Furnace

It was cold last night, near freezing outside, and not much better when I woke up this morning. An early riser, I usually am awake around three hours before that night owl Gary pulls himself out of bed.

This morning I was up at 5:30.  The thermostat is automatically set to go up to a higher temperature at 6:00 and yet higher at 8:00 so I didn't think much about it being chilly in the house when I came downstairs. I put on a woolly hat and a warm vest and set to work at the computer.  Rascal meowed in complaint and wanted to be on my lap but that is usual for the old guy.

It never seemed to warm up so after working a couple of hours, I checked the room thermometer and was surprised that it was only 50 degrees in this office.  Gary came down soon after to discover the furnace was out.

On a weekend, it would cost double to get a furnace repairman in, so I told Gary we could last until Monday.  We've made it almost to the end of April and we make it a rule never to run the furnace from May to October.

Soup making is one way to warm up a house so I soon had a kettle on the stove with vegetables simmering in a rich tomato broth.  It is probably the last soup of the season.  I used up last summer's tomatoes and okra in the last batch.  With today's soup I ran out of dried oregano. It's growing in the herb garden now, so tomorrow the dehydrator will be put to work.

I made a pound cake, too, which took 90 minutes in the oven and used up the eggs left over from Easter.

By noon, the temperature outside had risen and with a little passive solar energy, the sun kept the house warm for the rest of the day.

By this evening, Gary had the furnace running again, but should it conk out tonight. I'll be making banana bread in the morning.  

Surveys

There was no snow after all.  I finished the story about the 1970s early this morning, edited it and posted it at Black Coffee Fiction at http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com Take a few minutes and check it out. Then I outlined the next short story, "Love in the 1980s" which I must finish in the next two weeks. Wade and I agree that our blog is inspiring us to do better work. We've begun to select stories for a book we intend to publish by October.

But that is not what is on my mind today.

Yesterday, while I was trying to work, I was twice interrupted by pollsters.  These polls are always conducted by either the Republican Party or by Political Action Committees supporting the GOP.  I am hit with these "surveys" at least twice a week and sometimes three times asking how I intend to vote in the upcoming election to recall Wisconsin's unpopular Republican governor. These calls took over from the calls about the primary election.

Why am I hit with so many polls?
1.  If the GOP keeps polling, sooner or later they will come up with a positive response. They can use these results to convince people who think in Packer football terms that to be with the winning team, they should vote Republican.
2.  They survey this area because it is known to be conservative and the district usually goes to the GOP.
3.  I am of record as being a senior citizen and senior citizens are usually conservative, though I am not.
4.  Years ago, someone in the Methodist church turned the church directory over to the Republicans and I've never been able to shake them.  The Democrats, when asked, removed me from their list, but this is beyond the GOP.

Many of these surveys are not surveys at all. They are there to suggest things, such as do you support the governor or do you want higher taxes.  They are cleverly worded to convince people that the GOP way is the only way. As a wordsmith, I know exactly what they are doing.

I finally had enough a few weeks ago, and instead of simply hanging up, I answered the questions, but with boldfaced lies. If an actual human is asking the questions, I am a female, unless I decide to disguise my voice.  If it's an automated call, I have even more fun.

So far, I have been a young mother with progressive ideas, an unemployed African American male, a 22 year old Hispanic male who was a retired shop steward, and a few others.  Today, I made a mistake.  I was a 17 year old male college student and just like that, the interviewer hung up.  Obviously, I couldn't vote.

I've never been able to say I was going to vote for Walker however.  Just couldn't do it.  I usually throw in some other name entirely.

Now I look forward to the next survey call, and even scribble down ideas of who I should be the next time. A concerned cat owner?  A devoted party member?  A drunk driver who wants a ticket fixed?

The GOP wants to waste my time.  Why not mess with them?

Cold, Rainy Day

After weeks of unseasonable weather, we seem to be going back to a cold Wisconsin spring.  No gardening for me and probably won't be for several days because snow is forecast.

When I woke up this morning, I first checked the stats to see who had been reading this blog overnight and found that even as I was reading, eleven Russians were on line.  Other than Americans, Russians are my best audience, followed by Germans.

As I had my cappuccino, I went over to my other blog, Black Coffee Fiction, and found Russians there, too.  I like to think of people around the world checking on my life and on my writing, but I always wonder: who are you people?

After breakfast, I set to work. All this week, while gardening, walking and swimming, I've been thinking about my latest short story.  Though some might think of it as procrastinating when I don't start writing, I know that the time I spend mulling ideas in my mind is part of a process that can't be rushed.  When I sat down in front of the computer this morning, I was more than ready. In less than two hours, I had my story in rough draft, almost to the point of publishing.

I showed it to Wade this afternoon, and he liked the story, thought it very funny, but said it still needs some 1970's touches.  We thought of some, talked about revisions and changed the name of a cat.

Tonight, I am looking at photo albums from the 1970's and thinking of things I can add to the story. Tomorrow morning, I'll finish the story and publish it at noon.

Then there will nothing else to do but look at the snow. 

Ready for May First

In France, the lily of the valley is given to friends and family on the first day of May 1st as a "porte-bonheur" or a good luck charm.

Every May First, I've thought how charming it would be to give a porte-bonheur to everyone I knew, but this is Wisconsin, which means the lilies of the valley never open up until mid-May.

When I was in grade school, we made up little paper baskets and filled them with any wildflowers we could find, hang them on neighbors' door knobs, knock and run away. I don't think children do that any more either though one of the high school teachers (as it happens he's my cousin) has his students start petunia plants and on a warm spring day, the neighboring gardeners find them on their steps.

This has been an unusually warm spring.  When I was checking a bed of vinca that Gary and I plan on transplanting to other locations, I found some lilies of the valley in bud.

With almost two weeks to go to May First, I know that this year my friends will all receive a good luck charm.  Good things will happen to all of us in 2012!

A Day in the Gardens

Gary said this afternoon that he is finally seeing the gardens take shape.  After two rainy days I could get back to work.  Today's task was clearing the rock garden, taking out old leaves and digging up spring weeds.  It meant leaning over and using a lot of muscle yanking out grass and creeping charlie.  I will feel that on my back tonight.  

 
All around me, the sweet scent of the apple tree, the lilac bushes, and the hyacinths, unbelievable in April.  The cardinal has been singing his territorial song, big time. He starts with a long whistle, then short ones. I imitate him, but add one extra short whistle.  He returns with another short whistle.  We've gotten as far as eight short whistles before one of us quits.

Meanwhile, I mentally write my next short story.  It is taking shape in my mind.  There will be three cats in it, so I should take inspiration from Rascal but unfortunately, he has no intention of being my muse.  He slept the afternoon away in his bed at the office window in what looked like the most uncomfortable position possible.

Gary is working on the camper because we plan on heading up north to Boulder Lake as soon as the weatherman can string together three days without rain.

I'll have that short story written by then.

Margaret

I first met Rosalia Gierszewski, a 19th century immigrant from Eastern Europe, in a barn at Kirwee, South Island, New Zealand.  No, she hadn't lived over two hundred years.  She had been re-created by a great-great-great (not sure how many greats) niece, Margaret Copland. I was blown away by Margaret's performance and we became friends forthwith.

Margaret is a re-enactor, bringing New Zealand history to life through her ancestors and historical figures. She carefully researched their lives, wore period costumes, and had their accents down pat..

She usually performed at a hotel in Christchurch for Grand Circle and Elderhostel tourists fresh off cruise ships.  I watched as she wowed them with Sarah Stokes, her great-great-great (not sure how many greats) grandmother, who came to New Zealand from England, giving birth on the long voyage. Other characters were Mabel Howard, the first female member of the legislature, Charlotte, a little girl, Katarzyna Gierszewski, another ancestor, and even a nun.

Then the earthquakes hit Christchurch, destroying much of it, including hotels and the historical buildings.  Tourist bookings fell to almost nothing.  Last week, Margaret had her final booking to talk to a small group of tourists.There will be no more. She has decided to retire.

On May 12, she and her friends are celebrating her retirement by having a sort of wake for all those historical characters. The guests will come in period costumes, but must dress modestly.  No ankles will be shown.  Gentlemen will wear dark arm bands. Salt meat and pease porridge will be served in honor of the Randolph, the ship that brought Sarah to New Zealand.

I've traveled with Margaret from time to time.  I drove her across the United States to performances and festivals, and she drove me around New Zealand for my own performances.  We explored each other's countries and had a joyous time doing so.  We each dream of getting rich so we can do so again but with the world wide recession and earthquakes in New Zealand, there no longer is enough storytelling work to pay our ways.

Every time Gary and I go canoeing, I tell him how much Margaret and her husband Jim would love to be with us. We watch the New Zealand news on the internet.  But will we ever meet again?  I hope so. 

Sunday blues

In the middle of church services, I began feeling dizzy.  I took off my choir robe to cool myself off and recovered enough to play the piano for the anthem and offertory.  I got through the service fine after that.

After church, I came home to Gary's Sunday dinner, delicious as always, but then I went to bed for a three hour nap.  I woke up with a headache and more faintness. Because at my age, you never know about dizziness, I took my blood pressure but it was normal, as was my temperature.  So it wasn't a stroke, wasn't the flu, and probably not a cold.

So what is wrong with me?  Same old thing, my spring ague, an allergy.  We had a lovely rain last night but it stirred up last year's leaves and that brought up mold. I get an attack or two every spring.  Nothing new.

We're going to have rain on and off for the next week, so I can expect more of the same.  I found my allergy tablets, stored away for the past year.  The expiration date shows they are good until 2013, so I will be fine from now on.

Gary took me for a drive in the country once I was feeling better, so the day wasn't a total loss.

Tomorrow, it's back to gardening and writing.