Rambling

The trash disposal company threw me a curve ball.  Some time back, they sent a notice "offering" those handy-dandy new trash containers with wheels and attached lids, one for trash and one for recyclables.  Those containers would be great in urban areas - just roll 'em down the driveway to the curb.  However, up here with no paved driveway and no curb, they present a problem in logistics.  The wheels and handle placement would make it very unwieldy to get into the truck.  I declined the "offer."  Then I discovered it wasn't an offer, the change was mandatory.  Crum.  My solution was to leave the containers down at the big road and haul my trash and stuff down in bags; maybe not the best, but it'll have to do.

Still dark this morning when I got a text from one of the Kids asking for a recipe.  "Give me a minute to find it."  I have a bookcase full of cookbooks, some professional and a number of notebooks filled with handwritten or clipped recipes collected over 50 years.  I have a visual memory, meaning I could "see" the recipe, the paper it was written on, and that it was in my handwriting.  The problem was, which notebook was it in?  Third time was the charm.  Too dark to take a picture to send, I had to laboriously type the recipe into a text message for Kid.  The things we do for our children.

Barely first light, and Helper Dude is out there splitting wood.  It's in the low 30s (my deranged phone thinks it is 41) and since I'm a wuss, HD is on his own.  I'll give the kid all the points for ambition.  'Nuff said.

Made a call to find out the procedure to get new tires on the truck.  "First come, first served."  They have the size I need (took some detection to figure that out) in stock.  "Any day better than another?"  "Don't come tomorrow, it's payday!"  Good to know.  I'm not going anywhere anyhow.

The Kids are semi-organized for Christmas.  Still one country to report in, but the consensus seems to be the day after everyone else.  Whatever works.

Low on feed last week, I was down to the bottom of the barrel where there were remnants of that awful feed that no one liked.  If Pete were starving, I'll bet he'd eat Brussels sprouts, and I had to give the girls, etc., what I had.  Eat it or go hungry, but, boy, did I get the stink-eye from the mice!  I got back in their good graces when I brought home the sweet cob.

And that, as the New York Times would say, is all the news that's fit to print.