Mockingbird Hill Cottage

The annual pillow migration has begun. I’ve retrieved all the cushions from the glider and the adirondack chairs. Some will be stored. But the three that are the back rests on the glider move to the loveseat in the living room. They work the best there. The pillows that I had on the loveseat (including the red checked one above) are, at best, filler during the spring and summer. I search every spring for indoor/outdoor pillows that will work on the glider or sofa, so I can have two good sets, but so far, I only have one.

Don just left for a rehearsal in the city and the loveseat is in a state of disarray, so I’ll take a picture of it later today.

We spent several hours shoveling yesterday. The snow was heavy and wet and there was a lot of it. Don wanted to do it all because I wasn’t feeling well, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. It was exhausting. We took a break for a while, went back out and shoveled some more, but the snow was even heavier. And our muscles were complaining. So we did everything we had to do to make sure Don could leave today and I could get out if necessary. There’s still a bit to shovel, but there might be some melt today, so I’m hoping I can avoid that. Still not feeling tip-top.

We hobbled around the rest of the day. I treated myself to some hot chocolate. We made dinner and watched the tube. All the while, we were saying that we couldn’t wait to go to bed!

We were cheated out of the pleasure of watching the first snow, which is usually gentle, with maybe a few inches falling. Nope. We got a big storm and giant mess.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, we didn’t use the snow blower because it tends to eat up the Item 4, or gravel. Since we just had the driveway done, we trying to insure that it stays in place. It’s impossible not to get some in a shovelful of snow, but there’s much less. If we had someone plow the driveway? Forget it. We once watched in horror as a guy plowed our driveway, depositing the snow and half of our new gravel along with it in a pile across the road.

I have heard four rifle shots while I’ve been writing this. Hunters. I despise hunting with every fiber of my being. I want to find them, grab their damn guns, and tell them what I think of them. Obviously, that’s a fantasy, but the intensity of my feelings about hunting are not a fantasy. And please don’t bother with any of the usual defenses of hunting. In truth, there are none. Not in this day and age. The most egregious excuse is that it’s a “noble” cause, that the hunter is just helping to thin a population that will starve over the winter. I’ve never believed that for a second. It’s about killing an innocent, magnificent animal and finding an excuse to do it.

My dad, gentle soul that he was, had a bow and arrow and went hunting every fall for a number of years when I was in high school. He never killed a deer. Because, when up against it while aiming at a defenseless animal, he knew it was wrong. And he stopped any pretense of hunting after that. We had many arguments about hunting before he stopped, but it wasn’t until several years later that I realized that he deliberately missed. That he didn’t have the heart to do it.

I talk about this every other autumn, it seems. We live in the country. I see these guys wearing camouflage in local shops and at gas stations. It’s an unfortunate fact of life here. I can’t wait until hunting season is over. Unfortunately, it just opened today and it goes until December 9th.

Wonder what it would be like if animals had the guns and we were the prey?

Happy Saturday.