Snowball Fights!

(Well, that was embarrassing. Somehow I posted this before it was done, in all its half-written, unrevised glory. Ouch. Well, those of you who may have seen this...that's what a first draft looks like. Typos and all. I'm surprised you weren't blinded by it.)

Twelve Acre Wood really is very pretty. Especially with snow to cover all its imperfections.

This afternoon was pretty bright, which is unusual right around this time of year, so instead of being a hermit and reading in my room, I took myself out to the living room and read in there. It is terribly romantic to sit in a rocking chair in front of a fire and read an old book. (Dear Enemy by Jean Webster, in case you want to know.) I was feeling as sentimental as can be when I looked out the window, and lo and behold, the snow was falling gently to the ground oh so artistically.

I like to get outside at least once a day (though I tend to put it off until it's nearly dark and so cold that I catch pneumonia the instant I crack open the door). However, it looked so pleasant that I decided to go out right then. I put on my shawl, my cloak (yes I wear a cloak, I'm cool like that) a pair of leggings, mittens and a scarf. I pulled on two pairs of socks, stepped into my epic mud boots and ventured out into the cold and snow with my brother Pip at my side to explore the frozen wastes.

Pics of said frozen wastes:

I took the camera, 'cause why waste an opportunity, and snapped some pictures. I'm not sure if you can tell, but it was actually snowing while I took those pictures, and I was excited to try and capture that. Yeah, those poorly defined white blurs are snowflakes.

Also there were birds. Proof:

(This Picture is called "Spot the Gold Finch.")

There was a really gorgeous bird with a red breast (probably a robin, but I am no bird expert and shall ask Rego before irrevocably naming it as such) that I tried to capture, but I couldn't hold the camera still enough, and thus failed miserably at the attempt. Alas for poor Lissy.

After the pictures were taken I gave my brother his camera back and because it was still nice and semi-sunny out Pip and I played in the snow. I wrote out my name with my footprints, Pip showed me a frozen mud puddle to slide on, and we ended the outting with a good old fashioned snowball fight. (No pics, sadly. I didn't dare risk Kennedy's camera in that war zone.)

I am bad at snowball fights. My baby brother, who is ten year younger than I am, has far better hand eye coordination than I do. Do you know what he did? He caught my snowballs right out of the air and threw them back at me! The little diel! (That's not a typo, that's Scotch!) I couldn't win for losing. He'd throw his at me and then throw mine too! It was absolutely unfair. There should be rules against that.

And then my hands got cold and I went inside and made myself a mug of hot cocoa. It was fun. I need to play in the snow more often.

As a side note: My spell check doesn't know what snow is. It has auto corrected it to 'slide,' 'Sylvie,' 'site,' and 'snore' and several other non-snowy things besides. How bothersome.

Here's a picture of Twelve Acre Bridge in the snow.

Spell Check

So. I'm sure you've all noticed my typos. There are a lot of them, to be honest. Every time I thought I have rid my blog of the last one another comes to light. I have an excuse though. I write most of my posts on a tablet. Upon this self same tablet there is a thing some people call 'spell check' and that I call my arch nemesis.

In a fit of annoyance I have penned a song to commemorate my deep abiding hatreds of spell check. This song must be sung to the tune of "Mother Knows Best." It's not my best poetical work, but I'm short on time and patience, so bear with me, I pray.


Behold, my masterpiece!

Spell check: Spell check knows best
listen to your Spell check
it's a scary world out there
Spell check knows best
One way or another
Something will go wrong, I swear
RUffians, thuggggs
Poyzin ivvy, quacksand
Kannibals adn snakEs
Teh plaige.

Me: Surely not.

Spell check: Yes!

Me: But...

Spell check: Also bugs large,
Pointy teethed mans and--
Stop, no more, you'll just upset me
Spell check is right here,
Spell check will protect you,
Darling here's what I suggest
Skip the drama
You can't even spell 'mama'
Spell check knows best!
Spell check knows best
Take it from your Spell check
On your own, you won't survive
Sloppy, ungrammatical
On the keyboard your are clumsy
Please, you'll roast yourself alive!
You gullible knave,
You're positively nerdy
Ditzy--you can't even spell 'vague!'
Plus I believe, getting kinda wordy,
I'm just saying 'cause I love you (not)
Spell check understands,
Spell check's here to help you
All I have is one request!
Lissy?

Me: ...yes?

Spell check: Don't you ever turn off your spell check again!

Me: *sigh* Yes, Spell check.

Spell check: Don't forget it
You'll regret it
SPELL CHECK KNOWS BEST!!!

Spinach.

Peeps, I am in the depths of despair. Last week, as you may remember, was crummy. I felt a little off and had a skin problem and my nails kept breaking...there were several reasons for this, but I'm pretty sure I've tracked down the culprit.

Coffee.

You don't know me, so you cannot understand the utter horror of this realization. I love coffee. I know we modern people say the word love far too easily but I do love coffee.

It has such a wondrous bitter flavor. Now I'm not going to deny that I'm a little odd when it comes to the flavor of my food and drink. I do err on the side of the exotic. I like bitter, sour, and spicy things. My family will attest to the fact. I happen to like Tabasco sauce in my lemonade and I add red pepper to nearly everything. Stir-fry, beef stew, chocolate milk, ginger tonic, honey (I love red pepper with honey). You name it and I've probably added red pepper to it.

Anyway, I love coffee. I drink a cup or two a day. Of late I've been drinking more. Sometimes up to four or five cups a day. (Note: I drink out of small coffee cups, not gigantic mugs.) Not a huge amount compared to some folks I know, but still a fair amount.

And coffee is good for you. It stimulates the brain and muscles. It contains essential nutrients. It lowers risk of diabetes, liver disease, Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. It's also my most effective painkiller.

However, coffee also makes it more difficult for your body to absorb iron. Not so drastically as to make it bad for you: most Americans have a diet that's pretty high in iron, so a cup or two of coffee shouldn't hurt. However, at four cups a day (including tea and other caffeinated beverages) it adds up. I seem to be a little deficient in iron and that means no more coffee until I feel better.

This may seem quite trivial, but remember, I love coffee. I can't remember the last day I went without it. So it's going to be difficult and I'm going to be irritable. Suffice it to say that I am not looking forward to this next week or so.

To make matters worse, it is recommended that people with iron deficiency eat things like spinach and peas. I do not like spinach and peas.

I just ate a bowl of spinach and I am in the depths of despair.

Fare thee well and may your life be blessed with many cups of gloriously caffeinated delight. Mine shan't.

Crumbs, Plays, and Birthdays

Last week was kinda crummy so I didn't write anything. Crumminess is uninspiring.

However, I did have one really good thing come out of it. Much Ado About Nothing. I have a confession to make. For the last four or five years I was convinced that I hated Shakespeare. When I was ten I was given a book of Shakespearean plays as a birthday present. I read it faithfully several times a year until I lost it when I was fourteen. I didn't really care for them, but I was proving to my Excellent Mother that I was familiar with the classics and was reading something aside from fantasy or sci-fi (which she is convinced are the scourge of the libraries).

Being a ten year old, I didn't particularly like them. Actually, that isn't strong enough. I hated them. Especially A Midsummer's Night Dream. I also hated Othello, never actually finished it, though I tried many times. The only one I could abide was Much Ado About Nothing. Even that one was a bit difficult for ten year old me get through. And in successive rereads I still didn't develop a taste for Shakespeare. When I lost the book I was actually kind of glad that I didn't have to go through it anymore and I gave up Shakespeare for good.

Or so I thought.

On Monday evening last week I was a little sad and stressed out. I'd just completed a batch of bread--which I had neglected to put any sugar or salt or oil in--and it came out crunchy and flavorless. You could say it was really...crumby. Anyway, I wanted to wind down so I looked for something to watch on YouTube and heigh ho, what was in the recommendations but a rendition of Much Ado About Nothing. I didn't have anything else to do, so I sighed and hit play.

Oh my.

Oh my.

I loved it. I couldn't keep this priceless treasure to myself, so I fetched Kennedy and we watched it together. He liked it as much as I did (which surprised me) and we stayed up until after twelve watching it.

I was hooked. When I find something that I like so much I go into a phase which lasts a couple days. The first day is obsession. I think about it constantly, it fills my head pretty thoroughly. I kept going back to the computer and looking over the play again and analyzing the scenes and dialogue.

The next day I was more rational and I only rewatched my favorite scenes about ten times.

 By Wednesday I was fine. I was still interested in Much Ado About Nothing, but I left it alone. Same on Thursday.

On Friday I caved in and actually read the play. It was waaaaaaay more awesome than I remembered. Apparently ten year old me wasn't a good judge of plays.

On Saturday I searched for a new rendition, found a good one and watched it with my sisters. We liked it so well that we watched it with the rest of the family on Saturday evening. The only one who was Not Impressed was my Esteemed Father. But I don't hold it against him.

I'm  going to have to read more Shakespeare.




My brother Rego had his birthday this week. Krisbie made the cake and it was excellent, but a little sweet because my Esteemed Father snuck into the kitchen after Krisbie had frosted it and put an extra container of frosting on it. (He insists that cake is simply the vehicle of the frosting, being a tasty and convenient way to convey it to one's mouth. But, should cake be unavailable, a spoon will do just as well. Cutting out the middleman and whatnot.)

Rego got a lot of cool presents but my personal  favorite was Mum's present to  him. Rego loves birdwatching. He takes a lot of pictures of the birds that  visit his feeders. He has a lot of really stunning ones, but everybody's favorite is one of a cardinal in midflight against a background of snowy trees. My Excellent Mother got it professionally printed for him to hang somewhere conspicuous.

There, that's my update. Here  are some pictures I took on my stroll today. The whole world is melting and I think it's beautiful (in a drab, grey-brown sort of way).

 (This is  what's left of the bridge at Twelve Acre Wood.  Suffice it to say that we do not use it. Ever.)

Meet The Millahs!

Seeing as how January is the eighth month I will have had this blog I figure it's time to introduce my family.


See, we're the average, everyday, one-of-a-kind sort of family, ya know? There are eight of us all together (Mum and Dad included), and in modern America that's kinda big. We stand out when we go places. In the church we attended before we moved our Pastor Jim and his family were from Boston. When he or his wife would greet us at the door they would call out "It's the Millahs!" In their snazzy Bostonian accents. It stuck. We are The Millahs. Even among people who never met our wonderful Pastor Jim we are "The Millahs."

So, here I am to introduce the rest of The Millahs. (In order of age.)


-My Excellent Mother: Has epic hair. Plays the handbells. Sings tenor.

-My Esteemed Father: Jack of all trades. Usually has sawdust in his hair. Writes poems.

-Kennedy: Younger than me by a year. Is a 'cuber.' Does parkour. Is taller than me.

-Krisbe (de la Squankie): Shorter than me. Has longer, thicker, prettier hair than me. Really good at paper art of various kinds.

-Rego: Also taller than me. Bird-watcher supreme. Keeper of the Mighty Flame of Twelve Acre Wood.

-Hobbi: Our Golden Princess. Little pepperpot. Draws adorable pictures of the characters from Pride and Prejudice.

-Pippin: Smol. Energetic. Wants to build a helicopter/submarine hybrid when he grows up.

-Arthur: Krisbie's duck. Very uncivil. Does not believe in lizards.

There you have it, the notorious Millahs.

(This is the picture Hobbi drew of Jane Bennet. Isn't it darling?)