The Day That Wasn't

So I realized upon waking this morning that perhaps liquor is not the best way to celebrate a birthday. That's one of the dangers of living in a town where everybody knows everybody: everybody wants to buy you a drink on your birthday. And no one likes being told no.

It occurred to me as someone placed a glass (not a shot, but a fucking water glass) of Grey Goose in my hand that perhaps it was time to stop. But alas, the dye was cast. And not even some preventative Taco Bell on the way home could stop the hangover train barreling my way.

I spent a good deal of time today lying in bed and the rest of my time declaring my arrival at death's door. Fuzzy was less than amused. But I'm feeling better now. I decorated the tree and there's some split pea soup on the stove for tomorrow's dinner, so perhaps I won't die. I think 25 is going to be a good year.

Twenty Five

Ok, I've recovered from the WVU v. Pitt game. Moving on. . .

Today I turned twenty five. Or as my lovely husband likes to put it, "a quarter of a century." Thanks, sweetheart. Fuzzy woke me up with a half dozen fragrant, custard-filled doughnuts and a kiss. We then trekked out to PineTop through several inches of melting snirt (snow + dirt = snirt). After choosing a likely specimen, Fuzzy cut down a small pine to serve as X-mas tree in the coal camp house.

Afterwards, we visited a friend/neighbor down the hill from PineTop. While we stood yakking in the driveway, we heard a strange, high honking, oddly familiar to me. Not Cananda Goose honking. Not Snow Geese. Swans. A flock of about forty swans flew low across the ridges, blending with the leaden sky and icy hills. Growing up in coastal North Carolina, we would often see swans during the winter, stopping to rest on the Currituck Sound. I have no idea what these guys were doing here in West Virginia, but they were so lovely, and I felt so lucky to see them on my birthday.

Tonight we're headed out to a friend's CD release party. So any Mo'towners should come see Clint tonight at Pleasant Street!

Fuuuuhhhhhck

Yeah. That WVU v. Pitt game?

Don't wanna talk about it.

Cob, Anyone?

So we are seriously considering building the PineTop residence out of mud. Well, not exactly mud. Actually, cob. Which is a mix of clay, sand, and straw. So, pretty much mud. Essentially, you stomp together a bunch of clay, sand, and straw with some water then plop it, one batch at a time, onto a foundation. Then you let it dry and plaster over it. No shit. It's really strong, has awesome thermal mass, is fire-resistant, and is about as cheap as you're gonna get. Plastered, it holds up really well to the elements. There are cob buildings that are several centuries old in Great Britain. Our roof is already complete, so our place wouldn't be quite as free form as the house pictured here, but that's fine by me.

One of the coolest things about cob is how sculptural it is. I would love to have little nooks in the walls to store and exhibit things. I would really love to build a cob bench like the one to the right. Anyone feel like cob-stomping at PineTop next summer, let me know!

Oh, and both photos are from housealive.org

'Cause, ya know, it's Thanksgiving

So, in honor of the holiday that gave me a full week off of work (though it could be argued that it's really the start of rifle season that gave me the week off), here are the top ten things that I am thankful for this year:

10. WVU has a shot at the BCS championship. Let's Go Mountaineers!

9. Our new garage door. It significantly lowers the squalor alert level on our current residence.

8. While we're at it, the current residence. Is it a shithole? Yes. Is our mortgage payment less than $150 a month? Also yes. And hopefully we'll eventually be able to sell it and make a little money off it.

7. In the same vein, having a handy husband. He can change the oil on the cars, replace the garage door, and make fabulous homefries, all while I'm still in bed.

6. Used goods. From cars to chairs to sweaters, I'm thankful for the plethora of used-whatever stores in our area. Just yesterday, we bought three t-shirts, a sweater, a dehumidifier, a chair and ottoman, and a figurine of a caterpillar smoking a pipe, all for less than $30.

5. Reasonably secure jobs. Not having to obsess too much about how the bills are going to get paid makes me a much happier girl.

4. Health Insurance. I can now get my lady bits checked out for the low, low price of a $10 co-pay.

3. Our fabulous friends. We went out for drinks on Tuesday night with some friends from the area who now live in New York. We had such a good time and I left with a feeling of warm-fuzziness and general all-is-right-with-the-worldness.

2. My awesome family (In-Laws included!). I have been so unbelievably blessed in the family department. No, really.

1. Having a partner in life. Sappy as it sounds, Fuzzy truly does complete me, and I can't imagine my life without him. I never thought I would be this glad to be married .


Ok, enough with the cheese. Everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving!

She's Crafty, Pt. II

Dude! I made a hat! Like a real, no shit hat. With stitch decreases and circular needles and shit. For real. It was so ridiculously easy that I can't believe I've spent the 15-ish years I've known how to knit making nothing but scarves. Well, I can believe it, because I know that I can stare at a set of directions for 15 years thinking "This is bullshit. This makes no sense. I'm going to go eat some cake batter instead," then look again one day and magically, the clouds part and it all becomes clear. So yeah. A hat. Pictured to the left with our confused rhododendrons that have decided that late November is the perfect time to bloom. I tried to get a picture of our dog with the hat on, but I just ended up embarrassing us both. He still won't look me in the eye.

Stay tuned for building updates!

Hell Yeah

This is the kind of warning I like to see on my beverages.

Fuzzy and I were driving around near PineTop yesterday when we passed a group of old men operating a big ass cider press in a front yard. We pulled a U-turn and parked next to a cloudy-eyed geriatric beagle that could barely summon the energy to bark at us. The men greeted us, then went back to pouring buckets of apples into the press and shoveling the leftover pulp into the bed of an old Ford. From a cloud of yellow jackets, one man told us that the apples were fresh off the tree, picked up in Romney that morning. So, for the benefit of the Newburg Rotary Club (and my insatiable desire for cider past about the first of September), we purchased a gallon.

It is so wonderful. It has actual little bits of apple floating around (and more than one ground-up yellow jacket, I'm sure). And neither Fuzzy nor I have suffered any ill effects from the potential critters.

I was inspired to post about our unpasteurized adventure by my friend Melissa over at Adventures in Louisiana. Her bun-in-the-oven status is temporarily prohibiting her from enjoying the more perilous gastronomic delights. Don't worry, Mel, in a few months you'll be able to eat all the raw fish you can stand (and you'll have your own little guppy to show for it!).