Icicles

This morning there's a row of icicles hanging from the eaves.  I suspect that the conditions that form icicles aren't good for roofs and gutters but I like them anyway--and my Menopausal Goddess mobile sculpture likes them too.

I went over to visit Henny & Penny yesterday and see if they'd laid any eggs.  Henny had, not Penny though.  See?  They're not so enthusiastic about laying in the winter and I can't say as I blame them.  I had to knock some of the snow off the plastic chicken wire that's stapled over the top of their coop and of course I knocked it right over the peels and leaves I'd just scattered for them.  Tsk.  I also stamped a path around the coop so that they didn't have to break trail all the way.

I found out on Friday that the problem I was having with the snowblower not running smoothly was because of the ethanol in the gas I was using.  No one even hinted that I might not want to use Regular gas!  How's a girl supposed to know this stuff if no one tells her?  The small engine guy told me to pour the rest of the can of gas into my car when I asked how I was supposed to get rid of it (d'oh) and siphon out what was in the gas tank using a dollar store turkey baster (oh, no, I'm not messing around with that) or buy a bottle of gas Magic that'd maybe take care of the problem.  I opted for the gas Magic.  I'll gladly do a lot of messy things but you won't catch me standing in the driveway with a baster sucking gasoline out of the snowblower and squirting it into the car.  That is one recipe for disaster--and ruined boots and clothes, not to mention having gas running down Beverly's side and the driveway.  No thanks.  A quarter ounce of the Magic elixir in the snowblower gas tank worked just fine.  I was able to clear the double driveway with minimal surging and no snub-outs.  *nods in satisfaction*

In searching for a recipe for... something, I had to register for a couple of recipe sites and the "recipe of the day" one day was Orange Date quick bread.  Oh, mama.  I knew I had a few dates rattling around in the cupboard (of course not the cup called for so I slapped in a few golden raisins) and we always have oranges (since Durwood and I split one after supper ever night) so I just finished stirring it together and it's baking even as we speak.  I can hardly wait until it's done and I can eat it.  I just know it'll be awesome; it's somebody's Grandma Marilyn's recipe.  I'll report.  (once my mouth is empty)

February 24--Bali, Container, Powder Charge.  In the package there was a row of eight small ivory cylinders with embossed silver tops and linked by a fine chain.  Julia gave them to him as a gift for his fifty-eighth birthday.  He unwrapped the fitted silk pouch.  "What do I do with them?"  She smiled at him.  "They're to keep your powder dry."  He laughed and swept her onto his lap.  Together they uncapped each cylinder.  Into each one she had put a small gift: a pair of gold and cinnabar cuff links, a strip of sheepskin that held three very special dry flies, a talisman medal from a shrine in Peru, a gold nugget watch fob, a silver doubloon from the Nuestra Senora de Atocha, a carved seed from Palau, a diamond tie tack, and, in the last one, a tiny gold key on a red satin ribbon.

Hmm, an interesting collection of things.  I wonder what they mean.  What does the key open?  Beats me.  Maybe I'll find out when I'm writing tonight.  Don't touch that dial.
--Barbara