Ankle Benders

Every eleven years or so I go ice skating. And every eleven years or so, I tear up the ice with some of these lovelies . . . 

Thanks for the fun, guys. See you on the rink in '33.

Negativity

Being Negative has never felt so good. 

It's always gotten a bad rap, being negative. But now, it's the best thing in the world.

And so . . . now we begin The Festivities . . . 

Mistah and I began thusly . . . 

. . . with a stroller full of toys and books from a certain someone for a certain someone and homegah I can't believe we're going to get to meet her.

Seasons Greetings, y'all.

And hey. Stay negative.

There's a New Tin Man in Town

Years ago Mistah bought an outdoor deck heater at a yard sale for thirty bucks. He put it in the car and we ended up leaving the car downtown that night and when he went back to pick it up in the morning he said the heater lying there in the way way back looked like the Tin Man.

Tin Man has been our best friend ever since.

But Tin Man recently started not working well and performing badly -- hey, it happens to the best of us -- and as much as we've loved him all these years, it was time for a new Tin Man to step up and take on the responsibility of being our new best friend.

It's a lot of work, being our best friend.

We put on the quite recently late, and quite everlastingly great, Vincente Fernandez, and we -- and by we I mean I -- got to work . . . 

One cannot always put together an appliance outside on a December day, but when one can . . . 

. . . one does.

The Tree is not atilt; in that last photo the photographer clearly was. 

It took a while . . . 

. . . but I loved every moment . . . 

I cracked up when I saw the 800 number on a sticker on the unit. Like, "when your unit dies call us."

Not this one, baby.

Putting together Tin Man's hat was one of the last steps . . . 

. . . and I'm going to borrow it wear it as a fascinator at every Royal wedding I get invited to.

Nuts and screws and bolts and washers atop the unit, my friends . . . 

And then . . . 

. . . Voilà.

Tin Man II

My new best friend.

Dig It

Would you like to see the best photo of The Mistah in the history of recorded time?

Of course you would. 

I know, right?

Remember these glorious Lauras from the deck this summer?

Wait, here's a better view, since we're focusing on The Mistah today.

Well, they have to be dug up and brought inside for the winter. Needy little stinkers, aren't they? It's a good thing they're so dramatically beautiful.

Most of them are already in the basement . . . 

. . . they're jealous of their former deck-mates who get to bask in the sun all winter . . . 

. . . but the bulbs planted in the Field have to be dug up and -- with any luck at all -- given to lovely friends visiting from out of town.

Hi Jill!

I don't even do the digging, but I'm out there in my usual farmer weekend apparel . . . 

. . . but not the Mistah. Best dressed digger in America.

Thanks for the photos, Jill.

Happy wintering, canna lilies. 

The Start

First of all, are there any two friends who are more glorious than these two?

No. No, there are not. Mom and Mrs. C. get it done day in and day out, and have for almost 60 years, the first 40 as nextdoor neighbors. True blue, these two.

Second of all, Mistah declared, on his first trip to the Dutch in like two years, that the Friday after Thanksgiving is the official start to Guinness Season.

And who are we to argue?

Hey, it's the official start to a lots of things . . .  

. . . college basketball season . . . 

. . . fire season .  . . 

. . . and of course, the start of the ever-popular and ever-hyped Holiday season . . . 

. . . which started with a lovely Thanksgiving.

Thank you, Mom.

We're off to a good start.

Fiyah

Sometimes you need to have a fire on a November afternoon.

Fires make everything better.

And so do rakes.

You know how it can be this time of year. The earth is calming down for the season ... but the peeps are ramping up.

It can be disconcerting.

But fiyah makes everything better . . . 

. . . especially if you get a few gorgeous lovelies stop by . . .  

. . . and if you have gorgeous foliage . . . 

. . . and if you yell out to the MIstah, "Well you know the first line of Little Women, don't you?" And he responds, "Well, no, but I can put my hands on it and bring it out in 12 seconds . . . "

Yeah, he did.

It's the best.

It's fiyah.

The Maple

It's been gorgeous around these parts lately.

 

Our maple is spectacular these days, but we still have summertime ferns, and of course . . . The Tree.

We're in the middle of all the seasons . . . 

. . . and it's glorious.

But in the meantime . . . 

Mistah and I had Hair Challenge.

I totally won.

Interlude over. Back to the trees. 

How I do love the trees.

The red maple seems faraway, but she's ours, and the poor thing has a claw-like branch which seems to be acting unkindly toward her . . . 

The non-red maple has no such intruders . . . 

She was my backdrop to a family zoom yesterday . . . 

I got to see faces. And they liked our tree.

This maple of ours . . . 

. . . she gets lit up by the sun and every single time I look at her from any angle, she gives me joy . . . 

. . .  great maple joy.

The Dark Part of the Day, Redux

The perfect day -- nay, season -- to repost this.

Happy four pm!

It is, according to me a few years ago, still daytime at four pm. Just, you know, not the light part of the day . . . 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2016

The Dark Part of the Day

It is dark around here, this time of year.

Like, four o'clock-getting-dark.

It's anathema to those of us who, in the summer, go to the beach at four o'clock because that's just when it starts gettin' good.

But Mistah and I learned a long time ago that we cannot accept four o'clock as nighttime. It's black as night, yes. But four o'clock is notnighttime. It is, instead, the Dark Part of the Day.

And before it gets dark? Well, it's light.

I mean, it's not light light, but it's a little bit light.

And that light -- as fleeting and tenuous as it is these days -- does pretty and dramatic things to the world . . . 

 . . . to the last of the leaves . . .

. . . and to the clouds in the big blue sky.

It's a challenge these days, when four o'clock comes around . . .

. . . but when night does fall? And sticks around for hours and hours and hours?

Well, at least the Big Dipper come out to play . . .