Frosty

This week the weather turned a sharp corner.  We’re chilly sometimes and sometimes cold.  We had our first frost. It killed some things, but others survived.  We will lose far more when it goes down to 24 later next week.  It’s early for us to get into wintry feeling weather.  Last year, some of the outside chores we’re taking care of yesterday, today, and will for the next two days were mostly not needed until December last year.  We had a very prolonged fall.  It’s strange to see frost when the weeping beech leaves are just turning now. 

We had friends over Friday evening, a mother and son, Karen and Tony Pasquale and also John Braden from WOMR.  Woody knows Tony from WOMR.  In fact, he went on with Tony early Wednesday morning for their current pledge drive.  I made a lamb shoulder dish, from thel amb we get every September in Maine at a farm where we are the only private customer and Jean Noon is a wonderful sculptor as well as raising natural lamb. I made a great lamb dish but my dessert went south.  The strawberries I had frozen did not puree correctly.  They were ;woody and made the mousse weirdly chewy.  Karen and Tony are great cooks, so I was embarrassed.

I’ve still having trouble getting used to being off daily savings time.  I prefer it.  It’s hard to garden when it’s dark by a bit after four. We both work for much of the day.  I love light.  I need it.  Plus it’s a lot earier for my poor eyes to see if there’s dwindling light. I love the fall for its bright colors and harvest, but the colors are beginning to slowly fade to browns and blacks and greys. I potted many herbs and a few decorative plants and they fill most of the may windows to the cats’ disgust and also every window in the diningroom. 

I’m one of the advisory editors of December magazine and the last three days I’ve been reading this year’s issues to vote for which pieces should be nominated for a Pushcart prize.  Every year;, some zine I’ve published in nominates something of mine, but Pushcart always rejects it.  Somebody there must hate me, not that I particularly care. 

I get a hundred political demands for money every single day and I’m really sick of a number of their tactics.  TRUMP IS CRUSHING x; TRUMP IS KILLING SOCIAL SECURITY. MARGE, MICHELLE OBAMA IS DISAPPOINTED IN YOU; TRUMP IS DESTROYING YELLOWSTONE. Yes, every damn day he does destroy something or tries to, but screaming at me doesn’t make me wealthy or able to give money every bloody day to every bloody candidate.  Even with the candidates I’m committed to like Warren ,I give her a small check Tuesday and Wednesday, her crew is back asking for more money.

Willow is in one of her bold periods when she is all over the house seeking attention, playing with something, asking for treats, getting into a bout of wrestling or affectionate cuddling with Mingus or sometimes Schwartzie.  The cats all seem very happy.  This crew of four is unusual in one particular way: if one of us opens the door, they tend to run away and not try to get out.  When we had Pouck, he was a monster at escaping.  These cats don’t try.  Mingus will sometimes make a gesture at it in the summer, but he has actually never really tried to get out.

Woody put the storm windows on the sun porch today.  It was making the bedroom off the sun porch and the living room cold.  Now it will generate heat when the sun is out.  He also took the screen doors off and put the storm doors on.  Tomorrow we’ll both work on removing and stowing the screens in the shed – we always leaving a few in case we need a draft, as when one of us burns something.  Again, last year we didn’t do that until Thanksgiving.

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