Better than down on the farm.

Or,  “Where the hell is that scarf?”

*ahem*

 

I took a few “selfies”  when we were in Maui. 

By the way,  the word “selfie” is now accepted in the dictionary.  Go figure.

Anyway, this was at the Luau. 

Did I show you this?  Mebbe.

 

Daughter Number Two and I.  We’re not exactly sweating,  but I was comfortable.

Then there was the one I showed you yesterday from the top of the volcano,  where it was “cold”.   “Cold” having a rather loose definition,  and probably only used in that context if you’re from Florida. 

They got real thin blood,  them Floridians.

 

Then we have today:

 

I had this bright idea (briefly),  that I’d walk all the way over to the barber shop and get a little taken off the top.  Actually,  there’s not all that damned much on “the top”. It has more to do with trying not to look like Captain Kangaroo.  

Remember him?

 

I’m only talking about the hair growing on the sides there.  Bob Keeshan seems to have had a decent head of hair on up into his later years.  I definitely wouldn’t want to look much like him NOW though,  since he’s been dead for a few years.

But it was just a wee bit too cool.  I’m trying not to get carried away here. 

It.  Be.  Cold.

 Mustn’t talk about the weather.  There are folks who take exception to that.

It’s funny what the cold will do to yer brain.  I had a couple thoughts today.

The first one had to do with the two blokes who sat in front of us in the Airways Transit van on the way home that Tuesday night when we came back from Maui.   It was something like -19°C that evening,  but it was nice and cozy in the van,  which is probably why the two of them promptly fell asleep and began snoring like nobody’s business.  We’re talking a couple regular chain saws here.

*I* wasn’t going to be the one to kick the back of their seat to wake of them up either, (even though I was being prompted to “do something” from T.C. sitting next to me) since I felt rather bad for these two nitwits.  

Why “nitwits”?   Well,  they had travelled from UGANDA.   Yes,  f**king Uganda!   Where,  oh I don’t know,  it’s “Summer”  all the time???   Helluva sight warmer than here, I know that.  Why oh why would you come to Canada in the middle of January,  from Uganda?  

I mean,  we had a house to go back to and check on and stuff.  You know,  the vacation was over,  that kind of thing.

Boggles the mind.  Maybe they were on a mission?   From the “Ugandan Travel Board”?    Yikes.

 

Then the other thought I had,  had to do with that whole, “What’s for supper” routine.   I figured it would be a good night for pasta.

Turns out,  I’m making soup.

Funny thing about getting all bundled up to go outside.  Took me so long I forgot why I was shopping in the first place.

Well no,  it really has more to do with not bothering to check to see if I actually had any tomato sauce.  I had extra for the longest time.  So when I finally ran out, I guess maybe I hadn’t noticed.   D’oh!

Oh well. Mañana.

 

So,  chicken soup it is.

 

While I was waiting for it to come up to a boil,  I kinda got side tracked with the dogs breakfast we have for a spice drawer,  and figured I’d maybe tidy up a bit.

They *say* your spices should be kept away from the heat, which is partly why I put that little drawer down there under the cook top.  There’s that,  and I looked under there and realised there was a bunch of wasted space.  Can’t have that.

There were a few duplicates in the spice department.  And is there a difference between poultry seasoning and sage?   They sure look and smell the same,  but I didn’t just lump them in together.  That would be bad.  Especially if I were to fess up to it on Ze Blogue.

 

That’s as good as it gets for now.  At least I didn’t find anything that was really,  really old.  Like the box of Sheriff's Mini Buds from 1972.    It was a package of Lime Jello that we found in the cupboard not long after we moved in,   in 1992.   Probably should have sent it to the Smithsonian.   We didn’t think we wanted to make up a pack of twenty year old Jello.   Is that shit still around?

Well,  it’s on the net,  so I guess it must exist.  That’s reasonable logic,  right?

 

Oh,  and why “Better than on the Farm”?    Because the other thought I had in my pea brain this morning was just how comfortable this house is compared to that old draughty farm house that I grew up in.  Well,  only the first ten years,  thankfully.  (So glad we got the hell outta there!)

Something about lathe and plaster,  and single pained windows.   And having to “bank up the house” in the fall.  I’m not kidding.

I don’t think it would have been that much worse in a tent.  Honestly.

Except of course,  having a wood furnace and wood stove in a tent would be a challenge, but just as effective.

On a particular night in February of 1967,  I was the coldest I think I’ve ever been in my life.  This was back in the Fahrenheit days,  and it was down around minus 15.     There was no place in the house to get warm except for standing directly on the furnace,  and the furnace grate was actually too damned hot to stand on.  That was where my old man spent the entire night,  since he did nothing but put cherry wood in the thing all night long.  Oh ya,  good times!

We be spoiled here,  that’s for sure.

I’ve heard stories of being in a farm house that was so cold (“How cold was it?”  you ask?)  that the pigeons in the rafters were keeling over after having frozen to death.  Oh, and falling on the bed of the sleeping occupants below.  Forgot that part.  True story.  Not making it up.  Ask my sister-in-law.

 

I’d say, “Hope it’s warmer where you are”,  but unless you’re somewhere up in Nunavut,  I think there’s probably a good chance it is. 

This too shall pass.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

 

Thanks for stopping by.