Well, I'm doing it. Or the guy out there in my garage is doing it--installing the humidifier onto my heating system. Dan promised me--twice--it will work, that is, put moisture into the air in my house, and I will be satisfied. Or he'll refund my money.
I am hopeful.
On this last day of 2013 I give thanks for my family, and I pray for their good health and happy welfare in 2014. Mine, too.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Post Yule Post
Today I have stayed in. Well, I have stayed home. Several trips into the garage and several outside to get Christmas things packed away or taken out with the trash were sufficient to show me, Baby, it's cold outside.
But I'm getting better. I'll have the guy come on Monday and give me the estimate for installing a humidifier to the heating/cooling system. I am dry inside and out, my skin, my nose, my ears, my mouth. And I have been recipient of many unasked-for shocks. Sarah, of Sarah and Darron, who stayed here Monday, complained of the dry air. And Lola also mentioned it on Christmas day, and I'm wondering how much the dry air in here contributes to my respiratory unease.
My neighbors--the deer neighbors--have a hot tub now and have been out there today and I believe last night, too. I hear them talking, hear their music, and today, as I walked back from taking my tree to the curb, I saw them. Happy for them. They are a good couple, and I am sure they will enjoy their hot tub all this winter. But I have never been interested in such an activity. Not sure why. Maybe it would be good for my membranes. Know what I mean?
And what else would you like to know? That my house is filled with candy and cookies and other sweets? I am not eating it. Well, not much of it.
But I'm getting better. I'll have the guy come on Monday and give me the estimate for installing a humidifier to the heating/cooling system. I am dry inside and out, my skin, my nose, my ears, my mouth. And I have been recipient of many unasked-for shocks. Sarah, of Sarah and Darron, who stayed here Monday, complained of the dry air. And Lola also mentioned it on Christmas day, and I'm wondering how much the dry air in here contributes to my respiratory unease.
My neighbors--the deer neighbors--have a hot tub now and have been out there today and I believe last night, too. I hear them talking, hear their music, and today, as I walked back from taking my tree to the curb, I saw them. Happy for them. They are a good couple, and I am sure they will enjoy their hot tub all this winter. But I have never been interested in such an activity. Not sure why. Maybe it would be good for my membranes. Know what I mean?
And what else would you like to know? That my house is filled with candy and cookies and other sweets? I am not eating it. Well, not much of it.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Well . . .
- And finally, I think, my neighbor said the deer did get caught on the fence and probably slipped on the driveway, too.
- The man who "harvested" it was a relative.
- It was the police who came and shot it; they informed Pam and Terry that it is legal and permissible to harvest such an animal.
- The relative is very happy to get the meat. It's like a Christmas present.
- Any questions?
Monday, December 23, 2013
Chapter 2
About 25 years ago, I read The Man Who Killed the Deer by Frank Waters. This is nothing like that. Well, I suppose the big guy with the gun could have been a Pueblo Indian. I suppose he could have had great reverence for the life of the animal. It didn't appear so to me. And obviously he did not need the meat for his family. He left the animal lying dead in my neighbor's yard.
Whatever. This chapter is not about that anyway. It's about what happened next.
After an hour or so, I looked out front to see if the deer was still in my neighbor's front yard. My neighbor, Terry, and some man I had never seen were walking toward the deer. The man began dragging the deer across the yard, followed by Terry. He dragged it through the front yard to the back yard, across the back yard out into the pasture, and across the pasture to the small barn/shed. All the while, Dash, my neighbor's dog, was following with great interest.
What was this guy going to do with the dead deer? Skin it? Eat it? Eating it seemed a remote possibility, although I don't know why. That's what hunters do. They shoot the deer, then prepare it so they can eat the meat.
Well, it was out of sight. I could try to think of something else. I did hear noises from out there, like a chain saw. You didn't want to know that part. But I thought the deer story was over.
Wrong.
After another half hour or so, I looked out my kitchen window and saw Dash running across the back yard carrying the deer's head in his mouth. Terry saw it, too, and came out. He spoke to Dash and the dog dropped the head. Terry picked it up and headed toward the pasture with Dash chasing after him and jumping up to capture the deer's head again. Once he grabbed it with his teeth, but Terry got it back and held it up higher.
Terry took the head out to the shed, and just then the guy I had never seen before yesterday walked across the pasture with two black trash bags full of what I can only think were deer parts and innards.
That is all I know. Probably more than you wanted to know. But I just wanted to finish the thing.
Whatever. This chapter is not about that anyway. It's about what happened next.
After an hour or so, I looked out front to see if the deer was still in my neighbor's front yard. My neighbor, Terry, and some man I had never seen were walking toward the deer. The man began dragging the deer across the yard, followed by Terry. He dragged it through the front yard to the back yard, across the back yard out into the pasture, and across the pasture to the small barn/shed. All the while, Dash, my neighbor's dog, was following with great interest.
What was this guy going to do with the dead deer? Skin it? Eat it? Eating it seemed a remote possibility, although I don't know why. That's what hunters do. They shoot the deer, then prepare it so they can eat the meat.
Well, it was out of sight. I could try to think of something else. I did hear noises from out there, like a chain saw. You didn't want to know that part. But I thought the deer story was over.
Wrong.
After another half hour or so, I looked out my kitchen window and saw Dash running across the back yard carrying the deer's head in his mouth. Terry saw it, too, and came out. He spoke to Dash and the dog dropped the head. Terry picked it up and headed toward the pasture with Dash chasing after him and jumping up to capture the deer's head again. Once he grabbed it with his teeth, but Terry got it back and held it up higher.
Terry took the head out to the shed, and just then the guy I had never seen before yesterday walked across the pasture with two black trash bags full of what I can only think were deer parts and innards.
That is all I know. Probably more than you wanted to know. But I just wanted to finish the thing.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Excitement in the neighborhood
Like the next door neighborhood.
I had just sat down by the fire to read when I heard what sounded like gunfire. Was it my chimney popping after so long with no use? Pretty loud for that.
Then I heard it again. Still, I thought it unlikely that someone would be firing a gun right here in this quiet southeast Boise community. At the third shot I was up and out my front door. Two uniformed men, one holding what looked like a rifle, sort of, were in my neighbor's yard, looking at an animal in the snow. Clearly, whatever it was, the one officer had shot it.
"Is that a raccoon?" I asked. "No," said the smaller officer, the one without the gun, "it's a deer."
Sad, I thought. Out loud I said, "Too bad it's not a raccoon."
The smaller man said, speaking to the other officer, "It's still breathing. But it's bleeding out of its eye."
"Are my neighbors not home?"
"They're home," said the big guy.
"Is this why their dog has been barking so much?"
"I wouldn't know," he said, a bit rudely.
I figured the deer was injured or they wouldn't have shot it. We have deer in the yards from time to time without incident, so I said, "Okay, I have just one more question. Why did you shoot it?"
The smaller man answered, "Because its intestines were hanging out, and one of its front legs is broken."
Just then my neighbor came into his yard, but I don't think the officers saw him.
"Ma'am," said the big guy, "you'd better go in the house now. I'm going to shoot it one more time, and I don't want you over here."
You know how it is, some people you like immediately, and some you don't. Him I didn't.
I didn't move, because I was on my own porch. And I don't like being told what to do, especially on my own property, and especially by people I don't think I like very much. Under my breath I muttered, "Are you going to aim it at me?"
"Go in the house now, ma'am."
I went in, and he fired another shot.
All is quiet out there now. No one is in the yard, except the dead deer, lying crumpled in the snow by my neighbor's front fence. I wonder whose job it is remove the dead deer. And when.
I had just sat down by the fire to read when I heard what sounded like gunfire. Was it my chimney popping after so long with no use? Pretty loud for that.
Then I heard it again. Still, I thought it unlikely that someone would be firing a gun right here in this quiet southeast Boise community. At the third shot I was up and out my front door. Two uniformed men, one holding what looked like a rifle, sort of, were in my neighbor's yard, looking at an animal in the snow. Clearly, whatever it was, the one officer had shot it.
"Is that a raccoon?" I asked. "No," said the smaller officer, the one without the gun, "it's a deer."
Sad, I thought. Out loud I said, "Too bad it's not a raccoon."
The smaller man said, speaking to the other officer, "It's still breathing. But it's bleeding out of its eye."
"Are my neighbors not home?"
"They're home," said the big guy.
"Is this why their dog has been barking so much?"
"I wouldn't know," he said, a bit rudely.
I figured the deer was injured or they wouldn't have shot it. We have deer in the yards from time to time without incident, so I said, "Okay, I have just one more question. Why did you shoot it?"
The smaller man answered, "Because its intestines were hanging out, and one of its front legs is broken."
Just then my neighbor came into his yard, but I don't think the officers saw him.
"Ma'am," said the big guy, "you'd better go in the house now. I'm going to shoot it one more time, and I don't want you over here."
You know how it is, some people you like immediately, and some you don't. Him I didn't.
I didn't move, because I was on my own porch. And I don't like being told what to do, especially on my own property, and especially by people I don't think I like very much. Under my breath I muttered, "Are you going to aim it at me?"
"Go in the house now, ma'am."
I went in, and he fired another shot.
All is quiet out there now. No one is in the yard, except the dead deer, lying crumpled in the snow by my neighbor's front fence. I wonder whose job it is remove the dead deer. And when.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
And, speaking of the non-essential
Sometimes I go to Curves. Like today, I'm going to insist to myself that I go.
Anyway, the music to which we move and jiggle and stretch just now is Christmas music . . . with a beat, of course, to help us keep a certain aerobic pace, you know. Some of it I find offensive, trivializing what to me is sacred. But there you go. Are you with me?
The other day We Three Kings of Orient Are was playing, and, speaking of trivializing, I sang the following words, somewhat under my breath, as I stretched:
We three kings of orient are
Tried to smoke a rubber cigar.
It was loaded.
It exploded,
Blowing us all afar.
Oh . . .
The owner of the Curves was close by and listening, apparently, and said she had never heard those words.
Really? I thought. Is she too young? In her late 40s or early 50s. Or is it that she comes from small town New York? Whatever.
We used to sing those words when we were kids, not all the time, of course, but sometimes. I know Wayne sang them. I know my brother Sterling sang them. And you?
Anyway, the music to which we move and jiggle and stretch just now is Christmas music . . . with a beat, of course, to help us keep a certain aerobic pace, you know. Some of it I find offensive, trivializing what to me is sacred. But there you go. Are you with me?
The other day We Three Kings of Orient Are was playing, and, speaking of trivializing, I sang the following words, somewhat under my breath, as I stretched:
We three kings of orient are
Tried to smoke a rubber cigar.
It was loaded.
It exploded,
Blowing us all afar.
Oh . . .
The owner of the Curves was close by and listening, apparently, and said she had never heard those words.
Really? I thought. Is she too young? In her late 40s or early 50s. Or is it that she comes from small town New York? Whatever.
We used to sing those words when we were kids, not all the time, of course, but sometimes. I know Wayne sang them. I know my brother Sterling sang them. And you?
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Holy Cow, not literally
Our church
building flooded. A pipe broke, and water flooded the Relief Society room, all
the overflow areas--which used to be the cultural hall--and the chapel. Wow.
We
will have our Christmas Party Saturday night as scheduled, but at the Stake Center on Warm
Springs Avenue.
Our Sunday meetings, that is, meeting, will be at the Broadway
Building. We normally meet at 9 a.m. and finish at noon but will go at 1:30 p.m. instead. Only
Sacrament meeting. I wonder about choir practice, and I wonder if our building
will be suitable for the next Sunday.
This may not be of general interest, but it marks a FIRST for me in my whole life of going to church, rain, snow, heat, or whatever.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Snow
We have it. Beautiful, powdery, kind of deep. Hard to drive through, but I have done it. (Had an appointment for tithing settlement.) I shoveled a path for my car and cleared my walk. It was hard work. And it was still snowing. You know what that means. But later, someone came and cleared the driveway entirely and redid my path. Oh, JOY!
I don't know who did it, but whoever it was did a bang-up job.
By the way, speaking of cliches (as in bang-up), every weather reporter I have heard this last week, reporting of the winter that has hit this country so hard, has used the phrase, "the white stuff." Every single one. Ugh. Is it so wrong simply to repeat the word "snow"?
Dash, my next door neighbor's black pup, was out playing in the snow this morning. Fun to watch him. But I haven't seen a single squirrel all day. They were here yesterday. Where do they go when it snows?
By the way again, I am truly thankful for the snow. I know we need its saving moisture. I do pray for safety--for me, my family, all who must drive in it this winter.
I don't know who did it, but whoever it was did a bang-up job.
By the way, speaking of cliches (as in bang-up), every weather reporter I have heard this last week, reporting of the winter that has hit this country so hard, has used the phrase, "the white stuff." Every single one. Ugh. Is it so wrong simply to repeat the word "snow"?
Dash, my next door neighbor's black pup, was out playing in the snow this morning. Fun to watch him. But I haven't seen a single squirrel all day. They were here yesterday. Where do they go when it snows?
By the way again, I am truly thankful for the snow. I know we need its saving moisture. I do pray for safety--for me, my family, all who must drive in it this winter.
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