Bring an enema home for the holidays

Aaaarrrrggghhhh! I was playing my silly animal Christmas CD, and the first song is “Bring an Animal Home for the Holidays.” My husband thought it was enema instead of animal, and started singing it that way. Then I started hearing that instead of the correct word, and now it is stuck in my head.

When we were kids, my little sister always sang, “oh come mommy faithful….”

Oh please, mommy faithful, do NOT bring an enema home for Christmas!

December

It’s the end of the year. Hard to believe. Here are some random December pictures, in no particular order.

Fizzie in Girltown.

Girltown straightened up for winter.

Fizzie making sure the chair is comfy.

Star lights in Girltown.

My favorite tree farm.

I almost forgot to take pictures.

Car with tree on top and dog inside.

You could call this christmas tree lane.

Dog and tree.

Dog and tree and christmas tree lane.

Geese near our house.

I think they are Aleutian Cackling Geese, but I won’t swear to it.

Many pretty geese.

Many, many pretty geese.

Coastal migration rest stop.

Many, many, many pretty geese.

Many, many, many, oh you get the idea.

Still decorating the tree.

Presents too.

Alien kitties.

Fizzie keeping her feet warm in cold Girltown.

Outdoor holiday lights.

Squash pig.

Glowing flowers.

Morning sky.

Rain is coming.

Frostbitten yard.

Last of the leaves on the cherry tree.

Squash pig visited by maple leaves.

Holiday door.

Tree from front door.

Tomato-throwing is a time-honored tradition

I’ve been reading comments around the Internet concerning the Palin-tomato-throwing incident at the Mall of America. I was just mildly rolling my eyes at the usual idiotic comments until I started seeing some Bots saying that it was a sexist thing to do, and an assault on women. Oh fucking please! People have been throwing rotten eggs and other juicy food tidbits for centuries to show their disapproval of the behavior of rulers, politicians, bad actors, lame celebrities, and common criminals. It is one of our oldest forms of expression. If anything, Bailin’ Palin should feel honored to have been the object of historic free “speech.”

In my little town, we had an ongoing tomato-throwing protest directed at the Taco Bell that pushed out our favorite Mexican restaurant. The owner of the property got a higher rent offer from the Taco Bell franchise than from the restaurant that was already there, so he told the first restaurant to pack its bags, and he let Taco Bell move in. Well, we don’t take kindly to pushing out local restaurants in favor of chain restaurants. In this town, we prefer to keep the big chains outside our city limits. So just as we drove out KFC many years previous by boycotting, we all boycotted Taco Bell, and some intrepid soul started a drive-by tomato-throwing campaign. It got to be a conversation starter: “Taco Bell was tomatoed again last night.” The franchise owner finally got the message and moved on, probably shaking her head at those “sexist” people in Arcata who don’t like Taco Bell.

Anyway, in honor of the great tradition of tomato-throwing, I bring you the history of food throwing as an expression of disapproval, insult, political expression, etc.

I got this information at GoogleAnswers.

Answer

Subject: Re: History of egg and tomato throwing as a form of protest Answered By: leli-ga on 15 Jun 2003 03:25 PDT Rated:

Hello buttfoo

Thanks for a very interesting question which I enjoyed working on.

English medieval petty criminals who had been sentenced to a few hours
in the stocks were often pelted with rotten eggs, fruit and vegetables
by their fellow villagers or citizens. It was a well-established form
of insult or humiliation.

It continued to be an extra punishment for people in the stocks or the
pillory as the habit of protesting by throwing eggs etc. developed.
People in, say, the eighteenth century who protested against different
beliefs in this way would undoubtedly have been aware of the custom of
pelting offenders with a variety of rotten food, mud and worse.

The habit seems to have been strongly entrenched in Britain, although
of course throwing things at people you don't like is an ancient
custom! Before he became Roman emperor nearly two thousand years ago,
Vespasian had turnips hurled at him. But in Mediterranean countries
egg and tomato throwing often had a more festive tone, belonging to
carnival and harvest time. It seems to be the British tradition which
was exported to other parts of the English-speaking world, both as
punishment and protest. Rotten eggs were a very popular weapon;
tomatoes would have come into the picture more in parts of the world
where they grow plentifully and easily.

The earliest references I've found to throwing eggs at people to
protest against their views hinge on arguments about religion, but
politics and religion were of course intertwined in some cases.

Throwing eggs as a protest against bad acting is a special case. It's
often said this happened in the Elizabethan theatre, though I found
conflicting evidence on this. However, it certainly happened in
nineteenth century America.

I've gathered a list of examples from the net which I think give an
overall picture of the history of throwing eggs and other food at
people as a protest action. There really doesn't seem to be any
particular name for the people doing the throwing. Perhaps they
preferred semi-anonymity?

RELIGIOUS PROTEST

England - 17th century

" the then Bishop of Durham, Doctor Cosin, [...] was pelted with eggs
by the Puritan people of Berwick"
http://www.netcomuk.co.uk/~nyoka/Documents/feature/holy_trinity.htm

Massachusetts - late 18th century	

"Murray had to sue the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to win the right
to be legally ordained and installed in Gloucester. He had eggs thrown
at him in one city, and in Gloucester, a large rock crashed through
the meetinghouse window, narrowly missing his head!"
http://www.follen.org/history/universalism.html

Isle of Man - late 18th century

"Mud, rotten eggs, stones, &c., were thrown at them without the least
mercy or regard"
http://www.isle-of-man.com/manxnotebook/methdism/wesleyan.htm

Indiana - 1840s?

"Guerin wrote [...] of the rotten eggs thrown at her and her
companions by some anti-Catholic thugs in Madison, Ind."
http://208.62.120.191/ecp/religion/article/0,1626,ECP_782_1898990,00.html

London - 1870?

"Mission volunteers were often harassed and sometimes physically
assaulted as they marched through the streets with their signs and
musical instruments calling everyone to their outdoor tent meetings.
William would return home late each night with his clothes soaked from
the liquor, mud and rotten eggs thrown at him during his crusade.
During a strategy meeting in 1878, held at Catherine’s bedside, the
name of the Mission was officially changed to The Salvation Army."

http://www.historyswomen.com/CatherineBooth.html

Poor William Booth again:

"At Hastings, the town's leading grocer offered rotten eggs to all
comers as anti-Salvation ammunition."
http://www.family.org/cforum/citizenmag/coverstory/a0019345.html

POLITICAL PROTEST

Roman Empire - AD 63?

Vespasian "pelted with turnips"
http://www.roman-britain.org/people/vespasian.htm

England - 1830s?

George Eliot was obviously familiar with eggs being thrown at people
making election speeches. She describes this happening in chapter 51
of her novel "Middlemarch" which is set in the 1830s though written
around 1870:
"here an unpleasant egg broke on Mr. Brooke's shoulder [...] then came
a hail of eggs"

New Hampshire - 1830s

"Soon, after an anti-slavery lecture in Plymouth, NH, [Whittier] and
English abolitionist George Thompson, were attacked by a mob in
Concord, pelted with rotten [...] eggs and Whittier was wounded in the
leg by a flying stone."
http://www.seacoastnh.com/blackhistory/whittier.html

Canada - 1836

" Mackenzie's meetings were often broken up by loyalists armed with
whatever weapons proved handy. After a speech in Brampton he had to be
taken away by a Doctor Patullo, hurried on by a shower of rotten
eggs."
http://www.orangenet.org/canada/wallace.htm

Massachusetts  - 1839

"[A hall with] windows broken by stones and bad eggs, thrown to break
up antislavery meetings.."
http://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/holland/holland.html

Seattle - 1903

"There was not a sign of riot in town until Humes appointed 18 scabs
as special policemen and armed them with guns and a little brief
authority. Every demonstration was wholly good natured. Nothing worse
than a few eggs thrown."
http://faculty.washington.edu/gregoryj/laborpress/Black.htm

Ireland - 1906

"Mr. Stephen Gwynn was standing as a member of Parliament for Galway,
and fighting, in the face of rotten eggs and decayed fish"
http://www.pgil-eirdata.org/html/pgil_datasets/authors/g/Gwynn,S/life.htm

South Africa - 1919

"...the crowd threw rotten eggs and sang 'God Save The King'" (at
people leading the movement for South Africa's independence from
Britain)
http://www.anc.org.za/books/reich1.html

PUBLIC PUNISHMENT IN ENGLAND

Middle Ages

"Market Hill was the medieval centre of Cambridge. Here was the old
guildhall and the prison with stocks and pillory outside. Rotten fruit
and vegetables would be thrown at those being punished. "
http://www.cambridgelive.co.uk/views_centre/markethill.html

Mid-sixteenth century

"The priest at the time was said to have sold his wife to a butcher,
for which he was pelted with rotten eggs."
www.london-freechurch.org.uk/building.html

1700

"To deter stealing at the fair, the stocks were placed in a prominent
place.  Anyone caught stealing was locked in the stocks day and night
without food or water.  They became the targets of jeers and rotten
eggs."
http://www.richinsonline.com/histories/richins/hawkesbury.htm

18th century

"The pillory turned so that crowds on all sides could get a good view,
and the crowd expressed their disapproval of the offence by pelting
the offender with rotten eggs and vegetables, blood and guts from
slaughterhouses, dead cats, mud and excrement, and even bricks and
stones. Some died from the abuse, despite increasing efforts by
constables to protect the convict, by forming a ring around the
pillory."
http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/history/crime/punishment.html

PUNISHMENT IN NORTH AMERICA

Colonial America

"· Pillory - this framework had holes for the criminal's head and
hands to stick through while they stood up. Once locked in they might
get rotten fruit or other items thrown at them. The wrongdoer was
condemned to carry out his punishment in rain or shine or freezing
weather."
http://ohoh.essortment.com/colonialpunishm_rkzt.htm

Canada - 1800

Both pillory and stocks "carried the threat of your fellow citizens
throwing things at you."
http://www.edu.pe.ca/gray/pei/crime/pillory.html

19th CENTURY AMERICAN THEATRES

1846

"When Macready toured the colonies, American audiences greeted him
with jeers and rotten eggs."
http://www.theamericanenterprise.org/taejune02l.htm

"Antebellum Theaters"

"When they were displeased, they yelled and hissed and pelted actors
with rotten eggs, stones, and even chairs."
http://www.gliah.uh.edu/database/article_display.cfm?HHID=648

I found thinking about this very interesting and was tempted down
various side alleys like the difference between rotten eggs and eggs
used to celebrate marriage or Easter as symbols of growth and
fertility. I was also interested in the Italian and Spanish festivals
which have a "crowd on the rampage" flavor possibly echoed in some
modern political protests. However, I believe that the main tradition
of hurling eggs, fruit etc. as ideological protest grew up alongside
the well-established "extra punishment" habits in Britain.

Hope this answers your question, but feel free to ask for
clarification if you have a query about what I've written.

Regards - Leli

http://answers.google.com/answers/threadview?id=217280

And here is another brief bit of information from a blog. As the above answer pointed out, tomatoes were not the earliest form of food protest because there were no tomatoes to be gotten.

The History of Throwing Rotten Tomatoes

Tags: History, rotten

By Michelle Fabio

We’ve all heard of or even seen people throwing rotten tomatoes when disappointed in a live performance; indeed this is where popular movie reviewing and previewing site Rotten Tomatoes gets its name from.

But did people really throw rotten tomatoes at actors?

Well, obviously not during Shakespeare’s time since, as according to the website of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in London, tomatoes weren’t even available in England at that time. The site notes, though, that at the end of performances, the actors announced the following day’s features—and if people didn’t like it, they just might have thrown things.

But not tomatoes.

There is at least one documented case of an aspiring actor in Hempstead, Long Island, New York being pelted with tomatoes throughout a performance at Washington Hall. The October 28, 1883 edition of the New York Times reports that John Ritchie was hit “square between the eyes” with a tomato while trying to perform a trapeze act. With his damages estimated at $50, Ritchie not surprisingly vowed never to perform in Hempstead again.

No matter how prevalent the act actually was (and is), throwing tomatoes has become associated with protests—remember the post about PETA’s use of tomatoes in its war against fur?

The idea has even reached political circles as the Dutch Socialist party has adopted the tomato as its symbol because of this connotation.

But I still have to ask—what did the tomatoes do to deserve this fate?

http://www.tomatocasual.com/2008/02/07/the-history-of-throwing-rotten-tomatoes/

And here is an excerpt from a Gawker article about the Palin tomato-throwing. You can follow the link to read the rest.

Since we opened up that can of stewed pears by praising the guy who threw tomatoes at Sarah Palin, we figured it’s a good time to explain why it was cool that he did that. In other words: Food fight!Here are the reasons (besides the obvious ones) that we think it was a good idea for Jeremy Paul Olson to throw food at Sarah Palin today during her Minnesota reading, for which he is currently incarcerated:

Throwing food at people has a long, messy history

The first recorded incident of throwing food at a public figure in history, according to our ten minutes of Googling, was in 60-something AD when Roman emperor Vespasianus Ceaser Augustus was “pelted with turnips” at a riot, most likely by people sick of having nothing to eat but turnips. In the 1770s, preacher John Crook was similarly assaulted when he tried to convert the heathens of the Isle of Man to Methodism.

Later, an 1883 Times article titled “AN ACTOR DEMORALIZED BY TOMATOES” recounts the fierce pillorying of the actor John Ritchie

He had a crowded house, and was warmly received, in fact, it was altogether hot for him, there being distributed among the audience a bushel or two of rotten tomatoes. The first act opened with Mr. Ritchie trying to turn a somersault. He probably would have succeeded had not a great many tomatoes struck him, throwing him off his balance and demoralizing him… a large tomato thrown from the gallery struck him square between the eyes, and he fell to the stage floor just as several bad eggs dropped upon his head. Then the tomatoes flew thick and fast, and Ritchie fled for the stage door.

Come on, haters: That is awesome!

More recently, Nixon was pelted with eggs and tomatoes during a 1958 trip to South America, but cleverly blamed it on the fact he was riding in one of the notoriously shitty Edsel convertibles. You guys just got a face-full of history there, which proves that throwing food is basically the “Mad Men” of political protest.

A violent action without all that violence

Violence is wrong. But sometimes you just want to fuck shit up. Throwing food is a good compromise, with much of the spectacle and newsworthiness of violence but none of the stupid “hurting people” part. (Incidentally, we should mention that we endorse that tomato-throwing guy if and only if he was chucking very soft, overripe tomatoes which would splatter readily and harmlessly all over Ms. Palin and drip down into her clothes while she was trying to sign books. Also, the tomatoes should have been organic and fair trade!)

It’s democratic

Did we mention that, after signing her books today at the Mall of America, Palin headed off to a $5000 per head fundraiser for The Freedom Club PAC? The people who can pay $5000 for this kind of thing are the people who run our country. It’s only fair that we allow Joe the disenfranchised Plumber the right to hurl at members of the power-elite the tomatoes which their own unfair trade policies have made so affordable and delicious.

Usually, the victim deserves it

Consider this partial list of people who have had food thrown at them, according to Google:

• Roman Emperor Vespasianus Caesar Augustus
• Shitty 19th century actor John Ritchie
• Nixon
• Nick Griffin (British right-wing politician and notorious Holocaust denier)
• Thomas Friedman
• Bill Gates
• Ann Coulter
• David Horowitz
• William F. Buckley
• Phyllis Schlafly
• Sarah Palin

If a group of people who more needed a pie in the face exists, then someone should pie those people, too. Chances are, if people are angry enough to risk incarceration simply to throw food at you, you have done something to deserve it—and then some.

It’s hilarious

Politics is so boring. Those people who complain about how childish or unproductive throwing food at politicians is forget that the political process is by nature childish and unproductive. At least throwing food lends some real and hilarious slapstick to a system which too often resembles Wile E. Coyote trying to blow up Road Runner with a stick of dynamite made out of stupid, boring legislation.

“The tree of liberty is watered by the pies of patriots.”
-Thomas Jefferson (American revolutionary and inventor of the pie)

http://gawker.com/5421210/in-defense-of-throwing-tomatoes-at-sarah-palin

I should do a Barbie Palin book signing

I think it would be fairly easy to put together a book signing photo shoot with my barbies. But I would have to create miniature “Going Rogue” books for the barbies to hold while in line. And I guess I really have to glue Sarah’s head back on. Sigh. I like her the way she is because you can look into her head and see that there is no brain.

Trip to Oregon

I had a nice visit with my best friend. The trip up was uneventful. The ocean waves were big because there was a storm rolling in. I arrived at my friend’s house in time to hear that her daughter was headed to a hospital, probably needing surgery. That was stressful but it all worked out well. We spent the days hunting for mushrooms, working on a mosaic project, and hanging out.

I made a couple of brief picture stops on the way home. North of Cave Junction is a special sign. The original sign looked handwritten, with the misspelling being unintentional. But over the years, the farm must have gotten enough comments on the misspelling that they made it permanent when they had their sign professionally done. I stopped in Cave Junction to buy everclear for my kahlua, and some sausage at Taylor’s. I fell off the curb and badly bruised my hands and jammed my wrists. Ow.

Back in California, I turned off 199 to take the Stout Grove/Howland Hill scenic drive/bypass as part of my driving therapy after the road panic attacks on my Arizona trip. It is a 7-mile dirt road that bypasses Crescent city by making a diagonal behind it. It was muddy in spots but generally in good condition. It adds at least 5 minutes to the drive, but it avoids a bit of freeway and driving 25 mph through boring Crescent City.  I made a quick stop at an overlook south of Crescent City, and then at Trees of Mystery, before continuing south to Arcata and home.

Even an ocean-hater like me can appreciate the big waves in front of the incoming storm.

Storm clouds in the distance.

Sadie’s Turnout. This is where I rescued a sweet, panicked dog who had been accidentally abandoned at the nearby rest area. She ran out into the road in front of an oncoming car just as I was approaching the turn for the rest area.  She looked like she was trying to get the car to stop. It swerved around her and kept going. I was so worried she was going to be hit that I pulled into the turnout and jumped out of my car. She ran straight at me, bypassed me, and jumped into the car via the driver’s door I had left open in my panic to get her off the road. She sat in the passenger seat and gave me a look that said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.” So I got in the car and drove into the rest area to see if anybody knew about the dog or had seen people looking for a dog. No luck. I drove north into Oregon and stopped at the first real town to leave information at the Sheriff’s Department. Then I continued on. I was headed for a three-day conference in Eugene and was planning to spend the night at my best friend’s house on the way up. When we got to my friend’s house, the dog jumped out and made herself at home. My friend’s kids liked the dog. My friend liked the dog. I said I had no clue what to do with the dog. We left her outside overnight and she found a skunk that proceeded to spray her. So the next morning there was no way I could put her in my car and take her with me. My friend offered to keep her until I was done with the conference. So I left the dog and went on my way. Three days later, when I returned, the whole family said they loved the dog and had even named her Sadie. Sadie had found herself a home. She lived out the rest of her life in a happy home with lots of company and places to sniff. She was a sweet and loving dog. I’m sure her original owners were broken-hearted to lose her, and I wish I could let them know she found a family to love her to the end of her days. She is missed. Everybody loved Sadie.

Sadie’s Turnout is between Crescent City and Grants Pass, just south of the Oregon border.

The tunnel just before the border. I only took a picture because I was driving really slow following a pilot truck through the road work.

I-5 somewhere north of Grants Pass.

I was almost to my friend’s house but had to pee really bad. I stopped at a little county park that had a restroom. I think Herbert’s Pond used to be a millpond in the distant past, but I can’t really remember.

It’s a pretty little pond.

Fall colors around the pond.

Mushroom hunting at my friend’s house.

The underside of the big mushroom.

My friend in Willy’s Wood.

Her driveway.

Yard and ranch next door.

Yard and house.

Oak trees.

I love oak trees.

Winter is coming.

Working on our mosaic.

My friend’s daughter catching up on healing sleep after surgery. Silver keeps her company.

A fall scene on a neighboring farm.

Our finished mosaic tabletop.

Close-up.

The famous sign on the road home.

Back to the ocean in California.

Nice day.

Sunlit water.

A rare stop at Trees of Mystery.

Paul’s boot.

Babe’s sign.

“Swingin’ Beef”

If Barbie had a big blue ox it would have no boy parts.

I couldn’t get my camera out fast enough to get a picture of a kid hugging Babe’s balls.

I don’t know how many times I’ve driven past Paul and Babe over the years.

One of our northcoast landmarks.

The pine needle basket my friend’s mom made for me. She is a second mom to me. I lived with my friend’s family for a year and a half when we were teenagers.

My cat was fascinated by the smell of the basket. Isn’t it gorgeous?

A walk in the woods

When I was visiting my best friend in Oregon, I took a walk in the woods behind her house. My friend’s parents used to own the woods and surrounding fields and hills, about a hundred acres. After the kids were all grown, the parents decided to sell the house and land without consulting their adult children. The kids would have bought it, even if they had to pool their money. It was where they grew up and they loved it. Instead it went to a grouchy rancher who proceeded to put fences everywhere and run too many cows. Sigh.

When my friend and I were twelve, we would take turns hopping on her bad-tempered pony and going for a wild, uncontrolled ride. The pony would gallop madly across the pasture, into the woods, through the meadow, across the stream, into more woods, all the while attempting to unseat his rider by running under low-hanging branches. I think my forehead is still dented from those rides.

My friend’s family also owned an ancient black Plymouth, and my friend’s youngest brother would take us back to the meadow to drive the Plymouth. That’s where I learned to use a manual transmission.

One time, my friend and I decided to go camping way back on the property. The brother drove us part of the way and we located a suitable campsite. We built a fire and put our can of chili in it to heat up, not knowing that you are supposed to poke a hole in the can. Then we took a short hike to explore the immediate area. While we were walking around in the woods, we heard a loud bang. When we got back to the campsite, there was chili everywhere.

All of those memories are part of my growing up, and I have fond feelings about those woods. So after my friend got permission from the owner, I climbed over the fence and headed for the woods, camera and barbie in hand.

I stopped to fill my pockets with acorns and admire an old barn on the next property. I climbed over a bar gate and stopped to take pictures of barbie in a pretty green part of the woods. I frowned at the excessive number of fences. I found the meadow where I learned to shift the Plymouth. I crossed the creek and walked up the old road to a clearing where I saw a flock of wild turkeys. I then cut back through another section of woods, stopping to admire and pick a few mushrooms before continuing to the creek and ending up back in the old meadow. I stopped to take more barbie pictures and stuff a few more acorns in my pocket before heading back to my friend’s house. I was happy that I got to walk in my memory woods, but sad again that it wasn’t still in the family.

Starting out.

Looking back at the house.

The pretty green woods.

Barbie stops to rest on an oak tree. Oops, it might have been a madrone. I wasn’t paying attention.

Then she moves to a madrone.

We spot a nice old barn.

Leafy autumn woods.

Look up.

We spot a group of wild turkeys in the clearing.

Funny birds.

The camera-shy flock bolts for the woods.

Barbie finds a big mushroom in the woods.

Russula Claroflava.

Barbie wants to take the big one but I convince her to take a couple of younger ones instead.

We find another dumb fence in the woods.

A big log has conveniently squished it so we can climb over.

I hear something squawking in the trees but can’t see what it is.

The creek in autumn.

Autumn leaves.

We get back to Plymouth meadow.

We walk along the old road at the edge of the meadow.

We stop to rest under a sunny oak.

I spot some scat while looking for acorns. Looks like a carnivore. Maybe a fox.

The acorns won’t fit in barbie’s pocket.

We head down the road.

Detour into the meadow.

Barbie finds a use for the stupid gates and fences.

A good place to admire the meadow.

Peaceful.

I tell her it is time to go.

My friend’s house in the distance as we reach the edge of the woods.

Soon

I’m working on Oregon post but I fell off a curb and badly bruised/jammed both wrists. I am typing this with one finger. Post will be delayed.

Rodent death

Who had the better life or death? One feasted on compost and neighborhood goodies and lost his life in one quick moment. The other lived a rural existence completely independent of humans, don’t know why he died, but he was hawk food while still warm.

Backyard compost rat.

Ground squirrel in Nevada breathes his final breath.

Missing my dog today

I’ve been in a down mood all day.  Couldn’t really figure out why. Then I walked past my computer when a picture of Tripod came up on the random picture screensaver. I teared up and it dawned on me that I have been playing his music all day. Then there was a knock on the door and it was UPS delivering the frame for one of Tripod’s portraits. I suddenly realized that the universe has designated this a Tripod day. So be it. Here he is.

And speaking of winter. . .

I do believe it has arrived. It is 34 degrees outside this morning. Brrrrrrrrr. I know that’s not saying much for you folks in Alaska, but for me, it says WINTER. The house was very cold this morning when I got up. If we didn’t have our lovely new double pane windows, the 51 degree night thermostat setting would have clicked on the heater a couple of times during the night. Time to put warmer blankets on the bed. Husband yanked some covers away from me in the middle of the night, sending a kitty flying in the process. The kitties start burrowing under the covers to sleep when it gets cold like this. Time to make sure my favorite winter fridge magnet gets moved into a positon of prominence: Winter is nature’s way of saying fuck you.