Ocean 18

Many many people have asked me over the years about the hows and whys of my blogging. Those would be the bolder friends and/or readers. Others shy away from the whole topic, not wanting to seem rude in questioning my sanity. But if you've been friends with me for a while, sooner or later you'll have bumped into me and my blog, whether you like it or not. Oh, I loved that photo you sent me from your trip to Saskatchewan! -- I'll say. And the friend will respond -- oh thanks, you should send me a photo of your daylilies! And I'll want to say -- but, but you can see a million photos of my daylilies on Ocean. But I wont say it. I'll actually go ahead and email a photo of my summer daylilies, because I wont want to put them on the spot and have them admit that they think the whole idea of a long term daily blog is, well, nuts. Putting up a video of a cat chasing a chicken, or more likely a chicken chasing a cat -- now that would be funny. But why start a blog when you turn 50 and keep it going through age 68 and maybe longer? Nuts.

So, why keep going? Oh, so many reasons! There is no single right answer here. But here's one reason that comes straight out of this day: when shit happens, rather than throwing a fit, I think to myself: well, at least the day has offered me a topic for my Ocean post today! And I smile. So, reason number 592: it brings down the temperature in the room a bit when things go haywire and allows me to take a pause and possibly even find the humor in the mess that's before me.

On January 2nd, eighteen years ago today, I began this project. Blogging every day. I'm still at it.

But wait. Did I just use crude language a minute ago? Have I strayed from family friendly protocols? Am I going for mass audience appeal? What's with the shit?

Let's backtrack.

It's a really cold day. When I come down (at a pleasantly late hour), my phone tells me it's 6F (-15C) outside. Still, the sun is out, the fresh snow is pretty, life is good.

Ed is still sleeping so I cut myself a slice of panettone number 2, this one with added orange peel. Panettone really grows on you! As a total splurge, I bought two for us because I could not decide which one sounded better and the Christmas one is long gone. We're working on the New Year's Day one now.

And the fragrance must have wafted up to the bedroom, because before I took my first bite, Ed was there, sitting at the table across from me.

We debated whether the snowfall calls for blowing it out with a blower. We were at the edge of a storm system and we got only about two fresh inches of new snow, but these small amounts have been building up. So he blows outside, and we vacuum inside, and all this is terribly tedious and dull and I propose we go out there and enjoy the sunshine on the trails! 

But first, let me put away some odd Christmas stuff. Down to the basement I go. Uff, what's that smell? Holy crap. Our septic drain has backed up again and our basement is flooded with all that should be flushed and washed into the septic tank. 

It's not the first time. We have old underground pipes that aren't perfectly joined and our curly willow routinely sends roots up through them blocking the flow of... well, crap. Switching toilet papers to ones that actually do dissolve in water (most do not) helped. We haven't seen Greg with his Honey Truck since before Covid.

Ed calls him now. The guy's got the flu. Or at least he says he has the flu. Ed hangs up and calls Home Depot to figure out how to rent equipment to do the job himself. But Greg calls back and says really, he is up for the job, it's "just the flu" and he was tested. 

I of course trust none of this (I am the Covid police around here because no one else feels like reading every piece of science out there on transmission), but we have great masks, the basement is reached only through the mudroom, Greg, too, will wear a mask and be in and out of here in ten minutes. 

So this is our afternoon: sitting in a freezing living room (we open all the windows and turn down the thermostat to some ridiculously low temp), feeling grateful that someone came here on a Sunday to make the sewage flow out of the house again.

And then we do ski, though it's on the late side of the afternoon. 

 

 

 

The shadows are long. But pretty!

The young family is spending time with Juniper and Primrose today and so Ed and I sit down to a quiet Sunday dinner for just the two of us. In front of the TV no less, because we are hooked on Maid and I want to see the final three episodes. She better not go back to that jerk -- I say as I spear the horseradish crusted fish on my plate.

Eighteen years ago my evening would have ended without thought to a post or photo editing. I may have sat down to a jigsaw puzzle or picked up my kindle and logged in another book. My day will have passed without any more attention to it or more appreciation for its finer moments. Maybe I'd be in the thick of another book project. Who can tell. Idle speculation. What I know is that right now I have one hour and forty five minutes until midnight and I better get to those photos soon before I fall asleep after all the skiing and after a glass of leftover champagne. Remarkable how long those bubbles can last!