Went to the post office and library at 2 a.m. this morning -- rain. (I know -- you wouldn't be out wandering around that late. But it's actually quite peaceful.)
Woke up this morning to a blizzard in full force.
Which kept going -- and going -- and going.
It finally stopped at sunset. We've got at least 1 1/2 feet (according to the Brick) or 2 feet (according to me) of white stuff. Drifts from knee to mid-thigh deep. Charley is thrilled; he's had a wonderful time prancing through it. The chickens stayed in their coop and sulked.
Which brings me to a certain observation about how different regions deal with snow:
Most of the Coloradoans on my block, though, had the good sense to stay home. After all, it IS Spring Break here for most. Otherwise, they would have had to do this:
Or maybe it's Colorado-style, instead!
We're supposed to get more snow this weekend. (The weather pundits are now saying just sleet -- but they're the same people who announced Castle Rock would only have 4-8" in this storm.) Colorado's like that in the spring.
Sodahead.com is right...
I'll keep the sandals and snow boots side by side for a while.
(Thanks for expressing it so succinctly, gardenrant.com)
Update: Just heard from Daughter #2. Her partner Keith, who has snow-clearing contracts in the Denver area, spent 35 HOURS plowing and shoveling. Poor guy. I got the front walk shoveled, but it took some work -- we've got waist-deep drifts out front. The steps down to the driveway disappeared -- literally. Charley got stuck in a snowdrift and had to push himself out backwards. Silly dog. Sky's clear now...we'll see how long it holds.
I had other things to say, but the Belgian crisis made them all seem irrelevant...
The Brick and I are both still struggling with bronchitis. Listening to us cough in tandem is not the prettiest thing in the world. We run out of steam very quickly, then must sit down and rest. We both did our jobs on Saturday and Sunday. Thankfully, this week will be fairly quiet.
Charlie the wonder dog -- a former foster dog does his own fostering. (Not our Charley, but a nice guy, nonetheless.)
Dee Stark's mom died. (See comments.) I still miss this Crazy quilting friend so much.
The latest from Libby Lehman's ongoing recovery. Her stroke was April 2013 -- last week, for the first time, she was able to stay overnight alone and care for herself. Do the math: almost three years.
St. Patrick's Day is here again...with thoughts of the country we visited a few years ago. (And I hope to return to -- soon.) We noticed a great deal, but some things really stood out. Like:
*The breakfasts were 'full' -- and amazing. The Irish may stint elsewhere, but not in this department: 'black' and 'white' pudding (actually rounds of sausage -- blood for the dark, and offal for the white), banger sausages (softer than ours, with more 'stuffing'), fried potatoes, fried eggs -- and a basket of toast, with some brown bread slices thrown in. Hot, strong tea completed the menu, plus a bowl of slow-cooked porridge, if we were lucky. We could go for hours on a meal like that -- and often did.
*The 'Troubles' never really have gone away. We may think that the 19th century's Great Famine, when Irish potato crops were ruined in a matter of days and weeks, is far in the past. Not so for the Irish -- nor for all of the political unrest they endured in the early 1900s. It isn't just the IRA, either. Unemployment and other money problems are still an issue for the Irish. They still largely resent England -- but realize some of their income comes from English support, as well. (And they don't like it.) We were never badly treated; too many Irish people have friends and relatives in the States to dislike 'Yanks.' But if we'd been Brits...
During a trip to Connemara, our cousin pointed out a patchwork of carefully outlined squares, still evident against the hills. "Know what those are?" he said. "The potato plots from the Famine -- they're not planted anymore, but they're still there." Memories are the same way, for Ireland.
*Castles, old forts and other stone monuments, including guard post towers from Oliver Cromwell's time: they're still there. It became a common sight to drive past a field, or look out at shore's edge -- and see one. Nearly all are in ruins, especially the guard outposts, which often have a gigantic hole in their back. (Cromwell's men would sneak up on the outpost, then blow a hole with their cannon. Problem solved.)
And the time of Cromwell's invasion of Ireland? The mid-1600s. Oh, that we Americans still preserved that much of our Colonial heritage.
et voila...
Some of the castles have been restored -- or at least fixed up enough for tourists. Most, though, are just crumbling piles of rock, with holes for windows. When we asked why, we were told that it would cost too much to reinforce or repair them -- so they're just left alone.
It looks picturesque that way, but there won't be much left after another generation or so.
*Kissing the Blarney Stone -- an exercise in weirdness. Much of Blarney Castle is pasted-together ruins, but its top floor has an interesting feature: an open spot with a very nondescript stone held in place over a drafty metal grill. Smooch the stone, and you're supposed to be given the 'gift of gab.' (And apparently most of the Blarney's owners had it, too.) Sounds easier than it is -- you must lean over backwards, with the guard nervously holding onto your belt while you do it.
I did it -- on condition that the Brick NOT take a picture.
He took it, anyways. (I made him erase it.)
Blarney Castle had its share of ruined towers, shady (and spooky) walks, plus an extensive herb and flower garden, only made up of harmful plants: a true Poison Garden. Maybe that's how they got rid of people who refused to 'kiss up' to them?
Blarney Tower - one of the 'lookouts,' near the castle proper
*A lot of fuss made over mountains, cliffs and other grand-sounding landmarks. But they weren't. Their mountains, at least to these Coloradoans, looked like foothills. Pretty, yes, but we've seen steeper hills just a few miles from home.
And the much-ballyhooed Cliffs of Moher?
I was more impressed by the old man playing an accordian on the footpath.
The photos look wonderful. The reality was pretty mundane. In fact, it's the first national park I ever visited where cattle were grazing at the entrance to the parking lot. They weren't impressed, either.
Part II's coming -- but this flu is still hanging on, and I need some sleep.
Are you thinking of cooking Irish for St. Patrick's Day tomorrow?
Here's one idea, from the Holiday Goodies blog: Potato Farls
Warm and filling... these potato scones make good use of leftover mashed potatoes. The basic recipe asks for just potato, flour, butter, salt and pepper -- but I like to add some finely chopped onion, as well. (The word, by the way, comes from the Gaelic fardel -- or 'fourths.') Serve underneath a fried egg, and with a pot of tea, for a substantial breakfast.
POTATO FARLS
1 1/2 - 2 cups mashed potatoes (warm in the microwave for 1-2 min. for best results)
1/2 cup flour
4 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon each salt and pepper
1-2 chopped green onions (or 1/4 cup finely chopped white onion)
Mix all together to make a soft dough. (If it feels sticky, add a bit more flour.) Press out by hand into a rough-shaped circle, then cut into quartered wedges. Carefully transfer to a hot ungreased frying pan -- cook for 3-4 min. on one side, then flip and cook 3 more min. Keep warm in the oven while you fry the eggs. (Preferably pulled warm from underneath your chicken friends, down in the coop)
From the Guardian article about the subject: Farls are most often served with a cooked breakfast or at teatime...at breakfast, try them topped with crisp bacon or served instead of fried bread...at tea time they are best served simply, with just butter and salt, but they are good too with dollop of jam. At lunch or supper they go particularly well with smoked fish, grated beetroot salad and horseradish cream. Jane Baxter (my collaborator on this column) like them with butter and melted cheese, but she is a bad woman...
We'll be featuring Irish goodies all week on the 'Holiday Goodies' blog -- go here for more recipes and ideas, including Irish Cream Cake, Burnt Oranges (really!) and Dublin Coddle.
I am starting to breathe again. After struggling to do it for nearly a week, I woke up this morning with clearer air passageways -- at least I can breathe now without strange accompanying squeaky sounds. The fever seems to be gone, too. Sadly, the rest I got yesterday came at the expense of the Brick -- he dragged himself to Worship Team, so I could stay in bed. (We both usually sing and play keyboard/piano.) We only had a day's worth of chicken feed, so I trudged out and got that last night, so he could rest. Thankfully, we don't have any commitments until Thursday night. Maybe this pesky whatever-it-is will let up completely by then. While we're recovering: Irish Goodies Are Coming! My Holiday Goodies blog will feature Irish foods all this week, to celebrate the holiday. (In case you're wondering, yes -- we both have ancestors from Ireland. We even kissed the Blarney Stone on our trip to Ireland. It may be famous...but the experience was just plain creepy. More later this week.)
Fifteen collectibles that are totally worthless. Or so says Cramer's The Street column. Commemorative plates from the Danbury Mint and Bradford Exchange, as well as the Precious Moments and Hummel lines, are some of the biggest offenders. (Actually, I'd agree with most of these, sad to say. A good friend proudly displays a huge collection of Precious Moments figurines, which I'm pretty sure she spent big bucks for.)
Second daffodil's out and blooming. Swiss chard and radish seeds are in the ground -- I need to clean out the chicken coop and pile the dressing on the garden before I put in peas and more greens. (Maybe tomorrow, when I have more energy.) Have a great week.
There was a reason I was up until 1:30 a.m. or so the other day...
Couldn't breathe.
One of my darling piano students was coughing and sneezing during her lesson...and she gave it not only to yours truly -- but the Brick, as well.
Since then, we've both been pestered with fever, achiness and LOTS of congestion. Fortunately, I didn't have any client appointments or gigs until late next week. So we've split the chores -- whoever feels the most ambulant at the moment gets to stagger out and take care of the chickens. We also have bunny duty -- our friends down the street are out of town for another week, and they need us to care for the 'buns.' Sometimes we alternate -- the Brick for chicks, me for the buns, or vice versa.
Then we trudge home and collapse.
I spent part of last night sleeping in a chair, so I could breathe a little easier. (Shades of Queen Elizabeth, who tends to sleep upright, from what I'm told.) It's a little better today -- but not much.
The house has piles here and there, of clean clothes, groceries, etc. The dogs have started their spring shedding, so we've been brushing them regularly. But the rugs still get their share. Whatever's absolutely critical gets taken care of -- the rest can wait.
We've been eating out of the freezer a lot, warming up canned soup...and watching Route 66.
Unlike Man in A Suitcase(which was a bust), this early 60s show has been a lot of fun. Two twenty-somethings, driving a Corvette left to one by his dad (the only thing he inherited, according to him), prowl the country, picking up work where they can, and rescuing all sorts of guys and damsels in distress. (Smooching some of the latter, too.)
One is a clean-cut, former Harvard type. (Martin Milner) The other has been fighting all his life, since the Foundlings Home in Hell's Kitchen. (George Maharis) They get into all sorts of scrapes and funny situations along the way. And wherever they go, people tell them their life stories -- including their troubles. Sometimes the guys can help; sometimes they can't.
That would seem unreal -- but when the Brick and I spent the summer of 1984 on a motorcycle, traveling the country, we had exactly the same thing happen. Total strangers would offer us places to stay, help...and tell us all about their world, including their problems.
Route 66 doesn't always have a happy ending. Maybe that's one of its strengths.
It isn't always very kind regarding women -- the female sex is mostly there to act helpless, sexy or confused. (Guess you can't have everything.)
It hardly ever uses places along the actual Route 66. (Which we traveled by motorcycle...mostly hot, deserted and dusty.)
The Chevy Corvette seems spotless, in spite of heavy travel and use. (Which makes sense -- Chevrolet was the series' sponsor, and replaced the car every 3000 miles or so.)
But it does take advantage of some of the best character actors in the business, including Robert Duvall, E.G. Marshall and a surprising favorite, whose face we recognized, if not his name: John Larch.(The music's generally wonderful, too.)
And for people who like to travel, it works hard at presenting what 'everyday' life is like in all sorts of faraway places. So far, we've picked hops in Oregon (logged wood there, too), been roustabouts on an oil rig in Louisiana (right after we crewed on a shrimp boat, that is), fixed a well in Kanab, Utah during a duststorm (I thought they were singularly unfair, there -- didn't really show the beauty of the area). We also helped build the Glen Canyon Dam,...and had the bejeebers scared out of us by a creepy town run by a Nazi-hater. (That was the first episode, led by redneck George Kennedy. What a way to start a series.)
It's given us something more interesting to focus on, besides being sick.
P.S. The first daffodil bloomed this morning in Castle Rock, CO -- right on schedule. I need to get peas in by St. Patrick's Day.
