It’s a lazy, cold, snowy January day in Indiana. I think the temperature is around 18F, and who knows how cold with the wind chill. It’s the perfect day to catch up laundry and cook. Or write. Or just sit.
I bundled up mid morning, and filled the feeder and suet cake holders. Since then, I’ve stripped the bed and washed the bedclothes, fixed a late breakfast, and shooed the damn starlings away from the feeder. Nasty birds, they run all the other birds off and clean your feeders out, all the while shitting all over them.
Currently, there’s a Red-Bellied Woodpecker taking turns with a few Downy and Hairy woodpeckers at the suet cakes. (I need to buy more, the two I put out are the last I had). Earlier, there were several Nuthatches , Tufted Titmice, Cardinals, Slate-Colored Juncos, Black-capped Chickadees, and a few Chipping Sparrows. I love watching them, binoculars in one hand, bird guide in the other, a cup of coffee growing cold as I watch the birds’ busyness.
My husband is beginning to grumble and mumble about dinner possibilities, so I’m defrosting some boneless pork loin chops. A small side salad and a potato of some sort to round out the meal.
I still have to remake the bed and clean up the kitchen, and finish three more loads of laundry in addition to the one on spin cycle at the moment.
Reruns of “Roseanne” are on, though as much as I like the show, I’d really prefer quiet. My husband is the tv watcher, not me. I will watch shows about Nature and animals, history and documentaries and music shows, a bit of weather and news. Other than that, I hate it. All that blah, blah, blah from the multitudes of talking heads that are on, seemingly 24/7, drive me up the wall.
It’s 6:49 p.m. Dinner is done, and dishes are in the dishwasher, and we’re digesting a lovely dinner of breaded, cast iron pan seared boneless pork loin chops, smothered in my homemade BBQ sauce, and finished in a vintage Pyrex baking dish in a 400F oven. Green beans, from a can, but organic from JayC’s. Macaroni and tomatoes, made by my husband, though I didn’t eat any, as I dislike them.
Our Schnauzer is lying on one of the floor registers, enjoying the heat while the furnace is on. Our Schnoodle is yodeling, (yes, she yodels), to go out or play or something. She’s quite bossy.
At 7:43, I still have to fold towels and put the blankets back on the bed, hang up my shirts to dry, get my jeans in the dryer and the last load in the washer, then the dryer. Then there’s the book I just started reading, “Portage- A Family, a Canoe, and the Search For The Good Life by Sue Leaf”. My small crochet tote rests on the coffee table, reminding me of a project needing completion, and there are two small stacks of library books on various topics I’ve yet to peruse. Never enough hours in the day.
It’s now 8:17 p.m. Late evening, I suppose. I love our evenings, so snug and cozy. Content. The floor lamp at the far end of the couch lends a warm, soft glow to the front room, casting shadows on the several blankets on the couch, part bunched into a “nest” by one of the Baby Girls, part trailing onto the floor by the other one. It’s quite peaceful and inviting. If only that darn tv wasn’t on. Still, it could be worse. Time to snuggle in on the couch for a few minutes before bedtime.