Sourdough and Cookies

I hopped on the sourdough train, gosh, three years ago now. My sister got me a starter kit (jar, stirring thing, proofing baskets) and a packet of dried starter from San Fran. Her hope was to benefit from the baking. And she did.

My boys continue to love weeks when I make loaves. (The recipe I use makes two.) They either chomp through them in record time, or they sit and linger until I end up tossing the last slice or two. There's no rhyme or reason to it.

Regardless, yesterday was dough day, and today was baking day. Some friends sent me stencils to use on the tops of the loaves for this most recent birthday, so I did that. It's kind of a fun, if unnecessary, addition. Hubby had a sourdough grilled cheese for lunch. Youngest had a thick slice covered in butter as part of his. So that first loaf is more than half gone already.

And then, because things have been somewhat annoying of late and I'm trying to find better ways to deal with frustration and annoyance, I baked chocolate chip cookies this afternoon. The boys don't seem to mind that, either.

Of course, pro tip, if you're going to use a timer on the cookies, it helps if you actually hit start instead of just setting it. Oops.

The first dozen are very...crisp. They're not burned. But it'll be interesting to see if anyone actually eats them.

Of course, in the midst of all of this, I'm back at it working on reducing my personal footprint, so I partake of none of these yummies. And that is perhaps the worst part of it. I like the baking - that's definitely true - but I do miss the chance to taste the fruit of my labor as well.

Marching Forth

No one around here appreciates my instructions to March forth today. Then again, eldest is also getting tired of me saying, "Hi hungry, I'm Mom." Every time he tells me he's hungry. Flip side? I'm tired of him telling me he's hungry. He knows where the kitchen is and how to make himself a snack. It's honestly strange how he only wants to talk to me when he wants something from me. Outside of those timeframes? He acts as though it's the Spanish Inquisition.

Which, of course, no one expects.

I have a piano tuner here today, finally.

After we moved (has it been three years now? I think it has. Oops.) I wanted to let it settle and acclimate a bit before getting a tuner out. But after six or eight months, I called the guy we've been using and we had, apparently, crossed juuuussst over the line of how far he was willing to travel.

Fair enough.

So I scoured some of the area FB groups and found some recommendations and...none of them wanted to come this far either. (I had this same issue with mobile dog groomers. They say they service my area. Their little map on their site SHOWS my street...but when I reach out, nope. Too far. Whatever.)

ANYWAY. After six or seven attempts, I got frustrated and life got all lifey and I totally put the piano tuning on the back burner because I'm the only one who plays it, and I could deal with a sour note here or there if I needed to.

But I finally remembered that I needed to do it in...December? And a little Googling turned up this guy and he keeps pretty busy, it seems, because today was the earliest he could come.

Which I mean, that's fine. It's not going anywhere.

But hey, the piano's getting tuned.

Youngest, of course thinks this is the best thing ever because it allows him to watch the piano be taken apart and then ask the man, "Have you ever seen a huge tarantula in the forest?" Because of course that's what you ask a piano tuner.

I shooed him downstairs to play. 

The Sleepy Pups are trapped in the office with hubby because they want nothing more than to bark their little schnauzer heads off at him. Because schnauzers.

Anyway. None of this has to do with Marching Forth, but whatever. I mostly figured it was time to pop over and say, "I'm not dead!"

Snowstorms and Chickens

Our neighbors have chickens.

They're an older couple (I'd say early 70s? I feel like I might be too closer to "older" to use that term when referring to that age range, but so be it.) who just retired down here from closer in. They seem nice, if a tad extroverted.

Anyway, they also seem to travel a good bit. And that explains why they were so outgoing and friendly when they moved in, as they ask us to watch their chickens. And sometimes their dog.

I (we) don't mind doing it, honestly. The chickens are pretty easy, all things considered -- especially since I'm not doing the heavy lifting type care (coop cleaning etc.) - I'm just letting them out in the morning and making sure they have food and water and then closing the coop after they put themselves to bed in the evening. And looking for eggs. Which I get to keep if they're there.

Score.

They'd planned to head to Florida around Christmas to see family, but everyone had covid or the flu, so they postponed until this week. And two weeks ago when they asked me to do the chickens for them, I said sure.

But then we started seeing rumblings of another massive snow dump. Which of course would also coincide with hubby being on travel for work. And suddenly, figuring out how to get over to deal with the chickens when I wasn't sure if I'd even be able to get us dug out (because as much as I'd love to say the kids would do it, they need a lot of...encouragement to make it happen. And even then, they do a pretty half butted job.)

So I asked if there was anyone else who could do it.

Thankfully, she was able to find someone to do Wednesday through Sunday (covering the storm issue) as they had a snow plow on their truck and also have their own chickens so knew what to do to keep the critters from freezing (because honestly, not wanting to have a chicken death or more on my conscience was also part of my concern.)

I said I could absolutely still do Monday and Tuesday.

And now, of course, we're not looking like we're going to get much, if any snow. Maybe an inch? Maybe two?

And I feel about two inches tall.

Regardless, it's all worked out. But I still feel like an awful neighbor.

But this morning, I got a fresh egg. So there's that.

Valentine's Day and Anniversaries

Last year, when my sister went into the hospital in January and it was clear that she'd not be coming home except on Hospice, I joked (at the time we were both joking as everyone assured us that she'd be renewing Hospice at least twice) that I'd rather she not die on youngest's birthday (early Feb) or mine (end of Feb.)

She assured me she'd do her best.

Then, when she did in fact come home on hospice, it was the day before youngest's birthday. But she was still hale and hearty (or as hale and hearty as one is with terminal cancer) and up to her usual bossy shenanigans. 

On the evening of the 13th, Daddy and I had to call the fire department in the evening to move her from the recliner (that she'd moved to of her own volition earlier that day to visit with a friend) to her bed. She was...not herself. And I drove home once she was settled sobbing in a way I thought only happened in badly acted movies as half-wail, half-screams tore from my soul involuntarily.

Because I knew it wouldn't be long. Couldn't be.

And no matter how ready I thought I was, it turns out that I was not.

The next day, Valentine's day, Daddy called around dinner time asking me to come because the Hospice nurse was there and wanted to talk to us about transferring her to a Hospice facility where she'd have stronger round the clock care than we could do even with the private nursing we were hiring.

So I went. I listened to her explanation and agreed it was best. So she got on the phone to arrange medical transport and I went in to hold my sister's hand and talk to her. No dramatic wailing this time, just tears that I only noticed because I had to keep wiping them away. I told her I loved her. I told her about the boys and reminded her that they loved her.

And I told her that if it was time for her to go, that she could go.

Less than five minutes later, she did, while Daddy and I held her hands.

Nothing prepares you for watching someone die. Nothing can erase the image of life there one moment and gone the next. It haunts me sometimes. And yet I'm glad I was there for her. I know it's what she would have wanted, though at the time she was well past knowing what was happening around her. I'm glad she didn't linger or suffer.

And yet I wish I had my sister.

I don't know why losing her was harder than losing my mom. Maybe losing Mom made losing someone else harder? I just don't know.

What I do know is that you need to tell the people you love that you love them. Family. Friends. Doesn't matter. Make sure they know.

Valentine's Day is as good a day to do it as any other. But if you can't get a hold of them today, do it tomorrow. Or next week. Do it every day. Every week.

Because even if you do, when they're gone, you're going to wish you could say it one more time.

Snowpocalypse 2025

We already had one good snow this year that dumped a solid 8 or so inches out our way. And that stuck around for several weeks, only disappearing when the rain and slightly warmer days came. Since that's more than unusual for winters here, I figured we were done.

But apparently, I was mistaken.

Yesterday it started dumping snow around one. By the time we were finished with dinner, we had easily four inches. We toddled out (all four of us, though two were under duress) and did a quick clearing of the driveway. (I say quick. It was not quick.) The plug-in electric snowblower that I bought on Woot years ago was able, mostly, to help. Youngest loves driving the thing. But the collection of extension cords doesn't quite reach all the way up to the road. (Our driveway is in the realm of 500 feet long now that we're out in the country. A far cry from the one car length driveway at the old house.) But still, with all four of us working, we got it done before dark.

This morning, the boys were all snuggled in their beds, so I thought I'd give the snowblower a go (because I also like driving it), but the additional 4-5 inches that we got overnight had a slushier bottom and that poor little machine just can't handle the wet. It clogs up faster than you can say boo. 

So, shovels it was.

I did a good bit of it. Eldest came out and helped with the last 60%. Youngest cleared the walk to the house and made a path on the deck and down the back stairs for the dogs. My right thumb and shoulder would like to state for the record that I am not as young as I seem to think I am. My back agrees.

After the first snow (which was too much for our dinky blower because we waited for it all to fall before trying to do anything about it), I sent hubs links for the new one that I thought we ought to look into. I'm thinking after this one, I'm going to send them again. They're saying maybe more on Saturday? Also possibly Wednesday next week?

In the immortal words of the guy in Jaws* - "We're gonna need a bigger boat." (But by boat I mean snow blower.) 

*I have not actually ever seen Jaws. I realize that's a GenX crime. I'll get over it.

O Canada

All right.

I don't get the Canada thing.

I could go along with the idea that this was all just to bring them to the table about tariffs or whatever, but then he says he's serious and...why???

I don't want Canada. I don't think they want us. Like any of them.

Are there natural resources? Sure. But maybe just be friends instead?

Because even my "conservative" Canadian friends (of which I have like three, so it's not that I've done an extensive study or anything, but still) are more liberal than conservatives in the US (and I don't mean the whack-a-doo conservatives. Just the normal ones.) Canada seems to me (again, I have not done an in-depth study here) very socialist. And...I don't want a bigger influx of people voting who want that here. Why would anyone?

So yeah. I don't get the Canada thing. And it's really getting embarrassing.

Superb Owls

We won't be partaking this evening. This should be no surprise to anyone who's been around here during football season in the past, as my typical cheer is, "Go sportser! Sports hard."

This applies across the activity, btw, not just to football.

I asked eldest if he wanted us to plan to put it on and his response was, "Ew. No."

My only over/under on the whole thing is whether, after the inevitable win by the Chiefs (or so I'm told - something about the refs (umps? the striped shirt people) being members of said team on the sly, and Taylor Swift runs out onto the field to kiss Travis like she did last year, if he will then fall to one knee, pull an engagement ring from beneath his shoulder pads, and ask her to marry him.

It feels like the kind of media circus causing event the two of them would engineer enjoy.

Beyond that...I might look up some of the commercials, but even they've been disappointing in the recent years, so yeah. Meh.