I can now do dishes without running out of breath. Yay! She’ll live!
On Sunday I went outside — in 30-below, slowly recovering from flu, I knew the cats and birds were hungry and I needed fresh air and sunlight even if it wasn’t much — and was surprised to see melted snow (otherwise known as water) on the step. Woo Hoo! The deep freeze had come unplugged. I walked to the end of the driveway after doing my “chores.” Once out there, the wind reminded me of its nasty presence, warning me not to go beyond the trees around the yard or I’d be sorry.
On Monday morning I sat at the kitchen table, reading email and news articles and occasionally looking out the window. The five adult cats were out of the barn; four of them were trying to get into the Quonset, which apparently houses hordes of mice, and failing entry they headed down the driveway toward what I presume is another happy hunting ground — maybe the woodshed, or maybe just the bush. They were quite the little herd, anyway, and were clearly feeling frisky in the warmer weather.
A few minutes later Kizzy was spotted outside a granary. He’s the big black loverboy who was brought here in late, cold fall; it was either become a barn dweller or be put down immediately by a veterinarian, as he’d begun “playing too rough” and didn’t “seem happy.” He’d arrived at this former home as a stray and managed to outstay his welcome.
Kizzy is always the first to greet me at the barn door, and this is the first time he has been seen exploring the yard. I hope he’s lost enough weight — he’s very solid — to be able to leap back up to the glassless window the cats use as a door in and out of the barn.
Now that it’s warmed up out there, my car will start. Maybe it would do me good to go somewhere, though I have no real desire to. Still, sometime this week a trip to town is required. Stops at the credit union, the recycling depot, the grocery store, the library … all my usual places … maybe today?
You’d think after two weeks at home and not seeing anyone other than one person for the last 11 days, I’d have cabin fever by now. But no. It does leave me without much to write about, however, as one day kind of runs into the next without much change. But then that’s my life, isn’t it … not terribly much excitement, and lots of appreciation for the little everyday beauties like the redpoll I was smiling at yesterday when I looked out the window. The little sweetie was on the ground pecking at sunflower seeds, its back end toward me, its feathers puffed up to turn it into a perfectly round ball of fluff.
A chickadee has been singing the first four notes of its spring song in the oak trees that hold my feeders. That should tell you something about this untimely chinook we are experiencing. A week ago it was 35-below, out there.
Did anyone notice during the Golden Globes awards show (which I watched for its brief introduction to movies and TV shows I’ve never heard of) that in the midst of all the women wearing black to show their solidarity with and support of victims of sexual harassment, and their commitment to change, that the president of the Foreign Press Association got onstage wearing a bright red dress? I had to wonder why that was. She had an Indian accent. Could it be that there is something in her cultural background that forbids the wearing of black? I guess I’ll have to google it.