Sunday, May 14, 2017

And then, this happened!

I awoke a little earlier this morning, as it had been my intention to drive down to Deefield for the NH Sheep and Wool Festival. I lounged in bed a bit before arising, enjoying the splendor of a comfy mattress and the warmth of one of my quilts, while pondering this and that. Clouded daylight, which had dispelled the darkness at least an hour already, spread coolness into the room. I figured it was raining--it was forecast to. I heard it rain during the night.

So I finally shoved myself over the edge and got up on my feet. Out of the bed's clothes and into my own, I turned around, and to my utter astonishment saw snow laden trees, whose branches wept so low they about touched the ground! For a moment, there was weeping all around. I couldn't believe my eyes. This is how the yard looked:

My poor rhododendron was weighted down in a most exasperated gesture, flopped over in utter disbelief. Me too.

I went to the Sheep and Wool anyway, and it turns out to have been the perfect antidote to the weather. In the valleys and points south, the snow had already disappeared, and most of the morning at the festival was enjoyed in a moderate drizzle. Refreshing, really, as it wasn't terribly cold. Not the sort of cold that drives one indoors, at any rate.

The sheep were lovely, the yarns colorful and ever so tempting, the wool so enticing. I snapped a few pics and made a few purchases...

Halls Brook road: Spring green under a winter blanket

The sheep

I picked up some wool and silk to spin, some yarn with which to make something, a new hand woven towel, a felted needle case, and a small cardinal felt kit

By the time I got home the snow was mostly gone and the rhododendron was it's beautiful self again.

Workmen are coming in the morning to start working on the side entry room. Yes, it's happening!

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Then this happened ...

What's to say? The car went kaput. Last week.

It had been acting in bizarre ways ever since my trip to NY a few months ago. Odd noises under carriage, squeaks from the tires?, a wobbling steering wheel--but only intermittently. I had to pull over 3 times over the past month due to uncontrollable wobbling. Pulling over for a brief moment was enough to shake it of it's chills. But the last time it happened--before the mechanic saw it--it took longer to set itself straight.

So it was at the mechanic's last Friday morning. He was supposed to get it in shape so I could travel to CT for a weekend-long gender-free dance camp later in the day. As is my usual routine when the car needs to see the doctor, I dropped it off early in Holderness, just across the river from Plymouth, and proceeded to walk over to downtown Plymouth for breakfast. I had no sooner finished breakfast when my mechanic phoned. Well, that was quick! I was expecting a couple hours.

The news was grave. The transmission bearings were going. They weren't entirely gone yet, but I was informed they could break at any time and there was no way of knowing when that would happen. My mechanic advised me that it was not worth sinking more money into the car; and it would be an expensive fix. I'm glad he was honest with me about it. I'd asked him to tell me when he thought we'd reached the end. So I left wondering whether luck would be with me for a while yet?

I had to drive 13 miles to the bank and 13 miles back in the afternoon and the car was splendid. That was the odd thing: It would run smoothly and wonderfully--until it didn't. There was no predicting when the wobbling would start. Well, it started 1.5 miles from my house on the way back and this time, pulling over didn't seem to right things: It just kept wobbling, and wobbling. I stopped several times, putting it in park then back in drive. The wobbling persisted. I almost thought it was going to make me walk the rest of the way home, but I pulled into the driveway after many fits and stops, and it hadn't overcome the wobbles. Kaput.

It was 15 years old and had 210,000 miles on it. It had been around the block more than a few times. It was a good car. It was my first--ever--car. It got me from Brooklyn to NH almost exactly 4 years to the day (April 27th), and it made some important errands for me. I was fond it, workhorse that it was. When I bought it I was hoping it would last me 5 years. Short by 1, but I'm not quibbling. It settled me here and I'm grateful for that.

I hitched a ride into Plymouth Monday this week with my neighbor who dropped me off at the car rental. After breakfast at my favorite diner in Plymouth, I headed straight for the Subaru dealer in Tilton where this happened:

Yes, it's my new car. A 2014 Subaru Forester; an up-to-date version of my old car. It's in great shape; it had only one previous owner and all the work done on it was done at the dealership where I bought it. Very clean inside and out; like new, really. I like the color--can't be too picky when buying used. I had my mechanic look at it before I bought it and he gave it his stamp of approval.

It feels so classy with it's humongous moon roof, rear view camera, bluetooth, and so on. My cello fits comfortably within and the kayak will fit comfortably above.