Snowbound!

Welcome to my new bloghome!

Thanks for all the great feedback on the blog redesign. I'm cackling, thinking of all of you loading this page for the first time, no warning, just boom! New look! That's how we do things around here. No fanfare until the fanfare. If you missed the prior post explaining what has happened here, scroll down--I put up a little howdy-doo Thursday morning.

It keeps snowing and snowing and snowing here. I looked out this morning on our seemingly permanent foot-and-a-half of snow, with more drifting down. Considered the fact that the kids have been out of school almost a week. And thought that this is kind of like being in a hospital. You look out and think, man, I'd love to go for a long walk in the sunshine!

but no. You have to stay in your room, and there is no more sunshine. You can't have sunshine, and you can't have a walk. Egad--just getting around to all nine bird feeders in this crusty, powdery, slushy/slompy stuff makes me huff like a steam engine. It is decidedly un-fun to walk outside. It isn't actually walking--it's more like controlled staggering.

Chet Baker has taken to peeing in the snow right on the front porch, or right on the back deck, less than three feet from the door. He minces out and unloads and then expects to come right back inside. The next time he does it I'm going to smack that little black rumpus of his. I shovel out pee alleys; he'd darned well better use them. I don't know when he last pooped. Not my problem. It is not yours to tell the world about my elimination situation, Mether. A Boston terrier has no fur on his underside, and he must be excused all manner of rule infractions when the snow is so deep that it hits his most tenderest bits when he tries to walk in it. You try going out naked on all fours and see how you like it.


Chet hates the snow. I mean, he's happy to romp for oh say three minutes and then he's on the front porch bouncing up and down like a kangaroo needing in NOW. NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW. As I write he's clawing all the blankets on my bed into a huge Jedd-like pile and circling five times before flopping into them.

He is a dog of comfort. I would like to discover his secret for staying sane without putting miles of trail under his boots. I would like to bottle it and drink two quarts of it. I'm trying the sleep cure, and it does help to konk out with a book on my chest at 8:30. Just get this winter over with. My God, the woodcocks are due this week. I hope they stay in Alabama.

Back to our regularly scheduled program:

Bill of the Birds is good at talking girls into things. However he is good at talking men into things, too.

This is the Testosterone Express. David, Sherm, and Bill in a never-to-be-repeated lineup on the Green Menace. Zane wisely decides to race alongside.



Look OUUUUT BELOW!!! It's the BeefSkid! Oh, the manly grunts of pain that emanated from the Express as it hit the bumps.

Unfortunately there are no photos of the Estrogen Sled, which bore me, Margaret, Mary Jane and Beth in one epic ride. Wouldn't you know we went into the groundhog burrow. ow ow ow.

Phoebe and Liam ready for a run.

Daddy gives them a mighty shove.


And they trudge back up the slope. Sledding is great exercise; you have to climb that awful hill each time you want another ride. And hooting and hollering and laughing your head off is the ultimate cure for cabin fever.

Girlfriends in the snow: me, Mary Jane and Margaret. Mmm.

Phoebe takes a breather. Her groovy hat-scarf from Taos is a snow-caked liability now, offering weight and wetness without much warmth.

Liam readies some snowballs. There are always snowballs, especially with Daddy around.


Dusk falls on the pasture.

The kids are exhausted. So are the adults. And we've been down and up the slopes half as many times as they have.


There are roses in the snow. You have to kiss those cold lips to bring them magically back to life.

We go to say goodbye to Abby and Veronica

who watch and wonder
the snow collecting on their backs.

Veronica snorts and shakes her heavy little head

and turns to get a little warm comfort in the gathering dark. She's a little old for it, but Veronica has nothing better to do.

We head for home to do the same, but ours is spaghetti and firelight.

Brave New Bloglook

Woooweee!!

Today, I celebrate my WebWitch, Katherine Koch. Her artistry has given my blog a new lease on life. I sent her a CD of my favorite images, and she poured it all into her cauldron, tossed in eye of newt, toe of frog and tail of Boston terrier, stirred it lovingly under a new moon, and sent me this happy, fabulous template, this lovely and active frame for anything I want to share. I don't know how she does all she does (she's an artist and writer as well as a Web designer), but when she gets done writing her historical novel, I would like her to go ahead and...

hmmm... come in on Sunday so she can... design my entire life. Mmmm, yeah, that would be greeeeaaaat.


She's created a place this blog can live happily ever after. I'm all Oh! Oh! Oh!

Stills and obscure references from the movie Office Space. If you've seen it, you're laughing. If you haven't seen it, you must.


Need a Chetfix? Click on His Chetness and see what happens. Want to read some of my favorite posts? Click around on the quote boxes and pieces of flair and see what you find. Mess around in the archives. Try the search box. Searching my blog has been an exercise in futility for a long time, because Blogger's FUBAR and has been for months. Thanks to a Googlyslick end-run by Katherine, my search box works fabulously once again.

You can get anything you want at Zick's new restaurant. So if you want to see a giant Amazon otter or a manatee or a wild macaw; if you want a Chet Baker fix; if you want to know about orchid care; if you want to look at bluebird nests or box turtles or red-spotted newts or bobcat scat (hey, some people get a hankering for it); or even if you just want that infernal Zick dough recipe again, just type it into the box in the upper left corner and off you go. Egad, it's like having a personal assistant. And it's darn nice for me, too, as I find myself dipping into the archives for all manner of inspiration and assignments. There's four years' worth of good stuff in here.

You can share a favorite post on your social networking sites by clicking "Share This Post" in the toolbar. I'm just getting my feet wet in social networking, but I can see the viral power of that. More readers: good. Please feel free to spread my virus far and wide.

Those who get this blog by RSS feed and have forgotten what my blog even looks like, click on http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com
and bookmark the page if you want to trade a little convenience for the ever-changing, clickably beautiful fun.

I'm so happy to have a dynamic new template for my stories and pictures. Flippant Office Space references aside, I'm deeply thankful to employ a WebWitch who is not only an artistic genius but who gets me, top to toe. So I asked her to tell us a little bit about her process.

"When Julie asked me to redesign her blog I knew I was in for a challenge. A successful design is like a clear window into another world - you don't pause to think about the glass pane bringing joy into your day when you're immersed in the subject beyond it. In this case that window had to reveal a vast and varied landscape conveying all that Julie brings to the blogosphere - watercolor painting, writing, the wonders of nature, gardening, family life amidst the tranquil rhythms of Appalachia, and a Boston terrier in all his adorable Chetness. Needless to say it was a daunting task.

Mether, here you need to put in a picture of me, Chet Baker, applying my undercarriage to your naked couch. Because I am one of the things that brings you joy every day. Probably the main thing, if my doggly intuition is correct.

"I think it was the mission statement that served as the lightning bolt - 'making room in your life, every day, for the things that bring you joy.' At that point, 'everyday' became the mantra, inspiring post-it notes, papers, a wire-bound journal and paint drops, all elements that hint at the mundane while reveling in the extraordinary. I hope Julie's readers find this nook in the web a place that's as warm, inviting, and illuminating as Julie herself. If I've accomplished that monumental goal in a way that excites her loyal following and draws in a broader readership, then I can rest assured that the resulting design is a grand success. Thanks, JZ, for the challenge!" --Katherine Koch, Web Designer Extraordinaire (I added that, she didn't.)

Thank you, Katherine, for giving this design your extraordinary all. I wouldn't change a thing. 'Cuz we've already done that. And it was just about bang-on perfect from the get-go.

Hit Reload a few times, just for fun. Let us know what you think of the new look. As if you wouldn't.

JZ

Sledding!

Sledding is a very intimate way of appreciating the landscape. You can look at a snowy hill, and think how beautiful it is, but putting your nether bits in direct contact with its contours is a whole 'nother thing.

It's a hugely exciting thing to hurtle down a steep slope, feeling every bump and groundhog burrow under a too-thin covering of snow. Our fastest sled is thin plastic; it cost $6.99 and it fits four people on it. We were given another by a neighbor that cost $130 and while the thick foam insulates from some of the crueler bumps, it's not as much fun as the Green Menace. Saucers generally suck; I don't like going 30 mph backwards and being dumped off without warning. The inflatable, inner-tube style has a lot of potential and is a lot easier on aging tailbones than the aforementioned. There's a lot of spinning with those, too, but it's a cushier ride.

I love the processional out to the slope. Out the driveway, under the drooping snowy pines.


The sumac branches are laden with snow.


Oona tells Liam to MUSH!!
And David carries his homemade sled. David can make anything, including a sled with real downhill skis as runners. David and Mary Jane (here's Mary Jane, a wonderful artist and art teacher, with your blogger)
keep Chet Baker when we go away. They are Chet Baker's West Virginia parents. David and Mary Jane are always hoping we will go away, because they love Chet Baker. And when they visit us, Chet Baker always gets in their car, hoping he can go to Camp Baker. He comes and asks me to go get his bed and food and leash and toys, because he's ready to GO. We always get such a laugh out of his eagerness to go to Camp Baker, where he gets a couple of walks every day, and the chipmunks are naive and there for the taking. Couldn't invoke the doggeh without a photo to slake the Baker thirst. We call this photo Christmas Sweetness. Unfortunately you won't find Chet out on the slopes. He is perfectly happy to stay home by the fire and greet us as we come in, not being a fan of prolonged outings in the snow. The problem has to do with his sparsely-haired undercarriage, well displayed in the photo above. Brr!

The slopes are prime for sledding. That's a big bowl of a hayfield. We are most thankful that the farmer who leases it didn't pasture cattle there last fall. Frozen cowpies are incredibly painful when they connect with your rump through a thin plastic sled.

Sez who?
This is Abby. Abby and her daughter Veronica like to watch us sled. Our sledding parties are probably the most exciting thing that happens to them all year long.

This is Veronica.
Veronica is sort of a bovine Oona.

The common denominators being crippling cuteness and a sturdy build.


It's hard to get Oona to go down the slope on a sled or saucer. She much prefers to give people a mighty shove and send them down, then watch from the top.

The only person who can consistently coax Oona onto a sled is Bill of the Birds. He is very good at talking girls into things, any girl, any thing.

My Matchday - 241 Field Mill

Mansfield Town 0v2 Gateshead
Blue Sq. Premier
Saturday 6th February 2010

Mansfield lies on the River Maun, a former mining town and the largest market town in the county of Nottinghamshire.
A local church formed Mansfield Wesleyans FC in 1897 playing games on Kate Moody Lane for three years before switching to public playing fields on Stanhope Street.
The club’s next home base from 1903 on Newgate Lane was purchased by the local railway, which meant another move, this time to the aptly named ‘The Prairie’ at Radcliffe Gate from 1912.
The Stags finally found a permanent home when purchasing Field Mill in 1919 from the Duke of Portland, who leased the land with the agreement that the land must always be used for sporting purposes. By this time the club were established as Mansfield Town, which had infuriated rivals Mansfield Mechanics, who themselves were in pursuit of adding the Town suffix to their name.
Originally a cotton mill, football had been played on Field Mill as far back as 1861, making it one of the worlds oldest continuously used football grounds. The original tenants Greenhalgh formed from the local cricket club, cricket being its sole purpose from 1840, then Mansfield Amateurs followed by Mansfield Mechanics both shared with Mansfield Town Cricket Club from 1912.
The first stand was built on the west side in 1922, a small wooden structure which stood until 1959, when the club purchased a steel framed stand from Hurst Park racecourse in south London. The structure was built behind the original stand with changing rooms, offices and club lounges added. The original stand was then demolished and replaced with a standing paddock at the front of the new stand before finally opening in 1966.
In February 2001 the new West Stand was opened which is a large two-tier cantilever stand with a capacity of 5,500 which completed the £6.5m redevelopment of Field Mill. The stand also includes the Sandy Pate bar and sponsorship lounges.
The North Stand terrace was covered in 1956 with funds from the Supporters Club and along with the open Quarry Lane End terrace were replaced with new seated stands behind each goal in August 2000. Both stands are similar in stature, the North Stand is the away end, decked out with 1,910 blue seats with STAGS picked out in yellow. The Quarry Lane End is slightly larger with an extra 73 seats, with mainly yellow seats with MTFC picked out in blue. The players tunnel emerges from the nearside corner of the stand.
The Bishop Street Stand became the main stand when built prior to the Second World War, with 1,120 bench seats taking across from the West Stand.The stand is now condemned and cordoned off, only the players dugouts are at this side with an electric scoreboard on the old paddock terrace. There’s plans to redevelop the stand which would include a TV studio and gantry.
The overall capacity stands at 9,990 with the club’s record attendance of 24,479 against neighbours Nottingham Forest for an FA Cup 3rd round tie in January 1953.


As a young boy the Newcastle United 1973-74 side became the football club I fell in love with. A side which embarked on a thrilling FA Cup run which ended in a predictable Wembley embarrassment against Liverpool’s Shankly, Keegan and Co. A result and performance which the first time in my football fan career, ended in tears.
On my bedroom wall was a team picture of the United squad, amongst Supermac, Bobby Moncur, Hibbitt and Tudor, was one player who stood out amongst the rest of the striped shirts.
Standing in between Craig and Cassidy, was a big strapping lad with shoulder length strawberry blonde hair and matching moustache, much like a 70’s German porn star.
I knew all about the United squad in that photograph, except for this one particular player that I had no knowledge of apart from his name.
Gordon Hodgson was born in Newcastle and signed for his hometown club as a teenager in 1971. Shortly after the Cup Final horror show and limited to only 9 appearances over three years he signed for Mansfield Town .
Gordon is regarded as one of the greatest midfielders in Town’s history. In his first season with the club he played a starring role in The Stags promotion as Division Four champions. In 1975-76 he skippered the club as promotion was again achieved as league winners reaching Division Two for the first time in the clubs history.
Over four years Hodgson made 184 league appearances, missing only two games because of suspension and notching 23 goals from midfield before moving on to Oxford United in 1978.
Gordon went on to play for Peterborough United, before hanging up his boots, swapping the blue of The Posh for the blue of the police force.
Gordon Hodgson died in April 1999 at the tender age of 46, the big Geordie will always be held in high regard with the Stags fans, playing a decisive part in the most memorable time in the club’s history.


Mansfield Town’s 77 year stay in the Football League ended in 2008 and like many clubs relegated into the Blue Square Premier, a quick return has proven difficult, and in turn, clubs promoted into the Conference find it equally tough to survive.
Mansfield currently lie in fourth position took on a Gateshead side who are an example of a club finding it difficult to adapt to the big league. However that struggle may be about to change, as The Tyneside’s produced their best performance of the season to upset a large anticipating home support.
The return of Carl Jones in defence from long term injury, along with January recruits Andy Ferrell in midfield and striker Brian Wake has seen the backbone of the team strengthened, along with wingers Winn and Sinclair added to the squad.
It was one of the new signings Brian Wake which gave Gateshead a dream start in the 5th minute, the former Morton striker picked up the ball in the middle of the park and ran unchallenged to the edge of the box, his shot took a deflection which looped high over the stranded Marriott.
Gateshead created more chances to extend the lead, Wake twice went close while Armstrong saw a close rage effort blocked by a defender. Heed keeper Farman wasn’t called into action until first half injury time, easily dealing with a Jake Speight shot from the edge of the box.
The consensus amongst the media and Mansfield supporters was that they’d turn the game around in the second half and go on to take the three points. That theory was diminished after only three second half minutes. Wake again lead the Stags defence a merry dance before smashing a right foot shot into the far corner to double the lead.
Mansfield had spells of pressure to try and get a foothold back into the game. Challinor’s long range effort was tipped onto the crossbar, then a Speight shot was blazed over.
Town’s best opportunity came in the 82nd minute, a mad scramble in the penalty area saw a blocked shot fall to Gary Silk who’s effort was pushed onto the bar, the rebound fell to Jon Shaw but his close range header was desperately cleared to safety.
The Tynesiders weathered the late storm and deservingly held on the claim a morale boosting win, which could turn out to be the big turning point of their season.

Picture courtesy of 100FgC#26 Alan Price

This was actually Gateshead’s closest Saturday away fixture of the season, which meant we had a full bus on, leaving at a reasonable time of 10.30am and arriving with enough time to spare for me to tick of the two ’Spoons pubs in the town.
This game caught the imagination of the local public as the club launched a special ‘pay what you like’ initiative, which means what it says on the tin, pay whatever you like to gain admission, be it 1p, £1 or a tenner, the choice was yours.
The plan was a success, as the Mansfield public turned out in large numbers giving Field Mill its biggest gate for over eight years. The big turnout meant the game had to be delayed for 20 minutes, with a section of the North Stand opened to feed the demand.
When I say the plan was a success, I mean the attendance of 7,261 (74 away fans) was a great achievement, however the fact that Mansfield were comprehensively beating will not encourage that casual supporter to return t’ Mill in a hurry.
The reason that this particular fixture was chosen is The Stags chairman was expecting an easy win for the home side. The big crowd would have enjoyed a goal fest, gone home happy seeing their team win and be keen to return again, however the boo’s ringing out at half time and on the full time whistle means this ambitious scheme has basically gone tits up!
I entered the ground via the Kevin Bird Suite at the back of the West Stand, the staff at Field Mill made me feel welcome, special thanks to Mark in the press box who looked after us all, my only complaint would be the lack of filling in the half time sandwiches! I also heard and spoke to reporters working for local radio, who gave an unbiased opinion on the game, giving full credit on a well deserved victory for Gateshead.
Unfortunately I have to report that the ’pay what you like’ gave good reason for the local crackerjack element to come out to play at a cost of only a penny.
Coins were thrown towards the Gateshead end from both inside and outside the stand with one lady supporter hit on the head, the father of one of the players was hit with a bottle, while a Heed supporter was set upon and punched by a gang of five thugs in the toilets. To cap it all off on our way out of the town a brick was thrown at our coach, luckily the person taking aim had a throw like a girl and missed the windows, his feeble effort ending up hitting the roof of the bus.
It’s a shame that a small minority spoils it for everyone else. I was warned by several people beforehand not to go into the town centre and be very cautious of the stewards at the ground.
While I appreciate what the club is doing in generating interest and extra home support, the matter of the safety and well being of away supporters has to be looked into. Visiting Field Mill needs to be a pleasant experience, otherwise away fans will be put off and the likes of myself, along with my fellow members of the Heed Army won’t be in too much of a hurry to return.
　

Matchday stats

MTFC 0 GFC 2 (Wake 5,48)

att.7,261

Admission:1p and above

Programme £3

Report from On The Road

Ground no.241 Field Mill - Matchday Web album (17 pictures)

I Do Not Want a French Bulldog.

The only thing I don't like about posting twice a week is having to squeeze the Chet Baker posts in between all the zoo animals and pithy philosophizing. If I'm having Chet Baker withdrawal, what about you?? I can go in and snuzzle Mr. Popcorn Paws any old time. Still miss him on the blog.

No, thank you for the suggestion, I am not going to start another blog devoted to Chet Baker. I am going to keep painting. Here insert emoticon of smiley face. Or winky face, if you're the type who does that. I have been known to do it, but only when I'm pretty sure someone's going to take something the wrong way otherwise. Emoticons. Ecch.

One photo can change a person's outlook. Sometimes a life. I'm thinking, naturally, of some of the famous Life Magazine photos of Viet Nam that are seared into my memory. But because I am by nature a happy, silly person, I'm also thinking of photos like this

of a French bulldog puppy beset with some ridiculous and obviously unworkable footgear
that a Facebook "friend" who shall remain unidentified for now had the temerity to post on my wall. She knew, even as she posted it, that this seemingly innocuous act would set up a barely-controlled puppylust in me, which is just flat out not a fair thing to do to a friend, even an imaginary Facebook friend. Misery loves company; she is suffering from that same puppylust. As for me, I could put that French bulldog on a bun and put a little country mustard on him and have him for lunch, he is that delicious. I did not know they came in anything other than fawn, black, red, black-and-white or brindle and now that I know there is a tricolor variant I am doomed.

This "friend" likely knew in hitting me with this photo that the first breed of dog I decided I wanted when I decided, after 13 years of hemming and hawing, that I wanted a dog (is this still English?) was a French bulldog. Now make that a tricolor French bulldog.

But then I decided that I needed a French bulldog with legs because we would be hiking, oh yes we would, and clambering around these steep slippery Appalachian foothills. And so I put nice long legs on that wish and got a Boston terrier and I think you know that I have never been sorry about that, not one nanosecond have I been sorry I got a Boston terrier instead of a French bulldog.

Until LINDA M. LYSAGHT that RAT FINK sent me that !@#$#!%$# PHOTO. But I am STILL NOT SORRY and I would get a Boston terrier again not that I am even CLOSE to shopping,f because HERE is what a Boston terrier can DO.

This is Chet Baker's patented aerial switcheroo in which he leaps up heading right and flips his hindquarters around and lands heading left. I remember the day he taught himself to do it and it's been his favorite move ever since.

Try that with your little peg legs and your hi-tops, Frenchy. I shall now revel in the natural athleticism of the Boston terrier. This is Chet Baker at his best, modeling the sweater knitted for him by loyal Chetfan Sue Robbins back when he was a puppeh.

I'm sure you could teach a French bulldog to fetch. Well, maybe you could. I hear they're a little headstrong.

But for airs above the ground? Look no further than the seal-brindle marvel that is his Chetness.

These photos are of poor quality, but it is hard to photograph perfection. I included this one because he looks like a man in a Boston terrier suit.

Float like a butterfly. And he doesn't even need to stick his tongue out to do it. I know I'm mixing references to great American athletes here, but forgive me. I am not a sports person.


Michael Jordan, hang your head.


Sometimes you have to give him the stick.

Come on, Chet! Get your stick!

I am not falling for it, Lee Dum. You will just sweep it away like Charlie Brown's football. I know that is what you are going to do, Phee Bee. You are rotten children. And a dog like me does not fall for that stuff.


All right. Brace yourselves. Here I come.



After a workout like that, only Shila knows which muscles to massage.

Mether. How could you ever think of any other breed?

I couldn't, Chet Baker. My heart is yours forever. I will not look at any more pictures on the Internet, I promise. All right, Mether. When bad old Linda sends you more, just cover your eyes.



I will, Chet Baker.

Sara, Mary, Jane(s), Susan(s), Wendi, Chris, Jen(s), Tim, Jason, Maureen: stop kissing your screens. There's your Chet Baker fix. I know, I know. It's been too long. Now wipe your screens. ;-)

:-D

:-/