Advice

As an older person, I am often tempted to give young folks advice, so that they may benefit from my many years of experience (mistakes, I mean). Even though I know that people can't learn from others' mistakes, and have to go out and make their own versions. I know this because I was never able to learn from my parents' advice (which explains a lot about some early boyfriends).

It's sad. That's why human civilization is stalled, struggling with the same issues, generation after generation. Sigh.

But if I were to give advice, it would go like this:

Never buy a horse named Nipper.

Never pick the puppy called Crybaby.

Don't take the cat named Shit Cat.

There.

What advice do you have to offer the world?

Down, inner gardener!

Just as I was coming back to life with all kinds of projects and garden plans, an arctic system has dumped a foot of snow and sent temperatures plummeting.

So it's back to winter mode, stoking the fire and reading and NOT thinking about spring. That's right, I'm NOT thinking about spring. Furiously. Take that, winter.

I made the rounds, feeding and watering everybody, and hauled a wagon of wood in. That's it for work today.

I signed up for a free trial of Hulu TV, lured by the promise of D.I.Y. shows. We don't have enough wifi bandwidth, though. I'm frustrated by the pauses in every show (though the commercials seem to play perfectly) and by what passes for entertainment these days. It's really gone downhill. I used to watch HGTV, and enjoyed visiting artists' funky houses, and watching D.I.Y. shows that explained how to do all kinds of home projects – laying and refinishing wood floors, designing gardens, building furniture and so forth. Now it's all "reality" competitions that pit teams of attention-starved designers against each other. Oh! the fake drama! The judges are realtors (I refuse to capitalize that word), and the highest appraisal (all hail, almighty dollar!) is the only criteria. Dumpsters are filled – nobody recycles anything. There is crying and bitchiness. Ack. Every interior looks the same (grey is apparently the only color anybody paints anything, including children's rooms), and the women all have horrible Valley Girl voices, or maybe adenoid problems. Homeowners don't do any of their own work. And a big feature is made of "demo day," with dumbasses smashing walls with sledgehammers and howling like drunken fans at sports events.

TV has become (even more) profoundly stupid. Who would have thought it was possible?

Sheesh. I sound like an old person.

So it's back to the bookshelf, until spring, anyway.

Keep warm!

February is the longest month

Spring is just around the corner. The corner way, way down over there. I can almost see it. Just on the other side of that pile of snow...

C. started onion seeds, and they've popped up in their skinny glory. They are Dakota Tears, from Fedco, and good keepers. We had storage problems with our usual varieties over the winter, so we're trying this one.

The wire is to ward off mice, who like to decapitate a whole flat of seedlings at a time.

Come May, C. will be humped up over the onion bed, poking these little guys into the soil. Kind of like doing a hair implant.

The kids have been up several times lately, and Liam has been happy and engaged, making lots of eye contact with his old grandmas, and having fun. We've finally figured out his sense of humor, and make him laugh and laugh. We try to stop before he barfs.

What a great kid!

I've been working on my income taxes, which is a huge and ugly undertaking. This is my first year as a disabled person, and I am struggling with the rules, the forms, the tables, and the obfuscation of any kind of sense behind the thing. I may need professional help. And therapy, afterward.

It's chilly – I think the building has finally internalized the cold, so it takes a long time to warm the old heap of bricks.

Come on, spring!

Feeling worse

Still have the bloody cold. Coughing. Watching TV. Reading. Whining. That's pretty much it.

Lo.