Mental Health Day

Work has been hectic? How hectic? Hectic enough that I have been told to TAKE A DAY OFF! As if on cue, the Demons of IT decided to demand payment for this generosity by eating our work inbound mail. I spent two days wrestling with the Mothership to get it back, and other coworkers leaped in to answer the resulting backlog.

I have resolved that today will not be wasted staring numbly at the walls, or falling asleep on the couch. This has been a soul-sucking winter, and I cannot let it win. There are so many little things I could do that would remove tiny hurdles that make my day-to-day life incrementally more difficult. Getting rid of them would make my days incrementally better. It is within my ability. ;)

This positive outlook was launched by the adoption of Sir Morgan. Yes, the sweet and Pudgie One found a home, and someone is home all day! So he will have more affection than he will know what to do with. Now if only Tiger Tom could find a similar home. It is good to see Sir Morgan's cage empty. I was going to move Portia upstairs (the black cat who was recently abandoned here), but frankly I think she would rather have all of the first floor to herself and come upstairs for periodic visits, than be caged for half the day upstairs. I'm thinking about moving Coyote downstairs to be with Portia (the black cat the was abandoned before Portia appeared), because it's clear that she doesn't enjoy sharing space with a colony of cats. She's thriving (glossy and fat!) but she's not the laid-back affectionate cat she had been, and I think she would get more adoption notice downstairs as well.

The weather has been brutally cold. We get an occasional sunny day in the 30s, but our days of "thaw" have been limited to one 50-degree day, which is atypical for a NY winter. Normally we get a good 3-5 days of freakishly warm weather some time in January or February. Not this year.

I'd best not waste too much time blogging until I actually have something to blog.

PostNote 10:47 am: After cleaning the cat facility, I left Portia loose upstairs with Coyote, Morgaine, and Gawain. I'd like to get Portia and Coyote used to one another, then Coyote can move downstairs once the weather is warmer and they can greet visitors and hopefully get "first dibs" on folks who would take an adult cat. It's so hard to be a black cat--even a black cat with gorgeous copper eyes like Coyote or the perfect affectionate soul like Portia's.

I am now making cinnamon rolls. Don't get impressed--they are the Pillsbury pop-up type.

Three-day weekend--and trying not to waste it

Note: I put this in "draft" and never completed it. Sigh.

I think anyone who lives in a snowbound state will admit that February is a pretty lousy month. There is always that hope that winter will miraculously melt away and not come back. Reality, however, keeps knocking, with repeat snowstorms and harsh winds--often the day after a rare gorgeous day in the 50s.

Like today. The harsh day, I mean, after the beautiful warm day.

Not the warm day. That of course fell on a Friday, when most folks are working and wishing they weren't working.

When you work from home, owning a dog is rather like being a smoker who works in an office building. You get free breaks. For some reason, an instant message that "I have to clean the cat box" ("why don't you wait until after work to clean it?") doesn't have the same get-out-of-jail-free impact of "Walking the dog, brb!" You don't have to ASK to walk the dog. You just announce it in IM, and go.

Should I ever part with Molly, I don't think I'll tell anyone she has been adopted into a family with three dog-loving children. I'll still announce "Walking the dog!" and then go cuddle with my cats for fifteen minutes instead. ;)

To be a cat-owner working from home is rather like being an overworked non-smoker at the office, enviously watching those smokers pick up their pack and say "Be just a sec!" on a beautiful sunny day.

Creative fundraising: The Syracuse Symphony Orchestra

Sometimes you have to pack the old "woe-is-me" away in a box and realize other people have bigger monsters looming. For my sister Linda, this monster is the financial need of the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra, which is on the verge of going under. Linda plays piccolo and flute for the SSO.

The symphony has always been a part of my life. All members of my immediate family played instruments when we were young, and I think Linda embodies all of our dreams. There are those who continue playing--and there are more who do not. But we dream of having done so, we embrace and admire those who have.

There were many years it seemed the only time Linda and I ever had a chance to get together was when she was playing in a concert for the SSO or the Society for New Music, and we would rendezvous afterward. Symphony positions are not easy to get. There is only one piccolo. It's not like, if you lose your job, you can just put your resume out on syracusehelpwanted.com It means auditioning (and investing in travel) all over the U.S. should a position open up. It means competing against other incredible musicians who are also fervently seeking the position (Auditions are blind--the judges do not see who is playing, so unlike the Presidency, a pretty face or good interview clothes get you nowhere). It means selling everything you have and moving should you be fortunate enough to get the position. IF you get a position.

You don't make a ton of money in a small-city symphony. You are certainly already doing other things--teaching privately, at local colleges, playing part-time with other orchestras or ensembles--to make ends meet. This all requires incredible organizational and time-management skills, and a damned good car. Not to mention instruments! You don't buy a clarinet in college and play the same one your entire life. No, there will be the progressive moving-up-steps to better instruments (and multiple instruments). There will be wear and damage. There can be theft. It's not a cheap profession by any means.

And then there is the insurance--or rather, the lack of it. As a musician, if you are not lucky enough to have a full-time symphony or college or school position, you are not insured and must pay for this yourself.You will also fall apart a bit. You will sit a lot. Stand a lot. Your hands will suffer from repetitive movements. If you have a toothache and your instrument is a wind instrument, you are in trouble.

The SSO rolled out a "Keep The Music Playing" fund-raising campaign, and have so far have been met their first goal. But it is a huge set of goals. Local businesses have been stepping up with special events and fundraisers (something I hope continues even beyond the campaign--who doesn't want to dress up and socialize before a weekend concert?).

Linda has always been supportive of my work. She adopted two cats from me. She has pitched in for work weekends, and basically has helped keep me sane. When the SSO said "We need money" I went over to their web site and made a donation. It was a drop in the bucket when compared to the need.

When you aren't in a position to give a huge donation to a campaign, one thing you can do that is VITAL--is be a "body." Seriously. If an organization can show photos of a full house at an event, or market "buzz" on the web (generating news articles and keeping the campaign before the public) or say "XX people attended"--someone else will give another donation because they know they are supporting something their community cares about. While the $25 to participate in small events doesn't seem like much, when you multiply it by 100 attendees (bring a friend!) it becomes a sizeable donation. I try to be a "body" when I can. When you are a participant, you almost always get some benefit in return. A meal, the company of other like-minded people you never would have met...

or a tattoo.

The SSO put on Facebook that BioGraphix Tattoo Studio would offer music-themed tattoos for a mere $25 with 100% of the proceeds going to the SSO.

I mentioned to Linda that I was going to come to Syracuse to get one. Linda mentioned this to an SSO marketing person. The SSO marketing person said "Wouldn't it be great if one of our musicians would get one!" Linda said "I will!" Then I got an email from her with the subject line "It's all your fault!"

Now Linda is "inked."

(photo from the Post-Standard)

I wasn't able to get free  to join her on Wednesday, but this Saturday I did the morning chores and drove out to Syracuse. Mike, the owner, talked about the other successful fundraisers they have had for autism, cancer, and now the SSO. He and other artists also talked about their children and their musical talents. These guys LOVED their kids. They positively beamed when talking about them. Mike said the fundraiser has been very popular so far, and that one day there were ten people waiting when he arrived. The whole hope, of course, is that people will give a bit more than $25 for their tattoo (I did) and tell others.

So here I am, telling! Maybe a tattoo isn't your style. There will be a lot of future events to choose from. Look around your own community for your own art organizations, historical societies, and other cultural organizations. How many times have you thought "Oh, I should go to that...but maybe next time?"

Perhaps you'll discover, tomorrow, that there are no more "next times."

Linda's is the classic black tattoo with the treble clef and eighth notes (very "piccolo" I thought). When she arrived to see me getting a pair of bass clefs she joked: "Mandolin...Not exactly bass?" I replied that it wasn't likely I'd ever be a good enough mandolin player to make a distinction. I made my choice entirely on the pretty factor. (Apologies for blinding you with our winter-white legs!)

We then navigated the huge Syracuse snowbanks to a local watering hole, where we drank, ate, laughed and had a wonderful time, enjoying a rare evening of brightness in a long and dreary winter.

After we stopped by her house to feed the cats, of course.

I'm happy to look down at my ankle the rest of my life to smile and think of my sister. Let's hope the music never stops playing.

Things I've been meaning to do...house history

About five years ago (or more) Mark and I found our way down to the Spencer Historical Society (no web page). The volunteer docent on duty took us to their records room and looked up photos and information on our house and the Ferris family who lived here. Woodbridge Ferris was born here.

The docent, who I am fairly certain was also an officer of the Society, said we could have copies for cost. We did not expect them to deliver them right to our door, which they did. We gave them an extra few dollars and also became members. I've tried to keep up the membership since then.

The photos kicked around in a plastic sleeve and we would pull them out from time to time for visitors. One day we got concerned that we might bend or accidentally spill something on them, so we filed them "some place safe," meaning to one day frame them and hang them up. We filed them so safely I was never able to find them again.

Yesterday I was digging through files, getting ready to box some up, when the pile slid over on its side and the sleeve fell out and I snatched them up and scanned them for safekeeping. Later, I was in Ithaca, and went wandering through the Dollar Store. As I passed through the frame aisle, my eyes fell on a frame that, for a mere buck, fit the "feel" of the photos perfectly. Before the photos could turn into yet one more task that I put off, I bought two frames, brought them home, and put the photos up on the wall.

The raccoon photo was given to me by a wonderful older couple in Groton when I was first starting out in wildlife control. They had raccoons living under their bathtub, coming in from under their porch. In addition to paying me, the gentleman gave me the raccoon photo (taken by trip-wire at South Lake in the Adirondacks in the early 1900's), an old oil lamp, and a potted spruce tree which, sadly, did not survive transplanting in the spring.

I put the family kitchen things mom had recently given me up on the shelf since they seemed to fit the theme. I think I'll frame up some other photos of old houses I've lived in and prop them on the shelf as well.

Here is my house now. Well, in warmer times, that is.

The lilac by the gate in the buggy photo is still here, along with the hole for the gate post. I think next spring I'll pound a new post into that hole. Maybe I'll top it with a solar light and a little brass plaque about the lilac and this place. I'd love to get a NYS historical sign announcing the old Ferris Farm as the birthplace of Woodbridge Ferris, but I can't afford $895. Maybe when I retire. ;)

Insta-food for singles

For a long while I have lamented the fact that frozen and canned food, for the most part, does not come in single-serving sizes. If you buy a frozen bag of broccoli, for example, you better find a way to use all that broccoli in about two weeks, before it starts to get freezer burned and just a little bit stale tasting. Chances are, you may forget about it for a month or more, open it up, look at all the ice crystals, and toss it (unless soup is the intended use).

I often work overtime. I'm supposed to get off at 6:00 pm, and that seldom happens. If I finally shut the computer at 7:30, and the cats also need care, and my  house needs cleaning, chances are good I'm not into cooking for a half-hour and washing dishes after. That's when I tend to rummage around for something I can open up, warm up, and eat. Three-quarters of the time, I end up eating half of it, and throwing out food that won't taste so great as a leftover.

It has always peeved me that I could not find spaghetti sauce in small jars or cans. There is nothing more depressing when you've spent half your life using a whole jar to serve two people, to now pour half into your saucepan and put the other half in refrigerator. "Hi!" it says. "By the way, you loser, that guy you thought loved you, well, he's not here any more! He would have been eating this!" 

Food should keep it's mouth shut.

Historically, single-serve food has come wrapped in so much trash, eating it is depressing. Here is your little frozen dinner, and over there is all the crap you are throwing out that it came in. I don't need plastic and paper containers to cook out of and eat out of.  I own pots and plates, thank you.

Happiness, however, has recently crept in. A few months ago, Lean Cuisine came out with single-serve steamable bags with dinners that are, quite frankly, very good. No plastic bowl. No gobs of unidentifiable half melted "stuff."  Well, maybe a little "sauce"--but far less. And less than $3 a dinner. BirdsEye and other brands have done the same. Even the more unhealthful versions (cheese sauce, etc.) at least have vegetables, which is more than you are going to get out of boxed macaroni and cheese or one of those dried rice packages with the bits they call vegetables.

Then last week I discovered that BirdsEye came out with single-serve steamable veggies. Corn, brussels sprouts and the like.  Now I no longer have to open up a whole bag when I only want one dinner. When I warm up canned soup, I can throw in a serving of corn and get yet another serving of veggies in that day. When I make something veggie-less (pasta and sauce), I can cut up a serving of sprouts and roast them in the oven or toss them in the wok if the fresh produce in the refrigerator turns out to be less-than-fresh. No one says you have the steam the things. You can treat them just like regular frozen vegetables. In fact, with the brussels sprouts, I would recommend it.

Hunts, happily, has small cans of tomato sauce! Perhaps they always have, and the stores where I shop have not carried them until now.  Last night I made spaghetti for myself, rinsed out the empty little can to recycle, and banished the damned talking Prego jar forever.

Then there is the insta-comfort food. Pillsbury makes frozen biscuits. Yeah, yeah, I know you purists out there are rolling your eyes and saying "do you know how easy it is to make biscuits?" Yup! And do you know how depressing it is to make a batch, eat three, and then realize two days later you forgot them and now they are not-so-great tasting? If I decide at 10:00 pm that a biscuit and honey would taste quite nice right then, I can put two frozen biscuits in the oven for 25 minutes and they come out tasting better than anything I could ever make. I was sure they would be flat hockey pucks when I purchased by first bag. No one was more surprised than I when they actually tasted like...biscuits.

Checking ingredients on the bags--most of the "dinners" have additives. Some, most notably the plain vegetables, do not. I'm not sure I'd want to live just on this stuff every day, but it's a step up from what I was eating for "busy food."

Also, life can get pretty meaningless if you never really cook fresh food. Cooking is definitely part of the dinner process. Yes, I'm glad that when I'm busy, I'm not now eating some hideous dried thing out of a box that turns back into food with boiling water and a huge hunk of butter (scary!). But I still find that food tastes better when I've chopped up the kale, and sauted it myself.


I'm not sure if I'm just being more observant, or marketers are getting wiser. There are a lot of single folks out there, and things are too expensive to waste. Less packaging, and decent food without too much crap in it.


Nonetheless, I can't wait until spring, when I can just go out back to pick some dinner fixings. No bags involved.

So, like most females, I am a woman of ups and downs.

I don't pretend to know how males are. I think my past has proven that I should just give up on that field of knowledge.

I believe that life ought to be a steady movement toward improvement, with periodic setbacks. Because, as we know, there will always be setbacks. We may as well accept it. Life is not all roses.

But sometimes the lack of forward progress isn't due to a "setback" per se. It's not a sickness, or a breakup, or an unforeseen financial disaster. It's just that an accumulation of tiny things seems to impede any sense of improvement, and in fact, seems to be pushing you farther and farther behind. That type of lack of momentum seems to be particularly destructive. It's a slow, inexorable, "why do I even bother" sort of feeling.

The tiny things seem to thrive off one another. Last weekend I decided "OK, enough of this" and I cranked out a really good blog post on what makes a great newsletter. I t was my first issues-type post in a long while. But I was logged both in my Feral By Nature blog in one window, and the Wildrun blog in another, and when I hit "publish" some cruel technological misalignment caused the post to be eaten. I normally can save almost any eaten online data by a skillful dance of windows...but not this time.

So after that wasted hour, I was a victim of "why bother anymore."

Then I've had a couple of good adoptions. Hey, progress! I was out in the cat facility evaluating who might come into the house. Allie? Morgaine?  Then I got an email. A kitten I adopted out mid-summer is coming back. I'm glad the adopter reached out to me (we have a no-questions-asked return policy), but once again...

..."why bother."

I received inquiries from people who want to visit to adopt, so I know I'm not in some dead dark hole by myself, stuck with a zillion cats. There are a number of tasks that wouldn't take too much work do do (clean out the old trucks, shovel them out, pull out the titles, and make them go away) that would give me an enormous sense of accomplishment. I know that.

It's a demon we all fight. The "why bother" demon.

When in doubt, bake chocolate cake

Sometimes, when you feel like you just aren't getting things done, the best thing you could do is bake your favorite thing. In my case, this would be unfrosted chocolate cake.

When I last visited Mom, she made me a gift of some of the old baking tools we had when we were kids, and even another generation before that. When she pulled out the pan, it seemed to me I DISTINCTLY recalled making brownies in that pan in the house in Earlville. Perhaps it was a made-up memory. Perhaps it was some other pan.

Nonetheless, it made me happy, and I was glad to take it home with me. She also gave me a family measuring cup that I was sure I would never use due to the many chips around the rim. But all my measuring cups were dirty because I had made this decadent soup yesterday, and it was carefully pressed into service for water and oil. (A note on the soup, follow the recipe, but add 3/4 cup of mild/medium salsa. Oh, and no rotisserie chicken. I just bought two big chicken breasts and roasted them with salt, pepper, and a little hot sauce. OK, so don't follow the recipe!).

In taking these photos I realized I had photos on my camera that I had not posted yet, so I may as well play clean-up. Gretchen and I hiked up the hill the weekend she came up and helped with the back rooms.

Molly loves a good walk, but her brain cells get a little unhinged on the trip back down the hill, and she did indeed run off into the woods for a good four or five minutes. I finally started to blaze my way into the woods to find her tracks, and asked Gretchen to call her (because Molly loves the attention of other people) when the little monster came zooming back. She got carried the rest of the way down the hill, and from now on, the flexi-leash comes along and she'll be leashed the whole way back home.

Anyone who has ridden a horse knows the syndrome. The horse listens to you while headed away from the house, but once his nose is turned back toward the barn, you'd better know how to ride, because if not, that horse is going where he wants to, not where you want to.

I've decided that there will be no more hunting on my property. I believe in meat-hunting, but frankly, I have yet to find a meat hunter. So far everyone who has hunted here has said they would shoot doe, but they always seem to come down the hill with bucks. The only reason I permit hunting is to reduce the number of doe, and therefore reduce the spring population by three (the doe, and her spring fawns). I don't want my bucks dead. I don't need dead bucks. So--no more. If I find them dead in the snow in the spring, I guess I'll just accept it. The herd seems to be stabilizing anyway, likely due to coyote predation on fawns and sick or starving deer.

The cabin is, therefore, no longer a hunting cabin. I'll have to decide if I'm brave enough to camp up there alone with the bears and other snufflers.

So winter is here. It has been cold. I've watched my wood pile slowly dwindle, and I'll have to give in and order a cord off of somebody before spring.

Enough delaying. It's time to tuck the cats in, and write some thank-you notes. The chocolate cake has served its purpose.

Getting a grown-up house

Owning a big house can be both a challenge and a blessing. A challenge because you need to fill it with something, and to have nice furniture costs money -- money you may not have. It is a blessing because if someone wants to give away something large, other folks may turn it down due to lack of room, and you get it simply by virtue of having the largest space.

My mother is downsizing the size of her furniture in her house, and she has a beautiful kitchen table and chairs. She would like a smaller set so she has more room to move around it. Lucky me, I was the daughter with the space for a table. I was skeptical that it would all fit in the Kitty Kia Soul, but can you believe it all did? That little car is amazing.

Molly's dog crate was going to be too large to remain in the kitchen, so what to do for a door-side stand was an issue. I didn't want to spend $100 or more on a side table, or clutter up the room. Then it occurred to me that I could just match the cubby I had on the other side of the room. Believe it or not, the Unfinished Furniture Store still carried the same cubby 10 years after I purchased the first. I'll paint it to match the wainscoting, like the other. Molly's crate went into the den to replace her bed there, and she seems to like it. She'll probably be happier not being next to the kitchen door when I'm out, anyway, although I liked having her bark when people came to the door.

Just the wood and tile table top probably weighs in at around 125 pounds (or more?) I was barely able to get it into the car and out again.

Here is the new improved kitchen. My house gets closer and closer to looking like a good old middle class American farmhouse.

Thanks, Mom!

Music to fill the vacuum

I have been living in a total vacuum lately, and I'm sorry I haven't been blogging. I hope to dig my way out soon. In the meantime, enjoy something totally different, and totally beautiful.

Winter clamps its ruthless hands down on Owl Creek

I used to like winter. I don't much anymore. I guess it's primarily because everything costs money. Fuel oil, wood, electric, snow tires. It's always dark, so I tend not to go out at night. It's dark when I go out to take care of the cats in the morning; it's dark when I go out after work at night.

I celebrate when the first day of winter arrives---not for the sake of winter, but because from then on, the days get longer, and each day is one day closer to spring.

I fired up the woodstove for the first time tonight. I've been holding off so that the wood I have lasts through the coldest part of the year. It's much more bearable in here with the fire going. The temperature stays more constant, rather than going up and down with the furnace. The bedroom is above the den where the stove resides, so it is warmer.

The cats and the dog, of course, are happy because they can bask.

I broke out the Christmas cards, and I've been learning Silent Night on the mandolin. I still can't bring myself to put up a real Christmas tree, but I have my two little artificial trees up.

It's Friday night and I face two days that will go far too fast. But I'll do what I can with them. We all do.

Things always look better when the sun shines.

Hallalujah Chorus Flash Mob

I love these things!

Honoring the holidays

I have so much to get done, and using a precious hour to carve a pumpkin seems like an poor way to spend time, but I knew that if I went outside tomorrow and saw that uncarved pumpkin sitting there (the one that was given to me as a gift when I was snagging barn kittens) I would feel like I was letting every tiny bit of fun slip away. So after running into town for an order of wings and watching all the kids in their costumes on the street in Spencer, I came home and carved my pumpkin.

I take no credit for the design, as I totally stole it off a coworker's Facebook page. :)

Then I was about to toss the guts outside to go to the compost and recalled another Facebook post from another friends mentioning that she roasted the pumpkin seeds from her pumpkin yesterday. Mom used to roast the seeds for us when we were kids. So I went online for instructions, and now I'm drinking tea and munching away on seeds as I answer some work mail...and blog.

I'm quite content. Happy Halloween!

Communing with the homestead.

Today began here with Gillian's passing.

I hope people realize when I write about my angst here, it is no more than the usual human struggle for existence. I realize there are days when we are all miserable, so please suffer me to whine, without worrying.

I find it hard, sometimes, to think back to what the house was like when two of us lived here. It seems like I've done a lot of work on the inside of the house, and yet still there seems to be so much to do. The upstairs has languished for so long. Then I ventured back up (after sleeping downstairs for two years) and took over the guest room. Well, that didn't work out. The guest room is as silent as a tomb and I feel remote from the rest of the house. So I finally moved back into the bedroom. The thing that made it tolerable was pushing the bed right up against the window, like I used to do as a teenager (which is hard to do as a couple, because someone ends up crawling over the other person).

At night the moonlight streams in, and now and then the cats will watch out the window with great intent, and I'll sit up and watch the skunks and deer wandering out around the front yard. No bear yet, though. :) I actually love my bedroom now, and some semblance of "bedtime" has now come back into my life.

When I start boarding cats in the two upstairs bedroom, responsible cat owners would want to see the rooms, which means they will need to tromp through my upstairs as well. This means it's time to prettify the upstairs. So the pile of summer clothes got stored; the tv/dvd was moved from the dresser to the stand behind the bedroom door. Etcetera.

I moved the daybed into the bedroom as well, and the cats now like to hang out there, instead of all sleeping on me. It's quite comfy in here now.

"Doing something" about the house kept me from dealing with the baggage about Gillian. I actually really glad that I got to know her end. It's the best I (or sadly, she) could have hoped for. Every time she has disappeared for a bit, I always wondered if I would see her again, of if that was it. Poof...gone, always to wonder. If the cats were ultimately gone from the compost facility that would end one more source of stress between me and my ex, since he has been left to feed her during the week. So of course, the loss of Gillian is also tied up in the loss of my marriage, and working on the house makes it only so obvious I'm working on it alone. And then I end up reminding myself that it all really is so much better this way.

A mental "blah, blah, blah."

The longer I live here, the more certain I become that there are things I will never ever use. So on to Craigslist they go. Yet sometimes I let the oddest things linger on. The old cat tree is still up against the window in the hallway upstairs, even though a brand new cat tree sits right next to it. I just need to pull the old one out, and bump bump bump it down the stairs. Fifteen minutes max.

Oh well.

At any rate, it was a melancholy day. It almost became a terror-stricken day when Tyler ZOOMED out the front door, straight into Molly. Molly chased him, and Tyler ZOOMED off the porch around the house into the darkness -- smack into the half finished cat enclosure, where I was able to scoop him up before he darted away into the night.

Then once Tyler was safely in--both our hearts pounding--I went out calling for Bear, and immediately heard an animal scream up on the hill. Fox? Cat? I grabbed my coat, shoes, and flashlight, but Bear immediately showed up. I locked out the night with relish, once everyone was safely in.

My phone has been ringing off the hook with political auto-dialers to the point where I want to unplug the damned thing. I thought I was on the do-not-call list, but perhaps I need to do that again. It feels like there is some monster in my kitchen, ringing and ringing and ringing.

The only blessing has been this wonderful weather. I need to force myself to step outside during the day when I am working, or darkness and chill will creep in by 6:00 pm when I'm done, and I'll feel like the last of the warmth of the year has been stolen from me.

Welcome to the garden of mediocre carpentry

Sometimes, especially when I've had sort of a lousy week, I get kind of numb, take a good hard look around myself and think "Whoa...how did I let that happen?" I'm more likely to kick out a lot of work when I'm sort of down and out. I'm not quite sure why. Probably because my mind is numb too, and the body just says "pick this up; paint that; fix this"...sort of on autopilot.

I have people coming over to see kittens, and I've been cleaning out the upstairs of the house as well, so the porch has become a catch-all. I was walking up my path on Friday and suddenly saw it all with a critical eye. My ex and I had set up our garbage cans in a wooden crate by the door. Who wants their garbage right next to the door? Especially that nasty orange recycling bin. Little bits of this and that were stuffed down inside the slats of the crate.

When my ex moved the front steps to the side of the porch, we never got around to building a rail. He tied the old one onto the side of the steps so our parents would have something to hold onto. And there it stayed. He put artificial turf on the new steps so Sadie, our lame senior dog, wouldn't slip. The carpet looked quite nice at the time. However, Sadie has long since passed on, and the carpet has grown threadbare and holds pine needles, mulch, etc. Molly is quite nimble even on bare steps.

I stopped and stared at this old mess and said to myself "My God, does this not just SCREAM 'cat lady'?" Single old woman in a run-down house. Today I went after all the outside projects I've been putting off. The shutter on the front of the house is too stiff to knock back together, but at least I pulled off the slats that were sagging until I can bring it down and put it all back together again. I got rid of the garbage cans and the old crate, bought four bags of mulch, ripped off the old railing (what were we thinking when we did that?) and put up just a simple rail out of two by fours. I pulled the carpet off, swept the dirt off the boards, and stained the whole thing.

Then of course the heavens opened up and now I need to stain it all again. But at least it doesn't look like hell.

Then I tackled the cat enclosure that has been lying half finished in the grass.

I've been putting it off because I discovered I needed to build a base to make it high enough to clear the window I want it to butt up against. I'm not much of a carpenter, and having to measure and use the circular saw just doesn't thrill me. In my numb mood, the base became "no big deal." I ran out of daylight however, and the screwgun ran out of juice, so I'll have to finish it later. All it needs is some well placed screws, a roof, and shelves, and my indoor kitties can enjoy the sun...er...snow.

I'll post photos of it once I have some daylight.

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Moving indoors with the Sunday paper

It is officially too cold to sit on the porch in the morning with my Sunday paper. A heavy blanket of frost lies over everything. It is supposed to warm up to 70 today, and I'll open up the windows to the cat facility so the felines can enjoy fresh air for these last warm days of the year. Then it's back to winter, electric heat, and dust. Yick.

But yesterday it was beautiful. I have discovered soybeans in the pod. One of the girls ordered them at an Asian restaurant when we were out. I stopped at a tiny farm stand last weekend and there was a quart of soybeans for two bucks. So I took them home and have enjoyed them all week. Basically you just scrub them with salt, throw them in boiling water for 4 minutes, rinse them quickly with cool water (not long, because they are best warm) and then sprinkle the pods with salt. Sit, open them up, and enjoy the beans inside, and the salt on your fingers. For those on a no-salt diet, go on ahead without the salt. Actually, I was eating them in the car after I bought them, raw. But the pods are a bit hard to open without the quick boil.

The first round of kittens who have not been adopted yet are growing rapidly. I got an inquiry on Allie, and it was hard to get her to sit still for a good shot.

I have finally had to admit that my current income will not support the farm and cats. Gretchen is coming over today to help me rip out the carpet in one of (or maybe both? we'll see how it goes) the small bedrooms in my house. These rooms are never used. Until this spring, I never even used them for cats. I'm going to put down vinyl, finish painting the walls, paper the ceilings, and board pet cats. The rooms are entirely separated from my living space (and my cats) by a hallways, and they are nice sunny rooms. Each is 12x14. I'll need to put up ledges on the windows and make them otherwise cat-friendly. Each cat would get an entire room so she would not need to be cages while boarded.

This also means joining a pet boarding association, getting insurance, etc. etc. etc. The nice thing about pet sitting is that--unlike wildlife control--there are affordable software programs to manage them. As long as you input everything, the bookwork takes care of itself.

Each room also has a closet, so I can keep different kinds of cat litter, towels, etc. all close at hand. Funds raised from the cat boarding would go to the cat rescue.

I hope to get just a few regulars--people like myself who travel. Booking would be somewhat limited by the fact that I won't be able to board cats while I'm traveling myself.

So that is today's plan of action. I did manage to get the lawn mowed yesterday, hopefully for the last time. The frost destroyed all the flowers in the flower pots, so I may as well rip those out and put the pots in the barn. And maybe Gretchen and I can stop by Iron Kettle Farm today and I can pick up corn stalks for my window boxes on the cat facility.

If you are thinking "Maybe you wouldn't be so broke if you didn't buy roses for your porch," we'll, you'd be right. But the roses were on sale in Owego for three bucks and I couldn't resist.

Back from Rhode Island

Fall travel begins. I have a relatively light schedule compared to previous years, because most of my destinations are within driving distance, with the exception of a trip to Texas.

This week I was off to Rhode Island -- a state I must sadly admit I had not visited until now. I think I'll make it a vacation destination someday, since it was easy to get to and the people were so nice. I was spitting distance from the ocean but needed to get home, so alas, I did not put my toes in water.

I did have a great time both at the Adoption Options held at The Potter League for Animals, and out on the town Thursday and Friday nights with our speakers.

One thing I try to do each time I travel with great people, is to buy one affordable but remarkable item that I can fit into my everyday life, to bring me a smile. Smiles are very important to people who live alone. Well, I suppose they are important to all people, but when you live alone, you rely pretty heavily on memories. So in my house I have a prayer flags I got in Virginia, a tiny bowl that holds my coffee spoon each morning, from a local artists' store in Augusta GA , toe-rings from Key West, shell wind-chimes from Jekyll Island--things that tend to cost around $20.

After dinner on Friday we were wandering around the shopping district in Newport, and stumbled into this little boot store. Pia loves her boots, so in we went. There was one affordable pair I would have been happy to wear to Texas, but unfortunately my toes objected. Paul and I wandered over by the door to wait for the others. Some rain boots in abstract colors adorned a rack. Paul is pretty tall and pulled down a short western plastic boot from the topmost shelf. He said, "What about this?"

OK, these were definitely boots that would make me smile, especially since Paul picked them out. Pia walked over. Luckily she has a smaller foot size than I do, because she fell in love as well.

We both walked out laughing with loud, artsy, fun, vinyl, western rain boots (soft and comfortable as can be) and gave all the credit to Paul.

When people's eyes fall to my feet in Ithaca (or in the airport when I travel), I will smile and smile and smile. Maybe I'll even wear them for the next AO.

Thank you Karen, Paul, Steve, and Pia for a wonderful workshop and a great time with friends.

Discovered a new place in Owego

The rooftop "beergarden" at Tioga Trails in Owego (photo from their web site)

A little brain-dead from two days of adoptions, I wandered down to Owego to meet Gretchen, but our usual watering hole was closed. The Parkview was also closed and dark, so Gretchen suggested Tioga Trails. When we got there, the proprietor started to seat us but then asked if we wanted to "visit the roof now or after" and since I'll take any opportunity to visit any roof at any time, I said "now."

We entered a street-side door that we had previously passed, and climbed up four stories of brand-new steel stairs to a new wooden fenced deck with a covered bar overlooking Owego. The woman behind the bar told us it had only been open two weeks.

It was a beautiful place to spend a September evening, sipping Mojitos ($4, or $2 for a half-sized drink--cute!). Dinner could be ordered from the restaurant below via cellphone (Order "to go" and they'll bring it up. Although you'll ended up eating out of stryofoam, at least your wonderful leftovers were already boxed. The food was excellent - $11.95 for the pasta dishes we had).

Then the crowning touch arrived -- "Ted" the dog, who played dead when you pointed your finger at him, would "shake," and also gave double-pawed "high-fives." Ted scored lots of sweet potato fries off me (I broke them into small pieces as treats) and I got my big-dog fix for the week.

So, all of my local readers, before the cold weather rolls in, I suggest you watch the sun set from the roof of Tioga Trails this month. They are open Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Maybe you'll get to see Ted.

"Ted" at the Tioga Trails rooftop garden (Photo by Gretchen)

New home for the wedding bench

The summer before Mark left he brought the bench down from the top of the hill so that it could be sanded and repainted. He used the tractor, and I no longer have one, so taking it back up again isn't really an option. I already replaced the bench with two chairs, so I can still watch the horizon with a friend.

But what to do with the bench? It was a wedding gift from our good friends Mike and Teresa. Mike officiated at the wedding. Having it perched on the hill was a perfect place for a Mike and Teresa gift. Just having it sit around the yard like an ornament didn't seem right.



So I sanded and stained it, hauled it into the back of my truck, and drove it down to the road to a little place by the creek where there used to be a log bench that has rotted away. Now our many walkers can sit and enjoy the quiet stream, and I can too.



This seems like a Mike-and-Teresa type place, too.