I find January to be trying, particularly when warm sloppy rain is washing our early snow off the mountains and confusing my tulip bulbs. How am I supposed to wear my awesome coat? The one I found at Buffalo Exchange when I rushed over there the day before Christmas to find funny socks for The Man Who Lives in My House's stocking? "I'm afraid this is real raccoon," said the shopgirl apologetically, stroking the fur around the hood. YES! There is nothing better, to my mind, than a dead raccoon.* Nothing, that is, except a scrap of one accessorizing my new coat. However it's positively balmy out, making any coat other than a gor-tex poncho unnecessary.
*My extreme dislike of raccoons is (I think) well-founded. Too-wit: 1)My most productive chicken was done in by a raccoon who, after taking the parts he wanted, left me with a grisly mess. 2) Our dog enjoys chasing the varmints off--or he did, until one fought back and bit him in the shoulder. The ensuing vet bill was $95. Down with raccoons! I will sic my hooligans on the next one that trundles through my yard. Of course, the raccoon would probably love to be assaulted by a barrage of mini-marshmallows (see previous post "weapons make the best gifts").
More on January: I keep my Christmas lights up until the end of the month. I think a few lights should be legally mandated for all Oregon residences: we need light and cheer for our mental health. The Man Who Lives in My House disagrees. He put timers on the lights--turning them on a little too late and off a little too early. He starts talking about how I am contributing to global warming and killing baby polar bears as soon as dusk falls. Hey, I don't endorse Polar Bear fur ANYTHING. Just raccoon.