freeze, hold your cat breath-
shopping at mole hill mountains,
stakeout meal to go
stakeout by Angie Quantrell
Monet. Checking her dinner options. Patience always wins.
This past (YAY) winter has left this bod in serious cabin fever shape.
It’s true. Being cooped up inside with record snowfalls does nothing for a hiking physique. I did spend quite a bit of time shoveling, but that exercise was offset by hiding inside away from frigid temps.
Take my walk today, for instance. Huffing and puffing, sweating and trudging at a snail’s pace, the summer hiking season seemed far from my grasp. After all, actual hiking is done up and down, over hill and dale.
That’s when I realized my self needed spring cleaning. Some sprucing up, working out, and trimming off the fat.
Spring cleaning is coming to this future outdoors woman.
Walking around the yard, I noticed several casualties of the heavy snow and resulting compact ice. Funny smiling face? Busted. Sage in clay pot? Needs repotting to an undamaged pot. Siberian irises in a similarly disintegrating pot? Same treatment. Gravel strewn every which way due to shoveling of snow.
Spring cleaning extends to the garden and surrounding yard.
It also includes the cat, Monet, who is sporting more of a tummy due to forced lack of exercise, and her favorite pastime-hunting. It’s hard to hunt or pursue any fun activities when snow accumulations are higher than your head! The one time she tried, well, it was hysterical and a very fast trip. Monet is in much need of a tune up.
Spring cleaning has arrived for the cat.
The good news is she caught her ‘second’ first mouse of the season today. We thought spring was on the way in late January and early February. That was when she ate her first mouse of the year. And then Snowmageddon. There was much lying around, racing through the RV, climbing the walls, and sleeping on fuzzy blankets.
Inside the RV, blankets and rugs have been washed. Carpets love their new vacuumed look and floors appear a shade lighter after being mopped. Excess items are disappearing from cluttered sight. Spring cleaning is happening all over the place.
Let’s chat just a bit about the honey. In his jammies. And plastic shoes. Right now. Out smashing down mole hills all over the pasture. This mole has been a busy beaver, leaving a winding lane of black dirt mountains across the field. Soooo, honey does his spring cleaning by paying attention to signs of the season.
Spring cleaning comes to the Yakima Valley.
How about you? Have you enjoyed spring cleaning? What’s your favorite spring cleaning task?
by Angie Quantrell
every. single. day.
dead stuff is delivered.
fur. teeth. tails. tiny feet.
feathers. skulls. wings asunder.
the odd beak.
legless bugs. drips of blood.
eerie green body parts.
dead stuff. in life. in dreams.
felines hard at work.
freeze. winter. come soon.
put to ground the endless corpses
delivered as gifts.
pause the need for caution
when opening the door or
placing feet along the body strewn gravel,
blending in, creating traps for thoughtless tread.
drop. temperature. ice-over.
to sleep. to fly south. to hibernate.
what happened to lumps of fur nested
in front of roaring fires?
rest, kitties, rest.
January always brings fresh hope and promises of renewed dreams, goals, plans.
View the sweater of a thousand photos.
This wardrobe piece awaits my beck and call all hours of the day and night. Menopause requires layers. And this, my Goodwill find from years past, is perfect. Cold? Snuggle in this button-up baby. Hot? Fling it across the room without any answering complaints. Fold it. Wad it. Wash it. Toss it. Wear it. Love and hate it.
From my viewpoint, the sweater of a thousand photos matches every item of clothing I own. Because I wear it with any and every thing. Coordinating or not.
As evidenced by photos. At least 1,000 of them.
Life in the RV has finally taken its toll. Laundry facilities are stranded across compacted snow and ice trails inside the stick house of our son and his family. Sometimes one forgets to empty the dryer on time. Usually that is ok. But just this once, it was not.
For the sweater of a thousand photos has been damaged. Heated too long and too hot. The yarns melted into permanent wrinkles. Never before static cling haunts attempts at layering. What once was fuzz and softness is now thin and bare. The sweater of a thousand photos, MY sweater, the $2 deal, is nearing the end.
My heart is sad but realizing the futility of wearing holes and wrinkles held together with bits of yarn. It is time to move on. Let it go. Wave a fond farewell, not looking back.
Unless it is in photos.
New beginnings come in different forms. Out with the old, in with the new. Or maybe new-to-me.
The hunt has begun. This year, I resolve to capture the next sweater of a thousand photos. The search will be in reverse order, according to hunting aficionados, but this works well for clothing.
Hunt. Bag. Shoot.
What will you be hunting this year?