Oh Deer!

Yesterday there were ice balls on my deck. I never once dared to open the door to go outside. Later it warmed up enough that mass quantities of rain washed away the evil ice, reactivating the mud bath that is my yard. I spent the weekend safely inside, warm and toasty, happily making Christmas gifts, with absolutely no fear of being murdered by impatient, irate shoppers.

Weather variety amazes me. One year, Thanksgiving weekend was so very mild that I decided to make the six hour trek to West Virginia to camp and hike. I departed early Sunday morning, beating traffic, arriving to discover what I’d hoped would be the case: there was no one in the campground besides me and my dogs. Early Monday morning, driving the sixteen miles to the trailhead, I wondered about all the pickup trucks scattered along the roadside. There were eight more in the parking lot when we arrived. What the heck, don’t these rednecks have jobs? Shouldn’t they all be at work today? Why are they out here on ‘my’ trail? Sigh. I let the dogs out, donned my red sweatshirt, and off we hiked on this lovely 60 degree day.

The forest was littered with hunters. Not just sitting in trees, but riding mountain bikes along the trail! Near the end of the twelve mile hike, I accosted a hunter on foot, and asked if it was a tradition to go hang out in the woods instead of going to work, or was the economy really so bad out here in the sticks that they had nothing else to do? Looking at me as though I was a complete imbecile, which given his answer, I was: “it’s the first day of deer season.”

It’s amazing that I’m still alive to tell this tale. Not wanting to ask any more incredibly stupid questions, I went on my way at an accelerated pace, hoping no one would mistake my Jack Russell Terriers for deer. But I did wonder, how could one manage to sneak up on and shoot a deer from a bicycle? And if by some miracle you bagged one, then what? None of the bikes I saw appeared to be equipped with any type of deer carting equipment.
What did I find when the dogs and I reached the van late that afternoon, happily unshot, not once hearing a single gunshot near or far? The ground was littered with tons of deer feet prints that hadn’t been there that morning! At that moment I felt better, because while I may have been stupid enough not to know it was hunting season, at least I hadn’t just been outsmarted by a load of deer who knew the safest place to avoid death on this day was in the parking lot!

Proud to be an American

From Associated Press: "Excitement over the early morning specials proved fatal for at least one store. Police from Nassau County, N.Y. say a Wal-Mart worker died after being trampled by a throng of unruly shoppers shortly after the Long Island store opened Friday. Wal-Mart offiicals would not confirm reports of stampede, but said a "medical emergency" caused them to close the store."

Yeah, but each trampler saved $1.99, so it was worth it!
I rest my case.

Last Shop

Today was the last day you’ll see me in a retail store until next year. And that’s not just because I’m cheap, waiting until after the new year so I can get all the post-holiday deals.

Many holidays found me away from family, traveling around on a small sailboat, usually in some remote area, far from commercialism. I learned to scrounge the beaches for shells, flowers, and other debris to decorate the boat. I would make my own cards and send them to my family and far away friends, expressing my love and appreciation. Fellow sailor/friends would receive coupons for boat work, spare boat parts I’d never use that they could, or invitations to dinner.
My mate would get coupons good for,
Well never mind.

My first year back in ‘civilization’ was a rude awakening. Everyone around me was madly dashing, cranky, complaining about how they were too busy for Christmas but it had to be done. Just another job on the list of expectations, like ‘varnish the toe rail’ on the boat to-do list. Bah humbug. Yes my best friend is the Grinch. While appalled at this fine display of holiday cheer, I still tried to play along.

That was the last year I did my part to ‘stimulate’ the economy. Yes, that's right, I am responsible for the downfall of the entire financial system, because I refuse to Christmas shop. My idea of Christmas spirit is not about getting mowed down in the parking lot. It's not about having my toes crushed by a loaded shopping cart pushed by some spoiled suburban housewife in a rush to grab that last toy so her bratty little darling doesn’t feel deprived. It's not standing in long lines hearing people say repeatedly, "well I don't really feel like decorating but it's expected."
Every year, right before black friday, I make sure I have everything I need to see me through this merry holiday season. Light bulbs, contact lens solutions, duct tape, windshield washer fluid, spray paint, floor wax, spare door knobs, two turtle doves...

…Oh *#&%, I forgot to get a snow shovel! Oh well, then I'll just stay in until it melts...

By stocking up before the ogres come out on Black Friday, all I need to do between now and next year is to hit the supermarket for consumables, until it's safe to shop again. Since I don’t eat much, that’s easy, and if it gets too crazed in the grocery, I can always live on sprouts until it's safe to come out again.

So there you have it. My friends and family will once again have to make do with handmade gifts and cards, and deal with my expressions of love and caring. What would the world come to if we all took time out to do that to each other?

I haven 't been out of the house for two days, other than to check to see that my mail is still in the box, unpicked up. Yes, honestly, the check IS in the mail. Has been for two weeks now.

It's rather too early in the year to go into hibernation mode, but so what. I feel like it, okay? In fact, I've been looking forward to this for quite a while. Outside, it's freakin' freezing and the wind is howling. Inside, it's oh so toasty thanks to the lovely wood stove. My home is so beautiful that I marvel at it everyday. It's not like I'm sitting around doing nothing all day but biting the florets off broccoli while plotting the downfall of the world's financial well being. Whaddaya mean, someone beat me to creating a poorer planet? Drat the shrubbery!

I turned my spare room into a canvas shop, and have been joyfully finishing up some overdue sewing projects, realizing my fondest dream of working at home in my underwear, even if it is long!

Someday I might even go outside to deliver the finished canvas to my clients. Like when I need more rent money to keep me in this haven so I don't have to go outside into the cold, harsh world.

Watch this space as winter progresses, to see if I can get as loopy as the guy on the 1000 days voyage around the world.

My cottage was once the guest house for the big main house. Yes, I live in that kind of neighborhood. I try to be real quiet so no one notices that there’s such a poor person among their greatness, despite the fact that my aged Escort stands out among the German car contingent surrounding me, especially with no three car garage to hide it in! Anyway, the main house, located on a corner, has a different address on a different street from my cottage. When I lived here three years ago, mail addressed to me landed in my mailbox without fail. And mail for my landlords was almost always placed in their box. This time, however, since I moved in on Sept 15, my landlords and I have played trade the mail almost daily.

What am I to think, except that it is comforting to know that handicapped people are being given jobs. Those who can’t read, can’t see, don’t care, or any combination thereof, are now behind the wheel of a vehicle, delivering sensitive material from door to door, even if it is all the wrong doors!

Okay, so mass quantities of what they deliver is wood stove fodder, but still, it’s my wood stove and I can always use extra paper to get a fire going.

At least I now have a great excuse for paying bills late. On Wednesday morning, I put the cable bill, the electric bill, and the rent check in the mailbox, with the flag up. It’s all still in there, four days later. I suppose it’s hard to make out the mailbox in the cluster of others that surround it on this quiet, dead end street, a street that has a total of twelve houses widely scattered along its quarter mile length.

And in the time that the mail has been sitting there getting soggy, waiting for someone to come and get it, my landlords have brought over three pieces of mail on three separate days, with my name on it, clearly marked 81 W, not 41 G. I am seriously considering making a flag out of my glow in the dark red underwear to see if that gets anyone’s attention!

I know who is going to get the Christmas tip for mail delivery this year, and it ain’t gonna be the person with the mail truck who has only to lean out the window to drop stuff in my box. It’s gonna be my patient, long suffering landlords, who have to trudge that long distance across the large lawn, including wading through the construction mud puddle, to bring me my mail.

And yes, I greatly appreciate that this is all I can find to bitch about at the moment. Life is good, despite two weeks of rain!