Baby, It’s Cold Out There

According to the weather bug on my computer, the temp is 25 degrees.  The sound of the wind whistling around the building makes it feel more like 25 below.  And the place is covered with ice — both the white kind, and the other, black ice that you don’t really see until you slip and fall on it.  This gal is staying inside and taking no chances, even if I could actually walk.  As for trying to drive my power chair, I have a feeling I would be skidding all over town in it without even trying.

I took this photo several years ago, just because it caught my fancy.  I love things like this, old wagons, old houses, old barns.  I had been at a patient’s house when I worked for Hospice, and this old wagon had caught my eye the first time I drove out there, but I didn’t have my camera with me at the time.  That was before I started carrying the camera with me all the time, just for moments like this.  It was a winding country road, and with my sense of direction, I managed to get lost every time I went out there.  Of course, I can get lost in a closet with the door open, so that came as no surprise to me.  Fortunately, Hospice gave us directions and phone numbers, so I could check the directions, turn around and back track each day when I over shot the driveway, and eventually find the right house.  But this old wagon was on that road, so one day when I remembered to take the camera with me, I snapped the photo on the way back.  That was before I took the wrong turn and ended up on the wrong road, but at least I knew where I was then and finally made it to the next patient.

My poor sweet potato leaves passed away a few days ago.  One day they were half way to the ceiling, looking healthy and robust, and the next day they were drooping over the jar and turning brown.  The mint is still thriving and the aloe, but both desperately need re-potting in ginormous buckets.   I guess I’ll have to do more online shopping for the pots and potting soil, which hopefully can be found in January.  I have some plastic buckets if they should become necessary, but don’t think I want to take a pick axe out to try to obtain some dirt anytime soon.

I’ve been cuddling under my half finished afghan while working on another one that isn’t so heavy at the time.  It really bugs me that I can only do a few stitches at a time, but then, I’ve lost the crochet hook I was using, so I’ve had to start a third one using a different size hook.  I’m sure my chair ate the other hook, and when I am able to life the chair up and look under it I’ll find the hook and probably a lot of other things that have been lost over the years.  Losing things and getting lost are two of my things.  If I turn one corner I’m completely lost, and if I put something down for a few minutes it disappears.  I have a game I play called “find the remote”.  My TV has been going for several days and nights because I can’t remember where I put the remote, no doubt in a place where I wouldn’t lose it.  That’s a dangerous thing to do here, because as soon as I put it down, it’s gone.  Don’t know why, don’t know how.  I think things grow feet and they run away from home.  They are probably all parading down Frederica street on their short little legs right now.

A.

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