It's trying to be spring in Spencer

Saturday after payday is historically "go buy a ton of cat food and cat litter" day. I've stopped paying any attention to the funny looks people give me when I load up my cart with bag after bag of cat litter at Walmart. I usually make a point of wearing a jacket or clothing with "Americancat.net" emblazoned on it, but not many people are looking at my clothes. They are staring at the cart and wondering how many cats that lady must have to need all that cat litter?

In fact, I could get by with far less cat litter per trip, if for some reason I wanted to venture into Walmart every single week. But the more I load up with, the less often I need to visit the place. If I see a floor worker, I'll even ask for a flat cart and a strong arm and we'll walk out of there with 30 bags and I may be able to stay away for almost two months!



On these days I just write out checks or swipe the card and just keep a general balance of how much I'm spending, and add it all up when I get home. I no longer snarl or whine when prices go up. There's nothing to be done.

My raise at work came through this week, so I snagged a new cat bed to celebrate. The more cat beds I have for my house cats and foster kittens to sleep in, the less cat fur I have on my own bed.





Squeak and Ivan give it their seal of approval.

This photo is for my mom, who got Molly a little stuffed frog for Christmas. It is Molly's favorite toy:



With the weather warming up outside, I've been letting the fire in the woodstore die during the day. This means it takes awhile to get it going in the evening. Warmer weather makes for a poor draft up the chimney. So I turn on the furnace, and the pets all huddle up near the heat vents. Once the fire is going, they move over by the stove.

You'd think it was 50 instead of 70 degrees in here!

In fact, Squeak has abandoned the new bed for the ottoman in front of the fire. Ivan is sitting on a mat on my desk, helping me write.



The oil man came by yesterday and my fuel oil usage was reduced by HALF these last two months. What's the difference?

The fan. Just the fan. The heat now comes down into the house proper, instead of sitting up by the ceiling. The temperature went up almost 10 degrees with that fan on, which of course meant the furnace stayed off.

Amazing. That silly fan saved me $150 in just two months.

A decade of procrastination

Ain't it funny what you'll put up with, for SO long.

There's a possibility I may get a housemate for a few months, which means it's time to paint the upstairs. Three rooms had been done since we moved in, but need freshening. One room was never done. And the hallway...UGH! It's still old dark nail-up panel sheeting. The door between the hallway and the back bedrooms is the original paint, and is filthy. None of the trim has been repainted. I've turned a blind eye to it because..well, who cares? But now someone might have to live up there--not just stay for a night.

I mean, look at this light:



The house came with those square light covers, you know, the ones you smash the first time you take a sweatshirt off underneath or try to move something tall? Yeah, those. So when we smashed them one by one we did replace the one in the bedroom (with the most boring fixture imaginable--probably the cheapest) but slapped a regular shade on upside down on the hallway light.

The other two bedrooms have no hardwired lights, so we have something like this:



So today I went shopping for lights and a door for the bottom of the stairs. A solid door would be nicer, but warm air in the winter, and cool air in the summer, needs to make it up those stairs.



It ran over $200, but you know what? The money I saved by stopping drinking at home paid for it. So there you go. One good reason to stop an expensive habit.

I also bought a crowbar in my "replace the tools that belonged to Mark, one by one" campaign.

Then there are other shabby areas of my house that haven't been an issue. Who is going to see my spice cabinet? Who needs to decipher their labels? Up until now, no one.

I failed to take a photo of all the bottles of old stale spices that I threw out. It was rather alarming. Mark and I went through this thing about five years ago. Five years is a long time.



Spices are expensive, so anything that seemed like I should keep until I could afford replacements I did keep. Anything unlabeled or that just smelled like dust went into the trash, bottle and all. I wanted to shop the bulk spice area of Tops (which, surprisingly, has more options than Wegmans) but they didn't have the things I needed. The spices in the baking aisle were way too expensive, so I figured I'd just get one at a time.

Then I stumbled into the organic aisle and discovered small bottles of spices for half the cost of good old McCormick.



So now I am back in action. The fifteen-year-old cream of tartar is gone. The little envelopes of red stuff are all gone (could be cayenne, could be regular paprika, could be hungarian paprika--who knows?) Ditto with the baggies of green stuff--probably a product of two days a half-decade ago when I played with the food dehydrator. With the exception of one jar, all of the "ghost of Mark" handwriting is gone.

We're getting there!

What does your spice cabinet look like? Could I cook from it if I were over at your house?

:)

Foods I've missed, somehow

Can you believe that until about a month ago, I'd never heard of scalloped corn? It seems to me like a food that would have fit right in there with the homemade macaroni and cheese, and tuna noodle casserole of my childhood. I'm not even sure how I stumbled across it on the internet. Someone mentioned it on a blog, I think, and I thought "Scalloped corn? What the heck is that?"

We did eat creamed corn now and then when I was a kid. I loved how sweet it was, although I sort of found the slurpy nature of it a bit icky. Tasty, but icky.

Now, had one of my friend's moms plopped scalloped corn down on their dinner table, or had we learned how to make it in school, I surely would have been whining to mom about turning those cans of creamed corn into a casserole. Heck, all you needed were a few eggs, milk, and Ritz crackers or saltines, which we always had around.



I also remember coming to Ithaca as a student, totally clueless to the concept of Buffalo wings. I honestly had no idea what manner of beast they came from when I saw them on the menu at Dos Amigos. I believe it was in the ABC cafe that I first learned of huevos rancheros. Once upon a time I always topped my eggs at home with cheese. Now I eat them scrambled with a side of salsa. And roasted Brussels sprouts (Just a Taste)? Who knew they could be so good? Yet those are all "restaurant foods" that you bring home to your own kitchen.



(note, the photo directly above is of eggs and salsa, not scalloped corn!)

Scalloped corn? That is family food that some people have at every single Thanksgiving dinner. And I'm pushing 48 and never heard of it. Now I wonder what other absolutely average American pan-o-food is out there that I have totally missed out on?

Old farm photos

Gretchen knocked on my door one day in 2006. She had lived here as a child and wanted to know if she could wander around. A few months later she sent me some photos:






If you've ever visited the cabin in the forest on the hill, the poultry coop in this photo might look awfully familiar.



I can't begin to tell you how many 50-plus year-old guys stop and say "Hey, I used to live here. Did you know this was a commune?" Half the time they are thinking of Owl Creek Farm further down the road, but some of them did indeed live here. I imagine a lot of folks called this place home over the years, more as transients than "commune" members. I have the old abstract, and the place changed hands a lot in recent years.



And I think this is Gretchen, coming up the front hill:



Gretchen now owns Gunn Creek Farm, and you'll see her childhood farm mentioned right on her website.

And we both graduated from Ithaca College. How about that? And never met while we were there.

The farm is also the birthplace of Woodbridge Ferris, senator and founder of what is now Ferris State University. Here is the original cabin on the property, where he was born. My house (and his life on this farm) is mentioned in his biography here under "The New Home."

If you have snow, enjoy it

No, I'm not choking her. She's on a flexi-leash.

Blu Hors Matine euthanized last month

Every few months I check in on Blu Hors Matine, a favorite dressage horse of mine (as well as a favorite of thousands of others).

Today I stumbled across the bad news that she had been injured in the field and was put down.



After an injury slipping off a trailer, she never reached competition soundness again, and was retired to be a brood mare. It doesn't sound like they know how she injured herself in the field.

Sadly, the quality of the video isn't as good as the one that used to be posted. It's so seldom you see a horse that really seems to enjoy being worked. She was a delight to watch.

Happy Valentine's Day to me, and you, and you....

I understand that some people don't like Valentine's Day. I liked it quite a bit once I was free from the elementary school "you-have-to-give-everyone-a-card-but-you-give-the-homely-cards-to-the-unpopular-people" cruelty aspect of the Big Red Day. Once you grew up enough to be allowed to have real friends instead of popularity-contest friends (were you one of those people who really actually kind of liked the girl with greasy hair and bad glasses, and were ashamed that you didn't dare to show it too much around other people?)---after those days passed away, I found Valentine's Day to be quite fun. Luckily for me (now) my previous-other-half professed not to like Valentine's Day (like many people). Therefore, I'm not wistfully staring at red roses and hearts wishing there was someone to give me some.

What I miss the most about Valentine's Day are the cheap boxes of cards that had puppies and kittens and flowers on them, instead of trademarked cartoon and movie characters.

Anyway, I planned to use Valentine's Day as an excuse to go to my local florist. It's one of the local businesses I never go to because I never buy flowers. This seemed like a good excuse. There was a big sign that they had Valentine's roses by the dozen for a $15.99, so I pulled in.

But when I walked inside, what did I find but purple carnations. In FOUR different shades.

So guess what I got.

Happy Valentine's Day, all around. Here's to silliness.

Post note: OK, now I can reveal that I also Teleflora'd flowers to my mom. I'm not ENTIRELY flower selfish!

Reflection on being snowbound

There is only one thing worse than having to listen to Toyota apologize over and over and over on the radio, and that's listening to a woman sing "If you're happy with your Honda clap your hands."

Craigslist

Craiglist really has revolutionized the home space for people with are broke. I won't call myself poverty stricken, although things are tight. But I do recall when I got my first apartment, and I cruised the streets on garbage night. If you saw a couch--any couch--and you needed a couch, you took it, unless it had been rained on. When you found a better couch, you took that one, and put your current couch on the curb for someone else to take. There were no choices. You were destined to a period in your life where everything you owned was someone else's trash.

Does this bring back memories for anyone who is reading?

Craigslist gives people a choice. Granted, some people are asking what the furniture is worth, which puts it out of the reach of a person on a tight budget. But quite often there are folks who just want stuff to go away. If you are very very patient, and keep your eyes open, instead of being stuck with the couch at the side of the road, you can pick a couch you like.

(Nonetheless, if you are living on ramen noodles, even a $20 couch is $20 too much. That's what Freecycle helps with).

There are a couple of things I've always wanted but that I've written off as being out of my price range---forever. I simply will not spend the money on them, no matter how they strike my fancy.

When I saw one of them on Craigslist today for $25 I had to look three times, absolutely certain the price was wrong.

You do not buy a redwood burl slab coffee table with a driftwood base for $25 unless it has Elvis painted on the top.



Unless there is a couple moving to Georgia who just wants everything to go away.

And it turns out the gentleman had rented my house back in the mid-80s when he was building the beautiful log cabin he now had for sale.

I didn't think to ask him if this table had been here before.

Happy Single Woman's Radio Station

I'm going to start a radio station that doesn't play any "Oh gosh I'm in love" or "Oh gosh I WANNA be in love" or "damn, he's/she's done me wrong" or "aren't children the TOTAL point of life" songs.

I listen to country music. I started this habit about eight years ago when I was trying to stay awake on long drives, because, hey, you can understand the words, and you can also sing along. Unfortunately, 85% of the songs fall into the above categories.

Nowadays, I'm turning it off and going back to modern rock precisely because I can't understand the words on rock songs.

Sadly, my public radio station is fuzzy, or I would listen to that.

I don't have to fetch anyone coffee at work....

....But sometimes I do get to play puppy agent.

If I get in bed first....

It's not such a big problem. Only two cats are allowed to sleep with me: Ditz behind my knees, and Ivan at my chest. But the problem is, what if they all get there first?



That's when you break out the treats and make them think it was their idea to get down.

When I wake up melancholy

It doesn't happen often, I suppose, but I'm sure it happens to all of us. When you wake up in the morning, you sometimes wake up tired, you sometimes wake up dreading work, you sometimes wake up looking forward to the day, or pleased that it's the weekend.

And sometimes you wake up sad.

Yeah, it's probably just hormones, but nonetheless you've got to live with it. You can give in to it, and mope about all day, being unproductive and making everyone else miserable, too. You end up asleep on the couch for half the day, then wake up angry with yourself for having wasted a whole day. Or you can declare war on it, go out with friends or go shopping, do something aggressively "fun" to derail the sad start of your day, and attempt to end the day happy, or at least sort of manically and hilariously unbalanced.

Or you can take advantage of the fact that you are feeling low and address all those mundane tasks that are wasted on happiness anyway.

I brewed a large pot of coffee.

I lit the candles in the house. For some reason, candles always make me content.

I then set to work covering up the last of the yellow in the kitchen and the hallway to the bathroom and stairs. I was surprised at how relieved I felt when it was finally erased. I started some laundry, stripped my bed, and wandered around the kitchen with a paint brush, looking for thin spots.

The sun came pouring in around noon. Bear was in and out. We did the "mouse dance" at the door more than once.



I picked away at work email.

It was tempting to just stay inside and continue to drudge away at indoor tasks but the bird feeders were empty again and the recycling needed to go out. Also, we all know the best thing to do when you are down-and-out, although sometimes it takes a boot in the ass to get a going.

A walk. Poor Molly has been neglected.



It wasn't a long walk. The snow and ice is melting, so it was pretty slippery going. At least Molly got to bounce around and stick her head in the snow. I got to feel the sun and listen to the creeks roar. When you are feeling out-of-sorts, unpleasant tasks sort of roll right off you, so I grabbed the shovel and took care of the "when the snow melts it becomes apparent you own a dog" issue near the porch.



Sadness is also best treated with tea (mint) and the newspaper (delivered daily). And creativity. In celebration of the working fan (and it does move the air perfectly! It's 76 degrees in her now instead of 68), I grabbed my last piece of FIMO clay and made a pull-chain kitty.



I then went through my cupboards and the refrigerator for all those leftover Christmas cooking items (nuts, dried fruit, etc.) that had or were about to go bad, or at least become stale. I scattered dates, cranberries, and walnuts around for the deer. I took the remaining pecans and attempted to make maple sugar pecans in the oven, but they were still too stale, so the deer got those, too.

I took care of the cats in the cat facility (sunshine! it sure cheers the place up!), hauled wood, and broke open an old paint can to paint a section of wainscoting near the bathroom that somehow has been missed for almost ten years.

It's amazing what we tolerate in the name of "I'll do it someday." Well, it's done.

Basically I pushed the day away one hour at a time (even scattering ashes on the driveway well after dark just to have one more thing done).

If you are going to be bummed, it should at least serve some purpose.

And here it is, after a night's sleep, the next day, and I did NOT wake up sad.

There you go. Just one day at a time.

Do you have any tricks for dealing with a case of the blahs?

Fan, continued, and local boys in longjohns

9:41 am - The coffee is brewed, and the blanket-covered chair attests to the fact that yes, at 3:15 am a 20-something young man did in fact show up on my porch in ratty longjohns and workboots, apologizing profusely and begging to use the phone. He made the call on the porch while I got my gun and the blanket. I'm still wondering what that was all about.

9:42: I now own a wire-stripper and know how to use it.

10:05: Do I stuff all these wires through the hole back up into the box, or just leave them in the body of the fan? I guess this is why they have on here "If you are unfamiliar with wiring, you should use a qualified electrician."

10:16: It would appear to me that when I lift this fan to screw it to the ceiling plate, it is going to come unhooked from the support hook, and I'm going to be holding the fan up with one hand?

10:20: I was right, and I dropped a screw. These tiny things are really the only thing holding that up there? Who designs these things? I hope the screws are made out of titanium or something.

10:24: I dropped a screw again, this time inside the fan. Which mean I must disconnect all the wires, take it down, and shake the screw out. I believe this is where other people start drinking again. Thank goodness for coffee and blogs.

11:04: Hey, pretty! I could wimp out now and not install the light...



11:40: OK, enjoy this photo before I blow it up when I turn the power back on:



11:42: It works! It works! It works!



The kittens find it fascinating. The adult cats could care less.

There. Now my long-suffering family and friends no longer have to hear about the damned fan, and I have more space in my closet!

Installing the fan from hell.

This is the ceiling fan that has lived in my closet for four years. It's intended for the den, so that all the heat from the woodstove doesn't sit up by the ceiling. My ex attempted to install it many moons ago, when I wasn't home (he had installed the other fans in our house). For some reason he aborted the venture and said something about needing a new ceiling plate because this one was bent.

2:15 - Ventured into scary spider basement, located breaker for ceiling outlet in the den, and turned it off. Whoo hoo! Got the right one the first try!

2:20 - Banged out the dents in fan ceiling plate with hammer. I'm assuming that shortly I will discover what problem Mark ran into that resulted in these dents.

2:30 - My ladder is too short. Go out the barn for the 6' ladder. On the way, I am thoroughly scolded by chickadees who point out the feeders have been empty for TWO WHOLE DAYS! Grab the feeders as I go to the barn. Discover two pigeons in the barn ($#%#!!!) who frantically fly about when I enter. As I fill the feeders from the garbage can in the old chicken coops, pigeons freak and white stuff comes splattering down. I scream a stream of swear words, including the "F" word, until I realize the white stuff is just snow. I can't find the ladder. I leave the barn, warning the pigeons they will soon be owl food if they don't move out before nightfall.

2:40 - Where the hell is the ladder?

2:45 - Walk around my house, thinking maybe I used the ladder when I painted the house this summer? I do this in Crocs, no less. Stupid!

2:46 - WHERE THE HELL IS THE LADDER!!!!

2:59 - After checking the barn again, walking around the house again (with proper shoes on) I admit I am unable to locate either of the two six foot wooden ladders I should own. I close my eyes, count to ten, and tell myself that my ex would not possibly have taken them both. I'm sure I'll find at least one. I always do this--put something somewhere odd. It was not stolen, because if anyone stole the 6' ladder, the would have taken my extension ladders as well. I venture into the spider basement for the 4'ladder so covered with dead spiders that I have not touched it for four years. Ugh!!!!!

3:00 - Are you tired of hearing about ladders yet? Well, how do you think I feel!!!!



3:01 - Why isn't the washer working? Oh, look, the den light breaker also apparently controls the outlets in the bathroom. Now, doesn't that make sense? Not.

3:05 - Suffer my first injury, a tiny cut on my ring finger, grabbing the spider ladder as I descend. Get a band-aid.

3:17 - Discover the brass screwheads are completely stripped. Hmmm...we get closer to the source of my ex's previous frustration. Do I have anymore brass screws anywhere? Do they have to be brass?

3:27 - Found two really long screws. They aren't brass. Is this whole thing really held up by just two screws? That's scary. What happens if you add more? Totally creeped out, I do find two long brass screws, but add two more small brass ones.

4:10 -



"Now you are ready to wire the fan." (shivers) I am still totally perplexed by the bent plate and stripped screws. Maybe his power screwdriver was slipping? Oh well! I'm using a regular hand screwdriver and while it took some sweat, the screws went in. There were already pilot holes drilled in the support beam that Mark had already installed.

4:28 - It's hanging up there and I'm reading the wiring chart. I think I have it down. Now I know why guys get to a certain point in their house improvements and start drinking. Luckily I have no alcohol in the house.

4:37 - The kittens are awake and appear very nervous.



4:48 - I don't own a wire-stripper, and it is too dark for me to use the jack knife. So I guess this is it for tonight. I'll stop at Home Depot when I go into Ithaca tonight to see Nancy's concert. Luckily one wall outlet works so I have a single light, and my computer is plugged into the kitchen anyway. The wash will just have to sit in the washer until tomorrow.

4:50 - I have found a lite beer in my fridge.

"I can find a cat angle on anything...."

Here is a Mandolin Cafe forum thread of photos of cats sleeping in mandolin cases.

Three day weekend coming up...

...and so much to do.

Here's the opal kitchen:



Here's the previous cheerful version.

I'll finish it up this weekend, which means painting the ceiling. Groan.

Painting over more memories

So, I'm finally painting the kitchen.

For those of you who know me in an other-than-internet manner, you'll know that the kitchen is sunny yellow. A yellow that, like the dark green of the den, Mark picked out. It's actually a yellow that suits the room, just as the dark green suits the den. He even wanted a brighter shade (that probably would have been fine) but a yellow titled "Beach Ball" frightened me a bit.

With ivory wainscoting, it's quite nice. But it's also quite dirty. And back when I was in the "every memory of the man must go" stage, I bought two gallons of pale yellow paint, called "opal cream," with plans to keep the yellow theme, but go far lighter.

I was going to paint the den copper, but finally came to my senses. The room was beautiful in dark green, and to destroy beauty just because you didn't want to think of the person who made the decision...well, that was just plain stupid. Instead I moved the furniture, made it my winter bedroom/office, got my cushy furniture, and enjoyed the hunter green in a way I never had before.

The kitchen...well, the kitchen deserved the same. Yellow was good for it. When Mark would actually say what he wanted, his instincts were damned good. I should have gone just a shade lighter instead of trying to "unyellow" it by choosing the palest option I could find.

Today I decided I couldn't let winter slide away without completing every already-paid-for home improvement on my list (and the paint was paid for), so I pulled out the gallons and popped open a top.

Hmmmm.....Opal Cream is exactly that--opal. It ain't yellow. It's, well, hand-churned butter color. Very pretty. But not yellow.

I started painting, and I stopped. The room really would have looked better yellow.

But here was $60 worth of opal paint.

I kept painting.

It is a beautiful color. A quiet, warm color. It is a grown-up, adult color. The yellow was young and cheerful.

I just am not young and cheerful anymore. Cheerful is not in my vocabulary of integrity any longer, although I can fake it fairly well.

As I painted over my cheerful yellow walls with my quiet mature opal paint, it became easier to remind myself that in two years the walls would be need to be repainted anyway, and if I were a cheerful yellow person at that time, there was no reason the kitchen couldn't become yellow again.

Paint is a wonderful thing.

The other problem with choosing pale paint is that all other surfaces also need to be redeemed. The ceiling...ick. The woodwork now looks dull. As I painted the walls, I looked at the stained wainscoting and thought "I just painted this! How can it be so filthy!"

The I realized I had last painted it when Mark said he was leaving and I thought I was going to sell the house. And that, my friends, was 1.75 years ago.

wtf?

I've been alone here for almost two years?

The fuel oil man came, filled the tank, and handed me my $800.00 fuel bill. I sat down and looked at it. I've been paying the bills, taking out the recycling, mowing the lawn, fixing the house, stacking the wood, picking away at the paint on the outside of my big red farmhouse for almost two years?

Huh.

It occurs to me, though the bank account is low, that I am rich. Very rich. I look up, and that opal paint looks better and better. I'm look forward to spring when I'll see the grass ripple back into green and I can tackle the gardens again and paint the final peaks on the house.

The yellow was all a lie anyway. He hated these walls, hated this house, hated this farm, and hated me.

Good riddance.


Post Note: Morning, the next day. LOL! Just a little baggage, Susan? And I wasn't blogging while drinking wine, either. Too expensive anymore. :)

Another one of those weekends.

You know, the ones where you vow to "get organized," "finish tasks," "organize the house...."

Blah, blah, blah.

This morning I actually did get my butt moving at 5:30 am. However, that was only because I fell asleep in my clothes at 12:30 am with the radio on. I forced myself to crawl off the bed as the early morning DJ launched into a phone interview with Governor Patterson. The DJ started out comparing the governor's entrance for the State of the State address to something that had to do with football (I think? I was half asleep...) and the governor responded with something like "I don't mean to be disrespectful..."

By all means, be disrespectful! Be disrespectful! I turned the radio to another station--not because I couldn't stand to listen to a politician--but because I couldn't endure the questions our media tend to pitch their way.

So by 7:00 am I'd been out to the cats, dragged some more things out of the pantry to Craigslist (baskets, cookie tins, etc.), fed the birds, and put a very belated Christmas card containing a gas card in the mailbox for my neglected postal person.

To do list for the weekend:

Finish cleaning the pantry
Take down the Christmas decorations
Fix up a sleeping box in the barn for the cat someone dumped here last week
Go to Ithaca to feed the Fast Food Ferals and South Hill cats (done)
Clean the house
Bring in wood (done, but always continuing)
Looking at the flakes coming down...shovel snow. (done)
Go the post office and renew my PO Boxes (work, and Wildrun)(done)
Update my Petfinder account
Put in another round of advertisements to find homes for these last kittens
If I don't use it and it's in the way or taking up space -- sell it.
And as always...paperwork.

Added:
Make some more little FIMO kitties (done)
Finally get holiday present/cards to my postal person and newspaper deliverer (done)
Pack up M&T's Christmas present (done)

I'm finally getting to the point where most of the things in the house are things that have a purpose. Other than my photo albums, I've finally divested of most of the things that reminded me of married life.

I feel like I'm finally getting to the point that other people got to a decade or more earlier in their lives. Maybe not.

Yeah, maybe so.

Farewell 2009.

I wrote a post that was beginning to sound far too "me, me, me."

The delete key is a very satisfying tool.

What shall I do in 2010?

I can tell you what I have done so far. I have learned to play Auld Lang Syne. (But not that good. Maybe next year). I have also discovered that when it comes to Mardi Gras beads, old Ivan is faster than any kitten. I could learn a thing or two from that.

Boy, do I need a better camera

I finally got a good shot with a cat and a mandolin. Clearly, it would have been a better shot with a better camera, but oh well.

This is what I do when my fingers are recovering.

Snow and mandolins

Forgetting I had taken Wed and Thursday off, I had told Nate at Finger Lakes Guitar Repair that there was no hurry on the mandolin because I would never make it to Ithaca before the weekend anyway. Once I realized I was missing three full days to noodle around on it, I gave myself a V-8 bonk to the forehead.

But yesterday the phone rang and it was Nate letting me know the mandolin was finished! I said I'd be right over, but of course the cat facility sucked me in for a heavy cleaning and I was a half hour late. Luckily he was helping someone else.

Having my own crazy space (the cat facility), it's always rather fulfilling and relaxing to wander into someone else's. Finger Lakes Guitar Repair is a workshop on King Road is a warm corner full of hardcase guitars waiting for repair or pickup, a workbench, a rack for woodworking planes, another for small handtools, a computer, and countless other wonderful things I failed to register. My little Kentucky sounded and felt so much better. He straightened the neck, lowered the action, replaced the strings, and did some fretwork, handed me some pages of chords, a list of recordings, and a CD of mandolin music, AND sat me down for a 10-minute "what I wished I known when I first picked up the mandolin" session. All for fifty bucks and a set of new strings.

And he had already sent me down to Ithaca Guitar Works to pick up some proper picks and a dampit.

I cannot begin to express how much better the mandolin sounds and feels. When I looked around on the internet and saw every page yammering about proper set-up (a term I had never even heard before), I initially was skeptical about spending money on a $100 instrument. But looking further I realized a LOT of beginners were playing $100 instruments, and if they have a truss rod, there might be quite a bit that can be improved on a neglected instrument. The action on this one was so high it was eating my fingertips up. I wrote that off to me being new to playing...until I picked her up yesterday and touched the strings. What a difference.

Anyway, the mandolin is nothing special, but she's fine until she falls apart, I'm told, and by then I'll know if I'm going to keep playing, and I'll have learned a bit before even thinking about buying a better instrument. After years of picking up tinny guitars (it's no use wondering how a proper set-up would have improved those instruments since I was starving-broke back then anyway) it's nice to have a playable instrument.

Now, of course, I'm noticing the sound of a mandolin every time it crops up on the radio, and I drop everything, grab mine, and try to play along. It's amazing what you don't notice until you have reason to.

I wonder what else I'm missing in life that I just haven't noticed?



And yes, like everything else in my life, I am arranging to have a hanger on the wall so the cats can't knock the mandolin over when it's not in its case. I considered a floor stand, but quickly concluded the cats and dog would knock it flying in short order.

Just an aside...

Frighteningly, it appears mandolin players are also internet fanatics. There are all sorts of listservs, videos, and online training pages. It's like having a beginning instructor in your den. They appear to be very big on "community" --much like the feral cat folks.

However, the last thing I need is another reason to be on a computer. :)

I'm very pleased with the mandolin. It is exactly the kind of instrument I can curl up with and play. The neck, however, is very narrow. I keep reminding myself I did this with a violin and should be able to deal with a mandolin over time, but it's hard to forget that nice, wide, guitar neck. Ah well!

I realize this mandolin probably needs to be professionally set-up. Luckily that's not a very expensive proposition.

One happy thought I stumbled across as I limped through chords and scales, was that I was relearning my childhood violin fingering. And suddenly there was a little emotional flash... "I could play violin again, down the road!"

So, while nursing my poor string-abused fingers, I punched in "violin and mandolin" and "mandolin set up ithaca" and found this sweet instrument at IthacaString.com.



Which just goes to show, I can find a connection to cats on ANY subject whatsoever.

Mandolins and eagles...

So, I come from a musical family.

However, I myself did not inherit the "patience" gene. I played violin as a child (a beautiful instrument of my mother's), dibbled around on our baby grand (a lucky purchase made by my parents when a neighbor had to sell three pianos in a tiny village that should scarcely handle the sale of one), and I've picked up the guitar countless times.

And I've put them all down again. If you don't have patience and dedication, you aren't really a musician. You are a person who appreciates music. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, musicians need an appreciative audience!

I own a Baldwin piano, which came to me via Mark's family. Now and then I lift the lid and attempt to run through the children's pieces I used to play. She needs a tuning, and two of the keys don't play. I haven't called in a technician because I fear a couple-hundred-dollar tuning will turn into a many-hundred-dollar repair.

Yet I refuse to let her go because...well...when good pianos come into your life, it is very hard to let them go.

Lately, primarily because the music of Nickel Creek carried me through my first year here alone, I've wanted to learn the mandolin. I've considered picking up the guitar again instead since I'm already familiar with it, but I would like an instrument small enough to travel with. I had purchased a Martin Backpacker about 8 years ago for that reason, and quickly learned that they are impossible to play comfortably, especially in a classical position.

Yet I always have this silly dream of sitting on my porch, tilted back in a chair, picking away at some stringed instrument or another, on a warm sunny day.

Primarily because my not-so-affluent family somehow managed to stumble across beautiful musical instruments to grace my childhood, I am a tone snob. Really, really a tone-snob. I can't abide an instrument that sounds at all tinny, but I also refuse to spend a lot of money on an instrument I may put aside in six months. I also understand that a good instrument costs good money, and looking for a dirt-cheap good instrument is somewhat of an oxymoron, and shouldn't even be admitted aloud in musical circles.

Mandolins are already a bright-sounding instrument, so there is a very fine line between "bright" and "sounds like a dime-store ukulele" when you are in the price range I am looking at.

Last weekend, while Christmas shopping, I wandered into a store in Ithaca and was confronted by an entire wall of mandolins. Not being able to play, I asked if one could be played by someone in the store. The guy working there picked one up (warning me they were all beginner's instruments of exactly the same model), but he could scarcely get it tuned, and the sound was brash and unpleasant. I thanked him, said "no, thanks," and accepted the fact that I would never find a really-low-cost playable mandolin and perhaps I should just invest in the piano I'd been neglecting.

Even though I couldn't play it on the porch on a warm summer day.

Yesterday, I had a wonderful Christmas here at the house with my sisters and my mother. Because I am hours from everyone, it was a far-too-short visit. But even in only six hours, the shared meal, the visiting, the laughter over gifts, the reluctance to leave...well, it was one of those good jumping off days that you think "OK, maybe I should try really hard to be a better person from now on."

I'm still bundled up in a lot of anger, and I could see moments yesterday when that came through. You'd think after 16 months, it would be gone, and on the phone last night I apologized to my mom for my flashes of rudeness. Her understanding response made me cherish my family all the more.

It really was a good day.

Kind of like my experience with instruments, these starting-over moments can be too-quickly forgotten, so I try to hang onto the glow as long as I can.

I had not forgotten it this morning. I had had a good night's rest. I had a steaming cup of coffee at my elbow.

I clicked on "musical instruments" in Craigslist just for the heck of it.

There was only one post today, also from an early Saturday riser:



It was a Kentucky mandolin, and was a step up from their basic model. In other words, a pretty good little mandolin, and it was $100. That was less than the tinker toy mandolin I'd looked at the week before.

I immediately sent an email, hoping that at 7:30 am the day after Christmas, I would be one of the first fools on Craigslist.

I was.



One of the best things about Craigslist is that you are buying from real people, in their own homes. The seller in this case was a student from Green Mountain College (who had good questions about Marcellus natural gas leasing) at his parent's home in the hills of Newfield not so far from me. Their pretty little plotthound mix didn't much like the smell of me. I had no ideal plotthounds could bell out as clearly as any coonhound.

When I picked up the mandolin, I noticed there was a small crack between the fretboard and the neck, but as soon as I ran my thumb over the strings, out-of-tune and all, you could tell she had a good sound. A mandolin is tuned just like a violin, so there was an immediate memory leap. This instrument had the same depth as a decent starter violin, and she had a comfortable heft and balance.

It was a lovely trip, to meet great people, and now I have a lovely little mandolin.

Because I was up and about so early, I ran into Ithaca to feed the cats, came home over the hills, loaded up the trash, headed over other hills to the Barton transfer station, and while coming through the Catatonk Valley, I saw a large line dipping and gliding in the grey sky.

It was an eagle.

It's not many people who can sit in their beat-up old truck with a mandolin in the passenger seat and watch an eagle fly overhead.

Life is good.

Something other than media commentary...

Between work, kitten care, adoptions, and general house stuff, my blogging track record has fallen. Tonight I lurked around the house getting photos of the gang when they were unaware. Ditz, as usual, was in command of the bed.



I finally got a good shot of Molly! The poor girl has been seriously neglected since the temperature fell. Long walks just don't thrill me when it's 7F out!



Thankfully, the kittens keep her occupied. I'm not sure what she'll do when her buddy Cheeto goes to his new home this weekend.



Cheeto has been a true joy to have around, but it's time to him to move on to a new chapter in his life.

Please tell me he did not say this

Chris Denton, an attorney who represents large landowner groups looking to make lucrative deals with energy companies, put it this way: "Right now, we have the luxury of being able to have this discussion about what is the best way to regulate the Marcellus. But you don't worry about highfalutin intellectual matters when you are starving. There might be a time when we are in such economic distress, we just have to do it."

The national economic picture is not looking promising, he added: "Remember, we are at war."

I have been struggling with the Marcellus drilling issue. If you are not local, you may not know that our region is on top of a large band of natural gas deep in the earth. But it is not in pockets, where companies might engage in "hit or miss" vertical wells. It is all through a layer of shale that must be fractured apart with water and chemicals, and accessed via vertical and horizontal drilling, which would enable companies to draw it out.

It also means pumping a huge volume of water out of our creeks and rivers, adding toxic chemicals, pumping it into the ground, and pumping it out again, additionally contaminated with radioactivity.

Guess who is sitting on top of that Marcellus Shale? You guessed it. Little ole Wildrun.

I am one of those landowners who really could benefit from the money from natural gas leases, and royalties, should there be any. I barely manage to meet my bills each month, and that wouldn't change much even if I stopped rescuing cats. A lease extension payment last fall enabled me to keep this place. The lease company then sent me a letter saying they weren't going to honor that lease extension to pay me the remainder of what they had offered. Luckily, my lease with that company has now expired. They came to my door asking for me to consider a new lease, but hey, they didn't honor the last one so I'll be damned if I'll sign another with them.

If they HAD honored the first lease extension, right now they would be paying off that agreement and I would be refinancing my farm, paying off my ex-husband, and wouldn't have to make a large mortgage payment. But they didn't.

I'm desperate, but not totally stupid, to sign with them again. Especially now that additional concerns have arisen about Marcellus Shale drilling.

Tonight yet another article appeared in local press. The local coverage recently has been excellent--primarily because local activists jumped into the picture.

I am one of those who feels drilling is inevitable, but that we need safeguards in place during drilling, and we need to examine what we are going to do with all of this water. We also need to examine the fact that landowner's wells WILL be contaminated. It may not be many, but it will happen.

I was pretty disgusted by the patter that came out of the mouth of the landsman who showed up on my doorstep last week trying to get me to re-sign. He insulted the governor and the DEC, compared NY to southern CA, admitted his job provided no health insurance (!!!!!), and then handed me an offer than was worse than the one the company had not honored before.

However, I'm also not impressed with lines from "experts" like "highfalutin intellectual matters" and "Remember, we are at war." I really, really hope those were unfortunately remarks taken out of context.

Since when it talk about looking before you leap, "highfalutin?" And what in hell does the war have to do with this?

All I see are people wanting to make money. Not starving farmers so much as natural gas companies and lawyers. And yes, I want to make money, too. I want to keep my farm. But I don't want to be the one who contaminates my neighbor's well, either.

I don't find that to be a "highfalutin" concern.

I'm awfully tired of listening to men who want to sound like they are good old boys. I'd like my landsmen and the expert lawyers to sound more like they understood those "highfalutin intellectual" concerns and took them seriously.

I was going to join one of those "large landowner's groups" and now I even wonder about them. Are they really about more protections for the land, or just more bonus money and higher royalties?

A "Tiger" is remoted related to cat topics

And besides, this is my personal blog, so if I want to talk about something other than cats, I can.

The "Tiger Woods Accident" is a perfect mirror for our sad media society. The man drove out of his driveway in a manner (too fast, too aggressive, didn't pay attention, any of the above) that resulted in an accident. His wife heard it, ran out, and aided him. A neighbor called police for assistance. Tiger was taken to the hospital and was released. In a one-car accident that doesn't involve alcohol, you provide your personal information, license, and insurance to the police. While it always helps to know why you mashed the gas, it's not required by law to reveal it.

If you are speeding, you get a ticket for going 80. You don't have to share that the reason you were speeding is because you wanted to catch your husband cheating on you.

But now, the media feels that Tiger has "something to hide" for not telling us WHY he peeled out of his driveway.

Let's entertain some scenarios.

He got in a fight with his wife and roared out of the drive in a huff, secretly hoping she'd be worried for him as he zoomed out onto the road.

He needed a six-pack to entertain a buddy and was headed to the stop-and-shop (but hadn't had too much to drink yet, because "alcohol was not a factor" in the accident) and wanted to get back quickly so "Larry the Cable Guy" wasn't on pause too long in Netflix.

A friend called in desperation and needed someone to talk to.

He was half asleep and realized he'd forgotten something incriminating at a woman's (not his wife) apartment.

He was sleep-driving.

His dog was lost and someone called to say they saw the pup jogging down I-95.

Are any of these anyone's business?

The media is expressing shock that he won't at least share his "reasons" with police. Of course, the 911 tape has already been released, and anything additional he would share with police would become public record. Is is any surprise that he's not sharing details of his personal life?

What do I say? Good for you, Tiger! It's nobody's business but your own WHY you made a stupid step on your accelerator pedal. You should have been smarter. If you'd killed someone, you would have had to suffer the consequences. But whether it was because you'd were pissed because you'd forgotten to buy cranberry relish earlier that evening or because you had a fight with your beloved is nobody's business.

You aren't voting against gay marriage stating that it's immoral (while cheating on your wife). You aren't leading my church. If you were, yeah, I'd want to know, because hey, you took a vow, and it's possible you broke it.

But you play golf. So it just ain't my business.

Tell the media to go bark up another tree.

I'm sure if I backed out of my driveway, spitting gravel, and ran over that steep bank across my road, panicked, and ended up in my creek, would anyone be camped outside my house because I failed to reveal whether it was because someone saw a kitten on Halsey Valley Road or because I was headed out to puncture my ex's tires? Would anyone even think to ask?

Not bloody likely.

Thank goodness.

You go, Wood's family. Let them have a coronary because you won't spill your personal life. Yahoo has your wife labeled as a "mystery woman" tonight, because they don't have anything else to trumpet.

Even when they have nothing to say, the media will find something to say.

The very fact that media outlets are acting like rabid idiots when they have nothing at all to report indicates to me that they would be screaming mobs of idiocy if they were given even sliver of a reason.

Do we honestly think the media would shake Tiger's hand and say "Thank you, we wish you well" and walk away if he said "I had a disagreement with my wife and wanted to go for a drive to clear my head?" No one is that big a fool.

Especially Tiger Woods. If he wanted to share, he'd start a blog. ;)

What I am thankful for

It has been a long year and a half.

I used to be most thankful for a love I thought I had. It was really difficult to realize that person had been play-acting for years. I am sorry he felt he had to, and wish I had been more observant for his sake and ours. I am surprised that I am not over it, but nonetheless I am glad the relationship has ended. It wasn't until recently that I realized I was not being true to myself, my friends, or my family, because I was self-conscious about who I was to my own partner. It's just as well he's gone, as we were clearly not a match. I'm afraid I'm not generous enough to wish him well yet, but I expect at some time I will. When that happens, it will be a very good thanksgiving.

I am thankful, most of all, for my family, my friends, and all of the people who have to into my circle due to the rescue. I cannot believe the kindness and generosity I have experienced. It is something I might not have known under other circumstances. One of the most amazing things I discovered is that almost all my friends and supporters have experienced similar or greater challenges. They basically knit their fingers together, said "put your foot here" and gave me a strong boost up onto the horse's back (if you have never done this, or had it done for you in reality, it means a person is willing to get their hands covered with barn muck in order to throw you up on a saddle because you aren't yet big or strong enough to do it yourself).

I'm thankful for my job, even though it involves far too many hours for a normal human being. It has put me in touch with leaders in the field of animal advocacy. It has sent me where I would never have been able to go on my own. It has introduced me to people who want to make a real change in the world. It has thrown me into the lives of truly lost souls who need help. It has wired me in with the population that is 10 to 20 years younger than me, as well as 10 to 20 years older. It has placed me in a unique frame of reference that I could never have hoped for as a local independent rescuer.

I am thankful for the cats. And you know what?

I AM NOT A CAT LADY. I AM A CATALYST!

At the last conference I attended, a dedicated young woman said to me "I hate that term 'crazy cat lady.' I want to come up with something new."

She is a catalyst, too.

Unwanted cats cost this nation millions of dollars each year. Like lawyers and politicians, it's hard to be a "good" cat lady because the stereotype is so ingrained and there are legitimate concerns about animals hoarders an disreputable rescue groups. But like many lawyers and many local politicians, there are so many of us who are professional and dedicated to our communities.

Every time I help ONE person, the gratitude is overwhelming. These balls of fur that come into people's lives cause people great distress and concern. We live in a society that isn't willing to take a litter of kittens, bundle them into a pillowcase with some rocks, and toss them in a local creek.

Thank goodness for that. A person who won't kill kittens is probably going to stop and ring your doorbell if they notice your newspapers are piling up or your car hasn't moved for days.

And to those who say "Why do you spend all your time on cats when kids need help?" You know what? If your kid stumbled in front of a car, a cat lady would throw herself out there faster than any other person on the street. As food bank requests and ambulance service requests come into my mail, they all go out with a small check, because you know? All of those people are warriors and deserve what small amount I can give them.

No matter what your service, if you give to others, you are a warrior and a friend to me.

Happy Thanksgiving.

And thank you to everyone who has given to me, even if it has been only a kind word. Thank you to everyone who comes back and reads this regularly. Your dedication is a gift to me, and to the writer of every other blog you read.

You know who you are.

Catching up

I'm fairly certain I bought this chair for me. The cats, however, have given it their seal of approval. Thank goodness the fur vacuums off without much effort.



I realize I have been MIA for quite awhile. I've been adopting out kittens (not as fast as I ought), cleaning the barn, painting the bathroom (I'm not quite sure where that came from, but it happened), working, working, and of course, working. Oh yes, and getting trucks repaired.

By far the nicest thing that has happened in my life is the new Bishop's Inn in Spencer. The newest owner has ditched the "Main Steet Cafe" name, and is serving comfort food. All due respect to the previous incarnations, but Spencer just isn't big enough to support eclectic cuisine, and no one makes enough so pay over $20 for dinner. The Bishop's Inn has breakfast for well under $5 (there is always a $4 special), and lunch and dinner under ten bucks. They have a nice long comfortable bar and two large screen TVs tuned to the news during the day and sports at night.

And it's FULL. Seriously. I went in on Friday night and there wasn't a table seat to be had.

Additionally, the food is really good. I wouldn't even want to hazard a guess at the calorie load on the food there, but hey, it's not like you are getting health food at McDonalds.

So hey, let's go!



They also have Wi-Fi and I've taken my netbook in a couple of times to work. So now I can get out of my box without traveling more than three miles.

This is a good thing, as I've been experiencing vehicle angst. The white truck may have reached the "just needs a $5 part but it means yanking out the engine to replace it" point. The blue truck is back on the road and running well, but it's nearing 200,000 so it will constantly need maintenance. I would have no problem buying a new car with my credit rating, but frankly, I can't add a car payment plus new car insurance right before winter.

I'm hoping to limp by with the trucks, but if the white one is unsalvageable, I really should use it for a trade-in, because if I do get a car, I want to keep one truck for trash and hauling. I can't sell the white truck and buy a car later, because then I won't have a trade in. And I can't just park the white truck until spring, because it probably would be junk by May. Although I could try storing it in the barn and hoping for the best.

Drat, drat, drat.

At any rate, should I get a new car, I'm leaning toward the Kia Soul. And no, it's not just because of the hamsters. Although, let's be honest, those darned hamsters did get me to pay attention.