Saturdays around here are terribly busy. Today was different. Our plans are to lay low and perhaps do odds and ends. If your the woman of the home, or homemaker, then you know that there is always something to do.
The reason we aren't venturing out as planned, is the wind. It is horrendous out there. Last night we enjoyed a fabulous meal by the fire, at an old tavern where the atmosphere and service were second to none.
I had learned during the day that my brother was recouping from his overnight stay at the local hospital in the ICU, on a regimen of pills and, having had tests to determine the cause of his distress, was due to go home. I'm sure it was and still is, a little concerning for the entire family.
Then, on our way to dinner, I heard my little grandson was just returning from the doctor's. An infant of five months, running a temperature, is always worrisome. His mom is a nurse and recognizing the signs of infection, took action immediately. Possibly pneumonia with developing ear infections.
We certainly needed a night to veg out. The evening was dark and eerie looking, not a star in the sky. We kept seeing flashes but really didn't know where they were coming from. Once seated, we learned by a loud clap of thunder, that we were going to be entertained by a storm in February. As we entered the building, we remarked that it was a good thing we had worn our boots, as there was water everywhere from the melting snow banks. The amount of snow shovelled on the piles were so tall, that you felt you were going through a tunnel.
Dark no more as the lightening brightened the room, in contrast to the roaring fire, in the fireplace. Two fiddler's banged out tunes that warmed the heart along with the Samuel Adams Light Ale that we were drinking, and our cornbread, which was wrapped in a black linen napkin, which held a fancy butter knife and homemade butter.
Along came some of the best cream of mushroom soup that I ever tasted. And, before you knew it, we were slicing up prime rib, cooked to perfection, using our famous Russell Harrington/Dexter steak knives. The other utensils were in tune with the 1800 setting, which permeated the room. The fork was two prong and very sharp. Instead of a spoon a dull flat edged knive was to scoop up the mashed potatoes and squash carrot veggie of the day. Wall sconces, dimly lit, were probably fashioned right there in the village tin shop .
I'm very sure the butter was made there, possibly at the Freeman farm. It was dark yellow, rich and tasty. Coffee in an old styled mug hit the spot with a sinful dark chocolate cheese cake with chopped nuts, and vanilla ice cream.
The evening was still mild when we left, 49 degrees which would be temporary, as predictions for cold and wind were imminent. I thought I was dreaming, wearing a fall pink jacket in February. As we approached the driveway all was calm. Of course, I had my doggy bag in hand and noticing that we had not taken in our trash containers in, I suggested that we should.
Last night I woke to hear howling winds, and a trash container rolling around. It was around three o'clock. Since it kept me up, I was tempted to go out and retrieve it. Na....it would have to wait until morning. Come morning, I peeked out of the window, and there it sat (empty) in the middle of the road. Now, before the neighbors woke up and had to move it, it was quickly taken care of. Unlike last time that the winds took it for a ride, I did not have to pick up the spilled contents from neighbor's yards, during an a nor'eastern, blistery snow storm.
Things change faster than you can bat an eye, here in New England. But, this is ridiculous. We have had the most unusual weather patterns lately. Somehow, when the groundhog did not see his shadow, and an early spring was predicted, no-one could believe it because of the high mounds of snow and ice-packed gutters, which for the most part are seemingly melting at record speed. Two days ago, a friend told me she had seen her tree starting to produce buds. I didn't question it as my tiny red Japanese Maple, had sprouted red branches which also were developing bumps, which I observe to be the start of tiny leaves, just as my house plants...
Spring is in the air. The signs are visible for those who look for it. Today was the camping show in Springfield....let the dreaming begin. Tomorrow in Worcester, out come the Monster trucks. Soon enough, little Nathan will be showing off his newly learned swimming skills at the lake, where his brother Ryan, will experience the water for the first time.
First though, we will have to clean up the mess from this horrible wind, which has blown my neighbors shingles all over our yard. C' est la vie -- is what my mother used to say all the time. It means in French "such is life."
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