Rites of Spring

I’m sure where you are it’s beginning to look all delightfully springy and shit, but here, we’ve been blessed with a weekend of ice storms, and please don’t hate me for saying this, but I kind of missed it, especially when I spent Saturday night all snuggled up in front of the woodstove with a sleeping dog in my lap watching Gone Baby Gone (which, by the way, was outstanding, but what’s the point in discussing it, as I am the last person on earth to see it?).

By the way, after Thursday’s meltdown, I had a great couple of days and now honestly uh, welcome to my mood swings? This weekend, I felt like I was BORN to live in new places and was contemplating our next move, because I love adventure! And Vermont! And more adventure and unfamiliarity! Stay tuned for the next hormonal dip, for it promises to be utterly delightful.

God, this is all such a wordy way of recommending the best boots ever, and what have very likely gotten me through this brief spell of winter: the Ugg Bandon. Now look, I KNOW they’re ugly, and I know they’re expensive, but my God, I have trekked through giant drifts and windstorms without fear and my feet have stayed WARM. And what might be sadder is that I think they’re the most I’ve spent on any shoe, ever (pity me) and they’re astonishingly hideous and a little too practical. But did I mention there were ice storms today? And that right now, as I sit here typing to you, it is FIFTEEN DEGREES outside? And yet: my feet are warm and dry, and I’ve walked the dog three times. That’s all I’m saying.

Speaking of cold, I’d like to issue a warm PSA of thanks to the good citizens of Vermont, for we’ve had to rely on two of them in the last seven days to jump start our vehicle, because my husband — TWICE, IN ONE WEEK — left the lights on in my car, rendering our battery dead as a smushed fly, which left us to wander around a (TWELVE DEGREE) parking lot until we found someone kind enough to help us.

Also! Also! If y’all are ever in a situation where you need gas, nightcrawlers and say, the weapon of your choice, I’ve found the place for you — yes, I filled up today at a combination gas station/tackle shop/gun store with a giant sign in the window, “Serve your country: buy a gun.” While I’m not an NRA member, I’m not necessarily anti-gun, either (surprise!), but really, I’m not sure how buying a Walther with my nightcrawlers and diesel really serves my country, you know?

If you didn’t know, Vermont has some of the most lax gun laws in the United States, despite having one of the lowest crime rates in the country. But uh, if you need an uzi to commit a crime elsewhere, we’re your guy!

There also seems to be a disproportionate amount of taxidermists, which always mystifies me. Are there that many people who want to immortalize their pets and farm animals? What is the POINT of taxidermy, exactly, other than to do as one house I pass fairly regularly has done, which is to uh, preserve and pose a grown horse — complete with horse blanket — in a lifelike position, as if snacking on some clover. It took me ten drive-bys to realize that hey, um, that horse is in the same position it was this morning! And five minutes ago! AND HEY THAT HORSE IS STUFFED.

(Why?)

And finally, I have to tell you that yes, my house is perfect and cozy and it’s everything I would have wanted if I had the choice of creating it myself, honestly. It’s an 1870s farmhouse on several acres and I have a creek in my backyard! A whole creek! But … but …

I don’t have a dishwasher. And really this is fine … sort of. When Adam came to see it, he didn’t notice, and I forgot to ask and now here we are with no dishwasher and no garbage disposal and NO SPRAY NOZZLE (of all the things, I miss the spray nozzle the most) and while it hasn’t been that bad so far — really, I don’t mind washing the dishes by hand, it’s not that– I have officially reached true understanding of the meaning of dishpan hands from immersing them in the hottest water I can stand because I’m afraid of germs and have instead opted to boil my fingers off. You see, I am REALLY afraid of germs. And raw chicken. And salmonella. And did I mention germs? Non-dishwasher-havers: what do you do? How do I clean RAW CHICKEN THINGS while assuring that they are, in fact, SANITIZED? (I’m sounding like a crazy person, with this raw chicken thing, I know) And what about the whole SPONGE THING, where your toilet is supposedly cleaner than your average kitchen sponge? Should I be dipping my silverware in the toilet first?

HELP. I’m staying up nights imagining giant pools of salmonella collecting on my dishware. There must be a solution for this or at least something I can do to ease my addled, germy mind.

And hey, happy Monday! And wish my friend TwoBusy one, too, for it promises to be a bitch for him, and warm fuzzies are always helpful (Shut up, TB, SHUT UP. THEY HELP.)

*The Bravery

38 comments March 9th, 2008