Resilience

Resilience: the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

We just had a major snow event (as in, a foot and a half of snow).  And I survived.  The Weather Witch drew no blood.  Well, some blood was spilled, but it was from common carelessness, and certainly not an elevator full of blood.

I am frankly surprised I did as well as I did.  Country Kitty told me that, back during the Snowpocalypse of 2010, they didn't get off the farm for TWO WEEKS.  And the forecasts for the Lovelanche (Love+Avalanche... I totally think that is a stupid name for the storm, but the interwebs never lie.) were showing up to two feet of snow.  I should have been full of dread.

But I wasn't.  I had stocked up ahead of time, so we had plenty of milk and fruit.  We already have a well stocked freezer, and we buy TP at Costco, so we are set well into May.  We had already purchased our generator and tested it.  I felt... prepared. Ish.  All I had to do the day before the snow was to prepare the chicken coop, and figure out some way to cover the generator in the event we needed to run it while it was snowing.

Wednesday, the day before the Lovelanche was to begin, didn't begin particularly well.  The recycling center was full, so I had to bring home two big bags of recycling.  The sump pump outflow hose had frozen again... and there was a wading pool in the cellar.  It should have been a relatively small issue... but it wasn't.  I had to pour hot water into the outside end of the hose and move it around to get the ice chunks loosened.  I also hauled out my nice, professional grade hair dryer in an attempt to warm the hose.  No dice.  I eventually had to set up the old sump pump, attach it to a garden hose, and snake it up the cellar stairs, out the dining room window, and across the yard.  River in the middle of the front yard?  Check.  I had muddy boots and shirt, wet gloves, and an open window in 30 degree temps.  But dammit, I no longer had an increasing flood in the basement.

It didn't take long to deal with the chickens, but I still hadn't begun the genny shelter, and it was already long after noon.  I had already decided that I would use part of the dismantled scaffolding in the corn crib.  But I had to figure out how to cover that structure in such a way that two feet of snow wouldn't destroy.  I also had to move the frame and cross braces all by myself.  It was exhausting, and my muscles were trembling by the time I had carried them all the way to the location we'd picked. 

After lunch, I had the pleasure of trying to erect scaffolding by myself.  (NOT a one-person job.) Moving it into place over the generator was hilarious.  By the time the bus delivered my son, I had it placed, and was glad to accept the Boy's help in building the roof.  I tell you, there was something comical about an exhausted woman and a 7 year old carrying a big sheet of 3/4" plywood all the way across the semi-icy barnyard and back yard, and then maneuvering it to the generator site.

I had to use more brains than brawn to get it in place--there was no way the Boy could help me lift it up to the cross braces (I needed a raked ceiling, so the snow could slide down rather than pile up.)  I managed, and then we had the excellent adventure of extracting the big tarp from the ice and frozen cardboard on top of it.  (Frozen cardboard is terrifyingly heavy AND inflexible.  Never, ever, kick it.) Getting the tarp in place was also hilarious, although my sense of humor was too tired to laugh by then.  But, here you see the fruits of my labor!  It wasn't pretty, but it did the job!

But, there was an unexpected bit of good news.  In dealing with the sump pump, I was outside under the front porch, wiggling that hose back and forth as I tried to loosen the ice, when I heard a rustling in the leaves under the porch.  I know we get skunks sometimes, so I backed away, and then took a careful look around the space.  As my eyes adjusted, I saw a brownish shape moving.  And then I recognized it.  It was Acid.

I don't know how that damn chicken survived 5 nights outside in below freezing temperatures, all by herself.  Nor do I know what she was eating, or why she didn't join the other girls when they were outside.  But she was there, healthy and more than willing to come out from under the porch.  I walked her back to the coop, and she hopped inside and seemed quite ready to eat.

So, we have seven girls again, but I notice that the hen-pecking has quieted.  She is more confident now, and not as scared of her shadow as she was.  It is amazing just how tough the smallest chicken can be.  

Now, the odd thing about her return was, that I was surprised, and that was all.  I was happy to return her to the flock, but I wasn't overjoyed, or even joyful.  I tried to tell myself that I had already accepted her death, and that she was not a pet.  I started wondering if I had become callous.

But then something occurred to me.  Acid had survived all that time on her own.  She came through her experiences, and none the worse for wear.  She'd figured out how to stay hydrated, she found her own food to eat, and she found a safe shelter.

I've survived too.  I've already faced so many experiences here on the farm that, at the time, seemed like the hardest lessons I've had to endure.  Each episode seemed enormous:  Gandalf's death, the icy driveway, the grumpy sump pump, the isolation.  And yet each of those experiences helped me to get through that preparation day with only a little blood, plenty of sweat, and few tears.  That preparation day was just another day.

I have accepted the reality of life out here.  The driveway will be an icy nightmare, therefore, I have to park the cars at the top of the hill, really close to the road.  Having free-range chickens means that I will lose some.  The arctic cold means the sump pump may freeze, so I have to be prepared to do what needs to be done to remove the water. And sometimes... sometimes you just have to embrace the inner redneck and run a garden hose out your dining room window.

A Fashion Nightmare

Ah, Friday.  Friday was supposed to be my day to do my social thing.  I was going into Arlington to deliver our guest cat back to Wine Friend, and I'd also checked with a few friends about maybe meeting up for the local First Friday after.  And, the boys were going out for an evening without me!  I was going to have a fabulous evening!

Ha!

My hair was all adorable and curly.  I actually put on a cute top and skinny jeans, and planned to wear hawt high heel boots.  Pretty earrings, light makeup... well, except for the eyes.  I did dramatic smoky eyes, in purple.  Hey, I was getting off the farm!

But, before I could escape the farm, I had to do less glamorous things.  I had to pick up the Boy from school.  I had to take Katt to the vet to get her nails clipped, and get more of her anti-vomit medicine.  And then I needed to pick up two big bags of the water-softener salt.  Muck boots were worn for those errands, and I only got two smears of dirt on my jeans.  I wiped them off, and thought, in an hour, I'll be heading east.

And then my cell phone rang.  I have a cool phone now (sorry, crackberry), and I told it to answer.  It was the Husband.  A hawk had been at the chickens, and he couldn't find any of them now.  It was already 3:30.

I got us safely home, let Katt inside, and the three of us began the search, taking Amy with us.  We walked through the woods and fields, searching for the freaked out chickens.  Eventually, we found Elasta-Girl and Peaches-and-Cream in a tree.  We lifted them out, and they were carried home.  Then we found Darth Vader, hiding in another tree.  Her tail feathers had been ripped out, and we found more sign of lost feathers there.  Had we lost a girl or not?

We continued stalking the trees, but it was getting later, and the boys had movie tickets for 5:30.  I told them to go on, that I would keep searching.

And I did.  I contacted my chicken friend, and got a few suggestions.  In the meantime, I took a break so I could prepare for the evening.  Emptying the litterbox, gathering all the cat's toys and the remaining food.  And, of course, making sure her cat carrier was ready.  And, since the driveway was still icy, I dragged the garden cart to the front of the house, so I could haul all everything up the hill.

I did another chicken search.  I let Wine Friend know I was running late, and let the other friends know that my time schedule was shot.  Texting while walking through the woods is hazardous, however.  I got caught by a low hanging branch and got a pretty good scratch across my forehead.  I exchanged the phone for a bowl of chicken feed to shake as I walked, and still managed to run into tree branches.  I was grateful it was winter, at least-- no spiderwebs or need for my web-wand.

Leia had shown up by then.  Ginger, Acid and Mocha were still missing.  But Mocha darted toward me just after the sun went down.  I took her home and conceded defeat, hoping that one or both would return in the morning, assuming they survived the night.*

By then, it was almost six!  I had to get out of there.  I was running so late!  I grabbed the kitty and my purse, put on the boots by the door, and wheeled the cart up the ice.  It was heavy, and I took off my coat again because I was starting to, ahem, glow.

Let's fast forward, shall we? I delivered the cat, and Wine Friend took me out to dinner, since I was shaking from hunger.  (I'd planned to eat something after the guys left and before I needed to leave, but that didn't happen, obviously.)  We went to a nice wine bar, and I ate a lovely meal and drank lovely wine.  I visited the lady's room.

Oh, and what a sight I beheld.  I might have been okay if I had freshened my powder and lipstick, although the smokey eyes were more smudged than anything.  And truthfully, the scratch across my forehead would have taken a bit of concealer or something.  My cute curls were in a ragged mess.  There were bits of twig in them!  I had smears of what I hoped was only dirt along my collar bone.  Never mind that I had mud on my jeans.

And I'd put on my riding boots, and not the high heels.  The boots that had been cute when I got them, but then had become my field boots, not to be confused with the muck boots.  These only had mud and a few scratches, and I am almost certain, no chicken bombs.  That I cannot say for the muck boots.

But yeah, the best laid plans of the City Kitty were pooped on by the chickens.  And I wasn't sure which I was more embarrassed by: being late because of the chickens, or looking awful because of the chickens.

*For those of you who could care less about the fashion nightmare, then rest assured, Ginger was there in the morning.  But Acid, the bottom of the pecking order, has gone to the great hawk in the sky.

Winter Tracks

The snow hung around until yesterday.  It was a glorious mid-40s!  I got away with a light jacket.  I felt the warmth of the sun on my face and hands ('cause I didn't have the wear gloves!), and after arguing quite eloquently with the chickens about going out (i.e., I threw them all outside), they strutted around all day.  Even Acid and ElastaGirl joined the old girls.  Alas, Mocha is the bottom of the pecking order, so she stayed inside and enjoyed the lack of harassment.

The snow melted, after almost two weeks of hanging around... I think.  Honestly, we've had so much coming and snowing that I cannot remember what is new and what is old.  It is snowing right now, for what it is worth.  And a huge blizzard is predicted for next weekend.

The Husband and I went out for a walk this last Saturday.  We walked the paths that no human had trod for days.  There was many a surprise in store.  For example...the pond was so iced over, that the deer had been crossing it.  I marveled at the tracks, wondering if we had misidentified them (even though by now we are almost experts at deer tracks around here...but more on that later).

fox? raccoon?  Who can say?

Well, the pond was THIS frozen.  As in a full grown man could have walked onto the ice and would not have fallen through.  Not that anyone in my family would have done such a thing...

We continued on the path through the lower pasture.  We saw these tracks, which may be raccoon but might also be fox.  I thought maybe it might be a small dog, but we were sure it was not the feral cat we see upon occasion.
One way or the other, I snapped it since we had no idea and were too lazy to look it up on our phones at the time. However, I have just looked it up. I found a similar image here.

deer highway

But this was the most amazing sight of the afternoon.  The path before us was heavily trafficked.  It was nothing but deer.  Deer!  Our field must be an interstate highway on the deer maps!  I couldn't believe the sheer volume of hoof prints.  Are they drug mules? (snicker) Or is there a party going on in the fields that I could be bringing wine to?

mouse runs

Now, the cutest sight we saw that afternoon was the little mouse runs under the snow, gradually appearing as the snow has melted.  We followed the runs for quite a way, through the bushes, past the old barn, toward the field, and there it split toward the compost heap and toward the farmhouse... rrr.



The biggest footprint (ha ha) were left by the humans.  Human runs (shoveled paths through what was once about eight inches of snow) show just how they circle their den, strike out for the mailbox and cross through the woods to where they left their car.  Amazingly, the deer and the dog also traversed those runs.

You know, we never did get around to shoveling the patio.  We were too busy dealing with the chickens, building forts, and marveling at the wildlife.  

Next weekend, we will have a blizzard, supposedly.  Two feet of snow.  I cannot wait to see all the new tracks in the snow.  But one of them better be a car returning with a fresh shipment of wine.  'Cause, a glass of wine makes the wildlife that much better.

Last Week

So, we had a winter event last week.  You probably know about it, it seemed to hit half the country.  We had a lovely three day weekend beforehand, and then snow on Tuesday.  And more snow.  And more snow.  And it snowed almost until midnight.  Supposedly, we had seven inches.  But really, we had ten.

Ten inches of snow is no big deal, although this was the first major snow event since the Snowpocalypse.  We were prepared.  We parked both vehicles at the top of the hill, made sure we had milk and supplies.  The propane tank was full(ish), and I made sure the chickens had a full tank of water and plenty of food.

I wasn't prepared for a whole week of no school.  Nope.  No siree.  

Since Tuesday was the snow day, I thought, I totally understand and support not having school.  The roads were a mess, and it was coming down!

Wednesday, the roads were still a mess, but we'd dug out the top of our driveway, and dug paths to the cars, the chicken coop, and around the entire house.  We even got mail that day.

Thursday, no school...and not because the roads out here in the west were still a mess.  (I mean, some were, and that is no joke.)  But more importantly, some of the town roads still hadn't been cleared, and the HOAs hadn't finished clearing some of their roads and sidewalks.

Friday turned into Monday, in that, today we were supposed to have another day off school, a moveable teacher workday.  It got moved to Friday.

The Husband teleworked the entire week.  I got very little writing done, although I did move approximately 18 tons of snow.  I didn't tidy much, but I tried to get the chickens to get along with the new girls.  I failed to cook anything exciting, but I hosted two neighborhood boys on different days.  I didn't leave the farm much, but I got to visit with various neighbors.

Do I sound a little nonchalant?  I think so, too.  Even when the basement sump pump stopped working, it was a shrug versus out-and-out panic.  Nothing that a hairdryer and some hot water couldn't fix, it turned out.  

And now we prepare for another polar vortex.

Yawn.

I mean, I should be uneasy.  We still don't have the driveway clear.  The road south of us is growing narrower and narrower as the snow drifts cover the sides.  I could use some gas in the car.  I don't have a space cleared for the generator, in the event we can use it.

It could be I am getting used to this.  We as humans have this amazing ability to adapt.  For example, now, when I hurt myself or feel pain, I rate it on the scale of childbirth.

Mother blankety blank!  I fell on that blankety blank step again!!!  Ow ow ow! There's blood!  Dangit!... Well, this IS only a four on a scale of childbirth.  Eh, I'll survive.

I layer clothes, use my ski pants whenever the heck I want to, and have been holding my big warm lamb coat in reserve.  I have new sweaters, and add an extra pair of socks when I use my muck boots to go out and check the chickens.  I assess the wind and the sun before deciding if I need a coat or not (trust me, when you are wearing 4 layers, top and bottom, a coat can be too much at times.)  And I keep a pair of nice shoes in the car, so that I can just hike up there in my muckers and change when I arrive wherever I am going.... I've got this down, I think!

We all know what's going to happen now....  

A Tail of Two Kitties

We've been housesitting Wine Friend's cat for just over a month.  She's a long haired black cat of sixteen pounds, perhaps.  And she's just lovely.

But she and Katt don't get along.

When Nimue first came, we closed off the upstairs with a pet gate.  She hissed at our dog Amy when they met.  Expected, I guess:  dogs and cats are not necessarily natural compadres.  But when Katt crept up the stairs to peer at this new kitty through the pet gate, Nimue hissed and growled.  Katt slunk down the stairs.  And then came back up to look again.  Nimue hissed and growled and batted at the pet gate.  Katt slunk off again...and then came back up.

I swear she was giggling as she repeated this several times.  I finally moved the pet gate the foot of the stairs.

So, we've had an upstairs kitty and a downstairs kitty for awhile.  Nimue gets to cuddle and snuggle with us in bed, and spends mostly quiet days, following the moving sunbeams, sitting in the window watching the chickens down below, and napping wherever the hell she damn pleases.  Nimue is happy to play with me or with the Boy, and she doesn't dart away anymore when he chases after her, begging her to let him pet her.  In that, she is considerably smarter than Katt, who just lets the Boy lug her around the house.  At first, she wasn't wild that Amy comes upstairs at night, but she no longer hisses at her unless Amy comes around a corner she was preparing to round.

I swear Amy just rolls her eyes as she walks around the hissing kitty.

On sunny days, when Katt goes outside to do country cat things, I remove the pet gate and give Nimue full rein of the house.  Well, I did that three times, until she discovered Katt's food dish and thought she'd try to take a nibble.  I heard the sound, and started yelling at Amy, who was actually curled up asleep on her bed next to me.  Nimue was banished to the upstairs that afternoon.  Now, if I let her out, the first thing I do is move Katt's dish out of reach.

The two cats have decided to let Amy show herself to be the bigger animal.  Nimue has learned that Amy could care less about her, and now watches with bright, interested eyes as Amy passes on her way to bed.  And she is fascinated when I get on the floor and pet Amy, with the belly showing and that tail thumping the floor.

Katt has finally accepted that the only danger from Amy is that she'll steal her food.  She's stopped chasing the dog around the kitchen, and only occasionally bats at her, and I think she only does that when I am watching.  You see, she now SLEEPS with the dog, and Amy doesn't even run away.  Katt will walk up, sniff sniff, and Amy will either lift her head and sniff back, or just turn a sleepy eye to watch her.  Then Katt will perch on the edge of the dog bed and press her body against Amy's side.  And they will sleep.

Now, she still takes over Amy's bed when Amy isn't there, and Amy is smart enough not to push her luck:  if Katt is there, she passes up that bed for one in another room, or just does without.  To deal with this, I actually bought a small dog bed that was on clearance.  Katt loves it, but only if it is placed next to Amy's bed.

Pet beds are taking over the house.

So, there is a species of cat peace, as the cats have adapted to their new lives.  And I realized that those kitties are not the only changed creatures.

I realized this as I was driving home one afternoon last week.  The road is supposedly dirt, but that means some gravel, a lot of potholes, and several patches of mud interspersed with ice, at the moment.  I was weaving left to right, carefully avoiding most of the potholes, because I know exactly where they all are.  I even think of it as a driving video game:  Pot Hole Dodge.

Anyway, I was driving along, zooming around the road avoiding the potholes, sometimes on the right, but sometimes all the way to the left, hugging the edge.  I came over a hill and found a navy-blue Lexus ahead.  I thought the car was weird as I approached, and it took me a minute to realize why I thought it looked weird.

The car was clean.  Like shiny.

I slowed down as I continued my game of dodge'em.  And I watched Mr. Lexus braking almost to a stop, easing into the potholes, and then picking up speed before hitting the next big patch.  I smirked as I easily swung all the way to the left to avoid that big patch.  I wondered if he thought I was some kind of lunatic.

And then it hit me.  I knew the road, and was driving like an insider.  He was driving like someone who'd never been on a country road before*.  And I didn't identify with him at all at that moment.

The City Kitty has not become a country kitty, but it could be that she's adapting, too.  

Survival of the fittest, baby.



*For the record, I am pretty sure Mr. Lexus must have been heading to the nearby meat boutique--local farmer selling great local meats, from animals that you may have seen wandering the farm the week before.  I visited them as well before we moved out here.  Kudos to Mr. Lexus for supporting local farmers, and I hope his suspension made the drive not too bumpy.

A River Runs Through It

What a weird last week we've had here on the farm.  I've lived in this county for over a decade, and I knew how often bad weather days were driven by the western end of the county (the school districts here are by county, which is the weirdest thing I've ever heard of, especially since this county is over 500 square miles and is geographically split).  But being here experiencing the conditions has been an eye opener.

First, we had snow the afternoon of the first day back at school.  As in, it may as well have been an avalanche in slow-mo.  We were supposed to get like 2-4" of snow beginning late afternoon.  It hit before 2 p.m. and didn't stop until LATE at night, when I measured at least 8" on our patio.  But guess what happens between 4 p.m. and 7 p.m?  A little something called RUSH HOUR... which was about the time it turned to freezing rain.  

The Boy got home on the school bus okay, although I met him with snow boots in hand.  He and I skidded our way down the river of snow that was our driveway.  (I had already taken precautions and parked the car at the top of our neighbors' drive again.)  But the Husband didn't make it home because I was a little bossypants and made him go slide the truck over the ice to a friend's house in town.  He stayed the night.

The second day of school in 2014 was cancelled.  Then we had the weekend.  And then no school the following Monday. Nor Tuesday.  And if they had called Wednesday, I would have duct-taped my son to the wall.  Five days of cold winds and arctic temperatures and snow and ice.

Yeah.  Our driveway was no longer a river of snow.  It was a bloody river of ice.  The hill.  The parking area.  The turn around.  All of it.  There was snow frozen under ice which was under windswept snow, and then sheets of ice, and then rain frozen on top of all that.  I'd crunch through a layer, think I was safe, and then slip on the layer below that.

Even the chickens decided to stay inside.  The bravest, our lovely Peaches, took a step out and promptly turned around, hustling the other girls back in.  I was glad I followed them into their coop, because even their HEATED CHICKEN WATERER HAD HOARFROST INSIDE IT.

It was so cold, I was dressed like an astronaut to go out.  The condensation from my breath froze in my eyelashes.  The normal moisture in my nostrils began freezing.  I discovered every last spot in my Columbia winter coat that DIDN'T keep the cold out.

But, we all survived, even if cabin fever was about to lead me to chant, "All work and no play makes Heather a dull girl."  It helped that I made damn sure the Boy made it to karate on Tuesday night.

There was school on Wednesday and Thursday.  The ice was not quite thawing, but at least the temps were back in the 20s and low 30s, so I was able to use the driveway.  I discovered that I had learned a lot already about driving the car in the snow and ice and frozen earth.  I was pretty happy that I never panicked, and could recognize areas that were going to be trouble.

And then we hit Friday.  School should have been cancelled.  I'm sorry.  There was freezing rain that hit around 6 a.m. and continued for hours.  And they called a 2 hour delay, which was okay...except it wasn't.  When the Boy and I left for school, the amount of ice made me nervous, but I felt (semi)confident that I knew what to do as we turned out of our very icy driveway onto our very icy road.  But I followed a school bus for fifty feet or so before we turned off onto a side road toward the school.  The back of that bus was sliding all over the road.  It was terrifying to watch.

We got to school safely; but honestly, I was afraid to drive home.  Our road was pretty darn close to a solid sheet of ice that I would have to go downhill and make a tricky turn into my driveway.  So I asked if I could put in some more volunteer hours.  I wasn't the only parent hanging out.  The last bus arrived thirty minutes late.  I heard all sorts of gossip from around the county.  And when I finally left to go home at 11:30, I heard on the news that there were kids still sitting on buses in other parts of the county.  And that afternoon, I waited for fifteen minutes for the bus when I got called by the school that the bus driver had not been able to get to our road, and would I therefore please come collect my soon from school?    

The weekend temperatures warmed considerably.  Yeah!  But they brought about two inches of rain with it.  Boo!  The driveway was now a river of snowmelt and rain.  All the lovely snow melted in the yard, and I was left with a boggy yard that was so muddy it seemed intent on sucking my muck boots into the ground.  And my chickens looked a lot like drowned rats stilts.

But, there was incredible beauty in the midst of all that.  Country Kitty had told me that the front area on either side of the driveway had hidden springs, but they usually only showed up after LOTS of rain.  Well, we found one yesterday, and I stood in awe, watching that clear and cold water bubbling out of the earth and washing down to the small creek bed that surely has caught that spring's water for decades.  What a gift, and worth wading the driveway to see.

It is gone today, of course, and we were able to wander about without jackets most of the day (funny how the mid-40s seem warm to us now).  The chickens were happy for the sun, even if they were pecking in the mud.  At least the mud isn't frozen anymore.

Well, until next Thursday anyway.

Happy New Year!

I hope everyone had a lovely time the last few weeks.  I'm surprised at all the inquiries about whether or not Cthulhu had actually driven me insane, since I'd gone silent.  Rest assured, Devoted Readers, I was simply taking my own Christmas vacation.  (Or, if I may be honest, I had the Boy home for two weeks and there was simply no posting anything other than lame Facebook statuses.)  I continued working, however.  This blog entry has been simmering for almost a week.  So...

Happy New Year

or 

You Can Take the City Kitty Out of the Country But You Can't Take the Country Out of the City Kitty

College Friend was going to be in town after Christmas through New Year's Day.  The last few years, we've been seeing in the New Year with Wine Friend and/or going to the old neighborhood, but this seemed like an opportunity to go into the District and do a grown up party.

I won't go into all the nail biting, the back-and-forth discussions, the endless texts and frequent phone calls, making child-care and animal-care arrangements, the wardrobe anxiety, and transportation issues.  Let it suffice to say that we planned, and it all worked out beautifully.  The Husband and I got to go stay at a very nice hotel and attend a kick-@ss party in Washington DC with our friends.

I will also gloss over are the preparations to leave that day:  herding the chickens back into the coop; cleaning out the cab of the truck so that I could cram in our luggage, Amy, and the Boy; and even the dilemma of switching cars so that our wee-little Saturn wasn't spending the night at the commuter lot.

No, the real story is what happens when City Kitty enters a nice hotel after 5 months of living on a farm.

First of all.  Mud on my sneakers and the car when I pull up.  Oops.  I could see the too-polite-to-say anything look on the doorman's face.  The Husband had already checked in, so he met me in the lobby, handed me the key, and I got directions for the parking garage, which was full of nice, expensive, big, and CLEAN vehicles.  I wondered if there was a car-wash entrance that I'd missed.

Now, it was a cold day, but remember, I layer every day just to stay in the farmhouse, which has the thermostat set at 62, but varies depending on what side of the house you are on.  So, I was hauling luggage and had my big sheep-skin duster over my arm.  I was a bit warm.  I found the elevator and then the room.  I walked in and unloaded, smiling as I looked around.  Nice room, cool view, and four hours before we had to leave.

And I realized I was hot.  As in, is-my-antiperspirant-actually-working? hot.  I pulled off my sweater.  And then the flannel lined jeans.  The top long-sleeved shirt.  The silk shirt under that.  My socks.

Him: Is this a hint?
Me: I'm burning up!
Him: Ah.
Me: What is the thermostat set at? I'm dying!
By now, I was down to my tank top and leggings. The Husband looks at the thermostat and chokes a little.
Me: So what is it?
Him: Sixty-eight.
Me: Well, set it lower!

Sparkly Silver Sandal

We finished unpacking, and I needed to paint my toe-nails.  I painted, let it dry, and we got ready to go down to grab a bite to eat.  I had to wear my sparkly silver sandals, so that the nail polish wouldn't smear.  Except, all I had were the flannel jeans.  Not a fashion-do, lemme tell you.

After we got back to the room, it was time to start getting ready.  Shower and all.  I turned on the hot water all the way up and waited the usual four minutes to make sure the water had time to get hot.

Four minutes.

I was amazed to pull back the curtain and get hit with a blast of hot steam, and step onto an uncomfortably warm shower floor.  (shaking head)

I finished with all my primping and dressing.  I looked amazing.  (I really did, the Husband said so.)  But, there was a snag.  The original plan was for us to get picked up in a car by our friends.  That wasn't happening.  So, they were metro-ing in, and the Husband wanted to know if I was up for that.

My first thought was for my new sparkly silver sandals, and how they wouldn't really keep my feet warm.  So, I thought, just wear your other shoes until you get to the party, just like you normally do when you leave the farm...

College Friend!

Sneakers, under a fancy evening gown.  Beat up sneakers with mud caked in the treads.  Sneakers that would not give me the extra three inches required for me not to step on my dress.

The Husband!

We took a cab.  Party party party.

We got back to the room at a respectable 1:15 a.m.  We got ready for bed.  And then we both lay there, wondering why the hell we couldn't get to sleep.

We were hot.  The room was set at the extravagant 65 degrees.  We usually sleep with the thermostat set at 55 degrees.  

We set the thermostat down again.

It was surprisingly nice to get out of that too-warm hotel with its too-clean floors and the hot water that scalds you when you test it to see if its gotten warm, and get back to the farm.

Oh the humanity...what in the world has happened to me?