bone-rattling winds

winterish, brrrrr, but with a bit more rain - even a bit of snow
yesterday...
I include below a nice little story Lois sent - it's seasonal,
Sunday will mark our 35th, yes, unbelievable, wedding anniversary.
As they say, you definitely get less for murder...
I wonder what metal is this number? We forgot to prepare
so will leave any special outing for a later date, as the
day before is Saturday, the 8th, the Women's Day village quiz (wow -
I do hope for the mayor's sake that it'll be a success... hm
there'll be free beer...)
and on Monday I'll be off to Budapest as I haven't seen much of my mum and dad
when we were there a week or so ago.

Little Cleo seems fine, we'll have milk to drink in a day or two -
in fact we need to milk this first-timer nanny goat, she's already
producing too much milk
for just one kid. Seems that we ended up with all our goats producing
just one instead the usual two, but this way they seem to survive better -
we haven't lost any yet - touch wood in the usual skeptical way.
Goatman in village said last year his three nannies produced 7 kids, but
only 2 survived. But then Alan hasn't got good opinion about his goat-rearing skills...
Tomorrow a woman comes to assess what sunflower-rating fits our village-tourism setup. I sort of planned to clean the windows for the occasion, but it's so cold out there... I wonder how many sunflowers we lose for dirty windows...
Where are those workaholic wwoofers when you need them... (none is expected now till
April).

THE BOTTLE OF WINE story:

Mary was driving home from one of her business trips in Northern Arizona when she saw an elderly navajo woman walking on the side of the road. As the trip was a long and quiet one, she stopped the car and asked the Navajo woman if she would like a ride.

With a silent nod of thanks, the woman got into the car.

Resuming the journey, Mary tried in vain to make a bit of small talk with the Navajo woman. The old woman just sat silently, looking intently at everything she saw, studying every little detail,
until she noticed a brown bag on the seat next to Mary.

'What in bag?' asked the old woman.

Mary looked down at the brown bag and said, 'It's a bottle of wine. I got it for my husband.'

The Navajo woman was silent for another moment or two.

Then speaking with the quiet wisdom of an elder, she said:

'Good trade.....'