Tag: winter solstice
Happy solstice
Psychotic interludes from the NRA aside (can you imagine how much fun “Saturday Night Live” is gonna have with Wayne LaPendejo’s dreams of transforming every grade-schooler into a grenadier?), it was a pleasant solstice here in Bibleburg.
Herself’s mom is in town for the holidays, staying at The House Back East, and while they visited a local spa for expensive and superfluous purposes of beautification I took a break from chores to squeeze in a short ride.
I’m been running more lately, so a bit of load-bearing exercise made for a nice change of pace. It was chilly, so long sleeves and leg warmers were the uniform of the day. And fenders were a must, as there is some water on the deck; also caution, thanks to a bit of ice in shady spots.
The weaponry I left at home, even though my route took me past two schools, which thanks to LaPendejo have been exposed as exemplars of the Pussification of America and thus low-hanging fruit for the zombie slaves of Hollywood who would perforate us all in a nanosecond were it not for the eternal vigilance of the NRA (bonus Internet joke: Q. How many NRA members does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A. More guns).
But I kept the rubber side down, and nobody drew down on me, so it was all good.
Now I’m enjoying a glass of wine, getting set to feed the Pigeons (har har) and thinking about how early I have to get up the next two days. Just shoot me.
Happy solstice
Oboy, oboy, the days are gonna start getting longer … although some of them lately have seemed almost interminable.
Roofwork. Insulation. Tree removal and transplantation. The rewiring of the house in order to keep hair dryers from punking computers, DSL modems and productivity. A woeful lack of exercise as a certain fat bastard makes himself available for oversight. Oh, the humanity.
Happily, all projects save repairs to our gutters should be complete by this time tomorrow afternoon, and peace will reign in Chez Dog once again — until Friday, when we commence a massive cookery project to feed family during a delayed solstice celebration on Saturday (some folks call this “Christmas”).
It has been my practice to whip up some weirdo feast — a massive New Mexican meal, chicken cacciatore, just about anything other than turkey with all the trimmings. But this year, it’s the bird, goddamnit, ’scuse me, with mashed Yukon Gold potatoes, giblet gravy, stuffing, a green salad, raspberry cobbler, the works. The only semi-oddball on the menu is a side dish, stir-fried succotash with edamame, from “Recipes for Health” by Martha Rose Shulman.
Anyway, the dinner is secondary. I want the leftovers. Turkey sandwiches, turkey hash, turkey soup, turkey enchiladas — yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Yum, yum, gimme some.
Come Near Year’s, I should weigh slightly more than Jon Kyle’s bruised and swollen ego and slightly less than Lindsey Graham’s ass-kissing lips.
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