Dibs

I thought when the Kids left home my days of hearing, "Dibs!," were over.  While the word isn't actually said, the attitude is loud and clear in this house.  Celeste claims the priority spot on my lap, Bessie Anne does her best to fit on the foot rest of the recliner, and Ralph has to squeeze himself in where he can.

The desk for my computer is not really a desk, but an old vanity that Steve picked up at some yard sale.  It works for me.  The bedroom is probably the coldest room in the house (heat doesn't turn corners).  With the onset of winter, my hands would go stiff with cold on the keyboard so I recently bought a little space heater to use in the dark o' morn.  An added benefit is the warm air that blows into the kneehole over my feet.  Guess who has called dibs on that space?  Celeste may be small, but she rules, and she's a girl who likes her comfort.

Missy appears to have settled into her spot in the barn.  She ate everything I put down for her again.  I truly hope I haven't stolen someone's pet cat, but she seems to have made her choice.  The goats are just going to have to adapt.

I think Stove was a little embarrassed that I tattled on him and he did a much better job yesterday.  The rain and wind had stopped by daybreak, but it was a cold, cold day.  Comfort food was in order so I made meatloaf for dinner, a lot of dinners, in fact.  Some time back, I started making mini-meatloaves instead of one large loaf and bake, package and freeze them separately.  It's very nice to pull out a ready-to-heat meal and not have to dirty more dishes or pans.

If my black eye were the United States, the bruise is headed toward Guatemala.  Fortunately, it's losing color as it goes.  I try to kid myself that it's not noticeable, but the checker's reaction at the store the other day told me that's not so.  "You should see the other guy," was all I could say.