I Spy

No, this is not about the 1960s TV series "I Spy" with Robert Culp and Bill Cosby (not gonna go there).

On frequent road trips with my parents, we sang and played word games when the scenery was less interesting.  As the only kid in the car, it wasn't that hard to keep me amused.  It was more of a challenge when my four were little.  "He touched me for no good reason!"  "Mom!  She's sitting too close again."  And, of course, there was the race to call "shotgun."  We did sing,  We sang every song they knew and I taught them new ones, and we sang them over and over.  "B-i-n-g-o, and Bingo was his name-o."  I would hear that in my sleep, as well as the everlasting "99 bottles of beer on the wall."  They told knock-knock jokes.  We also played games:  counting red cars, spotting out-of-state license plates, 20 questions, and some version of I Spy.  "I spy with my little eye...."

I won't keep you in suspense. It is the middle of January.  January!!  Yesterday I spied the first forsythia blossoms.  From what I can tell for Zone 7, it is way too early.  Not only forsythia, I also spied the first robin unearthing bugletts and worms under the clothesline.  It was warm enough that I used that clothesline to hang laundry in the afternoon; I'd been using the dryer lately.  Global warming is a hot topic just now (did I really say that?), but it does give one pause for thought with the drought and these early harbingers of spring.

There is a thick fog in Fair Play this morning.  I suppose it's only right, because the valley has been socked in for days and days.  Spying the sunset last evening may be our last glimpse for awhile.  Fearless Fosdick (and who besides Kit and I would remember the old "Dick Tracy" characters?) was at his post in the barn.

My mother was a stickler for good nutrition.  The exception to the rule were the nights we had latkes, known in our family as plain potato pancakes.  I've learned they are traditionally a side dish, but on potato pancake nights, they were the main dish, in fact, the only dish.  The first company meal I ever served as a young (18-year-old) bride was potato pancakes.  The kids' dad invited three couples I'd never met and I peeled and hand-grated ten pounds of potatoes and spent the entire evening in the kitchen frying up platter after platter of potato pancakes.  Scrubbing the spuds well, leaving the skin on, and using a food processor makes the job a lot easier and, as I can attest from last night's dinner, the pancakes are every bit as good.

The last thing I spied before closing my eyes for a pre-bedtime nap was my furry lap robe.

And for those inquiring minds, I did get one wagonload of branches over to the burn pile.  It's a start.

It was a good day.