Draft 2021

I think my animals are messing with me. My husband has been out of the country these past two weeks leaving me here to hold down the fort. And history has shown that bad things always happen when he's gone. I thought this trip's "bad thing" was going to be sick dogs, but while they had to miss a few days of daycare, they avoided catching what was going around. Whew. Bullet dodged. Yeah, it's never that easy. It started one evening last week when Floyd's attention was riveted to the baseboard under the TV cupboard. He not only stared, but paced back and forth as if moving along with something. Then Henry joined him, staring and pacing. We had some mice in the house last fall and were able to eliminate them without too much trouble. Or so I thought. My daughter heard rustlings and gnawing sounds in the closet ceiling off the upstairs bathroom a couple of months ago, but no more mice showed up and I figured it was a fluke; either that or another bat infestation.

Day 36  Fern and I are just going to snuggle under the blankets and weather the storm .  Day 37  Unlike Templeton Rye, Henry really was made in Iowa. Day 38 I have this crazy cactus that blooms multiple times a year - as in 4 or even 5 different times. I must give it just the right about of neglect! Day 39 Knitting under a sweater blanket (made by my daughter Sarah) and my big, goofy lap dog.

Gus is very proud of his French heritage. After all, "basset" is derived from the French "bas," meaning low to the ground. Among his many talents, Gus is most proud of his status as a danseur . His long, lean body exemplifies the male ballet dancer's physique with its need for strength and agility. Here Gus demonstrates perfect form in first position. You're welcome.

Gus doesn't know about anybody else but he's tired of winter. If it were up to him these frigid winter days would be spent lounging by a warm fire, only occasionally turning over to toast the other side. Gus would be all in favor of spending the winter in hibernation, as long as there was a nice warm bed and a goodly supply of milk bones. But alas, the life of a house dog comes with its obligations. Despite his assurances to the contrary, he cannot wait until Spring to piddle. Since he was a tiny puppy Gus has hated cold weather; and he strives to make it clear how much he resents our insistence on taking him into a deep freeze to piddle. To this end, Gus has perfected the art of false piddling. He will unwillingly trudge outside only to go through the piddle protocol;  a slight bending of the back legs along with the lifting of one heel. Then he'll dash to the door and certain warmth. Only it was just a ruse. This means he can't just be let outside to go potty like a n

Cozy throw knitted from hand spun wool With temperatures right around 0 degrees and wind chills as low as -20, today was the perfect day to cozy up under a wool throw. I knitted this throw last year from wool yarn spun by Maggie Howe of Girl With a Sword Productions . Over the years I think I have bought enough of her hand spun to reconstruct an entire flock of sheep - maybe two. Apparently I'm working on building my own herd of afghans instead.

My cousin is paring down her possessions and sent me this wonderful old book, full of sage advice on health and home, with topics such as keeping one's figure, home remedies for worms(!) and contagious diseases, social etiquette, and how to clean lace. I can't help but ponder the many hands that have turned these pages and the thoughts and actions this book may have inspired. It must have been precious to many people to have survived more than 100 years. Without intention, I found my niche as a "homemaker," though when my youngest heads off to college in the fall I think I'm going to call myself a retired educational facilitator instead. I shouldn't be embarrassed or discomfited by my love for things domestic, yet society still tends to devalue the import of homemaking. It sounds kind of silly to admit how much satisfaction I find in making my own bread, putting together a delicious meal, or surveying the jars of homemade pasta sauces on my shelves. Today I

I ordered a knitting kit a few weeks ago - project number 5,203 - and when I opened it today this nifty little can of bag balm was included as a "soothing" gift. And it arrived just in time. I'm not a glamorous (snort) woman. I rarely wear makeup, don't "do" my nails, and am most comfortable in jeans and a baggy sweater. When my kids were little I would often notice other women's perfectly coiffed hair and neatly manicured nails and think, "Someday I'll have the time to do that, too." I guess I now have that time, but just am not interested. I do "style" my short hair and decided a couple years ago to cover the gray, but makeup and manicures apparently just aren't my thing. It's not that I don't spend time on myself - I exercise regularly, eat well much of the time, and practice mindfulness (almost) daily. I just don't want to mess with eye liner and mascara, and nail polish never would stick to my nails. It seems

Gleaning apples in Washington My husband left for a two-week business trip yesterday. He'll be in the summer cornfields of Chile, while I remain in the frozen wastes of Iowa. And yes, he left on Valentine's Day. But you know what? I'm not bothered at all. He's missed my birthday most years, along with our anniversary, and Valentine's Day. Name a traditional "lovers'" holiday and he's likely missed it. I've not always been so sanguine about his travel. Mostly this was due to the difficulty of managing the heavy load of child-rearing alone, though I did carry a nice little backpack full of personal resentment for a number of years. It was maybe 10 years ago or so that I realized those "special" days are not important, not really. It's the day-to-day living of a life together, the give and take, the appreciation and love, that is shown through daily actions that really matters. Sometimes during a lull in my day I'll suddenly feel

At the Barry Manilow Concert Happy for flights of beer and flights of fancy with my love Having a daughter who makes and decorates sugar cookies for every holiday makes me happy!

Barry Manilow was my first true love. I did have a brief flirtation with Frankie Valli, thanks to my sister's Four Seasons albums. Frankie even has the distinction of having been my first concert. But I was too young at 11 to fully appreciate the meaning of "true love." By 13, however, Mandy hit the air waves and I was smitten. I spent my teen years in thrall to Barry's ballads, playing records over and over until I knew all the words to every song. With a bent toward the melancholy even then, Barry spoke to the desperate sadness in my heart. And he was cute, regardless of what my dad said about his nose. I could even pretend that, just maybe, he was tall enough. Sigh. True confession: I pretended to be sick to skip a high school band concert so I could stay home and watch one of his TV specials.  Sorry, Mom. My freshman year of college I camped out over Labor Day weekend to buy tickets to see him live for the first time. For me to go camping willingly, with people

I've been focusing on making my life easier. I don't have to make absolutely everything we eat from scratch, but I enjoy doing so as much as possible. I am one of those people who lives to eat; deprivation and elimination are not in my cooking lexicon. Lately I've been cooking to suit my husband and myself,  with less worry over what or whether the kids who are still at home will eat. Let's face it, the youngest is 17, and if she doesn't want what's for dinner, she's fully capable of making herself a sandwich. I enjoy making my own pasta, but find the work involved aggravates the painful joints in my hands. The solution was this nifty pasta machine. We made our first batch of fettuccine a couple nights ago and it was out-of-this-world fantastic! I'm not a gadget person, but am so happy to be able to make pasta without pain. Michael made this incredible mushroom, tarragon and goat cheese sauce for our homemade fettuccine; paired with freshly baked bread

When I first started seeing a therapist for depression many years ago, he naively suggested I do a few things to brighten my day, one of which was to buy myself a flower. Yeah. No. At the time I was knee-deep in small children with mental illnesses of their own, a traveling husband, a new puppy, and a limited budget; buying myself a flower was pretty low on the list of "things that would brighten my day." I remember asking him if this suggestion, along with several others he had made, including "taking a nice long bath," was something he learned to say to depressed women patients in "therapy school." I may have been a somewhat challenging patient. In one session, several years into our therapist/patient relationship, he mentioned that on his way home the week before he just didn't feel like himself. He was, in fact, a little down. Then he remembered that he had seen me that day and it all made sense! I'd say we had a great therapist/patient relatio

Bertha Mae Bertha Mae, our little basset hound, is a fearless climber. She will leap onto a chair, then decide she'd rather be on the couch. A quick perch on the armrest and she's flying to her new destination. Often we'll look out the window to see her perched high atop the woodpile or standing on a patio table. Last summer we had raised beds of tomatoes in our backyard. Bertie discovered she could easily climb amongst the produce and have a nice snack. So we added chicken wire about 3 feet high around the tops of the beds. That should keep the little dog out. Nope. The cats are right; this is a great view! We're not quite sure how she got inside the fencing, but apparently ripe tomatoes were enough of an incentive to fly into the beds. So far she hasn't fallen or managed to injure herself. And we grown accustomed to keeping a close eye on her until she decides whose lap she wants; from experience I can tell you that a 35-pound projectile can pack quite a wallop. S

Spent grain bread My husband is a home brewer who makes fabulous beer. Though I'm not especially fond of IPAs in general, I love most of the other beers he makes. But having a steady supply of home brew isn't the only benefit from his hobby; he also makes the most incredible whole wheat bread using his spent grains. Spent grains are what is left and after the mash has extracted most of the sugars, proteins, and nutrients, from the grains. Breweries often sell their spent grains as animal feed, though their nutrient content is severely reduced. Though no longer high in nutritive value, spent grains give whole wheat bread a delicious nutty flavor and a nice chewy texture. Every time he brews, my husband uses the spent grains to make 3-4 loaves of this great tasting bread we refer to as "beer bread." He never uses a recipe, so it's a little different each time, but always delicious. I'm looking forward to breakfast tomorrow morning when we'll turn a loaf or t

Drip, drip, drip Oddly, we haven't had enough winter weather for me to be tired of it yet.  Usually by February we've had so much bone-chilling cold, snowy-slippery driving, and gloomy-gray skies that a sunshiny day is a rare surprise. But this year we've only had spurts of real cold, a few scattered snowstorms, and more sunny days than typical. I'll take the sunshine and blue skies any time. But in February? It's a real gift.

Elmer How do you say goodbye to someone who has been part of your everyday life for nearly 14 years? Elmer, our gorgeous, lovable, orange tabby has cancer. We noticed his weight loss and as it accelerated his blood work showed likely leukemia. There is no cure and treatment would only prolong his death. Today we will have to say goodbye. Thankfully our veterinarians share our philosophy on quality of life and will come to our house this evening to euthanize him. Elmer joined our family as a tiny, adorable kitten from a rescue organization. As soon as I saw him I knew he was the one. I had never seen a kitten as intensely orange as this tiny tabby. We adopted him along with a little black and white female we named Fern. They were about 7 weeks old. Throughout the years, Elmer was always nearby, giving his calm approval or resigned acquiescence to everything from more kittens, to rabbits, and even a St. Bernard. He patiently withstood the kitten antics of Lester, a tiny dark tabby with a

Evergreens bow down under snowy coats Dryads awaken bowed under coats of ice  demanding redress

New fireplace insert Seven years ago we decided to add an insert to our then non-functioning fireplace. I insisted, over my husband's objections, that we get a wood-burning insert. I love the smell of a wood fire, the atmosphere it creates, even the popping and crackling of burning wood. We liked out wood burning insert, though it never really looked quite right. We have a super small firebox, built for burning coal, and it was difficult to find an insert that would fit. We did and it was great - we could warm up the downstairs and keep the thermostat set low - usually no higher than 65 degrees during the day. But. And this is a big but. A wood burning insert is a pain. Being city folk, we had to buy our wood already cut and dried. The cost of a load had gone up to $300 for a cord (that didn't ever quite measure true). So I started checking Craigslist for free wood ads and my husband would take the seats out of the mini van and load her up. We got some good wood that way, but u

Bertha Mae and Gus These two hooligans are a study in contrasts. While Bertie is an out-hound, forever needing to patrol the perimeter of her territory, checking for invaders, chasing errant squirrels and killing baby bunnies, Gus is an in-hound who, except for sunning himself on the porch steps in the summer, would just as soon stay inside curled up on the couch, preferably under a blanket or on a lap, thank you very much. But with yesterday's snow they missed their usual 2-mile morning walk and needed to go outside and get the stink blown off. You know, as an expression "go outside and get the stink blown off" really doesn't seem to be rooted in any sort of practical wisdom. If you stink when you're inside, you're still going to stink outside, though the aroma might disperse somewhat, rendering your smell somewhat less stinky to those in close proximity. And as far as dogs go, being outside generally tends to increase the stink. But I digress. It's alway

Snow Day I've been really busy lately. Busy for me is not "busy" for a typical person. I'm still a stay-at-home unschooling mom, though after this spring I'm going to have to give myself a different, more accurate job description. Maybe cat-herder or basset wrangler... or (gasp) homemaker. Anyway, my "busy" involved volunteering, driving my daughter to and from her various classes at three different locations (high school, urban campus and ankeny campus of community college), attending a lecture at Iowa State, viewing an art show, plus all the regular cooking, etc. The amount of activation energy required to do all this sometimes seems unattainable, thanks to my Ehlers Danlos with co-morbid fibromyalgia. I love that word co-morbid, it adds a note of gravitas to any diagnosis, don't you think? Anyway, I've been able to keep going, enjoying what I've been doing, and managing enough down-time to regroup for the next day's assault. So far. Oh