Weather report

First, a bit of geography for Red, who blogs at Hiawatha House. He's not sure it snows by me. I believe Red is in the Minneapolis area, between Lakes Superior and Michigan. The state is considerably more north of me, and between those two weather making lakes, Superior and Michigan. 

I live in Boston Township, about fifty miles below Lake Erie. When I lived in Lake County (guess where that is!), we were in the primary snow belt from the snow producing great lake, Lake Erie. Now I live fifty miles south of the lake, and two miles south of the Lake Erie, Ohio River watershed, in the secondary snow belt. Weather systems from the southwest, loaded with Lake Erie snow, and Lake Michigan snow, can hit that watershed and give us extra snow.

I read the average annual snowfall for Minneapolis is 45 inches. The average snowfall in the township is fifty inches. We broke the record a few years ago with over 150".

It snows here. This current storm began 22 hours ago, and is not expected to end until tomorrow. It snows as I type.

The snow was plenty deep when I came out for breakfast. 

My only answer was to put together a crostata. A touch of color!

Last month I made little packets of the fruit, sugar, cornstarch and lemon juice, and froze those. A mistake; the sugar drew juice from the berries and the syrup couldn't cook down. This time, no advance preparation.

And the reward, a beautiful bit of crostata.

Cathy called. Did I have any onions? Could she have one. That answer, no problem, except the snow. I called David, the young fellow a year behind Laura, so a senior this year. And yes, he could come, but much later. He'd fit me in his schedule. Made me laugh.

I had plenty to do. I cut the last length of fabric into rust towels. That reminds me of a towel story; I'll save it for last.

Mid afternoon I heard the sound of shoveling coming up the steps, so went to the door to greet Dave. And pay him.

But it was Dan, my neighbor across the street. The summer lawn mower. We chatted a minute and I asked him how the towels I gave him were holding up. I learned they are in a place of honor, unused. "Life's too short," I told him. "Use the damn towels!"

I texted David I no longer needed snow removal and went back to prepping towels. Here's a picture I took of across the street; one of Larry's cars still snow covered and one cleared off and backed as far under his awning as possible, because it still was snowing.

And the good news is, far less snow to remove tomorrow. But still...snow.

And here's my other towel story. One day last week I was making rolls. In my trailer the dishwasher is not flush with the counter, or recessed under the counter. No, it sticks out from the counter. That can lead to messy cooking jobs being cleaned from the dishwasher, too. So, I put a towel over the door to serve as an apron. And said to myself, "You should post that on 'Where the Towels Live'". So, I took a picture.

Over the weekend a hard working friend of mine texted me a picture of a use she has for a thick cotton towel. It was one of the texts that chimed in as I left the phone store yesterday. Both were posted yesterday, for your enjoyment.

Tomorrow, the envelope of pictures.

Holing up

 Well, I had my phone fixed this afternoon. There are two places to put it on Do Not Disturb. I didn't know about the second place. The ever helpful fellow at the phone store knew. Now I know, too. And I left the store to the tinkle of all the incoming texts and messages.

Laura moved over the weekend. Everything is in her studio except the bed. All her help bailed except one stalwart friend, and they got it all moved except her bed. Too big for the car. She's not fussed.

I learned all this when I called to see when we could get together, for help with my shopping. The awful season has arrived; we are under a winter storm advisory from today through Thursday. The snow total is forecast at four to six inches. The news feed for Peninsula warns it will rain for the next 120 minutes. That's two hours, bringing us to 8 p.m., and that is when the snow will begin.

The hang up with Laura and shopping is that she has no car. I am more than happy to go get her, but a bit of planning is required. The ten mile drive takes twenty minutes. That's essentially an hour total travel time just for that pick up and return, and I'd prefer to start before three in the afternoon.

I gathered myself up after lunch and went grocery shopping, brought it home, got it in and unloaded and put away. My hoodie was in the dryer, on high heat, that entire time, and still feels cold and damp several hours later.

I finished the rust warp and it's sitting on the washing machine, waiting for tomorrow. I ate supper, and here I am, writing a blog entry about shopping before the storm.

Tonight I'd intended to write about the envelope of pictures from my father's trunk. Although all the pictures are scanned, any information on their backs is over in the desk drawer, and I'm not getting up again until bedtime.

That is a picture of my father in gingham and a bandaged toe, holding his brother, in yesterday's post. The picture of the class has an arrow pointing to my father and his name written below. Here's another picture of a class he was part of. The next time I post, it will be more pictures, and the story of the envelope.

Review of real life

 Months ago I came across a recorded book that I immediately downloaded. The little review on screen introduced the subject(s) as Appalachian refuse made good. The author was in a car down where he grew up, Middlefield, Ohio

I downloaded Hillbilly Elegy; it sounded like one more book about my dad's life, sans the car. Around that time I read a string of books about the little guy persevering for a small win against Big Industry/Pharma/Chemical/Legal America.

Dark Waters attorney Mark Bilott realized unexplained deaths in his hillbilly portion of West Virginia might be, and indeed were connected to DuPont manufacturing chemical discharge in and around Parkersburg, West Virginia.

Another was Just Mercy, way further south, but still about poor people running out of resources against unrestrained power. I'm an Ohioan born and raised watching Appalachian transplants coming to make good in factories on all four corners of this state, and in between, north and south, east and west.

Some did OK, some did not. You may remember Starlett, a gifted artist who battled drugs all her adult life. She gave up life back in her heaven on earth, Coker Creek, Tennessee. I've been around for seven decades now, seeing the turning wheels that put chemicals in creeks and more drugs than can be consumed by the entire world out for Americans to have.

Hillbilly Elegy became a Ron Howard film that, again, I merely stumbled across. I had no idea I was watching Glenn Close  until I read others assessments of the film. The film deviated from the book in several unimportant ways. For me, it was another film dedicated to the trashing of America in all the parts of the heartland these manufacturers have used and left.

Why aren't they leaving behind enough money to educate the children of all the men and women who came to work for them. Why aren't they cleaning up the land, water and air they polluted. Why is it taking thousands of investigative attorney hours to show all the laws broken, violated, just to get a ruling for a stingy bit of remediation.

I could continue rambling on, as seems to be my best ability these last several years. I wrote this because I see so much truth in Hillbilly Elegy, both the book and the film. The point to me is not simply the triumph of one young man's family, but the concentric circle surrounding the story and reaching out to all corners of both my state and my country.

Those responsible for all the kinds of pollution are not held accountable or responsible. The success of one young man is wonderful; the surroundings he succeeded against, reprehensible.

I should go back and edit this screed into a tight couple of paragraphs about the shortcomings of hillbillies and how they can be fixed, especially before they fall for another bad president. And I still am capable of that, but it would take me a week, and even then would not erase one Pentecostal church offering a solution to poverty and ignorance, when the solution actually is the accountability of the people who underwrote the problem. 

How the day flew!

 The middle of my day was making a raspberry crostata. I waited for it to bake, then shamelessly ate half of it for lunch.

As I was working on assembly, I could not help but notice the mystery mess atop my stove. I do not know the source, and I doubt it's dandruff.

So as the crostata baked away, I sprayed the bottle of Lysol that I purchased when the pandemic came over the hill to terrorize us last spring. Me, the person who drilled warm water and soap and a dishcloth to clean up the mess and another towel to dry it, into my grandchildren. I kept a roll of paper towels on the counter, and Laura was allowed to buy a new roll every couple of months. I noticed she hung one up to dry as often as possible.

And the crostata baked, and I cleaned the stove. And the microwave and the counters.

I talked to my oldest daughter, the one who may be reverting to silver hair. She is cooking turkey for one, she said. Caroline does not eat turkey and Bill is off with Ruth and Francis is off with the wind. France is somewhere out west and hopefully on the way to his aunt's house for dinner. Sacramento, I believe.

I talked to my youngest daughter, the one who will be Teutonic blond for life. She's with her husband in Florida, eating fried chicken. Her husband has so many relatives there; I guess she may be surrounded.

After lunch and supper I found and answered emails and texts from so many virtual friends, wishing me greetings of the day. That was so sweet. The part about the slow death of my phone is irritating. I must go out on Monday, and the phone store must fix my phone. If they don't, I'll just buy a new phone.

A happy Thanksgiving to all of us.

Short of ideas

 I truly have little to nothing to post about. I've reduced my life to the basics of get up, take care of the cat (who was a snotty fellow today because his food bowl was empty and "she" doesn't bother herself until her teeth are brushed and her clothes are on), eat breakfast, weave awhile, watch TV, weave some more, eat lunch, weave, TV, weave, supper, blogs, bed.

Tonight, several hours ago, I was struggling with a blog here in my office, the lighted end of the trailer. Suddenly there was a pounding on the window, but it was dark and I couldn't see the pounder. I scuttled down to the door. That's a joke; I move at only one speed.

Cathy, my neighbor was at the door, to tell me Ann had tried calling for several hours, and now I should be home from anywhere and still didn't answer, so Ann called my sister, who called Cathy, in case Cathy knew anything and now my sister would be on her way over except Cathy said wait, "I'll go check!"

So, she pounded on the window and scared the crap out of me.

That kerfuffle sorted, I talked to Ann for an hour, then deleted the pathetic post I'd begun and read blogs until now. It's an hour till bedtime, and I did accomplish a stack of towels on my shelf of inventory today, so here are some pictures.

 I hemmed almost the entire dozen of yellow towels today. I really, really need a haircut, but not until next week.

I posted their picture on the Towels for Sale page.

The next color is called rust. I really like it. I'm still listening to Edith Wharton. I'm on My Antonia, and I like it so much I may listen to it a couple more times.

And that's how I've waited for time to go by, since the last time. Let's all stay home for Thanksgiving, and probably for Christmas and New Year's. I hear those all will be celebrated this year at the White House, with large parties. I hope the house is tented and disinfected before January.