This morning we woke up to a plastic burning bonfire smell wafting through our home. It did not emanate from our house, it was just passing through, like a paper mill on vacation. I called 911 (which you are supposed to do even though it seemed a little non dramatic for such a call).
About 30 minutes later a father and son team arrived in a pick up truck asking if they were in the right place. Yes, it was a toxic burning smell, no it didn't smell like natural gas, yes, it seems to have dissipated a bit since I made the call. Their response? "We'll look into it." It's why I didn't see a whole lot of reason to perform my civic duty by calling in the first place. I feel bad dragging a couple of volunteer firefighters out on a relaxing Saturday morning.
Wait a minute, back up to the question "did it smell like natural gas?" We live smack in the middle of the Marcellus shale seam. You can't walk your dog without running into trenches for pipeline, well digging trucks, pumping stations, tankers dumping non-potable chemically laden water into streams or otherwise. However, if it in fact WAS a burning natural gas smell, I'm pretty certain that a father/son team in a pick up truck with a flashing yellow light would be at most a casualty in an ensuing disaster.
(Insert Western PA accent as appropriate)
Yup, me and my boy here heard you had a stinky smell and we come to check 'er out...KABLOOM!"
I wonder how much Haliburton gives to the local volunteer fire departments. I'd like to respectfully suggest that they consider upping the ante a little.
End of morning observation one.
Today is deliver your big junky garbage to the city building and we' ll get rid of it day. We had some big junky garbage and fortunately have a friend with a truck who said, yea, I'll come by and take it there for you. (What a good friend, right?) when I got home from work yesterday, Mr. Sophanne was on a mission to clear out big junky garbage from our house. I am happy to get rid of big junky garbage. When it comes to carrying to to the big junky garbage pile, I'd really rather wait an hour or two after getting home from work to do it. I'm a big fan of slow transitioning from work to home life. (Read: I need my damn 4:00 nap time)
I asked the Mr. to wait an hour so that I might help carry big heavy junky garbage. He said, no, no, you worked all day, I'll take care of it. Today he is wearing a back brace, and occasionally grumbling in pain. This with the added sneezing discomfort of the morning's stinky smell will mean that it will take some extra effort to make it a good day.
Why do Mr.'s think they can move big heavy things without consequences?
End of morning observation number two.
Wildlife. This morning there were no less than three squirrels in our backyard munching on whirligigs from whichever kind of tree makes them. (Maple?) I let the good dog out and I thought her brain was going to explode. Also spotted last week was a giant bunny daring to nibble on the treats in our yard. Again, the dog was no match for big bunny speed, though I hope it's either a sterile girl bunny or maybe a boy bunny because that dog of mine loves her some baby bunnies (not for food, just for presents.)
I'm wondering if all this wildlife is coming around because they heard me vamping on Iz's Somewhere Over The Rainbow chords last night on the back porch and thought, hey, What a Wonderful World this backyard must be.
End of morning observation number three.
Today is the local Sheep and Fiber festival. I have had three major yarn adventures this year. A trip to Natural Stitches in October, a trip to the Pittsburg Knit and Crochet Festival in February, and a very BIG trip (as in it took nearly two months worth of allowance to cover) to the Mia Sofia yarn store closing in March. Add to that my participation in Stitchjones' Yarnageddon club which delivers two gorgeous skeins every quarter, and the truth is, my yarn
basket, shelf, room runneth over. Today I hope to be tagging along, buying nothing, in it only for the post-festival apple dumpling and ice cream treat. Ladies, place your bets.
To be continued...