No Water

I don't have room to store water barrels in my apartment, so I fill empty soda bottles and stash them wherever I can.....on a closet shelf, behind my couch, in a corner behind my TV stand and behind my bedroom door.

One of my children was asking me about the bottles of water.  I explained that any number of things could knock out my electricity - summer storms or winter blizzards, for example - and that this could affect my water supply.  She mentioned that the town where she lives was once without electricity for several days, but they had water.  The problem is that I don't know if the same would hold true in my town.  Their water delivery systems may not be the same.  I am responsible not only for myself, but also for the three furry buddies who live with me and we all need water.

So this morning I went to make my coffee, turned on the tap at the kitchen sink only to find nothing but air coming from it.  Same with the bathroom sink and tub.  Nothing.  Grabbed one of my water bottles and made my coffee.  Simple as that.

I have no idea what is causing this water problem.  It may be that someone is working on the hot water heater in the basement.  It could be something to do with the city water system.  It is -6 degrees outside today, but I doubt that pipes have frozen.  That has never happened in the 17 years I have lived here and during that time there have been much colder days.  So for now, I will just wait and see what happens.  If I don't have water in my apartment tomorrow, I will call the landlord and he will deal with it.

The point of all of this is that even without water flowing from the taps, I am merely inconvenienced a little bit.  I have enough water to last at least a couple of weeks and longer, if I am careful.  I planned to do a couple of loads of laundry today, but it isn't going to matter that I don't.  I have a plan in place to take care of everything that needs taking care of with the exception of a shower, and although I like my hot showers, I can manage just fine without.

When we think about being prepared, we often think only about the food aspect of preparedness and sometimes forget how important water is.  And if I didn't have water with which to make my coffee, well, life just wouldn't be worth living!

Chippy the Elf

My youngest son's family has the Elf on the Shelf.  My Kindergarten aged grandson, Jacob, named the elf "Chippy."  Every day my son posts a photo of Chippy on Facebook , showing where he is each morning when he returns from Santa Land.

Chippy is a pretty inventive little guy.  He was in the silverware drawer, in the butter keeper inside the refrigerator and this morning he was on the couch, wearing headphones and listening to Christmas music.

But the best one so far was this one.

When Jacob asked his Dad how Chippy got the lid back on, David replied, "Magic."

When I talked with my son a couple of days ago, I told him that it was probably pretty pathetic that his mother, the grandmother of his children, had to check Facebook each morning, first thing, to find out where Chippy was that day.  I also warned him that if he should get word that his mother was locked away in a rubber room, clad in a huggy jacket, it would probably be because her neighbors had heard her, laughing out loud, all by herself and figured she had finally gone off the deep end.  And it would be all his fault!  And Chippy's.

New Is Not Always Better

Every year my granddaughters sell various items to raise money for their dance classes.  I always buy a couple of the fruit and cream cheese filled bread braids.  They come frozen and I took one from my freezer early this afternoon and put it on a baking sheet to thaw and raise.  My apartment was cool today, so it wasn't ready for the oven until after 10:30 this evening.

Earlier this morning an installer came around to put in new smoke alarms throughout the building.  The old alarm in my kitchen had never given me any trouble and worked just fine.  But when I opened my oven door a little before 11:00 to check on the bread braid, the new alarm started wailing and yelling "Fire!  Fire!"  I shut the oven door and opened the window next to my stove, although there wasn't a whiff of smoke anywhere.  I did everything I could think of to shut that alarm up.  There are working folks living in my building who go to bed a lot earlier than I do.  I had visions of irate, sleepy people lined up outside my door. Do you suppose that I could shut the darn thing off?  Not a chance.

I finally set up my little mini step ladder, climbed up and tore it from the ceiling.  It must have a battery backup, for it continued to scream "Fire!  Fire!" long after I stuffed it under the pillows on my bed.

I poured a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for the bread braid to finish baking.  And I started to giggle, thinking about how silly I must have looked, rushing about and trying to get the alarm to be quiet.  Sort of like an old Laurel and Hardy movie.

I have a good landlord, and when I see him this weekend and tell him about my smoke alarm adventure, he will more than likely smile. He also knows that I use my oven often, for I bake my own bread every week as well as other baked goods and I use it for many of my meals, so I know that he will find a solution.

I have often joked that dinner is done when the smoke alarm goes off, but I didn't think it would be a reality.  Sometimes the old thing that works should just be left alone.

Brrrrr

Temperature this morning sits at -5 degrees.  Geez, I love Minnesota!

My landlord is not going to be happy when I tell him that the new furnace for the building is not keeping up.  I should not have to wear long johns in the house.

We Minnesotans feel that it is our God-given right to complain about the weather.  I mutter under my breath as I dig in my closet for a flannel shirt.  I will mutter just as much in the summer when the heat and humidity both approach 95.  We have two days the end of May and another two days in September when the weather is perfect.  Other than that....not so much.

I sure must love my kids and grandkids, for they are the only reason I am here.

All things considered, that's a pretty good reason.

Supper

Pot of chicken soup simmering on the back burner all afternoon.
Cubes of cheddar.
Venison summer sausage made from the deer that youngest son shot.
Thick slices of warm homemade bread slathered with butter.

Fit for a queen.

No pictures.  Ate it all.

Warning! Grandkid Photo Ahead!

Yep, these are my Grandkids.  All six of them.   It isn't often that we can get them all together in one place, so I was really happy to get this photo from Thanksgiving.

Grandmas get to brag.  It says so in the bylaws.

Christmas Spirit or Lack Thereof

The Christmas Spirit is sort of passing me by at the moment.  It may be that because shopping for useless stuff that nobody cares about isn't high on my list of priorities.  Or perhaps that shopping for me involves several hours spent on a bus.  I think mostly it is because of my disgust for the commercialism that has become Christmas.

Christmas when I was a kid was a wondrous time of year.  There was the tree that always filled the house with the scent of pine, except for that unfortunate year when Dad bought one of those silvery aluminum trees popular in the late 50's - the ones that looked like several rolls of aluminum foil had exploded!  There was the smell of cookies and breads and pies baking.  There was the careful placing of the nativity set that reminded us of why there was a holiday in the first place.

There was the planning for Christmas Day when relatives would gather at our big old farmhouse.  Mother, ever the perfectionist, planned down to the last detail.  The good china was washed and dried and silver was polished.  The good lace tablecloth was covering the dining room table, with a red cloth underneath to show through and look festive.  Pine branches decorated every available space, adorned with ornaments and ribbon.

There were hours spent in secret, making gifts for parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins.  Sometimes we would buy Grandma a bottle of her favorite perfume, but more often the gifts were made with our own two hands.  One year it was hand knitted slippers for everyone, and another it was some crafty thing that Mom had us make.  Later in my life when cash was scarce , I would fill boxes with the home canned goodies I had made and give those.

Oh, there were purchased gifts as well, but it seems as though those times of going to town to shop for Christmas were enjoyable as opposed to the frantic, hectic shopping of today.  I guess we weren't trying to out-spend our neighbors.  Big ticket items were not on the list.  I remember saving my money for a box of monogrammed handkerchiefs for Dad to use in the pocket of his Sunday suit.  Or finding the perfect fancy teacup and saucer to add to those Mom collected.

Those shopping trips to town always included a drive around after dark to look at all of the beautiful Christmas lights decorating people's homes.  Or walking up and down the streets admiring the Christmas scenes set up in store windows.  There were the usual Santa and elves displays, but there were also scenes of the baby Jesus in the manger, with Mary, Joseph, shepherds and angels.  Of course, this was long before anyone took offense to this depiction of Christmas.

I guess I really am getting old, for I find that the memories of Christmas Past have much more appeal to me than Christmas Present.  And I can complain about it until the cows come home and nothing will change.  Unless I change it.

I have been under the weather for the past three weeks, so little has been done here in the way of actual physical work.  But I did spend time searching the Internet for ideas and patterns for homemade gifts.  I didn't do a very good job of planning ahead for this Christmas, and there isn't time to put to use those ideas.  But there is a long, cold winter in my near future here in Minnesota, and I can't think of a better way to spend it than in making things for those I love.

Maybe my Christmas Spirit isn't dead after all.  Maybe it has just been postponed for a bit.