Our annual tribute to Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Sunday snow

The first serious snowfall of the year fell on a Sunday, not a school day, a fact not lost on Mackenzie and Joey, down the street. They took full advantage of the steep backside slope of the No. 17 tee box, standing like bold surfers on their snowboards, taking their spills before reaching snow-covered Fairhaven Drive.

A faithful neighborhood newspaper volunteer took his turn through the overnight snow to the central distribution point at 7:15 this morning. Alas, he got to the boxes before the Sunday paper did, so he trudged back home disappointed, empty-handed. New snow has blanketed the state. Looks like we got a couple of inches, enough to make a White Christmas, but certainly not enough to delay the newspaper, we thought. Aargh. The snowplows did their work, but we do miss the paper. A morning paper should always come in the dark.
More snow all day Sunday. The Wild Boars rejoice.

Saturday snow rise

The sun rose on a lightly-frosted neighborhood this morning. They promise much more snow this afternoon, but mostly to the north of us. Heavy plows patrolled overnight, we watched their warning lights flash on the bedroom ceiling. Seemed a bit over-eager given the lightness of the snowfall, maybe they're just getting the kinks out. We pulled the covers tighter and thought of snowstorms past.

More no slip slip-ons

Here's Lorlee's distaff entry in the casual outdoor tread wear conversation. She mounts these sturdy LL Beaners to safely navigate the occasional icy sidewalk in her mild Dallas climate. To ring in a seasonal note, Lorlee adds a festive pair of Ho-ho-ho stockings for a jolly trip to the woodbox.

Bring it on! These Wild Boars are ready

Wild Boars not only grip reliably, they leave 
distinctive tracks, perfect for marking territory.

 Just as the snowflakes reached a crescendo this December afternoon, the doorbell chimed.  It was the harried UPS man, carrying a critical overnight shipment from The Duluth Trading Company. Just in time.
Yesterday morning, Stan, who hates any form of shopping that involves apparel, phoned his very favorite clothier to order a pair of Wild Boar slip-on mocs, with superior traction. The ever-reliable catalogue promised: "Elastic gore stretches for easy on-off" and "the supple pigsuede lets you wallow in comfort." Gotta have 'em. Winter is coming on. In and out, in and out of the slush and snow, no time for lacing and re-lacing those sensible shoes, fortified with prescription arch supports.
Wild Boar Mocs, size 13D -- The perfect footwear for an active retiree stepping smartly to the mailbox in the Minnesota snow.
Stay feral, my friends.

"These shoes deliver super traction in all your favorite less
civilized locales, like shops, factory floor, or rooting voraciously
through the woods."

Shearers return to that most dangerous place

Stan's sister and his brother-in-law, Sosie and Bill, are home safe. We thought. Here's the report:

In the wee hours last Thursday, we returned from a wonderfully carefree vacation in Guatemala, Honduras, and Florida.  We climbed Mayan ruins (Yaxha, Tikal, Coban) lacking OSHA standard safety guards to determine our fate on our upcoming wedding anniversary, 12/21/12 (all is well, no more trouble than the millenium). 

Ancient blood stains at Tikal
 foretell kitchen mishap

We skirted volcanoes, earthquakes, and hurricanes.  We drove narrow high mountain swtichbacks and boated the deepest lake in Central America, Lake Atitlan.  Drug cartels, machine guns, even pickpockets stayed their distance.  In Florida, we kayaked past turtle and alligator, then flew safely home to California through the Pineapple Express.

Later that morning, Bill noticed one of the many neighborhood cats "belonging" to the local cat hoarder.  The cat walked along the top of our fence, then dropped down on the other side into a snarl of blackberry vines where it was snared.  Bill checked on the unfortunate cat twenty minutes later and was still struggling for freedom.  "I'm going over," Bill said, and the little voice in his head told to wear gloves, so he donned a thin pair.  Bill carefully held the back of the cat's head while he wrestled the vines away and freed the cat.  The cat turned quickly to thank Bill with a very passionite bite.

Bill scales steep temple pyramid
built by Mayans millennia ago. 

Bill, not one to complain or bother with minor injuries, immediately decided the doctor was needed on this one.  The doctor treated the wound, prescribed antibiotics, and contacted Animal Control. "You have up to one week.  If you can catch the cat and turn it into Animal Control, they will determine if it has rabies. If you can't prove the cat doesn't have rabies, you must have a series of rabies shots."

We know that these cats who are never spayed or neutered, have also never had rabies shots.  And for catching the black and white tuxedo cat?  We don't even know how many tuxedo cats there are!  For his kindness, Bill must pay the price.  Rabies shots required.

You might wonder why Bill didn't pay better attention to the little voice in his head and select a pair of thicker leather gloves?  I don't. That evening, I needed to split two frozen salmon burgers separated by that thin piece of waxpaper.  As I reached for the butcher knife, the little voice in my head said, "Don't use the butcher knife, you could lose your thumb."  So I selected a smaller paring knife, stabbed the blade between the burgers and through (not just into, but through) my thumb, pulled it out, and called for Bill.  Dr Shearer poured on hydrogen peroxide, held up my thumb and said, "You better go get stitches." 

"Forget it.  Just bind it up and let's have dinner." And so we ended our first day home.  Maybe not Safely Home, but home anyway.

Remembering our elders too

Christmas elves were hard at work in Mom's garage on Kell Avenue in Bloomington this week. Toys for Tots and other charitable enterprises gather gifts for youngsters who may go without at this time of year. This gift drive identifies area seniors who need brighter holidays and seeks to organize efforts to cheer them. Two Home Instead volunteers paused for a moment yesterday after making a delivery. Stan is not part of this wonderful effort and just stumbled onto it, but got into the photograph anyway.

Gentle recovery from his selfless act. . .

Ready for a heart-warming story of a heroic rescue? So are we. But our action hero isn't available for an interview just yet -- he's sleeping off the effects of the painful rabies shots first.
Standby.