SueAnn Porter

I haven’t blogged in over two months because there is just too much work to do at my house. But I’ve now reached the point where if I don’t write something my head will explode, and that would just be more mess to clean off the walls.

A few weeks ago, the eclipse of the moon held everyone’s attention. Whether coming at it from a purely scientific viewpoint, or a spiritual viewpoint, (or both, because they always work together) it was a big attraction in the sky. I didn’t want to be the only one to miss out–(I was the only person in the country who did not see O.J.’s famous chase on the freeway back in ’94, as I was pregnant and sick in bed)–so at 8 pm I decided to check out the moon.

I opened the front door to look at the moon, but I didn’t turn on the outside light, figuring it would be easier to find a bright object in the sky without the bright object of the light bulbs in my face. I took a step outside, and heard some rustling in the leaves on the ground. I thought it might be the chipmunks, but it seemed slower moving than chipmunks. I then heard an “eee eeee” sound, and thought to myself, that’s not a chipmunk. I took a step backwards and reached indoors for the light switch and flipped it on. There was a skunk standing two feet away from me. I jumped back into the house and closed the door while screaming, “It’s a skunk, it’s a skunk!” For some reason I didn’t think Mr. Porter would believe me. (Because I’m always making up stories about skunks in the yard? The Girl Who Cried Skunk?)

“Let’s go out on the back deck,” Mr. Porter said. We did not turn the lights on (dumb, I know) and we stood on the back deck. We had a great view of the moon, which was still bright white, but at least I found it. The skunk, meanwhile, was walking along the fence next to our neighbors’ yard. “There he is, do you see him, do you see him?” I asked hubby, still afraid that he would not believe me.

“Yeah, yeah, there he goes,” was the response.

It seems that the peanut butter we have been using to trap the chipmunks, has also attracted skunks.

Those of you who have been following my blog for some time know about our problems with the chipmunks.

You can read about it here:    https://sueannporter.com/2015/09/03/chipmunk-condos/

We did go back out later on that evening, with the front lights on, and got to see the moon.

So we survived The Great Skunk Visit. No one was sprayed, not even Bailey.  He did get sprayed a few years ago. You can read about it here: https://sueannporter.com/2013/06/16/refinance-your-mortgage-now/

Next on the agenda is The Great Apple Crisp Cravings. Yeah, yeah, comfort food. I’ve been doing very well finding other things to comfort me: music, silence, treadmill (with TV–it makes the time fly by). I’ve lost 30 pounds and kept it off for three months. Of course during those three months, I have not continued the weight loss, but, hey, maintaining a weight loss is a win-win too. So I’ll take it. For now.

In Upstate New York, this time of Year is Apples, Apples, Apples. Apple cider. Apple cider donuts. And apple crisp. Me -n- my good friend Betty Crocker whip up quite a delicious concoction.  My secret is more nutmeg and more cinnamon. I don’t know what it is about nutmeg. I adore the stuff.

Then came The Great Apple Crisp Obsession. I was making a new batch every day. I finally stopped myself. What is the problem? Why are you doing this? 

Well, duh. I had dental surgery a few days ago, and have stitches in my mouth. The area is sore. It’s only about a “four” on the one-to-ten pain scale, so it lingers below the surface. If it were a “nine” it would be front and center, and shall I say, obvious. But the “four” hides in the background, just irritating enough to bother me, but not hitting the synapses hard enough to identify itself.

So I was trying to comfort myself. It only took me five days to figure it out. Now I can go back to sliced apples, drowning in cinnamon and nutmeg, sans sugar, flour and butter. Onward!

Also on our agenda (yes, there’s more) is The Great House Downsizing. Mr. Porter and I are selling our house (well, that’s the plan anyway) and moving to a smaller, cheaper house with less stairs.

So while placing nearly everything I own into either cardboard boxes or sturdy Rubbermaid containers, I am also trying to purge–you know, recycle, donate, toss. This means every item requires a decision. Or two. Or three.

Do I keep this pen? Does it write?

Should I keep this knick knack? Who gave it to me? Does it hold any sentimental value?

What did I write in this notebook? Do I already have it typed into the computer? Did I back it up to a disc?

Does this blouse fit me? Do I like it? Would I ever wear it again?

“And so it goes,” as Kurt Vonnegut put it.

So although I have not written much lately, I do have a lot to write about.

I’d better get back to packing/purging/tossing.

Ah, that feels better. Now my brain won’t explode.