Friday, December 7, 2007

I Will Not Garden in Cashmere, or Fallen Mums.

Brrrr ... Cold, wet and miserable outside. Raining steadily and there's a cold front pushing the moisture. We don't have snow ... yet. The rain should turn by tonight and we should have six to nine inches on the valley floor tomorrow. Snow, don't be wicked, I was talking snow. (MyLarry won't be home until late Saturday or early Sunday, I'm gettin' nuttin' on my valley floor tonight.) I decided it would be prudent to scoop the front yard before the snow fell. The fat dog hasn't wanted to go out; she stands on the porch and shivers, I know she needs to go. I made her come out with me. Scooping soggy turds in the cold rain is less fun than it sounds. And the dog still wouldn't come away from the dry sliver under the eaves. To kill time, I went out back and looked for poo. None to be found, but the maple has dropped the rest of her leaves. Bitch. Cricket followed me into the backyard, but wouldn't put a paw out from under the patio roof. I grabbed the clippers and headed out front and snipped my fallen mums, which I should have done weeks ago. Without my gloves too, my gardening gloves are in the wash and all I had in my pockets were my good cashmere set. I will not garden in cashmere. So NOW the dog gives in and makes a tidy pile after I put the shovel away. Sigh.

The rain makes my flowerbeds sad. We didn't crop the raspberry canes or dig up and replant the front iris bed; both sets of plants are drooping over and full of dead leaves and rotting vegetable matter. Once I warm up, I may hunt up my work gloves and tackle the raspberries. My gardening gloves won't even work for that. I just have the dreadful feeling my leather work gloves made it into the leather box with the spiked suspenders and the studded gauntlets. If I'm right, that box is somewhere in the garage, and we know how I feel about going into mylarry's garage!

Random advice for the day: don't try to clear dead maple leaves from the raingutter opening above your rain chain while it is raining. You get cold water down your sleeve and soak your inner cuffs. Then you say Bad Words.

The turkey carcass is making stock right this minute. My carver was not home in a timely fashion, he came by for a couple hours then headed to Idaho. Now he is headed for West Valley, then down to Vegas. Without a man to wield the blades, I dismembered the turkey with my bare hands. Pretty easy actually, and I got the meat off in large chunks with little shredding. It fell apart at the seams so to speak. I felt barbaric or medieval, and/or both. I may have growled during the ripping apart, I am uncertain. Now I am boiling bones. Take that, Genghis Khan!


archersangel said...

that's why i like eating chicken off the bone. it makes me feel primeval to rip meat off of the bone with my teeth. giving in to some kind of animal urge, i guess.

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