We had a wildly windy day, some people with power loss, but not this street. Drafty though, especially when my front door blew open, and was blocked by the door curtain, which saved the heat till I shut the door again.
Yesterday Handsome Son helped me change out the green and white striped canvas summer door curtain, which cuts the glare in the afternoon, and blocks the heat, for the big red felt winter one, which pools on the floor and is a good draft protector. I keep the storm door in all year, not changing for a screen door, because I need the light from the front door, and it's the way to have the ac on and still get the light coming in. Also I'm nosy and I like to see out. I'm probably part cat.
I usually do the curtain change myself, but thought it would be wise to get help this time. It's awkward, involves climbing and wrestling with a tension rod and the curtain. I did the climbing, just two steps, because I know how to install the rod without punching a hole in the wall, always an issue around here. He organized the curtain and held the weight off my hands, and stood close, while I slid the rings onto the rod, with much cursing. But it was a lot easier with the weight of the curtain held off my hands while I worked. That way I was able to get the rings on just once, not watch in dismay as they shot off again with the weight pulling them, while I frantically tried to stop it. And he was right there, in case I lost my balance. I don't usually, but there's always a first time and it's best not to be alone on a stepstool at the time.
Here's the last of the sun catching the treetops down the street. Still quite a few leaves on the trees.
And it's time, reluctantly, to acknowledge that late fall and early winter are here. So I hauled out the cosy quilt throw for the sofa, originally there to keep cat hair off the furniture, but then left because it's warm and friendly. And arranged the pillows around. And, folded there, the knitted blankie thing I made for Handsome Partner, for comfort in the wheelchair, and have kept just because.
The empty plate held a muffin a while before this picture was taken.
The fake fire, with flickering flames is surprisingly cheerful, and I put it on for the first time yesterday for Handsome Son's benefit, which amused him quite a bit. It has a heat function, too, which I don't use, since the thermostat is in the same room, and the rest of the house would be an icebox while the living room is cosy. What I think is too funny is that there's a remote for this. You click your fire on!
He tested the beet banana muffins, two, split, toasted, buttered and with chunks of sharp cheddar, and pronounced them fine. With the proviso: I have to be in the mood to enjoy them! Cracked me up. But he liked them okay, just doesn't want me to wheel them out every time he comes, I'm guessing. Considering he hardly ever gets anything twice in a row, it's a bit over careful, to my way of thinking.
I heard from Handsome Partner that my mother in law was like that, if anyone was incautious enough to say they liked an item. They'd get it morning noon and night. I used to point out that if they'd appreciated her cooking, such as it was, more often, she wouldn't have been so amazed and so ready to repeat the dish.
She never claimed to be a good cook, but she faithfully churned out three squares a day for husband and sons. I think it takes a bit of living alone for a guy to grasp just how much work it takes even to get the food from the store to the plate. And she was a skilled tailor, made most of the boys' clothes, so she was talented, just not in the food line.
I wasn't much of a cook in those days, before we were married, and I was still a student. But I made her scrambled eggs on toast when we visited, and she was sooooo impressed. I heard her telling the neighbor lady, "Ander (her nickname for him) found himself a braw wee cuik!" A fine little cook! After she realized he would be cared for, she discarded her reservation that he was marrying "an English lassie" and we got on fine the few times I had the chance to meet her.
She's one of the few people I, a comparatively small woman, towered over. She was well under five feet, as a lot of her Scots generation was. I looked like a giant among her neighbors, because I was shock, horror, the same height as Handsome Partner, who was a small man.
So this is all displacement activity to ward off the anxiety about the outcome of tomorrow's election. We shall get through this. One way or another.
