The dog and I seem to have settled into a kind of winter routine: get up early, check wood inventory, check food supplies (beer, cigarettes), chain smoke. So the first order of the day's business is to make sure there's enough fuel for the morning, afternoon, evening and over night. (Recall there's no central heat.)
Demolition has slowed if not stopped; still picking away at the floor boards upstairs. But not really.
The-one-that-got-away left a message the other afternoon; at the risk of royally pissing off tia, I do miss her. I take comfort in the fact that she would totally (her word) hate it up here.
I had forgotten the difference between an axe and a maul. (Sp?) The hedge apple in Mr. Hill's northeast swale sent me almost immediately to Home Depot.
I'll end this not surprisingly boring post with the notion, again, that my days seem more meaningful than they have been in 20 years.
Oh, Moonpie killed something I can't identify, it's way cold here, more snow, Terry Gross is the best interviewer working today, pulling for Auburn monday night, tractor needs a new battery, missing mom and dad, will probably return t-o-t-g-a's call though I shouldn't, and watch a lot of PBS sunday.
Reading a lot, but mostly stuff I've read already.