Everyone is talking of the storm. There are whispers and warnings and amazing wonderments. It’s like somehow, one snowless winter has made everyone forget their Minnesota Heritage. Come on, people, we grew up with this. We know blizzards! There is nothing the sky can vomit on us that we can’t just wipe away with a ruddy nordic scoff.
And hell, I think we can all pretty much agree that those childhood photos of us standing in front of 6 foot snowdrifts are a thing of the past for Minnesota. Since the Halloween blizzard of ’91, our snow fall has diminished steadily. We know this. News of 6 foot snow drifts will only be coupled with “lake effect” and “colorado” from now on. And as things get warmer they will only be referred to in sort of a strange historical sense.
The snow is coming this weekend, sure. Fine. I imagine it won’t be nearly as awful as anyone expects.
I, for one, will be making a white bean and cabbage soup tonight along with some rosemary bread. If we get snowed in I’ll spend the weekend dining on soup, crocheting robots and dinosaurs and making jam.
happy birthday!
Let’s all wish the nipple grabbing Irish Boy a very happy 32nd birthday and declare “Cá bhfuil an leithreas? Tá Dáithi ag glacadh cithfholctha sa ndorchadas.”
EDIT: If you have had trouble making comments on this post, the problems have been fixed. Apparently, Movable Type hates Irish. It’s not surprising, everyone hates everything from Ireland so a software program hating on the language is no real surprise. Please, leave a comment and wish him a very happy birthday (this means you, Anna, he introduced you to Mike and you owe him big time for that)
Sticky goo
Last night I made 2 batches of jam
1) Waikinky: pineapple, mango, lemon, orange marmalade that could also be called “holy crap, i need to do something with all this fruit”
2) Merciful Peaches: peach and tangerine jam
Now that I have this jam making thing figured out it’s going to be nutty. If anybody has received jams from me and would like to receive more, please return the jars and the rings (the flat lids can be tossed, I cannot reuse them) and I will refill the jars with jams as I make them. sexy.
OCD OCD OCD
On Saturday I bundled up my little tiny box of Ghengis and his collar and his stinky dinosaurs and David and Chester and I headed over to Dena and Levi’s for the afternoon.
Levi is making the box that will hold Ghengis’ ashes. To be honest, he is the only person I trust to do the job. I’ve seen his work and not only does he have mad carpentry skills, but our sense of taste and aesthetic is very similar. I also know that he is one of the few people who can truly comperehend what this means to me. Dena and Levi lost their beloved Bela in December. It’s been a hard year for pet owners. Many tears were shed that afternoon.
Right foot. Left foot. The earth keeps turning and you find you are still walking. The main point of the visit was to get Chester over to play with Milo. Chester, being not very well socialized before I got him, needs to work on his intercanine skills a bit. He’s great with people, he loves people, he just doesn’t care for other dogs.
That afternoon I got to see the actual extent of my dog’s OCD problems. There was treasure EVERYWHERE!! Everywhere! The entire living room was covered in toys that no one was bothering to hid. He was beside himself, what the hell was going on in this place that toys were just laying out here and there, squeaky pork chops, rawhides, fuzzy hedgehogs!
His first order of business was to collect everything and hide it…but where. He ran here and there with Milo perplexedly following him. He tried to hide the rawhides but every time he turned around, there was Milo watching him, seeing exactly where he put it.
Time for a different plan. This plan had him collecting every toy and treat he could find and depositing them under my chair. This is good. Everything is collected and in one place and certainly the fatty that feeds him and protects him is going to extend her umbrella of protection to the treasures he just found.
Except the fatty don’t care so much and would probably prefer that Chester not be so impolite when he is a doggy guest at another doggy’s house.
He also got to play a bit with teeny tiny Doti, the new puppy. Doti is a lovely, roundy, 6 week old American Bulldog. She’s completely deaf and that means that she can sleep through any chester related catastrophe. Good for her.
Chester then got to spend the evening at Petsmart where he got treats and stuffed toys and rope toys and whatnot. Wembley the Stuffed Whale lasted all of 20 hours! I need to find a cheaper source of stuffed toys for him.
More proof of my insanity
This morning in my regular running late flurrious rush I grabbed my Hello Kitty lunch box out of the fridge and it was covered in cold, wet goo. Ah fuck, something in my lunch must have leaked. It wasn’t the chili because that is reddish brown, not clear, it wasn’t the clementine, those don’t really leak so much and it wasn’t the tortilla chips because…well that’s just crazy.
I figured there must have been a breach in my yogurt seal and it was leaking sweetened yogurt whey goo all over the fridge.
Nope. Dry.
So, obviously, the Alien decided to hide in my fridge and drip goo everywhere. Do not touch the goo.
I emptied my lunch box, tossed the perishables into the fridge and left.
At work I realized that I put my lunch back in the fridge. That was stupid. Now I can’t eat my lunch because it is 5.3 miles away. The goo never actually touched the food, just the lunch box. I am retarded. Retarded and hungry.
