Lazy Sunday Afternoon with Snow/Birds and Whatnots
By Molly Jo on November 20, 2011
SUNDAY STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WRITING. I got this idea from several bloggers at BlogHer and NaBloPoMo. The idea is to set a timer for five minutes and just write everything that comes into your head, and make NO CORRECTIONS.
Well, I'm not going that far... but as I write this, it does seem more like thoughts jotted down than a coherent blog post. That's because I have a few things on my mind that I can't write about yet. Soon. But not yet.
So instead, you get my mundane, do-nothing report of the day.
I was up bright and early this morning, which is strange for it being a weekend. Usually I stay up late, and sleep in accordingly.
On Sundays we usually get up early enough for Church, but today Hannah was the one who slept in. That's okay: it was really blustery and cold and I don't do well going out in such weather.
So I'm kinda glad I didn't have to get up and get out this morning.
But now I've missed Church and that makes me sad.
I made an early lunch and Mom came over. We ate this great white sauce with boiled eggs that is served over boiled potatoes. I haven't made it in about a year, but it's one of my favorite meals. I always add extra boiled eggs, because I love them so much. After lunch, I'm already almost out of sauce. And that makes me sad. Because, as I said, I love it so much.
The next three and half days I'm all about the Make-Do and leftovers. Because in four days, a 20-lb turkey is calling my name! I'm looking forward to this meal. Turkey is my most favorite meat.
The weather report is calling for a storm that should combine thunderstorms and snowflakes. We're not supposed to see any real accumulation, but it will be in the air. I'm here to say, it's true. I know it is.
How do I know? My ankle tells me so. And in 25 years, it's never been wrong. I can't explain it. It's not swollen or tender to the touch. But within 24-48 hours of the first snowfall of the year, it hurts. There's no other word for it. I'll try to stand, and it won't hold weight. I'll try to walk, and instead I look like an old bent-over woman in need of a cane. And it started revolting against me yesterday. So I agree. By nightfall tonight, we'll see flakes in the air. And I'll be able to walk again.
I don't mind. I like the snow. I like looking out my picture window and seeing the colored leaves fly off the trees in the neighborhood. I put out fresh peanuts and birdseed, and am watching one lone sparrow get his fill before nesting in for the duration of the storm.
Last night we had a bird try to get into our house. It's a funny story, actually. Well, it's funny if you ask me. A little traumatic if you ask Dot.
The backstory is that Hannah was enjoying a piece of chicken for dinner. Two of our cats were hoping she'd share and tag-teamed her. As she shushed one away, the other approached from the other side. But Hannah's smart, and while I laughed at the whole sight, she managed to cower with her food and eat it all. She tossed the bone into the trash and we didn't think anything of it.
A little while later I heard a noise in the kitchen and looked to see one of those same cats on her back haunches, grabbing the top of the door for the under-sink cabinet where we keep the trash. She walked backwards, pulling the door with her until it was fully opened. To make sure, while she was still holding onto the door, she peered around the corner. Satisfied that the opening was wide enough, she dropped down to all fours and began to walk into the cabinet. We called her and told her "No!" so she left.
It was maybe 15 minutes later when both those two cats were in the entry to the hall, with their backs to us. Suspiciously, I called, "Sparkles! What do you have?" and that cute, adorable little cat moved enough for me to see it was the chicken bone. Hannah cleaned it up and put it back into the trash.
Fast-forward ten minutes. And there's Sparkles on the kitchen floor eating the same chicken bone. I told Hannah to wrap it in foil and go take it out to the trash. It was after 7:30 so it was solid dark outside. We have one meager porchlight, and the trashcans are on the other side of the driveway. So she left the inside door open for lighting as she went. I heard her come straight back through the gate, and then I heard, "Oh my gosh!" and a squeal. I waited a second, and heard it again. "Oh my gosh!" Squeal. And then, "Oh my gosh! MOM!"
I looked up from my computer work at the third squeal to see the shadow of a bird flying about. I went to the screen door, and this poor little bird kept trying to crash into our windows and doors. I turned the lights off, hoping it was just misdirected and would find its way back to the trees and its nest. But that seemed to irritate it more, so it crashed louder and stronger. Each time it latched onto the screen or window or wall for a few seconds, then frantically fluttered to another location, then came back. This went on for over two or three minutes!
Each time it crashed, I jumped and Dot squealed "Oh my gosh!" It was hilariously funny... or atleast, it is in hindsight. I kept telling her, "I can't open the door! I can't let you in!"
The bird perched like a moth above the door, and surely if I let Hannah back in, the bird would come with her. That would not bode well with our five felines and I could just imagine my freshly cleaned house being torn apart in a matter of seconds all in the name of the chase.
So I turned off the lights again and yelled a little. Poor Hannah. She was standing just outside the alcove. In the cold. In the dark. And this crazy bird, realizing he's not getting in, decided to dive-bomb my daughter. Thankfully he missed, so she rushed to the door but in our startled state, couldn't grab the door handle fast enough.
So there we are, both trying to grab the door handle and fighting each other to open the door. It seemed like forever but finally she was inside and we slammed the doors shut.
Needless to say, it took a while to settle down and stop the cats from pacing at the window and door.
And all I could think about was Alfred Hitchcock and how this is the beginning of a really good story. Too bad it's already been told.
And with that, I'm settling in now to watch "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" and some other Christmas movies while waiting for it to snow.
Whoever you are, wherever you are; may your week be filled with stories to share, food to fill, and love to last.
And Frankly, My Dear... that's all she wrote!
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