Since I hadn’t heavily decorated the inside of our house for the holidays in a few years… I’d forgotten what a time sucking nightmare it was to put everything away.
Three days after I started…
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With help from Lord Dudley Mountcatten…. I was done.
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And after buying a fresh cut ( I use that term loosely) tree from a roadside stand instead of cutting our own as we usually do, I’m seriously cursing needle drop again.
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While I do love a real Christmas tree…
( Note the lack of snow and abundance of green grass in our yard. In Maine. In January! 😠 )
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I do not love clogging up my vacuum with 20lbs of dry needle droppings. Though I have to admit, it does smell wonderful.
I often wonder how Lord Dudley Mountcatten manages to looks pudgy when the silly cat actually eats very little. Maybe half a Fancy Feast tin in the morning and another half at night… on a good day. Sometimes he just turns his nose up and walks away.
He won’t eat fish, or treats, or any human food. He won’t eat anything sliced, diced or shredded. The husband laughs at my attempts to stimulate his Royal highness’s appetite… and it’s not uncommon to see me following the little bugger around the house at mealtime with a bowl of food and a spoon. ( the cat, not the husband )
So when Lord Dudley recently expressed an interest in being fed on the laundry room windowsill?
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His loyal minion obeyed and fed him on the laundry room windowsill.
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Dinner with a view, you can’t blame him. And I’d already covered the dryer with a soft towel for his comfort… so why not?
I’m sure I’m not the only who’ll be complaining today as it seems the entire United States was slammed by what they called a bomb cyclone event yesterday.
The wind? Insane. It gusted almost 70mph at our house.
The rain? A deluge that flooded roads, businesses, and homes.
Our nightmare started yesterday at 8:00am just as I was about to step into the shower. Bam! No power. Which meant no shower, sandwiches for lunch and dinner and an epic 13 hour gin rummy tournament by flashlight. Temperatures during the day were mild with a high of 52 degrees, but by nightfall it was frigid.
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Thankfully we have a fireplace…. and while it won’t heat the whole house, it did manage to keep the living room at 58 degrees when the outside temperature dropped to 7. Of course my husband the Marine runs the operation.
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Which means throwing giant logs on the top to get it truly blazing.
This does not always end well.
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Because sometimes the logs revolt and pop back out. Giant cloud of smoke, sparks that burned the carpet? You betcha!
But as we sat in the dark enjoying the smell of smoke and scorched Berber, the fun was just beginning. Yes, just as we were about to call it a day and go to bed… shingles started lifting and literally flying off the roof. We watched them sail into the backyard, the neighbor’s driveway and the road. Good times!
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Or not as it turns out.
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Five new leaks as of this morning.
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Did I mention Lord Dudley Mountcatten is utterly terrified of the fire? Positively and absolutely. He fled to the furthest reaches of our bedroom and cried nonstop. Which meant instead of sleeping on the relative warmth of the living room couch, I had to snuggle his highness in the frigid bedroom all night and got no sleep whatsoever because to top it all off? Our neighbor’s wood stove caught fire at midnight.
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Thankfully no one was hurt.
It’s 1:00pm now and we’ve been without power for 29 hours. I haven’t slept nor showered and just discovered it’s not easy to make tea and toast in a fireplace. I have to say …. I’m more than ready to fill the house with electric current. This pioneer woman thing is getting old.
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Here are a few pics I grabbed from friends.
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Our little downtown park.
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Not sure if you can tell, but the water is right under the bridge.
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Yikes!
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You’re looking at a pier and a parking lot. Or rather, you should be.
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We may be cold, dirty and hungry… but I’m still glad we don’t live there.
On one of our random scenic drives around Vermont we stopped at a diner for lunch. Wondering if there were any points of interest nearby, we asked the locals who promptly sent us to Huntington Gorge.
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At first glance it didn’t look promising.
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And to be honest, the second and third glances weren’t any better.
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Everywhere we looked there were warnings.
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And while I’m not normally obtuse, I was beginning to get the feeling we weren’t wanted.
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So of course… after all the Danger Will Robinson! signs?
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My mountain goat husband had to investigate.
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Right at the very edge they warned us about.
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Please note yours truly listened to robot and was well out of danger range.
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Yeah. That limb will hold you honey, no problem.
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Needless to say he survived. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Put a Marine and a sailor together at a military museum and there are going to be some serious disagreements.
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But they’re friends, so it’s all good.
As was the collection of pins from the Vietnam era.
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Kill a Commie for Christ is probably not what Jesus had in mind.
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My husband’s father was a SeaBee, though in an earlier war. Looking at their mascot made me wish I had a few more arms. Dinner prep would be so much easier.
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As I said before, all the items in this museum are donated. Though why someone wanted them to have dirty underwear and a partial denture I’m sure I don’t know.
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This uniform parade was a little creepy, especially the headless model.
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That’s an exact replica of a cell at the Hanoi Hilton, right down to the inch.
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And the rats and bugs.
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Impressive roof patterning. wish I could talk the husband into doing that on ours.
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Our friend, pointing out his photo from his time in Bosnia.
There was so much to see and take in at this little museum.
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The husband with two of his old work colleagues taking about some kind of gun. 62 years of Army, Navy and Marine Corps service represented right there.
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The Nazi flag came from a soldier who liberated Auschwitz.
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This flag flew during the Normandy invasion.
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A wall of WWII Life magazines. It will not surprise you to learn my husband has them all.
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There’s a story for this fellow with the strategically placed leaf…
Of all the uniforms that have been donated and are on display at the museum, a WWII era French officer’s is not among them. All they have so far is a hat, so this poor guy is doing what any self respecting Frenchman would do while he waits…. drink wine on a nude beach.
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You have to wonder why S/Sgt. Towers kept these particular souvenirs from his war years. Good memories… or bad?
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 