this happened. The young Barbara and the pretty darned young Durwood got married in a hotel banquet room in front of 12 friends and family (and one wedding crasher) by a judge eager to dodge his wife's Saturday to-do list. I have to admit, I still like the guy. We've had a lot of adventures, seen quite a bit of the world (both above and below the water), and held onto each other through thick and thin. We've raised two children to productive adulthood and modeled a good marriage that it seems both of them have emulated. That may be what we're most proud of. Life hasn't always been easy and it still presents us with challenges on a regular basis but we're in it together, determined to be each others' best cheerleader, and willing to hold the other one up when life gets too scary or heavy. Mom was convinced that I was making the biggest mistake of my young life by hitching my wagon to Durwood's star but she was wrong and, to give credit where credit is due, she ate a satisfying amount of crow from the time the ink was dry on our marriage license up to the day she died. And I never said, "I told you so" (okay, I did but I always smiled when I said it) or at least never held her initial misgivings against her.
We had a little cookie bake yesterday. I found an icebox butter cookie recipe on Taste of Home that were the perfect canvas for sprinkles and colored sugars. The decorating was more enthusiastic than precise but they're colorful and they taste great. F.Y.I.--this is not a good recipe for rolling and cutting out; it's more of a shortbread-type dough meant to be rolled into logs, chilled, sliced, and baked. I do believe that it will become part of the "have to bake" Christmas line-up.
I gave my right hand a break yesterday and today and knitted on Anklet #5 instead of tackling the Mitten Badger. I've been crocheting so intensely for the last couple weeks that my hand is aching. I suspect that I'll be unable to resist starting the badger tonight. I'm eager to have the last animal complete so I can knit the mitten and cross that off the (very short) "make for Christmas gifts" list.
We woke up to softly falling snow this morning and it has snowed steadily all day. If you watched the Packer game on TV I'm sure you saw how slippery it's been all day too. I tippy-toed out to my car and was extra careful as I DO NOT want a repeat of my antics of April Fool's Day. Not breaking anything any more, except for a fingernail now and again. I was disappointed that there wasn't a flyover at the start of the football game today even though I was out there in plenty of time with my camera at the ready. I suspected that the ceiling was just too low for the fighters to fly by safely. The funny thing is when I was out filling the feeders about 3 o'clock yesterday afternoon three big black jets flew by, very low and very loud, making a practice run. Of course I didn't have my camera and would have been too late if I did. Durwood said that maybe they filmed it and would just show it on the Jumbotrons. I didn't think so but I did hear something that sounded like a cannon shot just after the end of the national anthem (yeah, sometimes I can hear that all the way over here--okay, it's a mile, not very "all the way"), so maybe they have a snowy day contingency plan.
A squirrel has discovered that it can leap from the birdbath to the suet feeder, the little glutton. *sigh* Good thing I bought a 12-pack of suet cakes, huh?
December 4--George White, Summer's Children. Tally and James stood in the shallow pond, bent at the waist, and peering at the tiny silver minnows darting around their feet. "Do you see any tadpoles?" James asked. Tally slid nearer to the downed tree on the edge. "Maybe they're hiding around here. I saw a heron about here the other day spearing fish. It might have been looking for frogs too." James moved slowly into the shade. "I need tadpoles for my aquarium. I want to watch them turn into frogs." Tally laughed. "Just keep Roger away from them. You know he'll catch them and leave their bodies on the rug for Mom to find." James shoved her arm. "Quit picking on Roger. Just because he ate your chicks doesn't mean he's bad. He's a cat, cats catch birds." He bent over to swirl his net under the log and held it up to examine his catch.
We're going to skip the Barbershoppers' concert tonight. It's cold, damp, and slippery out there, not good for Durwood's breathing or my footing. We'll hum Jingle Bells and be done with it. Happy St. Barbara's Day. (really, look it up)