2000-12-20
Dear Diary:

I haven't been exactly beavering away at the Christmas decorating stuff, so the place isn't looking too festive yet. I CAN report that I have eaten all the cashews out of the Christmas tin of mixed nuts and should have the Brazil nuts, filberts, almonds and walnuts disposed of by late sometime tomorrow.

This will leave my spousal unit a wide selection of peanuts ... and ... um ... well ... peanuts for that holiday snacking goodness.

Oopsie.

Alright, since it's confession time, I'll also admit that I watched the weather yesterday and so I knew that a big storm was coming in today. Yep, it would have been wise to top off the birdfeeders late yesterday. But I forgot.

So I look outside early this morning and the feeders are already empty and there are all these chickadees, finches, blue jays and mourning doves just kind of hanging around in the trees nearby looking forlorn.

It's cold, blowing hard, and the ladder I need to fill the feeders is frozen to the ground and covered with a thin layer of ice because some incredibly stupid person .:cough:. me .:cough:. forgot to put it in the woodshed the other day after she last filled the feeders.

I managed to pound it free using a block of firewood and then got a bucket of birdseed so I could fill the feeders spread out around our property. I've mentioned that it's blowing hard, small stinging pellets of snow are blowing in my eyes and it's stupidly cold, right?

Did the birds feel any gratitude about any of this? Perhaps trill me a few songs of joy, a spontaneous Christmas carol or two?

Heck no.

A bunch of finches battling over the feeder at our kitchen window.  We've build a window seat for Zubby and Zoe there, they LOVE to sit and watch the birds, eh. Instead, they let me know how ticked off they were by the lack of seedy goodness and swarmed menacingly around me in the air (any of you remember Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds"?). When they tired of that, they settled on nearby tree branches, and YELLED at me.

I sweartogawd I heard insults, eh. I suspect they were making fun of the old purple coat that I wear when I'm mucking around with birdfeeders and such like.

Barney, my butt.

I don't look a bit like Barney in that coat.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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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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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.