.  Dogs are not just wet when they come back to the house from doing their business and romping through the fields. 

Dogs STINK LIKE a fresh, wet manure pile.  Part of that stink comes from the fact that instead of a trip to the Pantry for their goodies, our dogs prefer to race straight to the manure pile. 

Forget Atta Boy and doggie biscuits when warm and soggy day-old horse apples await. 

In fact, Kea can't get enough of them, to the point that I've had to order her out of the barnyard when horses are in the enclosure.

Dogs are not allowed in any Lovestead enclosure with the horses, and they know it.  

For Kea, however, the tantalizing thought of apples straight from the horse's ___(you know) rather than the day-old variety causes her to rebel against the rules. 

Yesterday definitely ushered in Stink Days for a while.  I bathed Foster twice before he was allowed in the house.  Todd got the towel job three times before finally being restricted to the garage.  

After all, Todd's a little too big to put in the utility room sink. (By the way, he's doing great.  All stitches out and coat growing back nicely.)

So far this morning, the stink has not yet permeated the air because we had a slight freeze last night.  I'm confident, however, that when the beautiful sunshine takes over we'll have an added aroma to the air we breathe and dogs will be banned from the house. 

I hope spring Stink Time doesn't hang around too long.  As far as the rest of this new spring, however, "Bring it on."  We love it, and we'll happily spring forward.  

This day with fewer hours is a-wastin', so I'm outa here. 

Happy Saturday.  GO ZAGS!

Kinging and Springing

The "mystery surprise" for Bill came yesterday with Jeannie and her granddaughter Cooper.  

They came bearing a couple of bags of good ol' Luzianna Community Coffee. This morning I'm thinking I should have brewed up some of that stout stuff to go with Jeannie's other surprise, a King's cake. 

While Cooper and Foster got acquainted under the dining room table and around the house, Jeannie, Bill and I enjoyed slices of her cake and some coffee of Paul Newman vintage.  Plus, we had a great visit.

Jeannie had never made a King's cake, but I'd say she had the touch.  She won't know this until she reads this morning's blog:  I had a second piece for dinner.  Good, good stuff.

We all decided Cooper could serve as the traditional "trinket," so to speak.  King's cakes often come with baby dolls inside.  An adorable and active young lady, Cooper served as a great substitute.  What a cutie!  Best set of dimples I've seen in a long time. 

So, we all enjoyed our visit and have agreed that Jeannie is once again a member in good standing of the Lodgepole Society. 

On this Friday morning, I've witnessed more signs of spring: snow receding and patches of green grass growing---not the grass, thank God, just the size of the patches. 

I spend enough time mowing and love it but not in early March.  Grass can start growing with vigor in April.

We still have water, water everywhere.  More birds are singing.  I heard one immediately outside the computer-room window this morning.  That means the birds like landing on the new deck roof.  

I'm thinking of having a bird feeder dangling from the window or maybe rigging up a planter so I can water flowers right outside my "office."  Lots of possibilities and dreams of upcoming good times lounging on the deck in relative comfort from hot sun or spring rains.

This weekend will be fairly quiet and one hour shorter.  That means one hour less time until Ireland.  I like that. 

We've decided to have a real change in our Gonzaga game-watching menu tomorrow night:  breakfast for dinner.

A lot of us usually don't eat much of anything for breakfast, but we do love breakfast.  So, it will be fun cooking up sausage and bacon and eggs and hotcakes and maybe even slicing off whatever's left of that King's cake. 

Can't wait to bite into a Huckleberry hotcake slathered with melting margarine and maple syrup. 

And, of course, we're hoping for the best for the ZAGS tomorrow night as they vie for the tournament championship and a good spot in the NCAA March Madness.

Sadly, we're going to miss most of the NCAA tournament.  I rather doubt they show games all day long over in Ireland.  We'll still turn in our brackets, though,  and hope for a big win.  Last year I tied for first, so I've got to defend my title. 

Plus, after all the money we spend on our trip, winning the pot or even a portion of it might come in handy. 

Of course, there's always the chance of winning Warren Buffet's billion dollars for a perfect bracket.  Where do we turn submit those for inspection?

That would be nice.  For now, I'll probably not make too many plans for spending that wad. 

Life is good, and we are thankful for the day-to-day blessings as we enjoy our King's cake gift,  move into spring and look forward to all the excitement ahead.  

Happy Friday. 

Something Better than Honey Boo Boo . . . .

JT Bock, are ya listening?  I still want to do that documentary series we talked about so many years ago.  We did get a very meaningful start with Jenny's story, but there's more.

And, I'm sure our concept would be higher quality than "Honey Boo Boo."  

No offense, Honey, but that grossness promoted on your show-----a little goes a long way. And, that assessment is coming from one who is far from prim and proper high society. 

Anyway, I've bounced this idea around for about 15 years and am thinking more and more that it could turn into a meaningful and inspiring documentary series.

My passion for this idea received another boost yesterday.   

Out of respect for the person mentioned, I'm not divulging any specifics like names or places but am simply using the example to illustrate the potential of my idea.

Anyone who knows me is probably aware of my sense of spontaneity.  An idea comes, and I think, "Why not?" 

That sense has taken me on a lot of adventures throughout life, most with very happy and satisfying results.  Occasionally, some go bust, but that's life.

Yesterday, on a rainy, dreary day, I spent more time than usual at my computer.  As often happens, something I was reading triggered a former student's name.  This student appeared in my sophomore English class about 42 years ago.

I loved his name and especially loved his charming Southern accent.  This was before another Southerner charmed me into nearly 40 years of marriage and counting.

Anyway, I enjoyed this particular student immensely, and beyond that English class, I had no idea whatever happened to him.

His name has popped into my brain several times over the years, so yesterday I decided to act.

I Googled and found the name WITH a telephone number.  I dialed. 

He answered, still with a bit of a Southern drawl. 

I asked if he'd ever lived in Sandpont.

"A long time ago," he said.

I chuckled and announced, "Well, I was one of your English teachers  . . . can't remember if it was Miss Brown or Mrs. Love at the time."

"Miss Brown sounds right," he said. I immediately detected, however, that his enthusiasm might not matching mine. He was on a mission when his phone rang. 

Still, I asked him a few questions and then told him I'd let him get on to his work.  

Then, he asked me a question about class reunions.  I told him that his 40th was coming up and I'd be happy to get him some information.

Without giving away a lot, this SHS grad is a cattle rancher who rides horses, does cutting and craves privacy.  

Our conversation ended up lasting much longer than I first sensed from his initial reaction.  
Later I looked at his web site, and, sure enough, the face hasn't changed much except for that beard.  And, sure enough he's an authentic-looking cowboy. 

After hanging up, I thought, "No regrets there. His story turned out to be downright fascinating."  

I still would love to know how he fell into ranching from a very different earlier career, and if we were to proceed on my documentary idea, maybe that and other questions could be answered.

This particular former student cherishes his privacy, and I do respect that.  So, maybe his story wouldn't exactly turn into one of my documentaries, but there are others and they are wonderful stories that could be told.

They could be told, not only to inspire young people but to reinforce the value of teachers in our lives.  Plus, they would be compelling to viewers.

Imagine a teacher reconnecting with a student after 30-40 years and then spending time---day-to-day, slice-of-life time----with that student who deeply involved in a meaningful, fascinating career after high school. 

Seems to me like stuff for PBS, stuff that could be supported through grants from educationally-inspired institutions or corporations. 

I have already assembled material about several students, for example, the visionary behind World Vets who go into third-world countries, donating their expertise and guidance. 

Some students run their own recreational or corporate enterprises; some are gifted photographers, some even travel the world promoting geocaching, some work at the White House, some work in law enforcement and, yes, even some are dedicated educators.  

Anyway, I'm inspired, once again from my out-of-the-blue telephone conversation.  These stories must be told-----to elevate the level of television offerings, if nothing else. 

And, if "Honey Boo Boo" beats them in the ratings, so be it.  I have a feeling some viewers might be hungry for viewing other than slugging around the house, gorging and burping. 

I think I need to call JT Bock out of the blue and talk ideas. 

Happy Thursday. 

  

21 Days and the Short List

Yup, just three weeks.  And, we'll be off for the family adventure of our lives.  Giddy is a good word my outlook during these days preceding the big trip to Ireland.

The list of "things to do" before Ireland has dwindled considerably this past week, and checking off each item has only intensified the excitement. 

Over the past few days, I've finished up the "novel" about the critters here at the Lovestead.  Photos, names, personalities, individual idiosyncrasies and suggestions on how to keep them all straight and safe have filled many a page.  

Soon the novel will be turned over to Elisabeth who will be keeping watch over our beloveds and the Lovestead.  My friend Roxane will help her out from time to time.

Other list items include getting the bank card okayed for foreign charges.  I did that yesterday, and reminded Bill this morning that he should be getting his ATM bank card soon.  

Bill doesn't believe in those things, but he has a few female naggers constantly reminding him.

Yesterday I also bought four boxes of Nestles chocolate mix with little marshmallows.Gotta have my daily lattes, so I'll take the mix along. 

Everybody now has suitcases with rollers, and mine is sitting on the bed next to my computer.  New unds and Nestle's will get packed today.  I figure an item or two a day from now on to alleviate last-minute stress.  

Only problem with that plan is my short-term memory.  It's possible I may not remember to take things cuz I simply can't remember if I packed them.  

Oh well, if we have the credit cards and our passports, we should survive. 

In other plans, the horses will go to Spokane in a couple of weekends.  I still have to check off "shoeing" for their month with the trainer.  Hope John Fuller will be back soon from his winter in Mexico. 

Annie's room is almost spotless for Elisabeth, and I sure have removed a lot of cobwebs and 8-year-old dust from places in this house which I never usually notice. 

The list goes on, and I must go on.  Debbie's here with the doggies, so I'll call it a day here at Slight Detour. 

Soon the Ireland count will be down to 20 and then 19 and 18, etc., and my giddiness meter will inch even further upward.

Happy Wednesday.

Tuesday TwitterdeeFAT

Hard to tell which of these does the best job at catching the subject at her worst, but I'm betting Lily would want you to vote for her portrait.

Then, again maybe not.  

Lily was actually at her BEST yesterday, thanks to some "happy sauce."  

In fact, she was feeling so good AND acting so good during her dental work that she may just come running to the fence next time she sees Dr. Grace show up in the driveway.  

Plus, Lily's probably enjoying her food more than she has in some time.  Thanks to Dr. Grace's keen eye, expertise and slick equipment---along with that happy sauce---all those jagged edges of Lily's teeth have been rounded off. 

Life inside Lily's mouth will be comfy for a while. 

The best part was that I forewarned Dr. Grace and her assistant Susie that Lily's not always a demure lady when it comes to people fussing with her body, especially her head.  

All for naught. 

In her 8 years of life here in North Idaho, Lily has never yet had the bushy hair clipped from her ears for horse shows.  

And, probably never will because she can be emphatic when faced with clippers or scissors up in that area.  So emphatic that, a few years ago,  three sisters mustering up all their strength and psychology could not get those ears clipped.

With that in mind, I felt it necessary to give the doctor a heads-up.  

Twasn't necessary at all.  

Lily has grown into a mature, demure lady whose charm was oozing with the vet and her assistant even BEFORE the happy sauce.

So, I'm proud of my girl, and I'm happy that her teeth will not attack the inside of her mouth anymore while she's trying to chew on an apple or a handful of grain. 

Now, for the second photo:  Granted, Lily might want you to vote for hers, but I'm thinking mine gives Lily's a good run for the money. 

Today marks the first-ever selfie I've taken with a Mardi Gras mask.  

Oh, I know taking selfies with Mardi Gras masks is probably not that big a deal, and surely it could never bring out the retweets that Ellen and her gang inspired the other night at the Oscars.

Still, the feeling of knowing I've taken a selfie in a Mardi Gras mask gives me a certain feeling of satisfaction------until I look at the picture, that is.

Pretty scary. 

I took this picture for my friend Jeannie who usually sends  or brings us fry bread as her annual dues for membership in the Lodgepole Society.

I think it's been at least a couple of years since we've sampled Jeannie's wonderful fry bread, which means she's in arrears on her Lodgepole membership.

But I'm also thinking she thought the colorful mask would do the trick.  So, we'll allow her to remain a member in good standing-----for a while, anyway.

As former co-workers, Jeannie and Bill have talked "Luzianna" a lot, especially LSU Tigers.  
So, if I have the story right, I'm thinking that Jeannie went down there to Luzianna to visit a friend, and I'm guessing on that trip she picked up the mask in N'Awlins. 

Jeannie tells us she has something else too, which she wants to present to us, but she ain't tellin' what it is.  

I'm pretty sure it's not fry bread. 

So, we'll have to wait, but for today I've properly donned my FAT TUESDAY uniform at least in front of my cell phone.  

Don't know if I'll plan to scare anyone today by parading around town wearing it, but in the safety of my own house, it's kinda fun.

Thanks, Jeannie.  We're waiting on the edge of our seats to see what the "mystery" gift is.  
In the meantime, Bill will be eating his gumbo tonight, and I'll be scaring the beejeebers out of him with the mask. 

Happy FAT TUESDAY!

'Tain't Over 'Til It's Over . . . .

March 3 News Update:  

No School in Lake Pend Oreille School District

Explosions at Schweitzer, clearing avalanche problems for all those students who will find their way to the mountain. 

Vet's coming at 10 to give horses Coggin's tests to clear them for their upcoming trip across the Washington border to Spokane AND to float Lily's teeth.  That means she'll remove sharp edges which cause Lily fits while she's trying to chew. 

We've got snow, just in case you didn't notice.  Worst storm of the whole winter, so that lion must be really roaring.  

I'll take the lambs please.

Oh, temperature is supposed to shoot up to 46 tomorrow.  Sounds pretty sheepish to me. 

Fun Oscars last night.  Watched every minute. 

I especially liked the Jimmy Kimmel home invasion of the naughty couple tweeting uncharitable thoughts about the actors.  

Oh, those orange Cheetos finger tips contrasted with red nail polish!  Yum! Yum! 

I was especially moved by speeches from both "Supporting Actor/Actress" winners. 

Can't wait to see some of those movies. 

For now, there's work to do, so I'm outa here. 

Happy Monday. 

Maybe winter will be over this week.  Maybe not. 

Weathering the Storm

We expected a big dose of winter drama overnight.  So far, the two-day snow and wind event has been pretty benign, at least at our house.

Bill and I have gained new perspectives about weather severity since moving from Great Northern Road to our lovely farm here in Selle.  

Last night, while driving to my sisters' house for the ZAGS game, we pulled onto Center Valley Road and then drove through a series of swirling, intense winds.

"Bet it will be drifted tomorrow, as will Selle Road," I said. 

That's when Bill reminded me of what we've been missing for eight years and WITH NO TEARS. 

That driveway. 

I've mentioned before on the blog that our driveway was somewhat of a tourist site during the winter months.  

Folks would drive by---if the road wasn't drifted shut---just to see how high the drifts had grown in our rather long, east-west driveway with no trees to stop wild wind from the north. 

We lived in a small pocket where weather could be relatively calm less than half a mile away but wild and woolly at our place. 

Snow depth had real meaning to us in those days, especially because we had no means to remove deep drifts other than killing ourselves with hours and hours of back-breaking shoveling. 

We remained at the mercy of some kind soul with a big rig and a bucket to clear out the series of 4-5-foot drifts, often for a good fee.  

My favorite anecdote about those times involves the "driveway roll" through the snow.  

That was the only way I could get from the road to the house after schools closed early one blustery day.  

When my first step into the driveway drilled a hole into the snow clear to my hip, I had no choice but first figure out how to get my leg out and then to lie down and roll.  It wasn't much fun, holding onto my books and all. 

True story.  

Imagine the entertaining sight for the onlookers driving by, watching this crazy woman out there rolling in the snow.  The trip from road to house took a good 5-10 minutes.  Clearing my entire body of powder snow before going in the house added extra time.

I liked it when the drifts would harden up.  Early in our tenure there, we learned to park cars at the end of the driveway when the wind started whooping it up.  

So walking to the cars without sinking,  with fence post tops as guides and standing four-five feet higher than usual provided a different perspective and a welcome but brief sense of superiority. 

We had to enjoy those moments cuz we didn't exactly care for any other aspects of being cut off from the world and hauling all our groceries, school books, etc. over that snow to and from the house. 

So, when we sit here in the midst of relative calm here in Selle and see the wind blowing snow down in the hay field, we don't mind. 

We know that this late winter storm probably irritates other people in less-protected areas, but we figure we paid our dues over those 30 years with that driveway on Great Northern Road. 

So, the big storm of early March moves on with more snowflakes falling outside the window and swirling winds in the fields.

Our nice little wood stove is keeping us toasty inside, and our horses aren't even suffering much out there in the barnyard with those beautiful big trees of Meserve's for shelter. 

Three days from now, the big snow will melt with higher temperatures, and a couple of days later, even warmer temps may help us start feeling the hints of spring. 

So, it's a "stay warm" happy Sunday.  ZAGS won big last night, and the "Academy Awards" are on tonight.  

Happy Sunday.  Stay warm through the storm. 

No Marbles on This March 1

Back in the day when I was still giving assignments to high school students, this calendar date inspired some vivid thoughts.  

Images of green grass and mud and thawing dog deposits and marbles and all that "lovely" spring stuff found their way into the poems or short essays entitled "March 1." 

Well, today visible frozen doggie deposits rest upon rock hard snow or ice.  

What mud we've had is invisible as it lurks beneath the snow and ice.  

And, marble matches on the school playground?  I think that season might be late this year, much like baseball and track.  

It's March 1 and, again, we're getting a vicious blast of winter, much like the other March 1's I've been remembering of recent years. 

Three years ago, on this date, I was counting the hours leading up to a two-week escape from the snow with my first trip to Ireland.  

"When I return, this will all be gone," I assured myself, chuckling quietly as we drove out the driveway.

Well, when we drove into the driveway on my return, the same snow, along with a new layer greeted me.  

No green grass. No mud.  No marbles. Just snow.

Two years ago, Annie and I went to Palm Springs in late February, returning on the last day of the month.  

As I drove home from the airport at about 1 a.m., I arrived in the driveway just in time to miss driving in the upcoming blizzard. 

March 1 came, and it snowed the rest of the month.

I don't think it was quite so bad last year, but here we are again.  

The north wind is whipping some ice cold air out there, and it's gonna get worse.  

Eight inches of snow in the valleys by Monday, they say.  Well, that will add to the three or four inches we already have frozen to the ground.

No marbles for a while. 

Anyway, we'll weather this storm, and hope once again that this is the last blast of winter. And no worries for those paranoics who started complaining that all our forests will burn down this summer because we've had a pleasant winter.

On the Spokane news last night, they spent some time with the snow-depth experts, and those guys report that things are back to normal.  Plenty of snow, and, by gollee, we've got more coming.

I'm not complaining this morning----just still amazed that our Marches have become so wintry and that the little kids who are so anxious to play marbles have to wait.

Plus, I know the weather is a lot worse just east of us and farther east of us and south of us and southwest of us.  So, we don't have it so bad.

It's just that when we turn the calendar to March, our minds want to see some spring progress, but Mother Nature ain't cooperating. 

So, on this cold day and on tomorrow's cold day with snow and Monday's, I have a feeling some indoor stuff will get done.  Bill brought home another forest plan for editing, so I'll work on that and the ongoing project of cleaning up house clutter. 

At the end of the day, we'll be eating taco salads at my sisters' house and yelling out "YES" every time a ZAG scores a 3. We'll be hoping to yell that a lot and hoping the ZAGS finish off their season with a win over St. Mary's. 

Go ZAGS!  And, March, bring on the marbles! 

How Sweet . . . .

How 'bout those ZAGS!! Same night, both men's and women's teams clinch the West Coast Championships---the men against Pacific and the women vs. St. Mary's 

A lot of pride and joy for the Inland Northwest.  Congrats, ZAGS!!!!!!!!!!!

Bill asked me this morning if I had the good sleep because of a Gonzaga win.  Yes, of course, blissful even.  I like nights when I sleep, so this one especially a good one.

Yesterday was a good day, and there was a touch of spring in the air.  We're supposed to be dealing with bitter cold this weekend, along with snow and wind.  Must be that March "lion" stuff.

Yesterday, however, turned out to be a snow-melt day, even though there's a lot left on the ground.  I saw lots of little lakes forming where snow edges were melting away.

And, the air felt like spring, so much so that I spent some nice time grooming my horses. Although it's not coming off in big wads, their winter hair is beginning to loosen up. 

Both Lily and Lefty stood quietly while I snipped off the long hair sticking up in their bridle paths and some of their long whiskers.  

Both were very happy that they had behaved because they each enjoyed a couple of handfuls of grain when the grooming project ended. 

Todd was happy too.  He got to go for a walk with me to visit Geneva and her granddaughter and great-grandson next door.  He now wears a bright orange doggie coat, which keeps him from licking that stubborn rump wound.

By the way, thanks to whoever gave me the suggestion to get some A and D ointment.  I did so and administered it only to have Todd lick it off. 

So, the coat is helping and the wound is drying up. 

Yesterday I talked about how things were getting really Irish around here.  Well, they continue to do so, cuz I copied off the tabs for "The Minstrel Boy" and "O Danny Boy" aka "Londonderry Air."  

Even with the tabs, parts of both songs are difficult melodies to pluck because of their high notes.  Seems the higher the fret number, the harder it is to get a good pure note. Nonetheless, at least three quarters of each song resembles something people may have heard.

Practice should improved the outcome.

So, I did my Irish banjo tunes, then we had a Mexican dish (yummy chicken enchiladas) prepared at Miller's Country Store and found little projects while waiting for the game to start.

About ten minutes before tip-off, the phone rang.  It was my sister Laurie.

"Don't hide when the Schwan's man comes," she said. (There's a story behind that).  "You're gonna want to meet this Schwan's man."  

The Schwan's truck stops at my sisters' before it comes here, so they can warn me ahead of time.  And, lately, Schwan's deliveries have conflicted a bit with watching the ZAGS. So, I hide upstairs and watch the game while Bill does the transactions.

Anyway, sure enough, the Irish brogue came out loud and strong as Brian, the newest of Schwan's men, walked through the door.  He had his manager with him, so he pretty much tended to business.

Still, we learned that he had grown up in a little village near Belfast and had come to the United States in the late '90s.  He was impressed to see the book on Ireland that Annie had created for me three years ago. 

So, we'll have some fun times ahead, comparing Irish-isms. 

Debbie's here with the pups, so I'm outa here.

Happy Friday.  

Getting Pretty Irish Here

Annie has been posting this graphic on her Facebook wall from time to time. 

Today the counter should read "27." 

Not gonna lie about it----I'm getting pretty excited about our family trip to Ireland now that we're less than a month from departure. 

And, in preparation, it seems that up here in the computer room, the Irish have taken over. 

I listen to lovely Celtic music every morning.  A beautiful collection called "The Celtic Shore" gets played daily, and I love it just as much each new day as the day before. 

"Old Rosin, the Beau" is sounding better each day as these uncoordinated fingers attempt to pluck the melodoy out on the banjo.  

As we approach St. Patrick's Day, "Oh Danny Boy" is gonna get some practice too.

On her recent visit to our home, my sister-in-law left us a book called Tales of Old Ireland, with stories dating to the 1800s, penned by some of Ireland's literary giants, including Yeats, Seamus O'Kelly and James Joyce. 

Now that my recent proofreading/editing blitz has ended, I've had a chance to do some reading. 

The first story, written by William Carleton, focuses on a tailor named Neal Malone who has courageous blood running through his veins.  Try as he might, though, he can't find anybody to get mad enough at him to test that courage.

Everybody is downright nice to Neal. 

Nobody wants to fight him, so he goes into a deep depression. I'm at the point in the story where a schoolmaster named O'Conner comes along and suggests a remedy for Neal Malone's malady of not being able to inspire fisticuffs with anyone. 

"Get married," O'Conner suggests.  A wife could do the trick. . . . . 

So, with that suggestion, Neal Malone comes back to life with the idea that marrying and passing along his courageous blood might be a good idea.   

We'll see as I read further what happens. 

Anyway, I'm not minding this dreaming, plucking, listening and reading all things Irish.

In no time, we as a family will be living all things Irish for several days.  Lots to do before that time, but Annie's countdown graphic certainly inspires some good reasons to keep busy with preparations.

Heck, I'm figuring that this house will be cleaner than the day we moved in as I prepare for the house sitter.  And, that's not a bad thing.  

Yesterday the garden window got a cleansing and declutter.  Today half the junk thrown into the water heater room for hiding will go bye bye.

It's amazing how those messes, with which we become so comfortable in our daily lives, suddenly rear their ugly heads with the horrid thought of an unfamiliar person discovering, upclose and personal,  our "dirty little housekeeping" secrets. 

So, with luck, the secrets will be exposed and removed long before the house sitter comes. 

And, with that in mind, I'd better get a move on with the scrub brushes, plastic bags and sponges. 

Top of the Morning, to ya! 

GO ZAGS!!

Foto Fun along Center Valley Road

The Watson place on the corner of South Center Valley and Center Valley Roads.  

Logs heading to the mill from the Wood's property. 

This house may have moved more than most homes.  According to a lady who once lived in it, the house started out at Laclede, then moved by barge to Dover after the A.C. White mill burned in Laclede.  That was back in the early 1920s.  The house sat  in the area near ServaBurger for a while before moving permanently to Colburn and what is now my sisters' farm----the old Tucker Dairy. 

The magnificent Tucker Dairy barn, which was converted to a horse stable when my sisters and parents moved to the place in the 1990s. 

A pretty pink hydrangea inside my sisters' home. 

Why we love old barns---their weathered look and the cobwebs in the windows indicated they've been around for a while. 

Looking up in the spot where the hay wagons park each summer for Barbara and Laurie's hay crews to fill the hay loft.  The pigeons love this old barn too, even though Barbara and Laurie don't love pigeons. 

The milk house on the side of the barn now serves as a shop/storage area and a restroom. 

The cottage:  Mother did a painting of this lovely old building where some Tucker family members lived several decades ago. 

Fences section off plots of pasture for the horses. 

A few of the horses enjoying a day in the sun. 

Yup, my sisters love Arabians. 

Rowdy, our mother's kitty cat, has a house to himself, and he didn't mind sunning himself in his bed while I walked by. 

Some old-time and more than likely effective barbwire on the fence in the hay field across the road from the main place.  

When you have to go to your sisters' and wait while a tech fixes their Internet connection, a camera can help pass the time.

That's what I did yesterday, on a most beautiful day.  The tech took almost an hour figuring out the Internet problem so I took a lot of photos while walking around the Tibbs Arabian Ranch, once the Tucker Dairy. 

Tuesday Twitterdeedum

It's that kind of morning.  Cold but hopeful.  Bill is wearing wool pants today.  That means two things:  he'll be working in the field today and the wind-chilled air is cold enough for bundling up.

The sky is blue.  A huge sun is casting its brilliance from the east and forming lovely patterns on the front-yard snow blanket.  Icicles cling confidently to deck-roof eaves. 

I walked over freshly blown powder snow on ice to the barn in daylight this morning.  

After chores, the dogs and I took off down the lane to the hay field where a cold wind from the north felt refreshing on my face.  Dogs frolicked in the snow.

By the way, yesterday Todd frolicked in the snow for the first time in almost two weeks. I took that leash off and he attempted to dash across the snow, only to realize his dashing energy had taken a hit during recuperation time. 

Todd's outdoor trips since the cougar attack have been limited to No. 1 and No. 2. 

So, yesterday's short bursts of freedom felt pretty good. Of note:  the assortment of pill bottles filled with painkillers and antibiotics sit in Todd's medical bag, empty in some cases, nearly so in others. 

If we can just figure out how to get the healing process going better on that 1.5-inch chunk missing from his rump, taken by a nasty neighbor dog attack AFTER the cougar attack, we can feel that Todd is on the road to full recovery. 

Progress of early spring in the midst of cold landscapes is popping up all over, it seems, especially in the geranium department.  Yes, when a third leaf begins to appear, the seedlings just seem to take off. 

These geraniums bend their stems toward the sliding glass door and seemingly thumb their leaves at the frigid air outside.  After all, they're beginning their journey toward beauty and big red blossoms in the comfort of cozy wood heat and tender loving care. 

Meanwhile, 'mater seeds are still hiding underneath cellophane roofs in their potting soil near the wood stove.  No signs just yet, but they'll shoot out of the soil pretty soon, I hope.

The greatest single relief of the long winter months will occur tomorrow, 3 days before March and 28 days before Ireland departure.  Tax information will go to the accountant. 

Bill is doing the honors, and the nice aspect:  we won't have to think about it anymore until AFTER we return from Ireland.  

Then, reality will strike, and we'll be writing checks after spending enough of a wad on our trip. BUT we'll have lovely memories, thanks to the aforementioned wad, and those memories will dull the ache of forking over more money to Uncle Sam. 

Yup, the glass is half full this morning, and the water and geraniums are rising while cold winds blow snow all over the place outside. 

The only item that has my mind in turmoil is learning in the newspaper this morning that American earwax stinks.  A while back I read that earwax increases with age. 

I'm wondering what an earwax sniffing session is like.  Maybe I'll have to take some samples and see for myself. 

Other than that, not a bad day.   Happy Tuesday.