Fat Tuesday

Here at the BobnRita Ranch, we get the night off for good behavior amd celebrate Fat Tuesday. (Not that we'll be giving anything up for Lent!) And yes, that's a King Cake replete with hidden baby tucked into the cake at undisclosed location.
Speaking of religious conversions not happening any time soon in this neighborhood, the doorbell rang and I thought maybe Bob had locked himself out, so I answered it. It was two conservatively dressed ladies, one of whom I immediately spied was holding a Bible. Before either one or the other could ask if I'd been saved or born again or whatever malarky they spout I chimed, "Oh you have obviously come to the wrong house as we're heathens and artists and won't be needing your ministrations!" and shut the door. i didn't know these people still marched from door to door... and in such cold weatehr. What a waste of time. Have a piece of cake, damn it!

What Is It? (Number Three I Think)

Okay... What is it?

Even Bob doesn't know what this is and it appeared outside of his studio. It had been obscured by several feet of snow, of course, and now we're wondering... What Is It?

It resembles nougat, but it's two and a half feet high and I haven't tasted it. Bob called it "The Mound of Purity". Any guesses?

Our Tiny Mississippi

That's the left bank of our tiny pond overspilling its banks and joining up with our now voluptuous stream. The sudden melting of all that snow and ice has created a spectacular increase in water volume. There's a sort of causeway between the pond and stream. Last summer when it was so dry, the stream and pond were separate entities with a neatly mowed raised strip in between. I'm sure the pond will retreat and contain itself once the exuberance of the thaw has passed.

A Poignant Revelation

This emerged from the melting snow:

A small home-made wooden cross with the handwritten inscription "Mitten". The grave is tucked into a sheltered pocket next to the lovely evergreen forest. This tiny cross made me reflect on our own pet cemetary left behind at our previous house. Archie, Charlie, Ricky and our recently departed Frank are all buried under special stones by an oak tree. I am sorry that they are not here to enjoy our new property; all were wonderful friends who throughly enjoyed life. I also wonder about Gracie the dog from across the road who came daily (for upwards of twelve years!) to accompany me and Frank on our walk. She continued  to come over after Frank died. I know our move was hard on her.

I LUV(heart shape) Our Bathroom

So in attempts to not sound as if all is woe and disaster and trevail allow me to say I am actually enjoying every minute of home ownership. It's a blast and (to reiterate) it's OURS.

For the record, I love our upstairs bathroom. I could spend all day in the shower: plenty of nice hot water and a lovely fine but focused spray on the shower head... bliss. Plus, I feel clean as the water is much softer than our previous water and the soap rinses more thouroughly. And that's not a Gene Davis painting featured above, that's our brand new shower curtain. Incredibly, it's the only real shower curtain I've ever had. We tended to cheap out and get those nasty, smelly plastic shower liners (Hell, they're only a dollar!) This feels like luxury to me.

What A Day!

So during the making of my morning oatmeal (an event not typically associated with danger) the left front burner on our already slightly skewed stove decides to go Ker-Boom! Sparks are sent flying and the hell was sincerely scared out of me, Bob and Jules (who should be used to unexpected pyrotechnics and a disaster a minute). We're still not certain as to what caused the mini explosion but it burned a hole in the bottom of a pot that I liked to use and forced the preparation of a second round of oatmeal. No further stove incident occurred but we spent the entire day attempting to re-register my car. (Don't ask but it all began with an overdue tax bill... to the tune of 44 cents. No kidding). Maybe it was a good day to spend in bed.

Forty Acres and a Mule

(In reality, it's more like 4.36 acres and a horse!)
So there I am for the umpteenth time surveying our vast, delightfully private, and environmenatlly varied (open field, stream, swamp, pond, evergreen grove etc) property and I'm shouting, "Mine! All mine!"
I know: it's politically incorrect to think of the Earth and Mother Nature (isn't she wonderful?) and in terms of ownership and possession but I've wanted land for so long that it's legend. (And yes, more accurately, I should be shouting "Ours! All ours!" but it doesn't have the same ring and I'm sure Bob will forgive my single-mindedness).
Anyway, we will be careful stewards of this corner of the universe- our corner!- as we aren't planning to erect parking garages or sign contracts to become nuclear waste storage facilities anytime soon. I'm fairly confident that 965 Jeremy Swamp is relatively clean; a happy fact of purchasing a property where there has been little or no gardening. Few if any lawn or garden chemicals have been used. I am amazed at just how many people still use bug and slug killers, pre-emergent weed herbicides, Round-Up... Americans do love their toxic products, especially if they promise miracles.