Down for the count

The house is quiet.  I have the blanket covering me and my trusty laptop balanced on my knees.  The cat is sleeping on my legs, curled into a purring striped furry bundle of assuring warmth.  Below my feet Rumbeau is softly snoring and the sound makes me smile.  And Allie is having a fitful sleep again, flipping her paws in sync with her whistling tea kettle whimper.  I debate on whether to wake her if for no other reason than to save my ears from being stuffed with either cotton or my fingers to muffle the sound.

Sam is away this week, gone on his annual hunting trip.  I have the house to myself and I am blissfully aware of just how much I do enjoy this time.  My time.  I've been sick all week, fighting another bout of walking pneumonia since last Thursday.  Spent five days flat on my back, giving my body the rest it needs...bored out of my mind.  Daytime television programming can be tolerated only so long.  Returned to work Wednesday morning and felt okay until I started fading around 1 p.m.  I lasted until 3 p.m. before calling it a day.  Board meeting last night so I didn't go to the office until Noon yesterday, but my boss sent me home at 3 so I could get a quick nap before the meeting.  Presented the new budget for Board approval so I needed to be available in case of questions.  None came up, but I feel I just stumbled through my financial report.  Not happy with that.  Felt disconnected...probably from fatigue and medication.

Haven't written much about baby D; it seems each time I see her she's learned a new word or animal sound, although she's perfectly content chatting in her own personal babble.  That's what I enjoy the most, those moments when she's engaged in some carefree dialogue with herself, speaking, moving, tilting her head this way and that, then stopping to cast those deep baby blues right through my heart and soul.  Her present vocabulary includes Dada (her favorite word), Mama, bunny, and another word that might be her attempt to say her Mom's given name...hard to tell. 

D experienced the fair last month with her Mom and Dad, who reported she fears nothing.  Without hesitation she headed straight for the petting zoo and in no time had a goat by the horns.  I've got a few pictures and there's one of her standing next to a little white pony about her size...such sweetness.  She loves books and having someone read to her.  Last time Sam and I visited, I spent the entire time interacting with her.  The sense of peace I found sitting on the floor with my back against the couch watching her travel back and forth between me and her book shelf is immeasurable.  Several trips later, satisfied with her amassed literary findings, she crawled onto my lap and unceremoniously thrust one book after another in my face.  Priceless.

Wonder what she's going to be for Halloween this year; last year she was a soft white bunny with long floppy ears.  :)

I've been craving Italian food lately and maybe tonight I'll treat myself to something special.  Sam should be home tomorrow morning and if the guys got something everyone will gather at Bill's home to cut, package and divide the meat between all the families.  Never was much of a supporter of hunting, having grown up in LA where hunting was as much a part of daily life as a quiet walk in secluded woods.  I grew up on Bambi and associated hunters with the scene where Bambi's Mom is shot, a way of thinking that stayed with me throughout my adult years...until I met Sam.  He didn't fit the stereotypical hunter out for the sake of bagging a prize trophy; hunting is a means to feed his family.  The first time I accompanied him on a hunt it was obvious to both of us by the end of the day that hunting was not my thing.  90% of the time was spent hiking the rocky mountain terrain and I complained the entire time: my feet hurt, this rifle's too heavy, I have to stop for a break.  Just before dusk we jumped two does and within seconds Sam had the stock of his rifle pressed against his cheek and bamm!  All I could do was stand there, frozen, mouth agape; I don't have the killer instinct...no surprise there.  The only shooting I'll do is with a camera.  At the cabin later that night, I stood outside on the porch, filled with a sense of eerie unrest, gazing at the doe's carcass hanging from a nearby tree.  I felt compelled to thank her spirit for providing the family with another year of food, and only after doing so did I feel balanced again.  It's something I do every year when the guys return with an animal that will soon be served on my table.  About half the meat is ground into burger, some is set aside for jerky, some becomes steak and we always can a couple dozen jars with beef bouillon and onion flakes.  Canned deer meat loses that gamy taste, is similar to canned tuna in texture and it makes an awesome stroganoff.  The burger and jerky are great, but the steaks require extra measures to combat the toughness and gamy taste.  The few years we had deer or elk we saved hundreds of dollars at the local grocer meat counter.

Spent the evening playing and creating tags and graphics for Halloween.  Seems I rarely have time for such pursuits anymore, but the time I do spend I so thoroughly enjoy.  With each project I get a little better.   The tag below is snaggable.