fake spring

What? The snow is all melted. Ok, the snow mountains in the front and back yards are still there, just much, much smaller. Roads are clear, except for piles of gravel and sand. Chinook breeze (and gale force blasts) have been blowing all day. Blue skies. Beautiful moon and stars. Walked out this morning to go get coffee with my coat on. Went right back inside and put it away. A thin sweater is more than enough. No gloves, scarf, or hat...Sunglasses were required. No heat necessary in the car. Iced coffee tasted superb.

All this fake spring (it IS still January, and not even the end of the month). My computer reads 50 degrees right now. It's almost 7:00 PM. In the fall, we call the short blast of summer before the real autumn Indian Summer. So what do we call the reverse in January where winter disappears for a short while and it seems to be spring??? Surely not Indian Spring! I think I"ll call it Pseudo-Spring.

It must be about time for a recurrence of winter. Blizzard, frigid temps, nasty roads, foggy and minimal line of sight, dangerous sidewalks, icicles, shoveling, hot cocoa...

I'm not putting away my sweaters just yet. No. Winter is not over.

winter

winter
slushy, icy, slippery, freezing, snowy, windy, sunny, rainy, slick

weather
cold, warm, mild, frigid, blowing, snowing, cloudy, foggy, hazy, damp

looks
brown, white, green, black, muddy, frozen, mucky, peaceful, hazardous, austere

and

sounds
crunchy, splashy, studded, squealing, noisy, spinning, whirling, silent

winter

Mama and Papa Bear

The great mattress flop. Sounds like an adventure or bad epic movie, right? Nope. Just life as usual for the Q's.

Flashback - Just a little over a year ago, the newly 'homed' Quantrell's found themselves in need of a bed. Forgetting that over the last almost 25 years they had required a king size bed, they decided to downsize to a queen. Note to self and all other bear families. Do. Not. Downsize. Beds.

Previous new mattress set = Pillow top. Tall. Ultra cushy. Expensive. Heavy. Beautiful with antique headboard acquired in our home transaction.

Back to the present - After realizing that the 2 nana and papa bears, the grandson bear, the cat bear, and any of the above combinations do not fit nicely on a queen bed, the Q bears decide they will buy each other a king mattress set for Christmas. And make it firmer, in order to be more comfortable and not as body dent-full. Reality check says since, the bears always required stretching space due to the 6'2" papa bear, they need to think wisely and not change that.

Fast forward - Cringing, at purchasing yet ANOTHER mattress set in barely one year, the Q bears found a great ??? deal on a king mattress set. Firm. HUGE. Roomy. Short (height) for the shrinking Nana Bear (Nana Bear had to crawl UP onto the queen bed).

Steps 1-25: Search entire town for best deal and what the Q bears need. Purchase bed. Transport bed. Rearrange entire house (deep clean under all beds). Play musical mattresses as beds are shifted from room to room to garage and back again. Do all associated laundry. Make several beds. Test beds. Sleep poorly for several nights as the Q bears adjust. Hard for Papa and Mama Bear to find each other in the large bed. Cat bear has plenty of room. The Q bears finally settle in. Plan for Grandson Bear to test it out soon. Sigh with relief.

Out with the Nana Bear bed. Too soft and squishy. Baby bear bed definitely too small. In with the Papa Bear bed.

Ahhhh. Just right.

Think Tall in the Mall

I admit it. Just in case you hadn't noticed. I am short. Getting shorter, according to my most recent physical. Had the nurse check twice, but she said the same thing both times. No longer 5'2 and 3/4", but a solid 5'2". (By saying solid, I am not referring to my weight - that is a whole different pound of worms.) So, I am short. Let's say petite, since it sounds cute.

Over Christmas vacation, we used a large variety of dishes from different stashing places around the house. Lucky me, I have a wonderful husband who most usually cleans up after dinner. And puts things away. Out of my reach. Remember I am barely two inches past 5 measly feet tall.

On one certain occasion, date to remain unclarified, the love of my life was, again, putting things out of my reach.

"Honey, could you please rearrange those so I can reach them?" I asked nicely.

Honestly, he thought he was putting them within reach. But he is 6'2". He can easily grab ANYTHING in our home, while I have to fall back on my non-existent engineering degree to safely stack chairs and clamber up to get what I need.

"When you put things away, think short!" I said (only a little whine). "Think how far I can reach, and then put them there."

Nicely, at least for that moment in time, he obliged my request. That was that.

Fast forward a day or two. We went to the mall to run a few errands. Being short, (5'2" and nothing more), I zipped in and out and around crowds of other mall goers, often leaving my honey stuck under a kiosk or several families back, wondering where I was (6'2" people can't duck under and around like little wizard-y short people).

Upon reaching the end of the mall, he caught up to me. "Think tall," he said.

"What?" I wondered if he had eaten a few too many Fruit Loops.

"In the mall, think tall," he said, peering down at my short head. "I can't speed around people the way you do. I just smacked myself at the kiosk."

Cricking my neck WAY back, I gazed into his gleaming eyes. "HAH," I said. "Ok, at home, think short. At the mall, think tall."

We'll see if it holds.

Someone's Been Eating My Porridge

Ok. I know someone's been eating my porridge. Not too hot, not too cold...just right.

I'm trying to tune up and oil my sewing machine, which has been mostly neglected for the past four or five years. I would go so far as to say it is desperate (!!!) for some attention. It actually attempts to eat fabric at this point, as a frantic cry for lubrication and de-fuzzing.

After successful cleaning (who knew dust bunnies multiplied inside a sewing machine?), and several unscrewing and replacing of screws complete, I reached an impasse. One screw was particularly in love with it's location and refused to come out. (I was the last one to do this service, so I must have been stronger back then.)

Screwdriver number 1 - broke. Twisting in it's shank, doing squat.
Screwdriver number 2 - too short.
Screwdriver number 3 - even shorter.
Screwdriver number 4 - a close twin to the short ones.

I had to resort to my massively disorganized and PERSONAL tool box. I said personal, as in 'it is mine, my territory, my stuff...'

What is there? ONE even shorter screwdriver! I know I am short, and shrinking, according to a recent visit to my doctor, but I do not need ONLY a short (two inches???) screwdriver.

Hummph. I know who took it. Not Goldilocks. It was one of the two big bears. The furry taker of tools to work on miscellaneous vehicles that reside outside. And then I am sure the screwdrivers I need stayed in their new home refusing to come back home. All grown up and out on their own.

I'm blaming the bears.

After the porridge is recovered (or purchased anew) I will lock up the cook pot.

Now. How to finish the sewing machine before dinner?