Tuesday, Nov. 18, 2003
I like my humble pie with loads of whipped cream and a nice cup of tea.
A few years ago when the spousal unit was putting the new roof on this place he went to the extra hassle and expense of putting hurricane strapping on it. He did the same thing this summer to the roof on our new woodshed.
I had such a good time mocking his conservative, grannylicious building ways.
Well, Friday The Mother of All Storms whomped us but good. The only other time we've known winds like this was over ten years ago when a series of cyclones skipped through this valley, merrily dropping trees and even ripping the roof off one home.
This storm was even scarier because it lasted much, much longer. All night the wind smashed into our house from every direction. We both slept fairly fitfully just waiting for a green witch on a broom to come sailing in through our skylight. When we woke up the following morning, every window in the house was smeared with snow as if someone had taken a trowel and smoothed it on.
And there was absolutely zero damage to either roof.
The spousal unit was, of course, insufferable. There was smirking and I was forced to acknowledge his mad building skillz. There are no words for the pain.
Oh and speaking of pain, my nephew is spending the winter in Costa Rica and is having a wonderful time tormenting me with e-mails about jogging along the ocean and such like. Evil. The Guy Is Pure Evil. I'm guessing this is payback for me bringing the Purple Happy Fun Ball of Pain, Humiliation and Torture into his life.
Because I am a wonderful, caring auntie (really, I'm a saint I tell you, a saint) I sent him this snow picture Saturday so he could feel even more smug:
He said when he opened it at the internet café at the small village where he is living people were stunned. The first question he was asked was if the truck would ever run again. They thought that must be a winter's worth of snow. Heeeeeee. They couldn't believe it when he told them that barely counts as a snowfall and there have been times when we've had two or three times that in a single storm.
Bunch of sissies down there.
This was also the first experience with snow for our cat Enid. She had a very good time racing through it and then cracked us up as she was trying to hop up on our front step.
Enid's so strong that what she normally does is just hop up just high enough to hook her claws into the wood on the porch and horse herself up on it through sheer upper body strength. Well, there was a buttload of snow on that porch. She made the leap, tried to horse herself up with her front paws, but claws do not anchor in snow. With exquisite slowness she slid off the porch and disappeared into the snowdrift beside it.
The best part was when she stalked out of the drift all injured dignity with that "I meant to do that" expression cats always pull on to cover those delicate times when Life Goes Very, Very Wrong. The spousal unit claims I pull on the exact same expression all the time, but as we all know the man is a pathological liar and Not To Be Trusted.
You might think that the pain of eating humble pie and my nephew's torments would be enough suffering for one woman, but oh, no it gets worse.
Last night the spousal unit doled out the last of the extremely delectable miniature Snickers bars. Not only are the bars now finished, I have the great humiliation of knowing I was unable to discover his New Super Duper Chocolate Hiding Place.
I'm telling you, between the storm and the chocolate, if smugness was an illness the man would be in the ICU right now fighting for his life.
The local two week hunting season finished on the weekend which means we no longer need to wear fluorescent orange clothing every time we go out our front door. Orange is really not a good colour for me, but as the spousal unit has pointed out, dead is not a very good look, either. There are many wonderful things about living in an isolated log home in the woods, but hunting season is not one of them and I'm always relieved when it's over.
Oh, I know, the odds of anything bad happening are slim to non-existent, but every time I hear a rifle go off in the distance I twitch any ways.
Guess I'm not as tough as I like to think I am, eh?
finished Nov. 7
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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