What a mess

I suppose this isn't the sort of stuff one puts in a blog, but it's what's on my mind, so it's what you get.

Yesterday our sump pump, that keeps excess groundwater away from our foundation, was rattling and sounding like it was about to die.  My husband did what he could for it, then went to work, telling me to keep an eye on it.  Within an hour of his leaving, the pump died completely.  I put down towels, hoping to control any overflow, and called my husband, who was able to take a day of vacation and come home.  He got a new pump, installed it and all was well.  . . . we thought.

This morning I woke about 3, just feeling something wasn't right.  Upon hearing the pump, I knew there was a problem. I went down and checked and saw that the room with the pump in it was flooded and water was spewing out every time it kicked in - about once a minute!  I ran/slipped/stumbled up the stairs and woke my husband. He fixed the pipe that had come loose while I began mopping up and squeegeeing the water to the floor drain. Half an hour later, the floor was just wet and rugs that were on the floor were hanging over chairs to eventually dry.

Now if it would ever stop raining/snowing and give the pump a break, I'd be happy.

Irish musings on St. Patrick's Day

First of all, my favorite Irish themed saying:

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
And if He cannot turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles,
So we may know them by their limping.

The corned beef is in the crockpot and I'm dressed for the occasion. Not in green, I don't own any green, unless I wear my jacket all day.  So I'm wearing orange.  Not as a political or religious statement, just because it's what I have. So don't you green-wearers hate me ;-)

If you ever have the chance - and the time - read Frank Delany's book, Ireland.  It's fantastic.  It gives you a history of Ireland, all wrapped up in a tale of an itinerant storyteller and a boy who loved him enough not to let him, or his stories, be forgotten.

Although I have an Irish maiden name, I don't think I'm Irish. My paternal grandfather was adopted (he was an "Orphan Train" child) and his biological parents' lineage is cloudy, but from what we do know, it doesn't appear that either of them were Irish.  So I guess you'd say I'm Irish by marriage. And throughout that marriage, which has spanned 2/3 of my life, I have learned two truths:

You can always tell an Irishman . . . but you can't tell him much!

and:

When Irish eyes are smiling . . . they're usually up to something!

Signs of Spring?

No, the snow hasn't melted - at all, it seems, and most days I still need my winter jacket if I'm going to be out more than a few minutes. But there are birds in the feeder again and it's nice to hear them twittering amongst themselves in the mornings and calling to each other whenever I am outside during the day. Usually, even in the winter, we have little juncos (snowbirds), a few hardy sparrows and, as long as I feed them, mourning doves, but this past winter there haven't been any and I missed them a lot! I don't know where they were all winter - I think they went further South than usual . . . for all the good that did them this year.
Also, the sun is more Spring-like. I can't really explain that, except to say that it is. It's like it is shining more gently, and higher in the sky, instead of the low, hard Winter light we've had for so long.
And there is a "near 60 degrees" day in the forecast this week.  I swear, if it hits 60, I'll put the top down on my car and go for a (chilly) drive to celebrate!

But I haven't seen any robins yet, and I won't even think about last year when we saw a whole mess of them in the (bare) yard on January 31st. That was a fluke, though, I admit.  I think they're just waiting till there is some bare ground to walk on.  But aren't we all.

Stray thoughts . . .

Every morning I wake up with a song in my head. It's seldom the same one as the day or so before, and I never know why I'm thinking of such odd songs.  Today's song is Rawhide. Go figure.

I've always sung to myself when doing mundane chores. Most of the time, I don't even realize I'm singing.  I found out from my daughter's friend that, when they were young and playing in the house, they would sometimes pause in their play to listen to me.  When I heard that, I was retroactively embarrassed, lol.

I've about had it with Winter. It just won't let go. I know it's fairly normal for Wisconsin to get snow in March, but that doesn't make me like it any more, or wish for Spring any less.

A pleasant weekend

Colleen was here this past weekend, with her Beagle, Gage. My cat, Millie wasn't pleased, but company is something she'll just have to deal with now and then.  Millie tolerates Gage, just barely, coming out of hiding when she must (to eat and use her sand), but expressing her displeasure by hissing at everyone she sees.  What a little diva!

One of Colleen's high school friends came by on Sunday with her little girl and, once she overcame her shyness - and as long as we kept Gage controlled and across the room, she entertained us with her chatter, books and toys. And with her "happy feet" - stamping on the kitchen floor to make tap dance kind of noises, and with the sweetest smile on her face! She had us all laughing along with her.

All in all, a nice couple of days amid this never-ending winter.

Thoughts on two dogs

Sometimes I miss having a dog. Or, maybe I should say I miss my dog, Smokey, a gray, black and white Collie mix my family got at the county shelter back in 1990 and had until age and arthritis took him from us in 2003. He was truly a good dog, and sometimes I really miss him.  I miss our walks. He never met a person he didn't like, but occasionally, he'd object to other dogs, if he thought I might be threatened. But even then, he reacted more passively than aggressively. A three-legged Cocker Spaniel who rushed us a bit too quickly comes to mind. I don't think it had bad intentions, but it was loose and coming fast and Smokey took no chances. He met the Cocker's charge and, faster than I could see how he did it, he pinned the smaller dog to the ground! Bedlam ensued for a moment. The poor little dog was yelping, the woman whose dog it was was yelling at her dog for running off, and I was pulling Smokey off saying, "Let him up, Smokey, he's only got three legs!"

Sometimes, when looking out at the open area across the street, I remember the games of Hide and Seek we played over there. I'd let Smokey off his leash and we'd start out like we were going to walk down to the river. Smokey would range on ahead a bit, checking things out and generally having a good time and I, when he wasn't looking, would duck behind a tree. After a few moments, Smokey would look back to see where I was and when he didn't see me, he'd come tearing back to find me.  It was especially fun in the snow, when I'd run clumsily away, yelling "Help, help! It's a wolf!"  Yes, the dog made me as nutty as he was.

Someday I'll have to post about him and our car wash experience, but that'll have to wait for another day.

But, as much as I loved Smokey and miss having a dog, I know it's better I don't have one. For one thing, I don't know if I could keep up with the walking he or she would need.  I'll content myself with my "grandpuppy" Gage, my daughter's and her husband's Beagle. A sweet dog, but not one to stay in the yard if his nose leads him elsewhere.  A fact I was a bit concerned about a few weeks ago when I was petsitting for a weekend. One morning when letting him out, I dropped his tie-out and had to go outside to get it. Gage didn't understand why I was pushing him back and squeezing past him (in my robe and slippers). I picked up the clip, clipped it to his collar while still on the steps, then opened the door further to let him out and me in. But Gage didn't seem to understand. He went out, but then came back in with me! And then expected a biscuit for coming in! I pushed him back out, telling him he had to "do something" first.

And now you've met the two dogs I've had in my life, and I'll end here, before this becomes a novel.

March First

They said on the news this morning that it was the first day of meteorological Spring. You couldn't prove it by the view outside my window.  With all the snow heaped along the roadside and laying in sparkling drifts as far as I can see - maybe half a mile, to the road and building on the other side of the open area across the street - Spring looks far from being here, no matter what the weatherman said.  But the neighbors have a couple of new snow-people in their front yard - a result,  I suspect, of their daughter's and their grandkids visit last week - and the bright orange hunting cap I noticed one of them wearing brightened my day and added a bit of interest to the usual walk to the mailbox.

I suppose, since part of this blog is titled "Read" I should make an attempt to stick with the theme - at least for this first post.  So . . . I am reading John Connolly's The Reapers.  It's the 8th, I think, in the "Charlie Parker" series of novels and I'm enjoying it. Usually JC is very wordy and rambles off into a lot of back story, but this time he's sticking more to the plot and the back story he goes into is interesting and useful.  Although I wish he wouldn't do those chapters in italics.  Italics are hard for my old eyes to read. Especially when contrasted to the nice clear, easy to read font he uses for the present day parts of the book.