Monday, February 22, 2016




February 22, 2016 - Monday
18 degrees/snow/calm winds
Pentoga Road

So much for my nice, clean, driveway. We're back into the inch-a-day cycle now where it seems to snow with no effort at all. 



Oh well, we saw bare pavement for two days in a row, a record for this time of year on Pentoga Road.



I developed an old-fashioned stomach ache early yesterday morning, similar to those I occasionally had as a young boy. As Dad used to say, "An old-fashioned belly ache."

My philosophy on illness is, basically, to ignore it at all costs. I abhor whiners, those that when asked the rhetorical question, "how are you," take that as an excuse to spout off their medical history from birth.  With that in mind, I strapped on my hiking boots and walked the usual three miles. That didn't help my belly ache. In fact, each step felt as though I was trudging through knee deep water.

Once home, I scraped a bit of new snow from the drive, then headed to the basement. Since the furnace man will be coming this week, we want him to think that dark hole under our house, the place where things go bump in the night, is always clean and orderly. Doesn't everyone keep their century-old basement that way?

While in the depths of the house, I managed to do two loads of laundry. No sense of the man tripping over dirty clothes on his way to the furnace.

I'd had it. By noon, my belly was still hurting and if you'd have asked how I was, I probably would have given you my entire medical history from birth. I filled the wood stove then flopped in Sargie's recliner and fell asleep... for three hours.

I don't know what that was all about, but I awakened late in the afternoon feeling just fine and full of energy. Maybe it was a bug or that I was simply tired from last week's trip. Whatever, it left while I slept the afternoon away.

Because I had a belly ache earlier in the day didn't mean I wasn't starving by supper time. We had the end of the winter squash and some pork loin that I'd smoked last fall, then frozen. I hate to see our squash come to an end, but it has stored quite well. I wanted to take some to the sisters-in-law two weeks ago and found most of the fruits turning black. Now we'll have to wait until next year to begin eating it again.

Cut into sections and hollowed out, the squash is baked until the flesh becomes soft, then scraped out and mashed.
I slept like a rock last night, not waking until 7 this morning, the equivalent of almost noon for me.

Sargie works today. I'm going to call the furnace repair people, then head out to the shop and begin work on my fourth strawberry planter. If it ever stops snowing, I'll take the time to scrape the drive... again. 

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

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