Waiting for Peter

My mood is as gloomy as a snow sky in late March and I so wish I could just shake it off but I doubt that's possible. I desperately need Spring to get here. I need sun and warmth on my face. I need the optimism that comes with the turning of this particular season. I need to smell things greening and get wet dirt underneath my fingernails. I need my Peter back.

Our kitties Peter and Lillie were fostered in a farm about half a mile down the road from where we now live. I remember noticing our house back then, thinking it was the sweetest, most idyllic farmhouse I'd ever seen. I wondered what it would be like to live there and now I do.

The kittens were eight weeks old when I brought them home. Barely weened, full of curiosity and bad manners, they immediately took over the house and declared Franklin to be their adoptive mom even though he was male.

Franklin took on the role with gusto, letting them nurse on his fur and sleep on his belly. He snuggled them as long as they liked and taught them to be sweet. Eventually they learned better table manners.



Like so many kitties, Peter masked any hint of pain or illness. We had no idea he was dying, only that he didn't seem his usual self and that one day he just didn't seem interested in eating. 

He was such a gentle, kind and considerate soul. I miss our snuggily bedtime routine with his affectionate head butts that were so enthusiastic they sometimes knocked my glasses off. How he would lay on Ken's pillow and look up at him as though he had no intention of leaving. I miss his soft pink nose and his one rogue black whisker. He purred 'til he took his last breath.

Spring is kitten season. Perhaps Pee will have decided it's time to return to us by then.

We are waiting for you Pee.

Pretty Please

Welcome Spring. We're ready for you. In case you didn't notice, we're getting tired of this stuff.

We'd like a little more sun

and a whole lot more green.

 Oh and, while you're at it, would you mind closing the door? You're letting in more of that cold, frigid air. 

There that's better, thank you. 

Now would you please make it stop snowing? Pretty please?

In the air

Spring is on the way. I can smell it. As a Florida gal, I never saw spring flowers growing out of the ground. Nope, never. Spring wasn't something you saw in Florida, it was something you smelled.
When I stepped outside this morning I got a BIG whiff of it for the first time. That delicious smell of decay and thawing ice and dirt. That raw, almost moldy smell. The smell of spring. I also heard my first redwing blackbird and I saw an enormous "V" of geese heading in our direction. Spring is coming and it'll be here soon. Please hurry just a little bit.

There's been much sadness in our little corner of the world this week. The husband of an auction friend committed suicide on Saturday. Like most deaths by suicide, no one saw it coming. Not even his wife. I wish it didn't take tragedy to put things back in perspective.

On Sunday afternoon we spent time pouring through the CD collection of our dear friend Dave who died suddenly last July. Dave was that music fan who sat in the front row at every concert. He cheered loudly and sang even louder, and at intermission he'd buy one of every CD the band had for sale.

 We miss you every day, Dave.

Florida Girl

We've seen rain, sleet, ice and snow today. A brisk wind is tracking straight out of the west and the snow is thick, heavy and blowing like mad. We're ready for it. We've got hot soup, "storm chocolate"  and a full wine rack. It is serene and fierce all at once. I never tire of it. 

Must be the Florida girl in me.

Gypsies

Questions for a sunny, cold March Day...

Who are these damn gypsies I keep hearing about and why should I be afraid of them?

For the second time in as many weeks, I had someone tell me that I needed to watch out for "the gypsies". I didn't know we had any gypsies around here. In fact, I'm not sure I'd know a gypsy if one fell on me.

 Why do I seem to be asking myself the same questions today as I did when I was in my twenties?

This is a much more interesting thing to ponder...

Delight

For the first time in nearly a week I have my sense of smell and taste back. I'm just a little sad that the first thing I smelled was the mouse Pippa killed and left for us behind the frig...Thank you Pippa.

Our kitties some how never developed a taste for mouse. They just play with them 'til they expire and then leave them at the foot of the stairs for us to discover with "delight".  Must be all those years of playing with the red dot.

It was another sub-zero night in our neck of the woods. Lillie has already put in her request that I stay put for the day and make her a lap. Please, mom. Just sit down for a minute.

But the sun is shining bright today

and it seems like a perfect day to go picking. Not sure which route I'll take today but am hoping it results in another car full of treasures!

Snow Day Project

I'm not good at being sick. Never have been. I've lost count of how long I've had this damn cold and today I moved firmly from miserable to pathetic. Damn thing has stayed lodged in my sinuses and chest and no amount of neti-pot, nasal mist, ginger tea with honey (ok, also with bourbon) and sudafed seems to affect it one bit. I give already. Uncle, I say...Uncle.

A couple of months ago I brought some chair cushions inside thinking that recovering them would make the perfect snow day project. They came with some sweet wicker chairs we bought back in September while we were on vacation.

 

What was I thinking? Sure, I can sew and I can make stuff without a pattern, but recovering chair cushions? Truthfully I'd rather iron linens or be subjected to country music all day long.

But then the most amazing thing happened. In a rare "this hardly ever happens to me" moment, I had the bright idea to see what was under the ugly fabric. What I found were custom covers, obviously made by a professional. In summery colors. With piping. And no stains. Okay, they're a just a tad bit dated and pastel and kinda, almost plaid, but anything and I do mean anything is better than what was on them when we bought them.

The icing on the cake? Discovering that the same lovely fabric was also under the hideous fabric someone had put on the back pads too. They even have ties and look to be in perfect condition. Now I say "look" because I still don't have my sense of smell back and for all I know they smell like cat pee or mold, but for now I'm declaring victory. Cue happy dance!

Do NOT Eat the Fat

Just because I'm a seat-of-the-pants improvisational cook doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good cookbook every now and then.

So when a box lot full of grease spattered grange cookbooks from the 1970's came up on the auction block this week I couldn't help myself. I plunked down $10 and knew I had enough reading to keep me occupied all weekend.

I'd hadn't really looked through the box during preview so you can imagine how happy I was when I discovered it also contained an 1860's farm ledger/family cookbook, a 19th century hand-written book of family recipes and the 1914 best seller “The Orange Judd Cook Book” from the Farm Life Series. 

The hand-written recipe book and the ledger fell apart ages ago and are now held together with a ribbon. 

Both contain beautifully hand written recipes for everything from remedies for whopping cough and laryngitis to dandelion wine. Oh, how I wish modern remedies started with a "spoonful of alcohol mixed with a half cup of sweet milk" and instructed you to take "when distressed". 

The recipes often contain heirloom measurements like a jigger and a gill, but not to worry, there's a long list of equivalents written in the back cover.

Here are a few other favorites:

The Orange Judd cookbook will teach you how to make Stewed Jack Rabbit, Baked Coon, and Possum and Taters for lunch. And assuming you shot the raccoon for stealing turnips out of your garden, there are instructions on how to clean and dress him just in case. Whatever you do though, do not eat the fat. It'll give the meat an oily taste and is far more useful when it's time to make soap.

Don't have a chicken on hand? OJ has a recipe for “Mock Chicken” which is actually made from pork. The dessert section is enormous and oh so mouth-watering and contains recipes for every imaginable pudding including rhubarb, caramel, pumpkin and marshmallow versions. There are sauces for the sweet and the savory, including my favorite “Cheap Sauce” which is a concoction of boiled sugar, flour and milk. Making a pie? Take your pick. You can put it in a suet, egg, sweet cream or egg crust. The jams and jellies sound downright divine but that'll have to be for another post. Time to heat up some leftovers for lunch...