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So this blogging thing, right, most of us do it 'cos we love it. But always a little, tiny part of us wants other people to love it too. Or just be bothered to read it once in a while. But we do like to know these things and one way in which we come to know these things is through people who become Members or Follow our blogs. It is SOOOO easy, I just know you can do it. It takes 2 minutes or less, and it is SOOOOOO rewarding! Just think of the smile on my face when I find out that you read my blog! Worth every second of that 2 minutes, no? All you have to do is click on the Join this Site button, and if you don't have one, create a Google account. STOP! Before you decide not to! All you have to do is put in your e-mail address that's all! Nothing too scary except maybe a password, but once it's done you don't ever have to bother with it again! I promise! Why not give it a try?

Above and beyond

We have an American mailbox - unsurprising really! It's on the other side of the road from our house, with all the other mailboxes on our very long road. The Mail Carriers (I know, but that's what they are called!) like it that way. It means they can deliver the mail without getting out of their natty little trucks. Which, incidentally, are right hand drive so that said mailboxes can be easily reached. Anyway...mailboxes here have a little red flag on the side that can be raised or lowered by the owner. This is to indicate to the mail carrier that there is mail inside which needs to be collected. Collected, that's right. The mail carrier not only delivers mail but picks it up as well. So, you raise the flag, the mail carrier stops, collects the mail and lowers the flag. Easy. Unless it has been snowing.
Let me explain. Snow ploughs in this part of the world are enormous. Huge. Gi-bungous. And their job is to clear the roads of snow. And not just the roads; these fearless drivers like to clear the hard shoulder as well. And if your mailbox door happens to get in the way of such dedication to detail then it doesn't stand a chance. In fact, it can be removed in one unceremonious drive-by. It was in such a way that our mailbox was rendered door less. And we know it was a plough because several other boxes along the way had their doors removed during the same snowstorm. Over-enthusiasm at it's best. The road was very, very clear of snow though.
So....one day I put my little pre-stamped envelope into the mailbox, dutifully raised the flag and thought nothing more of it. Until, wait for it - my mail carrier rang me up, yup, rang up our house, on the phone, to identify a problem. She had noticed the red flag and stopped to pick up the mail but - da-da-daaaaaa! - no mail was to be found! She cast an eye around the locality and spotted a very sorry looking blue envelope in the drainage channel. And she rang me up to tell me! Awesome!
What a lovely lady! Not only did she remember one incident from her hours long day of mail carrying but she got back to base, looked for our phone number, and rang me up to tell me of the problem. Still shocks me to the core.
So, I would like to say a huge thank you to the dedication of the staff of the USPS! Thanks guys, you're the best mail carriers I've ever met.

Ready for the sun.......

Pink Shoes, Mummy!

A moment of quiet comtemplation

I took the children to church today. Jodi was off warming up his skiing muscles with a friend so I took them. Both of them. By myself. Now, as lovely as my children are, Finn is four and Meg is nearly two, which is explanation enough but added to that, neither of them are overly familiar with the inside of a church. My fault. So it was with some trepidation that I undertook today's mission. By myself.
I had taken time to explain to them  both that there are moments during the service when you are expected to listen to the Pastor talk, and moments when you can sing as loudly and exuberantly as you like, and very precious moments when you must sit quietly and let church members enjoy the quiet to do with as they please. First mistake. These statements should have held the word 'silence' at least once. Quiet, after all, implies that quiet talking is allowed - as Finn took the time to point out to me during the 'individual prayer' section of the service. Meg loved the music; they have a band in this church, with singers and microphones and drums, and she joined in with gusto. It was getting her to stop when the band finished that was tricky. There were moments of anticipated quiet during today's service punctuated by Meg da-d'da-da-da-ing at the top of her voice. Then, about 25 minutes in,  there was the, "I think I'm going to be sick" incident.
A bit of background for you: we have never been to this church before. Several of my friends go there so we thought we'd give it a try. At least I did. By myself. Thus you can imagine my horror when Finn went white and bottom-lip-trembly and announced that vomit was pending. The Pastor was well into her sermon, Meg having finished singing was colouring and eating apple bread (bad idea - the crumbs!), and we were sitting about half way down the nave. I stole a glance behind me, hoping for empty pews and a quick, surreptitious exit route but, no. Turns out that this church is quite popular and every pew had people in it. What to do? Call it a day and make a sharp exit? Wait it out and hope to make it to the sidewalk before Finn chundered all over the kneelers? We waited with everything crossed. I did put my coat on and I made sure that Meg had her boots on in readiness, but we waited. After a while, Finn decided that he would like to try his snack and once fed, his stomach subsided and his colour returned. Panic over. I took off my coat.
Then Meg, snack finished, enquired, "Home?" in her church filling, high pitched toddler voice, "Home?" Honestly, you spend that long encouraging them to talk and then they drop this on you! I'm sure the gentleman behind us sniggered.
The remaining ten minutes passed smoothly and the Pastor introduced herself at the door and hoped to see us again. I half expected her to point out that child care is available during the service but bless her she didn't. Finn is looking forward to going back as he wants to go to Sunday school where he can ask theological questions of someone more qualified than I am to answer them, and Meg wants to do some more dancing to the beat of the band. Look out St.James, we'll be back!

Our winter house guest.

 We were given this beautiful Bougainvillea as a house warming present by some of our delightful neighbours. Such kindness! The fact that it came with a list of care instructions frightened me at first, but after having read through them a few times and done some intensive Internet research, I'm not frightened anymore, just slightly nervous. (The day when all the leaves fell off was a particular worry.)
You see, the Bougainvillea is not native to New York but comes from much sunnier climes and thus must be moved indoors in the winter to avoid certain death. It seems to be a delicate creature: it must not be kept too dry or too moist, it mustn't be too hot or too cold, and is a voracious feeder but of course mustn't be overfed. I took careful note of everything I read then decided to believe the web page that said, "In the winter, treat your Bougainvillea with near neglect."

Done.

And it's working, wouldn't you agree?

This I include to let certain parties know that I am finally going to taste a specimen from The Chocolate Pizza Company. We received this fantastic looking slice from some friends as a Thank You. I'll keep you posted!

(And if Jodi thinks he's getting any, he's sadly mistaken!)

Who's up for it next year?

A funny thing happens in downtown Skaneateles at the end of January every year; everyone goes slightly mad. How mad  must that be, I hear you ask, we've seen what they pull out of the bag at Christmas time with their 'Dickens-ing' about in costume and singing all over the place. Now what? Well, Winterfest, in a word. And it is fabulous. A day of beer tasting, wine tasting, chili tasting, clam chowder tasting (get the picture?) with a smattering of ice sculptures thrown in along the way and this year, a dude sculpting wood WITH A CHAINSAW. Very noisy and dusty but very impressive.

  

There was a Husky Dog demonstration, I believe; presumably they had to leave their snow tyres at home as there isn't any, not a flake. And then at 12.30 precisely, the madness happens, in all it's teeth chattering wonder.

PEOPLE GO AND JUMP IN THE LAKE.

Oh yes they do! Willingly. In swimmers. In January.

Of course, I say jump, this year they had to run as the lake isn't actually frozen at the moment but is still tending towards the slightly chillier end of warm. (Last year they had to cut a hole in the ice first, very impressive). so the brave, warm hearted and downright daft members of the village plunge into the near freezing depths of Skaneateles lake and people give them money to do it. Again, not quite true; the money is being raised for worthy causes like SAVES and The Skaneateles Volunteer Fire Department so no-one really minds putting their hands in their pockets. It's persuading them to take them out again in these sub-zero temperatures that is the tricky thing. And boy was it cold down in the park on Saturday. Near freezing is one thing but a wind chill factor of about 20 degrees F below is something else entirely. And then jumping in a lake?

So, come on - who's with me? End of January 2013 - Freezin' for a Reason - you know you want to!

 

 

Jumping in the lake for the required 10 seconds is one thing, but spare a thought for these guys who stayed in for the duration. Hot chocolate's on the house!