I know that March is still to come, and more storms, but yesterday morning whilst still at home, it was so springlike at dawn that I was out before breakfast without a jacket snapping pictures. The rain had stopped, but the radio says that more is to expected and flood warnings have been issued. So after the storm, well between storms, spring arrived for an hour or two.
I went home for Friday, and it rained and rained and rained into the parlour. So I had painted this wall two years ago, then last year water poured through the far window. So the flashing was repaired last year for both windows and some shingles were replaced. I painted the wall again: one coat primer and two coats of paint. Then yesterday the water poured into the room again. This means that the shingles need to be replaced. But this is not the worse wall. The south side is a much larger wall and it needs to be replaced too. But flashing was replaced there last year. So I painted it the year before and then again last year.
This morning I finished the interior painting as much as I can now. The carpenter is coming next week so we can go over finishing the interior - but now I think the treasury will be spent on the exterior, and the interior will wait and wait and wait.
So now the decision - shingles again, or throw in the towel and have siding put up. I am thinking of throwing in that towel. I have better things to do with my time than to be constantly painting houses.
At noon I was on the road to Damascus. I were having a lunch meeting, but this was my first time in this establishment. You can see me taking the picture reflected in the glass door. Notice that there is no snow. This is, of course, as it says, the original Damascus. This makes that Syrian place an upstart copy cat. I am glad that I finally got here without a terrorist in sight. And it was not far, either.
Bonita's laundry periodically changes the view from my window. I do not think that I could live in a place that is so oppressive that clothes lines are banned. Aren't we all supposed to be going green. At the moment my clothes are strung out in the bathroom.
On another topic I was told today that Walmart employees are lined up before the store opens, and they put their hands on their hearts and sing the Walmart Song and that I could look it up on Youtube. I did, but I don't think that this is it:
Well, actually nothing could be brighter than this blue rose. I brought some faded funeral roses over to the apartment to give them an extra few days. But the blue rose! Is there anything faker than a blue rose? And why? In Alice in Wonderland they were painting the roses red, but blue?
Last Sunday was a lovely warm sunny day in Portland Maine. We had a delightful brunch in a funky place and then walked through the city. Here is the ferry dock. And then in the evening we went to church - well the church had been converted to a trendy upscale restaurant. We had a wonderful Valentine dinner. The diet was blown to pieces. Here is the website: http://restaurantgrace.com/.
Some mystery person goes through Portland in the darkness of Valentine Eve and posts thousands of red hearts in the down town. It seems that they were on the funkier, funner, (morether fun?) shops But this is one of the exceptions. A heart is affixed to John Ford's chest. He hailed from Portland and has a statue in his honour as well as stones marking each of his movies.
Here is the trailer for "How Green Was my Valley":
Ob Saturday the snow had melted around the Buddha in a Maine garden. I wonder if it is now covered with snow like we are here back in Nova Scotia?
We celebrated the New Year by going to see The Golden Dragon Acrobats. It was a fantastic show. At one time acrobats entertained the emperor's court in the Forbidden City, now the world has come to an auditorium in rural Maine. The world has become so small, but the opportunities to enjoy it have multiplied beyond imagination. Here is the promotional video.
And meanwhile back in Halifax my grandson was at the Tet festivities as the head in the Dragon Dance.
So the cats don't like the cat food. Maybe Miss Johnston will lose a bit of weight. Maybe I'll follow up on Debbie's suggestion (see comments) and use it for the next potluck, which is coming up next week when we have our annual meeting. And it will be gluten free! There are no grains in the mixture. (Maybe that's the problem.) I could serve it in a white sauce (bechamel) with perhaps a touch of curry. Only a touch, however, as folks around here seem to be adverse to spicy food. More's the pity. But I do want them to eat it all up, so I should cater to local taste.
They came right over and gave the new gourmet kibble a try, but then they walked off, not liking it any better than the cheap grocery store stuff. The no grain, chicken meal, sweet potatoes, peas, chicory root, tomatoes, blueberries and raspberries, along with the venison and smoked salmon, of course, just didn't cut the mustard.
So a new cat food for the girls, they start tomorrow. This delectable mixture consists of venison and smoked salmon. I pointed out to the saleswoman that my cats could not read and would not know a deer if they met one and nor a salmon for that matter. This is a "Rocky Mountain Feline Formula" and we live on the Atlantic coast, so it's a bit far away. So I read the label, and it's from Montana. Are there really salmon in Montana? So what is this? Are the cats getting the smoked heads and tails? And what about this venison? Is it road kill? Do you think the girls will like it?
I went home to do a bit a painting before leaving very early this morning to get back to work. So in this minuscule ell shaped hallway there are five portals, three of which have doors. This makes for a lot of picky painting. It's finished except for the touch ups, and then I'll get onto painting the floor, carefully, because to do so will block the way to the facilities. This will require some thought. But I am ahead of the game, I know my type. This is a excellent website. Wait a bit before you type in your name - any name will do. http://www.pentagram.com/what-type-are-you/
The coldest days are the brightest. I hope to go home tomorrow for a day at my house down the Valley. I'll put on my paint clothes and get back at painting the hallway. Pictures to follow in a day or two.
The brightest days are the coldest days, so whatever would have possessed any ground hog to rouse from her slumbers? She certainly saw her shadow, so spring is six more weeks away, which brings it to mid March. I wait with anticipation and meanwhile delve into the seed catalogues.