A White Christmas and How

It's my neighbor, Carlton Quick. Yes, that's his real name. He's out there shoveling my drive and walkways. The snow is deep. Deep.

Sure, he's young, maybe 30, and he's big, about 6'5", but that doesn't mean he has to do this. I just stepped out to ask what I could ever do for him. He says I don't have to do a darn thing; he was already out; somebody's got to do it. I'm guessing he doesn't know how thankful I really am. It has not stopped snowing yet and predictions are that it won't for this whole day and maybe tomorrow.

He hasn't done his own driveway yet. I hope he will.

P.S. It's now Saturday morning, Christmas Eve. He, my neighbor, didn't shovel his own driveway and didn't finish mine. Oh well. It just snowed more anyway. But about 7:30 last night George Mathews came and shoveled the whole thing. He is a good man. However, this morning there's another inch or so, and the weather report for the day says Heavy Snow.

This is a big deal here. This much snow is not our normal deal. Yes, a White Christmas, but can my family drive here through it?

Two Days Until December

Tell me. Do people with real money get hit up for donations every rip stitch? I do. And I am far from wealthy. It irritates me. The pleas for money and such, not that I'm not wealthy. I have enough, know what I mean? But not much more than that.

Then there's the matter of a $4000+ property tax bill, due December 20. Do I really deserve that? It irritates me more than the requests for donations because this I have no choice about. I just have to pay it.

On the other hand, December means singing. The group I sing with goes out to sing ten times during the month, that in addition to our Christmas Concert. I love to do it, but it takes some energy.

It's My Blog, You Know

What's the deal? I'm writing something. Finally.

This is a good day for it. My daughter, Alyce, the mother of the miracle baby, is going to have another miracle baby. Hallelujah and thank the Lord. And I mean that.

I have been sworn to secrecy until this minute, with good reason, I'm sure. And I kept the secret. But now I can tell, and I'm telling.

This miracle will come next June and will be a little sister for Saxby. Oh my goodness. Don't we wonder what that will be like.

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Other news.

I got my property tax bill yesterday. It has knocked me down and pulled off my socks. $4029.and some cents, due December 20. My very own Christmas present from Ada County.

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Better news.

Wayne, my son, and his family will be here in four days. We'll have Thanksgiving dinner together. Do I even know how to cook anymore? Lola and her boys (I think) will be here and Andrew, but I don't know about his boys. But, as they say, it's all good. No, I hate that little phrase. I cannot say it. Cross it out in your mind. I didn't say it.

I think this is the end.

Briefly

I had two owls all summer in the front yard's big ash tree. I only visited with the small screech owl, but I knew the other one was there--you know, evidence on the walkway below. I didn't mind cleaning it up. I liked them, my owls.

Fall has driven them away. So guess what! The crows are back.

However, the days are sunny and crisp. Beautiful days.

Just an update.

I took my morning walk this afternoon--the days have gone cool, and this morning was too cool for walking. Even this afternoon I had to wear a jacket. Besides, I had to go to the dr. this morning.

My walk
On the grassy areas near the Wells Fargo Bank a genuine murder of crows--I counted 25--busied themselves and did not like my coming into their territory. They screamed at me as they scattered, many of them flying up to sit in the tops of the closeby honey locust tree, whose leaves, I noticed, have begun to turn. The tree thinks it's Autumn, this 13th day of September.

I wonder if the cool weather told my owl it was time to go. My little screech owl, who made his summer home in the tallest ash tree in my front yard. We visited every day. I spoke. He didn't, but he sometimes opened his eyes to give me a hello. Fierce eyes. He was up there yesterday, even toward nightfall. But today he is gone, more's the pity.

I say it's too soon for Fall, would appreciate a few more 80-degree days. But my wishes are irrelevant.

It should be clear I don't like crows any better than I like squirrels. I can remember when seeing a squirrel was an event, something to cheer about. I was very young then and did not live in Idaho. Now I find squirrels to be the local pest, digging up my lawns, tearing the bark from my trees, running noisily all over my roof, and generally being ubiquitous.

Crows.The American crow is a large passerine bird species of the family Corvidae. (This straight from Wikipedia, the source of all truth.) But I digress.

While I respect the crows for their intelligence, I found that large group of them to be a clear threat this morning. I don't trust them. Should I? They don't trust me, you know.

Hmmmm

Another big zucchini came to my house yesterday. Enough said.

A familiar story

Sometimes things just get away from us. You know. Like that zucchini you just didn't see until it was too big. "Too big." The two words my neighbor used when she brought such a zucchini to me yesterday.

I said, "Wow" when I opened the door and saw it. I didn't mean to say "wow." It just slipped out, and that caused her to say, "Is it too big?"

"No," I said. That was a lie. It's as big as my leg.

But the look on her face and the tone of her voice were almost pleading. And what kind of a person refuses a gift from a good neighbor? So I lied, and my neighbor went home happy.

If I still made zucchini bread I could make enough for the entire neighborhood. But I don't.

If I wanted to, I could probably climb onto the thing and float down the river, if big zucchinis float. I don't want to.

I think of hungry people. Truly, I do.
I think of the woman on the corner by Costco whose sign said HOMELESS. I wish I had taken the squash with me on my errands today. I wonder if the woman would have accepted the zucchini. What do you think?

I'm going to feel very bad when I don't use this squash.

Help.