Thursday, January 15, 2015

Further Weirdness

I haven't blogged for a while. 

Blog is such an ugly word. It doesn't look pretty written out, it doesn't sound pretty spoken aloud. Can someone come up with a nicer word for Online Journaling?
Willow in Winter. Rubbish underneath courtesy of Summer fort building.

I'm still here, doing rural type things with all my rural people. 

We have snow. It makes the winter bearable. 
We have youtube. It also makes the winter bearable. And the housework put-off-able.
These two things collided in a surprisingly non-Disney inspired way today. After we deposited the older offspring at their eight-hour holding facilities schools, the GBaby and I were trekking across the frozen tundra that is our sidewalk 
A portion of our sidewalk. And also our dog who was thinking "Why doesn't that fool woman with the opposable thumbs quit taking pictures with that iphone and hurry up and open the door?!"
because our parking garage is in the barn and the barn is about an acre away from our house to keep the smell of animals from wafting too much into our home only we don't really have many animals because we're modern like that and this sentence has drifted away from where we were which was on the 
sidewalk. Inspired by the sunshiney, crystallized beauty I broke into song. 
Pretty Outdoors = Instant Good Mood = Broadway Songs.
I love untracked snow, but I have come to appreciate all those tracks. They mean that kids are playing! Or doing their outside chores. Or contemplating running away, but changing their minds when they consider the hardships of surviving in the cold without their bossy parents.  Win-Win-Win!

"Oh What a Beautiful Morning! Oh What a Beautiful Day!"
I belted out Rogers and Hammerstein because this song was meant to be sung in the rural outdoors and my neighbors live far enough away. For the first time in forever, one of my children actually liked my singing. (!) GBaby asked me to continue the song, but I wasn't really sure about the lyrics. 
So we YOUTUBED it, of course. 
Gordon MacRae. 

It is no secret that I'm a little weird, a little off... but I find something so sigh-worthy about a singing cowboy. Or maybe just this singing cowboy singing this particular set of songs. 
It makes me a little horny. (Don't tell my mother!)

It's probably a good thing that my husband isn't a cowboy because I'd probably end up with approximately 12 more children and I'm getting pretty old for that.

About getting old, here's another weird thing about thinking Gordon MacRae is sexy: (You know, besides the fact that he's dead.) He was born about 4 months after my grandmother. I exercise quite regularly with people born in the 1920's and 30's. They're not sexy. Not. At. All. But apparently, they once were.  It's one simple explanation for why we're all here.

Happy Cold Day!