Saturday 1 November 2008

Yesterday afternoon some of our landlords loaded up the young steers and took them off to market.  We saw what they were doing, and dreaded the coming of night, when the cows would bellow for their absent offspring.  And bellow they did—sometimes singly, and sometimes in groups, producing surprising harmonies.  They are bellowing still.  The noise has been loud at times, but not incessant.  I passed a far worse night a couple of months ago, when a single bovine penned by itself let out maddening moos at intervals of thirty to sixty seconds or so.  One couldn’t rest; one simply waited for the next moo.


Today is the first day of deer-hunting season, at least for rifle users; bowhunters started a month ago.  Heading off to work this morning at eight, with the cool mist clinging to the ground, Greg mentioned that he hadn’t heard a shot fired all morning, and wondered if the bawling cattle were upsetting the deer and throwing a wrench in things for the hunters.  If I were a deer and heard all that carrying on, I think I would be upset.  Did you know that cattle, when deeply perturbed, can emit a bizarre trumpeting sound, very disconcerting in the middle of the night?  They can and do.  What they lack in talent and charm, they make up in noise, bulk, and blank stares.


Tonight we will go to Ben and Ann’s house to watch some college football.  At least, some of us will watch college football.  Others of us will work on our hand-quilting and make occasional inane inquiries about the game, of which we have only the dimmest understanding.  In this scenario, I am of the inane party—indeed, I am the inane party.  My interest and comprehension level for football and all other sports remains at a dismal low, despite Greg’s best efforts over nearly eighteen years of marriage.


Several weeks ago, we were listening to a game over the radio in the Suburban, and Greg had to get out for a few minutes.  He sternly admonished me to pay attention to the commentary so I would be able to report on the game’s progress when he returned.  I did pay attention.  I committed to memory some important-sounding sets of numbers, and on Greg’s return I proudly repeated these to him, along with the information that DeMarcus Ware had been sacked.


“Really?” Greg said with great interest.  “Well, that is fascinating, because that would mean that DeMarcus Ware is playing quarterback instead of Tony Romo.”


So I got it wrong.  Apparently DeMarcus Ware had performed the sack on the quarterback of the other team, that being more in accordance with his job description.


After two trips with the utility trailer, we got all our ceramic tile delivered to our house and unloaded into the living room.  Twenty-one hundred square feet’s worth of ceramic tile makes a heavy load, for both the trailer and the arms.  We also have all the insulation in the living room, ready to install as soon the previously mentioned subcontractor finishes his work.

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