It’s been a long while since posting in this blog. Our Internet has unpredictable mood swings. Sometimes it’s slow, sometimes there is no getting on. Sometimes it flows like melted butter on my pancakes. Don’t eat pancakes much, so there you have it. To top it off, I was sick with a head cold for two weeks and then went on a four day trip to Michigan. I am catching the Internet while the going is good.

So far we have planted 80 onion bulbs, two rows of peas and one row of spinach. We decided to hoe out the pond garden. This is one plot that has confounded us for the past 27 years. It’s a horrifying mess of Anemone and Yarrow roots. You have to take a shovel and dig deeply to pull up the stuff. Then sift through it until the soil is clean again. We added reams of Caledonian-Record newspapers covered with hemlock mulch. We are on the other side of this madness.

I need to comment briefly about Game of Thrones character Theon Greyjoy. I underestimated the effects of Ramsey Snow’s abuse on Theon, now Reek’s, psyche. He has been completely co-opted by Ramsey and now suffers from Stockholm Syndrome. If only Theon’s sister understood this psychological phenomenon. She might have  brought Milk of the Poppy to the rescue and knocked out Theon. Eventually, he might heal from his trauma. Meanwhile, Ramsey has some kind of twisted plan to use Reek, playing his original identity as Theon Greyjoy. One can only wonder when and how Ramsey will encounter his Karma. Everyone dies on Game of Thrones.

Hank running up the side stairs

The corral garden just beginning to bloom

For my Readers who miss snow. You know nothing….

Craig flew off to Florida for a five day tennis extravaganza. The house responded by breaking things one by one. First, the Internet stopped working. Not slow. Stopped working. Batteries died in some of the smoke/carbon monixide alarms. Then the furnace went.  After conferencing with Craig, decided that we had run out of oil. But the fuel guys can’t make it up our driveway this time of year. It wasn’t so bad when the sun was shining because the largish windows created a solar effect. The nights were cold. Hank was invited, no commanded, to join me in bed. I remembered the expression “three-dog night” to describe the truly intense cold that people endured before conveniences were invented like indoor plumbing and central heating.  Hank was like a big heating pad. Could have used one more dog.

Functioning indoors when the temperature is  50 degrees entails operating equipment that generates heat like the oven and dryer and then huddling under several blankets and binge-watching Game of Thrones reruns. I was cold, but nothing like north of the Wall.

Hope

What are we doing today?

I came downstairs a little late this morning.  We were up late last night after attending a concert at the Tupelo Music Hall  followed by a midnight rerun from Game of Thrones. Craig  had left the house for hospital rounds and tennis. As I entered the kitchen, I found Hank sitting at the counter drinking coffee and reading the paper.  No, I’m lying. Hank was not drinking coffee.  He wasn’t reading the paper. He was sitting on a chair at the counter. He looked up at me as I walked towards him. Where have you been he seemed to say. You’re late.

Last night’s concert featured two artists. Brooks Hubbard who is 22 years old with a contagious optimism about life and Lucy Kaplansky, age 54 who forgot her song list and presented a bit more of a jaded and I’ve -seen- a -lot -of-stuff attitude. They are both wonderful songwriters with great voices. Inspired me to think about writing songs. Two ideas emerged. One about dogs. Noooooo you say. Yes. There’s a great song in my relationship with Hank. The other idea is to write about what it’s like to be aging when you used to be so cool and experienced remarkable events when you were 22 and optimistic. Working title We were there.