It has been a fairly uninteresting past few weeks, but having finished chores early and enjoying the warmth of the space heater at my feet, I thought it was time to give a quick update.
Thanksgiving was spent outside of Chicago at my aunt’s home with a veritable bevy of otherwise unseen relatives in attendance.
To the surprise of my family, I spent a fair amount of time with my newest niece, 4 month old Avah. I cooed over her, fed her, handed her to her parents when she was in need of a diaper change, and was vomited on three times. When she launched a spray of rancid milk and rice cereal down my shirt I politely thanked her for providing me with free birth control and returned her to her mother. If I remember correctly, I did not pick her up again for the duration of the visit.
Niece Olivia, now 16 months (give or take) had learned to walk since I last saw her just a few weeks previously. My brother has sung to her since she was in-utero, and the child is fascinated by her father’s singing. Of late, he has introduced Waylon Jennings into his repertoire with Olivia joining in from time to time. Because we are a vocal bunch of siblings, and despite being nearly tone deaf, my sister and I joined Brad in his serenade. Our first set included Weezer, Johnny Cash, Bon Jovi, Seven Mary Three, Toad the Wet Sprocket, and Frank Sinatra. Some distant relatives that we hadn’t met (a stodgy scientist and his 12 year old son) joined us, as did my mother for the next round… the cacophony would have raised the dead, but Olivia thoroughly enjoyed herself. I believe that the rest of the family escaped to the backyard.
The next day my mother and her twin had arranged a surprise outing for the whole gang, a visit to Medieval Times. I was graciously allowed to ride along with my 19 year old skater cousin Geoff – my teenage doppelganger. Mom rode in the backseat. For our amusement, Geoff and I found the most obnoxious music that we could on the radio and pretended to sing along, loudly. We started with some rap, then part of an aria that we’d never heard, and finished with some kind of Mexican love song. When we arrived at the venue, my Aunt mentioned that she could hear our caterwauling as she followed us in her car.
We ate lunch with our hands and watched some very dishy young men ride around (poorly – to my trained eye) on horses. Even little Olivia and Avah were awed by the spectacle and uttered not a sound. Kevin’s mother stole her pewter dessert plate…and my sister locked her keys in her car, but aside from that, it was a delightful way to spend an afternoon.
The next week was quiet, until Ramses (the Great Dane) went into kidney failure and had to be put to sleep. While not entirely unexpected, as he was close to 9 years old, it added to the already long list of this year’s heartbreak.
Starting a new job has helped to lift my spirits some, and is a nice affirmation. In the midst of week 5, I find that I get along well with most everyone and am thoroughly enjoying the older gentleman that brings me a cup of fresh brewed, flavored coffee each morning. Such a simple and lovely gesture makes arriving at work each morning a delight.
Last weekend convinced my mother to allow me to invade her home in the Dells in order to make holiday cookies. She was a little bit reluctant after the incredible mess that we had made with the caramel apples, but agreed with only a little arm-twisting. I purchased already cut-out cookies and hit the road with my box of sprinkles.
Finding that I didn’t much care for the snowman shape included in the assortment of cookies, I decided to trim off their tophats and make them resemble less Frosty the snowman, whom I find creepy as hell. Still not liking the results, I went online and found a picture of a cartoon character that amuses me and convinced my artistic mother to help me to reshape the snowmen into the cartoon’s likeness.
Many hours of cutting, sculpting, and baking followed. In the morn, we iced and sprinkled traditional trees, stars and South Park’s Mr. Hanky the Christmas poo. It is amazing how well he turned out!
On the way home, I delivered boxes of cookies and homemade caramels to my brother, sister, and a couple of friends. Mr. Hanky was a huge hit!
Back in real life, with the cold the tractor declined to start for a couple of days. Being a resourceful woman, I hauled hay and grain in the car. I am sure passers-by though me insane, but it got the job done! I swaddled the tractor in blankets, made sure that the oil pan heater was plugged in, hooked up the battery charger, and bought several bottles of starting fluid to prepare for the next time that I needed to feed. Unfortunately, 4 cans of starter fluid and a day later, the tractor still wouldn’t start. I plugged a space heater in and pointed it at the tractor, then hopped into the car to feed horses.
Tonight, after yet another trip to get starter fluid at Fleet Farm, I was gathering up grain buckets, when I thought I saw movement in one of them. Thinking it was just some stray grain pellets rolling around, I turned on my headlamp (yes, I wear a miner’s headlamp when I feed horses at night) and saw an adorable little field mouse in the bucket. Not thinking, I reached my gloved hand into the bucket to remove the mouse, and was incredibly surprised to feel the rodent scurrying up my sleeve. Not only was it up my sleeve, it was beneath my coverall type snowsuit and under the hooded sweatshirt that I was wearing beneath it. Now, here I must interject a fact about this particular snowsuit… it was designed for men, and is not the greatest fit in the chest, were I am endowed a little bit too well. The removal of this snowsuit necessitates that I shimmy and wriggle while flailing my arms about. Not a possibility with a stray mouse up my sleeve. I tried to reach down the neck of my sweatshirt to shoo the errant mouse out, to no avail. Next, I tried to coax out through the neck hole by doing a little hoppity dance. No dice. I resorted to going outside, breaking a stick off of the elder tree and shoving it through the neckline of my sweatshirt and down my sleeve. At this point the mouse and I amicably parted ways. Were it any kind of arachnid, I am certain that you would have heard the screams in the nether regions of the galaxy. Fortunately, I am not afraid of or offended by mice, so long as they do not reside in my house.
After all of this excitement, I was delighted to start my now warm tractor and feed the horses. The automatic waterers held liquid water rather than ice (hallelujah, my last burst of inspiration to winterize them seems to be working), the horses were all in their assigned pastures, and chores were a breeze.
With a smile of satisfaction, I swaddled the tractor back up in his blankets, headed into the house and called it a good day.
Cheryl Mathis
4:28 pm on December 22nd
Have I told you lately that I love you? Really. This was fantastic. From the kleptomaniac relative to the mouse-in-my-snowsuit dance. I wish I could be a mouse on your shoulder for a week to watch your life.