Oops. Looks like I missed a week.
Do you believe in ghosts?
If by ghosts you mean a spiritual realm, yes, absolutely.
Irregardless of your physical fitness, coordination or agility: If you could play any sport professionally what would it be? Or if you can’t picture yourself playing sports, what is your favorite sport?
I’d play Skeets. Otherwise known as Trap Shooting. Here’s why: I’ve always been intrigued by the sport ever since I saw it in an old movie. You know, the scene where the wealthy guy who may or may not be the bad guy, is out practicing skeets. He is interrupted by the protagonist, or his underling, or his saucy and ill-disciplined teenage daughter who races up, to have a word. For the duration of the dialogue, he maintains his composure and hits every clay pigeon. Except perhaps the last one, depending on the dramatic impact required.
I think I’d like Skeet shooting. It requires skill but you don’t break a sweat. No animals are harmed. It’s great fun, by yourself or with friends! Plenty of fresh air and breathtaking vistas to enjoy. The butler brings champagne, and you can have all sorts of snappy conversations with that no-account son-in-law or your petulant Petunia.
Do you prefer long hair or short hair for yourself?
Long. As in shoulder length. Longer than that I start to look drawn. People make inquiries after my well-being.
If you were on an small island, who would you want to be with? And where is it? How big is it?
With my husband, of course. The island is in a temperate area of the world, not at all far from the mainland so that access is easy. I like it quiet, but not cut off. It’s big enough to include a garden, hen house, wood lot, waterfall, fishing pool, a mine adit (for Reiner – he won’t come otherwise) and two or three other sites with cabins for visitors.
Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last Sunday, Reiner and I paid a visit to the Pioneer Village in Kitchener. I hadn’t been there since I was a girl. We arrived right at opening and had the place to ourselves. It was a beautiful day to walk the trails. The only thing I recognized from 50 years ago was the steam locomotive.
Several of the homes on the tour had woodstoves lit to take off the chill. The Martin household was originally home to a family of twelve. The structure was built so that the grandparents had the front rooms and the younger family lived in the rear, closer to the action on the farm. There are several woodstoves throughout in the assorted summer and winter kitchens. The docent explained that they moved the stove from one room to the next as the seasons dictated.
I, of course, picked my jaw up off the floor and said, “They what?”
Apparently, it can be taken apart and re-assembled.
She also went on to describe how the homemaker would know when the stove was warm enough to bake bread. You hold your hand in the oven. If you can stand the heat for between twelve and eighteen beats, the bread won’t burn.
“Good to know,” I said. “All I know how to make is lid toast.”
I was impressed with the sparseness of the place. Bare walls and floors, functional rooms, mostly bedrooms. One potty next to the woodshed at the far end of the house. No adorning features, certainly nothing approaching a family room or “retreat” room. It was rather humbling.
I could handle living this low-tech way, as long as I had plumbing. And the internet. You will note, there is not one $25.00 lightbulb anywhere near this wood stove.
This week, nothing much happening, but a week from today? Ooh, a big surprise! Weather permitting!
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