Up the valley, at the home place, there is no computer, no TV, the radio only works if it's pointed in the right direction, and cell phones don't work at all. Spending a few days up there leaves you out of touch with the outside world. Coming back down the valley, it's always surprising how little's been missed.

Because of work schedules, our family Christmas will come two days early, and the gathering place is almost ready. Just a little more baking, a few things to wrap, and a touch of cleaning will make the house holiday ready.

The cottage on the back road will be occupied again by the end of the week. Until then have the happiest of holidays with your family and friends. Much love is sent to each one of you from my little valley in the mountains.

A Blessed Christmas to You All!

Little Gal's Christmas Fashion Show

(She does wear shoes!)

Baking Sugar Cookies

(Sorry, no time for the story)

Riding the Christmas Train

(Oops, we lost Santa Claus!)

When the weather turns cold in the valley,

and Christmas lights start twinkling

on houses in the village,

the quest begins.

Every year the anxiety and excitement mounts

until a new guy is added to Little Gal's collection.

It's been so since the year of her birth,

when the first guy came into her life

and shocked her mother at his size

and the rest of the family

because he looked so bazaar.

He was the size of Little Gal,

and then some.

She wasn't quite two months old.

To find the perfect guy for Little Gal,

the Internet is searched,

the pattern box is searched

and Grandma's cluttered mind is searched.

Because it can't be just any guy.

It has to be the right guy

for Grandma's Little Gal.

Sometimes a pattern is used,

Or, sometimes Grandma dreams up one of her own.

This year's guy came from a picture chosen

From all the pictures of guys

saved and kept in a folder.

A pattern was drawn,

then enlarged onto tissue paper.

Cut from muslin dyed a gingerbread tan,

Little Gal's guy took shape

with well stuffed

legs, arms, body and head.

Clothed in a vest with holiday theme,

Red buttons lined his chest and belly.

White rickrack circled his arms, legs and head,

And black eyes looked out

from his rosy cheeked face.

A wide smile stretched

from one ear to the other -

(But the certainty of ears is in question).

Snowflakes were danced across his forehead

and one of his legs.

A plaid heart,

matching the lining of his vest,

Was needled and threaded to the opposite leg.

Lastly, for remembering, a tag with Little Gal's name

and the year the new guy entered her life

was hung around his neck.

For six Christmas'

Little Gal has gotten her guy.

In some of those years, though,

to be truthful,

she's gotten a gal instead of a guy.

This year, there is question

whether she has a gal or

whether she has a guy.

It isn't known for sure,

But, whatever it is,

it has a new home

with the five other members of

Little Gal's Gingerbread Clan.

2008 Gingerbread

2008 Gingerbread With Gingerbreads From Little Gal's Past

(You might recognize

Kermit the Gingerbread Frog

in the above picture,

the first gingerbread oddity

that had family members chuckling

and tongues wagging.

He was named by an amused uncle

who recognized his froggy characteristics.)

Last Year's Gingerbread - 2007

  At the head of the valley snow often comes sooner, falls heavier and lasts longer than it does down below, Around the Homestead. Over Thanksgiving, throughout the valley, an uncommon snow fell, and fell, and fell some more.

It fell deep and stayed long in the upper reaches of the valley, where as a family, we gather, coming from all directions, on most holidays during the year.

With her family and Jack the Dog (also known as JackiePoo), Little Gal came from the Big City, where snow isn't as frequent, as lasting or as deep, to the little house in the bend of the creek, at the edge of the wood, where snow can keep you snuggled inside or give you a purpose to go out.

Little Gal came with a firm purpose in her expanding mind. Her purpose was to have some rousing fun in the snow. Little Gal's intention was to go out.

To go out, she was longjohnned, tobogganed, gloved, jacketed, hooded and, finally, booted. Little Gal was raring to go. She couldn't wait to go out, to romp in the glorious snow. But before she got to the door, she had to quit. Her boots didn't fit!

A wintertime tragedy for Little Gal! Playing in the snow had been talked all the way from the Big City to Grandma's, then all the way up the valley from there.

Maybe she could wear her boots without socks? Grandma vetoed that suggestion. She needed more protection than that.

Well, Grandma had worn her boots. Perhaps with some extra pairs of socks? No, it didn't work. Little Gal clopped and flopped. 

Couldn't she just wear her Sketchers and socks? This idea got an emphatic "No" from Mother. Her feet would get too cold and wet.

Heartrending times like these require serious innovation. These are the times when Super Wise Grandma must assert herself and commandeer the situation.

These are the times when everyone knows (who has good sense and distaste for family discord) to disagree with Grandma is a total waste of verbiage. Because she's Grandma, and Grandmas always know best! 

Post haste, Little Gal was socked and shoed. Next, she was plastic bagged to her knees to keep out the cold, wet snow. Then, with a final stroke of genius, she was socked with a pair of her Daddy's huge, sixteen size socks (with a hole in the bottom, so it didn't matter) to keep her from slipping around in the snow.

Little Gal's foot cover was a Thanksgiving masterpiece, one of Grandma's best quick-thinking inventions. From such Grandma-based brainstorms springeth a happy Grandchild. 

Excitedly outside in the wonderful, marvelous snow, the first thing to do was build a fort. Using a garbage can to form the snow into firm blocks, Little Gal and her Daddy, a think-on-your-feet inventor himself, built a snow fort in the side yard, and the snow battle was on.

Fists full of packed snow flew back and forth between father and daughter, with Little Gal hunched behind the fort, popping up to pelt Daddy with all the snow her five-year-old hands could hold.

The battle ended, but for Little Gal there was no thought of abandoning the cold and snow for the warmth she would find in the house. 

A day in the snow wouldn't be fun in the snow without a ride downhill on a sled. And Little Gal had her saucer, an end of season purchase last year and never used.

With some nudging from Daddy, she flew down the hill (a little girl size hill) on her saucer of green. Trudging back up, with Little Gal determination, she did it all over again.

Going down the hill was cinchy, even for a little girl like Little Gal. Coming back, not so much.

Carrying her saucer in pink mittened fingers, the climb back to the top was a chugging effort. But, Little Gal made the trip several times, enjoying the zippy ride back down to the bottom. What luck to have a hill in the side yard!

In time, Little Gal's snowy adventure came to an end, except for the memory she carried with her when she left the valley to return home to the Big City.

The snow fort was left to melt and break apart in the side yard, to be remembered in pictures taken of the day.

The boot socks that had kept Little Gal's feet warm and dry were tossed into the garbage, no longer an important accessory for a little girl who had come in from the cold. Their important purpose for Little Gal's Thanksgiving escapade in the snow had expired.

Sometime soon, she'll return to the valley, a valley that will likely be covered with snow. This time, though, inside her bag of this and thats will be a good pair of little girl boots. Boots made for hours of playtime in the snow. Boots that will fit Little Gal perfectly.

WARNING!

NOT FOR VEGETARIANS

TURDUCKEN

A TURDUCKEN is three birds nested together. The  tur is (turkey). The duck is (duck). The en is (chicken).

From YUMSUGAR

Turducken
A deboned turkey that's stuffed with a deboned duck that's stuffed with a deboned chicken. The cavity of the chicken is usually filled with sausage, breadcrumbs, or stuffing. Born in the South in the 1980s, it can be braised, roasted, grilled, or barbecued. Many people serve a turducken in place of the turkey on Thanksgiving.

From The Cartoon Lounge - The New Yorker

November 19, 2008

More on Turducken

I have to say the whole idea of turducken grosses me out a little. Maybe it’s because it starts with the word “t--d.”

But just the idea of stuffing one animal carcass into the hollowed out cavity of another seems disturbing to me. It’s like something from a horror film. It’s like those Russian dolls that fit inside each other except it’s made of pimpled, pink poultry flesh. But if you’re into that sort of thing, why stop with just three birds? How about this—how about you cram a quail into the chicken and then you’ve got yourself turduckenquail. I’d even go a step further and farther afield and stuff the quail with a shrimp.

What else? Maybe wrap the shrimp in bacon? Then stick the whole thing in a goat in a pig in a cow and then deep fry that sucker.

Delicious.

Posted by Matthew Diffee

TURDUCKEN at the History Channel

Paula Deen's TURDUCKEN Recipe

TURDUCKEN Recipe

Another TURDUCKEN Recipe

TURDUCKEN Song 

No TURDUCKEN  at our house.

 We'll feast on turkey and ham.

Trudging gamely onward,
Carrying extra clothing load,
Conversation wasn't hindered,
No, it literally flowed,

About how this November
We'd been thoroughly snowed!

Growing up, it wouldn't have been Sunday without the funny papers and L'il Abner.

November 15, 1937 
Debut of Sadie Hawkins Day in Al Capp’s “L’il Abner” comic strip.

Lil-Abner Sadie Hawkins Day

November 15, 2008 Sadie Hawkins Day

Not a typical holiday, Sadie Hawkins Day is the invention of Al Capp, creator of the Li'l Abner comic strip. Capp conceived of a day in Dogpatch, U.S.A., when all the unmarried ladies could pursue (literally) their men. If caught, the hapless bachelors were soon trudging down the aisle. This fictional world so captured people's imaginations that Sadie Hawkins Day passed into the realm of modern folklore. The first Sadie Hawkins Day took place in November 1938. Today, it's usually celebrated on the second Saturday in November to accommodate all the "girls-ask-boys" school dances and other events.

                             Copyright ©1999, Yankee Publishing Inc. All rights reserved.

Veteran's Day

Veteran's Day is the anniversary of the signing of the armistice which ended World War I in 1918. This day is also known as Armistice Day in Europe and Remembrance Day in Canada. It is celebrated on November 11th.

In Flanders Fields

John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Little Gal arrived Thursday evening, and we haven't stopped since. We've been preparing -rolls, cookies, pies - for our annual fall family get together up the valley.

In the middle of it all we were slowed down when company came to visit. Happy we were to see them but the longer we visited, the behinder we got.

Little Gal has to have her hand in everything, so she shaped dinner rolls, rolled pie dough and stirred the makings for cowboy cookies.

All this in between Noggin, Disney and a letter find computer program. (How many times can a grandmother say "Wash your hands before you help me with the food" before she locks herself in the bedroom and weeps?) Little Gal and I were almost there yesterday.

But today is another day, and we're packed and ready to go. (How many times can a grandmother hear "Grandma, can we go now?" before she logs off the computer and says, "All right, let's go?)

So we are out of here and heading south. All of you have a great weekend.

Walking down the back road this morning we found the day to be fine. Fog was lifting from the river, and the autumn browns blended well with the sky's blue.

Cows watched us curiously, as they usually do, and milkweed pods were bursting open, spreading their seed. They'd be popping up again next spring, in larger numbers, and in many different places.

All the sounds were there that perk our ears every early morning. Birds chirping, still flying from one wild plant to another in their constant browsing for daily nourishment. Vehicles humming toward us or from behind us, shooing us quickly to the side of the road. Whisking traffic sounds reached us, too, from the main highway a few miles distant.

All things were in their place that had a place. A few clouds graced the sky, and the cows held claim to their pen.

Everything was in its place, that is, except the donkeys. Most often spending their time at the far end of their grazing area, they had grazed themselves closer to the tempting grass near the fence by the road. 

Some time ago a neighbor had brought two donkeys home to bray in his field on the back road. It wasn't long till a donkey baby joined them. A while later one little, two little, three little donkeys had become five.

Discussing them as we walked past, Walking Partner became agitated that she had lost a glove. Looking around and turning back to search for it, we laughed to see that she had one on her hand and one in her pocket.

Not to be upstaged by WP's senior moment, I, who had dressed warmly for the weather, suddenly felt uncomfortable about the legs. Feeling the snugness of my long underwear as I walked along, it rushed through my mind that I had forgotten to slip into my baggy sweat pants. A quick look reassured me that they were there, a little too long but saved from dragging the asphalt by elastic.

Anyway, I knew without a doubt that WP would have informed me if I had, in fact, been without pants. With a chuckle, the nightmare was explained to WP.

With a chuckle of her own, she let me know that she never pays any attention to what I throw on my body.

I could have been naked, and she wouldn't have noticed it. Well, maybe that's stretching her lack of interest and observation a little too much.

On second thought, back to the donkeys, that count of five might be too low. They aren't the only Jackie Patooties on the back road.

When we go out in the morning for our walk down the back road, it's always in our minds that maybe today we'll see the deer. From our observations, they spend the night bedded down in the wooded areas by the river. We've never seen them in their sleeping quarters, that's just what two Back Road Busy Bodies think they do.

Then after a night of rest, in early morning, they make their way through the grassy fields belonging to our neighbors. From there, they leap the fence and hop the bank that runs along the back road. Crossing the road, they climb the hill on the other side to spend their day browsing in the woods.

Any deer still lingering there would be hidden by the fog that fronted the river. Signs of wet, muddy hoof marks at familiar deer crossings made us believe the deer had long since crossed and were gone.

Reaching our distance and turning around, back and forth conversation diverted our attention from the fields and river. Happenings being hashed over took precedence over anything in our surroundings.

Then a snort came to the left of us, out of a break in the brush, disrupting talk that wouldn't be remembered later. Turning towards it, our approach had already frightened them. A herd of bounding white-tails were heading back to the river.

Not always appearing when we want them to, with every walk down the back road, they sometimes surprise us when we think there's little chance. Today was a day of the deer.  

Deer in October

Something Found

Just Stumblin' 'Round

What Country Music Star
Suits your Personality?

COUNTRY COMPATIBILITY QUIZ

My personality is a Patsy Cline type...and I thought for sure it would be Minnie Pearl.

I'll have to add to my Patsy Cline collection...Absolutely!

Dress Dolly and Discover Your
Dolly Personality

DOLLY FOR A DAY

No surprise here. The Country Girl is me.

Y**T*** has several versions of Dolly singing this song. This might  be one of the earliest.

Have you ever noticed the terrible comments some people make on the Y**T*** videos?  I keep asking myself this question, "What has our society come to?".  If you met them, would these people talk that way in casual conversation? Thumbs down to all those folks.  

Clyde Watson

November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.

Seabiscuit Match Race Against War Admiral at Pimlico

November 1st, 1938

Seabiscuit often called the (people's champion) raced against Triple Crown winner War Admiral in the Pimlico Special in Baltimore, Maryland and won the match race. It is estimated over 40 million listened to the match on the radio and "War Admiral" was the favorite at (1-4 with most bookmakers).

THE PEOPLE HISTORY

BOO!

A TRUE STORY  OF THE MOTHMAN

FROM:

MOTHMAN MUSEUM - MOTHMAN HISTORY - PAGE 1

The History of the Mothman

A classic true story of modern horror -- The following two paragraphs are taken directly from the back cover of John A. Keel's book "The Mothman Prophecies:"

*For thirteen months the entire town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia was gripped by a dark terror that culminated in a tragedy (THE SILVERBRIDGE DISASTER) that made headlines all over the world. This is a story that contains all the elements of a modern science fiction movie but every single word is true and fully documented by famed journalist John A. Keel."

*Homes throughout the little towns were plagued with unearthly noises and ghostly manifestations while mysterious aerial lights traveled silently overhead seemingly on a regular schedule. Winged monsters and frightening apparitions terrified the population as automobiles stalled and telephones and TV sets ran amok. A Red Cross Bloodmobile filled with fresh blood was pursued along a darkened highway by a weird flying machine. Domestic animals were found slaughtered and mutilated in pastoral farm fields. Innocent people lived in surrealistic horror, haunted by the fearsome demonic "Bird" and besieged by legions of strange beings (some of which arrived in ordinary-looking automobiles)."

MOTHMAN MUSEUM - MOTHMAN LIVES - PAGE 2

MOTHMAN MUSEUM - MOTHMAN LIVES - PAGE 3

The Mothman is reported to :

• Be approximately 7 feet tall
• Have a wingspan over 10 feet wide
• Have grey, scaley skin
• Have large, red, glowing, and hypnotic eyes
• Be able to take off straight up in flight
• Travel up to 100 miles an hour
• Like to mutilate or eat large dogs
• Screech or squeal like a rodent or electric motor
• Like to chase cars
• Like to "nest" in remote, unpopulated areas
• Cause radio and television interference
• Be drawn to, and protective of, small children
• Have some mind control powers

• Chief Cornstalk's 200-year curse on the town of Point Pleasant
• Chemical spills or experimentation by chemical companies or the military
• An occult ritual that summoned him from the beyond
• A mutant strain of the "sandhill crane"

• SOME GOT A DIVORCE OF MARRIAGE
• MANY MOVED TO DISTANT STATES
• SEVERAL SUFFERED NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS AND SOME WERE FORCED TO UNDERGO LONG HOSPITALIZATIONS
• A FEW COMMITTED SUICIDE
• MANY DIED WITHIN SIX MONTHS OF THE SIGHTINGS....ESPECIALLY ON THE SILVER BRIDGE
• MRS. MARY HYRE DIED WITHIN THREE YEARS OF HER DREAM PREDICTING THE SILVER BRIDGE COLLAPSE

The Mothman is still being seen today by people who are too afraid to step forward. Scattered sightings are still reported, but most are held as private horrors..................

MOTHMAN: EYEWITNESS DESCRIPTIONS

Bundled more warmly, now, on our walks down the back road, we look pounds heavier (an apt description for me). Wearing our long johns, undershirts, sweats, hoodies and jackets, we waddle along, hoping our steps are cautious enough to keep us upright over the icy spots left by overnight snowfall. Much like politicians, we don't want any missteps to land us on our bottoms.

Not likely on this cold day but there are times when apparel has to be shed, tied around our waists or slung over our shoulders. Then camera, cell phones and water bottles have to be shifted from this pocket to that. Much energy is expended and bodies heat up while yapping and traipsing down the back road.

Back road busybodies that we are, we ponder what we see along the way and make assumptions that might be real or total fantasy, depending on how good our guess might be or how serious our discussion. More often than not, though sometimes we do delve deeply into major world events and controversial issues of the time (more frequent, of late, actually), we chatter just to be chattering about the things that two ordinary sixty somethings might find important or interesting to talk about.

At times we've taken flights of fancy, enjoying our own words and far-out stories to the point of hilarity. Like two silly schoolgirls, we've said that we should knock on our neighbors' doors and tell them exactly how we would be doing things, if we were them. With no expectation of our advice being taken or appreciated, we haven't become door-knockers...yet.

Just this morning the remark was made (one guess who made it) that "one of these days I'm going to go over there and clean-up that front porch for him". This about a neighbor who moved to the back road a couple of years ago, cleared out the house and left the clutter out front, well, to clutter. Laughing at the "one of these days" statement and walking on, we know we would never do such a thing, and we know that he probably won't ever do it either. He comes and goes and isn't home very often.

Our village on the back road is off the beaten path, not on the main road that runs from one end of  the valley to the other. Most people, passing through the valley, would never know it was here. Very rural, though only about fifteen minutes from the nearest W-lm-rt, we are smack in the middle of farming country. There are cows, sheep, goats, horses and, at one time, a llama or two.

In a field along the road, as we pass out of the village, are several black Angus bulls who don't seem to have too much to do. They mostly sprawl on the ground snorting and grunting or just stand around looking huge and bored. There could be some familiarity in that description to some in our own human species. But, these four-legged fellas do have their place in the agricultural scheme of things. Their human counterparts probably have their purpose, too, if they would only do it less often and prolifically.    

At this time of year the barns are packed full with round bales of hay. In the barnyards, round bales are stacked several feet high and covered with plastic for protection from the weather. Our farmer neighbor holds his black plastic down by long ropes with cinder blocks attached. Over the winter and into early spring, the bales will disappear, being consumed by hungry animals held in one field or another around the farm.

Seldom seen anymore are the square bales remembered from long past years. As the years pass, one wonders what new innovations will come along to make the round bales obsolete. They're probably already out there somewhere, waiting to replace the round bales that today's children will fondly remember as part of the farming operations they drove past during their growing up years.

As we stroll side by side, heading down the back road and back home again, still wrapped for warmth against the cold, we move to the road shoulder to avoid a passing car or truck or to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and road kill. Our discussions and ponderings are both serious and silly. Just two older ladies, not elderly but getting there, trying to stay healthy with a daily walk and fresh country air, meaning more to our families than we do to the world at large.

Each day, as we pass the home of our farmer neighbor, we see the flag he proudly erected several years ago raised to the sky, not far from his tall, oak trees. The bright colors can't be missed in this mid-autumn season of bare trees and dull, brown woods. In a strange time, it's good to see her there, with all the simple, country things we see along the way. May she be wisely cared for and all she has represented for over two centuries.

A prediction of snow for Monday came to pass when snow flurries fell into the valley. But, with the temperature at forty, it flurried in from high altitude then melted on touchdown. Monday's snow was not a keeper.

Overnight, the temperature fell into the thirties. Moisture in the higher sky once again became snow that fell over the valley and back road. Sticking, with only a skiff, and many bare spots, an impressive spread of white was cast over fields and yards.  On leafless branches of shrubs and trees a layer of white was splashed.

In the winter pastures, calves huddled closely in the cold and snow, expecting body heat to keep them warm and the calf beside them to break the force of the wind. Separated from their mothers last week, the calves bellowed for days before accepting their fate - no mama, no more. Like human children, some of them displayed runny noses from exposure to the cold. Unlike human children, though, no one would wipe it and make it better.

 Some of the mama cows, on the other hand, are still making their voices heard, in a big way, on the back road. Walking by, their pitiful bawls from the hollow are akin to the distress a mother feels when her child has gone away.  Eventually their cries will end. By the first of the year they will be birthing new calves, and the cycle will begin again.

As we left the village, and walked our way to Mr. Weston's, morning wind had blown cold and snow across our faces. Turning back, not yet ready to walk the full distance to the bridge, our thoughts wished for the chill, snowy wind to be at our backs. But the back road has ways of its own, and the wind, once again, pelted us with wet snow and biting cold.

Still, the morning holds a beauty that most might miss, rising late or absorbed in their mission of getting to work on time - how the hills in the high country stand covered with snow, how the snow tipped grass in the fencerow bends with the wind, how, from minute to minute, the valley changes after the first light of day.

A walk down the back road is a gift, and to live in the valley is a blessing. 

 Each morning as we take our walk out of the village and down the back road, we pass them. Most mornings we are so busy with our talk that we give them barely a glance. But one morning last week, returning from our trek, we took notice.

Maybe we noticed because it was a very cold morning, and there they were, in our neighbors' yards, apples still hanging on the trees and covering the ground beneath them. Adding their reds and yellows to the landscape, it was still apple season on the back road.

During a lull in our constant talk, I unwisely cracked that I'd like to "go over there and get one of those apples".

Walking Pardoner surprised me with, "Well, let's do it!"

And we did. We went into our neighbor's yard and snitched a couple of apples from the tree. Trouble was, they didn't taste any less good for the snitching. They were the best tasting, juiciest apples of the season. Grimes Golden we decided they were.

To our shame, another apple tree was just ahead, and we sampled it, too. Red Delicious we thought it to be. Not as good as the Grimes Golden in our estimation, but still good.

Closer to home was another apple tree that was similar to the second one. It was the same kind of tree we decided, a Red Delicious.

Carrying home some apples in our hands and pockets, that ended our apple snitching for the  day.

Tomorrow, we'll carry along a couple of plastic bags to bring home a bigger haul.

First, though, we'll knock on some doors for permission.

Not long ago, Oldest Son, Little Gal's daddy, picked some apples from the backyard apple trees to make cider. I have no word on his progress or how he intends to give the apples a squeeze. If he's successful and hasn't spread the cider around to all his history classes, there might be some to share at Thanksgiving. If all the cider hasn't been sipped, we might get a chance to sip some cider, too.

From

Whispered the Old Rhyme

by John Greenleaf Whittier

The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

SIPPING CIDER

The prettiest little girl that ever I saw
Was sipping cider through a straw.
The prettiest little girl that ever I saw
Was sipping cider through a straw.

Says I to her, "What'd you do that for?
What made you sip cider through a straw?"
Says I to her, "What'd you do that for?
What made you sip cider through a straw?"

Says she to me, "Why, didn't you know
That sipping cider was all the go?"
Says she to me, "Why, didn't you know
That sipping cider was all the go?"

So cheek to cheek and jaw to jaw,
We both sipped cider through a straw.
So cheek to cheek and jaw to jaw,
We both sipped cider through a straw.

But best of all, the straw did slip,
And I sipped cider from her sweet lips.
But best of all, the straw did slip,
And I sipped cider from her sweet lips.

So now I have a mother-in-law
From sipping cider through a straw.
So now I have a mother-in-law
From sipping cider through a straw.

Sipping Cider Quilted Wall Hanging Pattern

by Retta Warehime

Sipping Cider Wall Hanging Instructions - How Stuff Works

©2007 Publications International, Ltd.
Warehime, Retta.  "Sipping Cider Quilted Wall Hanging Pattern."  09 February 2007.  HowStuffWorks.com. <http://home.howstuffworks.com/sipping-cider-quilted-wall-hanging-pattern.htm> 

A few years ago, when we moved from the farm in the hollow to the cottage on the back road, one of the things I wanted to do was clean out the cellar. It was an eyesore. The stairs leading into the cellar had never been painted, and the cellar itself had only been given a few swipes with a paintbrush.

Inside the cellar, though there was electricity with lighting, it was dark and dank, as a dungeon is often described. On half the floor was cement and on the other half was bare ground with a place for drainage. The smell was vintage cellar, not pleasant.

Two severe windstorms hitting the valley during the summer made this a more urgent goal. The cellar would be an excellent place to ride out a storm, if it ever became necessary.

My concern was for Little Gal, too, since she spends so much time with me here in the valley. She wouldn't want to go into the cellar with me as it was, with the underground smell, the gloomy walls and the floor of dirt, no matter what the emergency.

Taking advantage of life without a computer, the cellar was finally tackled and conquered. The stairs leading into the cellar was the place to start and brushing down the cobwebs was the first chore marked off the to do list.

For some reason the right wall had been patched with some unknown wooden panels, and redwood covered the remaining wall and ceiling. Very dry and never painted, it took five coats of white paint to cover. But don't examine it too closely!

The next job was the cellar itself. The walls and ceiling were painted white as were the only shelves that were still useable.

Another set of shelves was dismantled and removed because the legs were rotting at the bottom from resting on the dirt floor. Then the door was painted white, along with the bottom screen, and the floor and stairs were painted green.

Man of the House hauled gravel to cover the exposed earth that covered half the cellar. It took several buckets being hand carried down the cellar stairs but the result was worth the effort. The cellar was beginning to look comfortable, not readily apparent that it was an underground room. 

On the gravel side of the cellar, running the length of the wall, MOTH built new shelving, two feet wide, for more storage space. These shelves were painted white, too.

In the stairs, above the door going into the cellar, I wanted to put at least three shelves to display some old bottles and canning jars that had been taking up space and gathering dust for much too long. MOTH saw no point in doing this because, "who's ever going to see it?"

Well!

"I'm going to see it. Every time I go down there, I'll see it!"

So, the shelves were built, and, since two of them couldn't be reached, MOTH helped place the collection where I wanted them to go.

Little Gal was visiting recently and took her first excursion into the cellar. Following me down the steps, with no hesitation, she walked around, looking it over. No fear or disgust was expressed at being down there, saying, "It looks nice, Grandma."

That was a relief. The cellar had passed Little Gal's acceptability test, and it must have passed the scent test, too. With a heightened sense of smell, she recognizes the scents of houses she visits. The cellar odor, had it still been there, would have hit her nose like a punch.  

Now the cellar is just another room at Grandma's. Along with providing space to protect food products and storage of other items, it's an underground room to be entered with no apprehension if some future circumstance makes it necessary to go there for safety. With the world as it is today, a warm, clean cellar is a good thing to have. You never know when there might be a need to go underground.

From

The Old Farmer's Almanac

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.

–Emily Brontë (1818–48)

Snowy Forecast

Weather lore warns that every fog in October will bring a snow come winter. Our winter forecast predicts that most of the country will have below-normal temperatures and that heavy snowfalls will extend from the Ozarks northeastward into southern New England.

The brilliance of fall, leaves of red, yellow, and orange, is fading from the valley. Crisp browns and rust cling to trees and rustle across the yard and back road with the wind. Anticipation of the first frost (should the flowers be moved to safety today? tomorrow?) is now a weather alert. Get ready! Jack's silvery breath will be finely blown from one end of the valley to the other by morning.

With help from Little Gal, the geraniums found safe haven from the freeze. So, too, the cactus and ferns. If pampered and kept from chilling, they'll survive to add their green to another season.   

Playtime for the Boy Next Door and Little Gal has shortened with fewer daylight hours, and a lot of their time is spent indoors. Long pants and heavy knits have replaced the shorts and tee shirts of summer.

Inside today, they picnicked on the living room floor with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, juice and everything else Little Gal could carry from the kitchen. I spied broccoli and dip, peanuts,  cheese sticks and a refrigerator door left open.   

Ladybugs have moved in for the winter, and Little Gal and BND chased them around the window with a laser play sword. During the chase the curtain came down leading to a warning that they might fall through it if they continued that kind of play.

Then, Little Gal came running to the kitchen with the story that BND had broken a wheel off the rolling hassock.

"Grandma's not mad," she called to BND when she saw my reaction was mild. It couldn't have been well put together if a child rolling around on it could break off a wheel, now could it?

After rolling the hassock minus one wheel outside for Grandpa to dispose of, they decided to go next door to play.

For Grandma and BND's mother spring will be a long time coming. There's a long, cold winter ahead.

(The Computer Guy did a good job. He found all the files, rid the computer of intruders, got rid of unnecessary add-ons and added a dependable spy catcher. It's good to go, and it gets there quickly.)