let me start by setting the scene: it is so cold today that even looking out the window at the frozenness will cause the fluid in your cornea to freeze, and your eyes will crumble and fall from their sockets. we didn't get the snow that was expected (2 feet) but that's a broken promise i can live with. but it's still early. and on this day, a day so cold that not 1 living thing should be outside, my husband and his BFF are going hunting. small game. why animals are called "game" when they're being hunted is as repugnant to me as the fact that he may, for effect, bring his best work home. i will be changing the locks. anyway. a more suspicious wife would be concerned that there are no open seasons at this time, and that perhaps they are going to partake of the North country women who will do anything to stay warm this time of year, or *gasp* the southern tier women who will do anything to score some Aspen Dental. but i am not that suspicious wife. and if i was, my fears would be put to rest as husband, BFF and BFF's cousin sat around my dining room table this morning having a pre-hunt Man Meal with enough cholesterol to plug a drainage pipe...talking guns and ammo and who's going to take what. thus fortified by eggs, hash, bacon, testosterone and GoreTex, they loaded up the Escalade for the suburban version of drive-by shootings. i don't like hunting. won't eat the "spoils" of the hunt. this being said, i am fully aware that there are people who rely on hunting as their food source. i get it. i watch Air Alaska, and know that a moose can keep a village alive through an entire winter. but we are not in Alaska (despite the temperatures). we are in Baldwinsville, not Barrow. the sun rises and sets here on pretty much a 12-hour-ish cycle. there are no 7-month days or nights. and the only northern lights we see is the mall named after them. Northern Lights Mall. we have Wegmans - a grocery store to beat any other grocery store. evah. want tea? there are aisles of tea. just picking out rice can take an hour. fresh fish, fresh cheese, in-store bakery, deli, meal coaches and recipes...it is an endless, dizzying cornucopia of ways to buy and prepare food. and they will even cook it for you, for God's sake. so we are blessed with more grocery stores per mile than Alaska has in the entire state. we have no need to hunt for food here in Baldwinsville. but, some hillbilly's made the unfortunate choice to live here, rather than Alaska, and every so often, their primal urges overcome their compassion for frolicking woods-animals, gathering dinner, smelling flowers, eating bark, and generally just doing whatever it is that they were put here to do. i do not buy the "thinning of the herd because of depleted food sources" argument one little bit. so who decides? why not plant crops for them to eat, instead. and the game that's to be hunted? today's pick - squirrel. do i need to rant about this? is it not clearly obvious that 1) it would seem to take a lot of squirrels to make a meal, should one actually decide that this is their true and deepest reason for the day's activity. 2) the thought of a meal of squirrel makes me want to stop here and go vomit. 3)i love squirrels. 4) there are too many other reasons and i'll just get tired thinking of them. i have lit a candle and said a prayer to God asking him to warn the squirrels. and all this, despite my close encounter with the razor sharpness of their teeth, and their general spoiled child attitude about life. (you may remember my adventures with bottle-feeding the baby squirrels at the rehabbers, when one of those little tree rats nearly decapitated 2 of my best fingers. quickly and surgically. Bam. blood everywhere. scream of pain stuck so deep in my throat it came out as a squeak. cute squirrel became hungry, flying squirrel, as my instinctive reactions won out over animal safety and compassion just ever so briefly. i vowed never not ever again to get that close to anything with teeth that can fell a tree.) and i have hope that the squirrels are just that much smarter than the hunters, and the only fatalities will be those that laughed themselves to death at the thought/site of all this madness in their woods. these grown men, all camo'd, stinking of bacon grease and B.O....and incidentally - wearing green camo, which is not the color of the season anywhere in these parts. i don't think nature will be fooled for a NY minute. and why not cans? just go set up cans somewhere and shoot them? ahhh. because there has to be a purpose to getting up this early, eating a load of greasy food which will, no doubt, cause some desperate moments in the freezing woods, oh, in about another hour. why do men need these reasons to gather? poker, fishing, hunting, bowling? why not just hang out? have some coffee...talk about their feelings..."she's such a bitch...she actually took my Tom Petty poster down from the livingroom wall! yes that one - where he's looking right at the camera! how much more hurt can i be expected to endure??" nope. men gotta rustle up grub, fill their hands with ammo, and head on out to shoot something. (in fairness, i speak only of these men that were in my diningroom. and others like them. not ALL men. because i have known men that aren't at all like this. and not all of them were gay, as my husband would think). (or liberals - his second category of pidgeon-holing). but ANYway...today i am supposed to be making necklaces for the gallery. and yet here i ramble and procrastinate. why? it is darn cold in the garage where i need to do this work. somehow the thought of smoking solder and a creme brulee torch in the house - in my hands - is more than Allstate will insure. but you know, i'm thinking that the smell of the bacon grease will cover any smoky solder smell, so i'm thinking of grabbing the UL rated fire extinguisher and torching away. the worst that could happen is i'd get a new kitchen out of the settlement, should anything untoward occur. and i won't have to fire up the propane heater and sniff those fumes. hmmm. but the tought of a lazy, curled up day on the couch with a good book sounds just about right, too. i have a stack of them: The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brene Brown, and Rage Against The Meshuganah, by the Dad Gone Mad blogster Danny someone. which is hysterical. hysterical. i read his blog, www.dadgonemad.com from time to time, and it never fails to make me pee my pants. so the book will be a bathroom read. okay - i'm starting to feel guilty for not making jewelry. a sure sign that i'm about to get desperate for procrastinationable stories and linger here well past my stale date. so, pray for the squirrels. wear warm socks. and always keep a loaded fire extinguisher handy.