The Summer that Wasn’t

Welcome to September! I don’t care what the calendar says about the official start of the season but Fall is in the air-- can you feel it? The nights are cooler, the sunshine seems to have more shadows in it and the sun doesn’t have the same bite.

It doesn’t really feel like we had Real Summer though, as so many of my summer traditions were put on hold in the interest of public safety.

In Packwood, we are used to celebrating both ends of the summer with a huge, outdoor Flea Market. The biannual event brings tourist-- vendors and visitors fill the town, parking is at a price and come Monday, there won’t be a loaf of bread left on the grocery store shelf. Well, maybe the low carb, high fiber kind made from sawdust and broken promises, that nobody likes---but all the Good Bread will be history. Good for local business, bad for sudden cravings of grilled cheese.

In addition to the Summer bookend events, I’m used to watching the Loggers Jubilee Parade, while simultaneously exploiting my cute grandkids as candy magnets. Since I still have half a bag of purloined candy left over from last year’s event, I considered driving thru Morton in the middle of the night and sprinkling candy over the sidewalks and along the gutters—as though some sort of Ghost of Parades Past had visited the town.

Then I got into an argument with myself about litter and creating a public nuisance and spawning at least three dozen different conspiracy theories as to the origin and purpose of the candy and never got around to implementing my plan.

 I like helping serve at the Fireman’s beef BBQ—my job is either Jello scooping, condiment dispensing—do you want sour cream with that? Or—at my last promotion-- assistant back up to corn-on-the-cob conveying. "We need more butter over here!" All key roles, to be sure.

Then there’s the Rod Run, noting all the cool cars that their owners so lovingly display and wondering how cool would it be to go for a Road Trip, convertible top down, hair blowing in the breeze, the smell of fresh cut hay scenting the air...

No Fair this year, with its cotton candy and 4H animals, no midway with the lights and motion and screams, no crowing at the chickens in the chicken barn, and eating scones—scones are THE BEST FAIR FOOD EVER, amirite?

Summer of 2020 is now officially in the books, before it ever got out of the blocks. We will keep wearing our masks, and social distancing, and looking forward to a Real Summer in 2021-- with all its events and assorted glories.

In the meantime, might I suggest you go make yourself a s’more? Because that is one summer tradition I’m still hanging on to.   

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

It’s Tuesday morning—if you can call 2:30 am “morning” --- and I can’t sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning and annoying the cats, I finally give in and get up. Rising at 4:30 am makes me feel virtuous—as though I were getting a jump on the day --- get the cows milked and the chickens fed, all before sunup.

After my first cup of high-octane tea I remembered I have neither heifer nor hen. Mostly because getting up early is not my cup of tea. By my second cup of tea—which is, literally, my cup of tea-- I remembered I have a Garden Gate due yesterday. Oops!

What to write? My SBG is still at the water/fertilize/nap stage so there’s not much to write about there. Do I write about the Stay at Home/Stay Healthy Don’t Kill My Friends Order? Because while I know it’s hard to do—I miss my kids and grand kids in a visceral way-- I also understand the science behind it and the need for it. But even I am not in the mood for that soapbox today.

Should I write about how weird it is when I went to Costco for supplies and they had zero fresh chicken? As in NONE. They did have plenty of ground turkey—and by plenty I mean they had the entire refrigerator case that used to hold chicken tenderloins, breasts and thighs stacked three deep … now holds ground turkey—spread one package deep over the entire case. It’s very good psychologically—It keeps people from getting that “plague of locusts” I-must-consume-this-before-you-do feeling. Which is good, because I’m not a fan of ground turkey.

I am a fan of bathroom tissue. Out of curiosity I check to see if they have any. Nope. But I was told they had some earlier.

As Americans, we are so used to plenty, so used to buying in bulk at Costco—because it’s COSTCO for heaven’s sake! It’s what they’re FOR, and having limits on items is rather disconcerting. Once again, I’m glad they have them, I just wish we were back in a time when limits weren’t necessary.

None of these topics are entertaining me this morning; they are all a little too close to the bone. So, after my third cup of tea I thought, “What if I tell you about my many adventures in on-line dating?”

GULP.

I think I’m going to need more tea.

To Do List, DONE

I’ve crossed my fingers and put all my energies into hoping for an early spring. Should that wish be granted, I’ll have a lot of tasks that need to be completed, ASAP. The best way I’ve found to accomplish that is to make a To Do List.

Some early spring chores I recommend doing now are: 1) Apply chicken poo to your flower beds. The fertilizer will make all your plants happy and vigorous-- applying it now means your neighbors will be that much less likely to share in the aromatherapy. 2) Give your motorized gardening equipment a tune up so all will be ready and operational when mowing season rolls around.

I can check Task Number Two off of my to do list already, as I accidently accomplished it last fall. My mower made the trip in to see the Mower Doctor because the spinnyroundythingy that drives the blades wouldn’t spinnyroundy unless you first shoved a stick in there and made it engage. Full confession: I did that a couple of times so I could finish mowing, but eventually that was too redneck, even for me, and I gave in and sent my mower Out Town to be repaired. And while they had it, might as well give the old girl the full spa treatment. Lawnmower tune-up: CHECK.

I’ve learned one key trick to having a To Do List full of TahDONE items—backfill your list. I will often have a to do list that at the beginning of the day looks like this: 1) Pay Bills on-line. 2) Fold laundry. 3) Clean cat box.

With backfilling my list at the end of the day, it looks more like this: 1) Pay bills on line. CHECK. 1A-infinity) Read All of Twitter. CHECK. 2) Fold Laundry. 2A) Reorganize sock drawer. CHECK. 2B) Discard old socks. CHECK. 2C) Retrieve old socks from garbage. CHECK.  2D) Make cat toy utilizing old sock, catnip, and dryer lint. CHECK. 2E) Play rousing game of WHEN SOCKS ATTACK with cats. CHECK. 2F) take catnap. CHECK. 3) Clean cat box. Not checked. Who has time for that? Look at all the OTHER STUFF I accomplished today! 4) Clean dryer lint trap. CHECK!

Backfilled properly, even the laziest of To Do lists and give you quite the sense of accomplishment.

A Dog Ate My Homework

This is the dog that ate my homework. 

This is Millie. Millie is my grandpuppy. Millie is the same age as my grandson—eight months old for those of you who aren’t doing the math.  Millie is staying with me whilst her parents are on a trip to Italy. 

Millie retrieves things. So far Millie has retrieved one shoe from each pair of shoes in the house, untold number of socks and a very slimy ball that she helpfully drops in my lap so I can throw it—perhaps with disgust, but Millie isn’t picky. 

Millie likes to exercise—she loves romps in the woods and making new friends and can’t understand why I won’t let her hang out with the neighbor’s chickens. 

Millie would like to be friends with my cats, but the cats have taken up residence under my bed and are plotting all the ways that I will pay for foisting this indignity upon them. 

Millie is sighing. She misses her parents and she wishes I would cut out the screen time and snuggle more. Perhaps it would help me write faster if she set on my lap with me? Just a little?

Speaking of Chicken...

Speaking of Chicken... I was---before I was so rudely interrupted by snow, snow and more snow—talking about chicken poop and what lovely fertilizer it makes. And those of you who had run right out and applied the fertilizer to your dormant gardens are probably feeling pretty dang smug right about now.

I didn’t actually apply it to my gardens—yet-- I just give advice, I don’t follow it. If I had, I would be taking a measure of comfort right now, knowing that under the thick blanket of frozen snow, the chicken fertilizer was slowly breaking down and feeding nutrients into the soil, waiting for that magical day of melting...that day when the sun comes out and the ground begins to warm...when plants and leaves and tender green things all begin to sprout...Spring arrives in exactly 21 days! Or, at least that’s what my calendar promises.

But, as I mentioned, I haven’t actually applied the chicken poop to my flower beds. Right now, it’s more imaginary than actual. When it comes to chickens, I often find myself with more imagery than action. Take, for example, chickens themselves.

I frequently imagine having chickens...I’ve seen the cutest little chicken coops on Pintrest...and my neighbors have chickens...I like the way the fat, black and white hens look...I like the soft, gentle sounds of contentment they make, scratching under the hedge for bugs and grubs...I even like the way the rooster is so protective and puts himself between the hens and I when I come over to shoe them away, because holy heck, the dang old chickens have dug up my plants, kicked my beauty bark out into the yard a good three feet, go home you stupid, wee beasties, and the last thing I want to hear at O’Dark Thirty is dueling roosters.

I really like the way chicken tastes...Fried chicken, and chicken a l’orange, and chicken and rice...

Enjoy this gratuitous picture of my grandson, dressed as a
chicken for Halloween. You're welcome.