Three is two, two is one

Last March, if you recall, I went for a long-overdue exam with an optometrist and got a new pair of glasses.

I am absolutely blind without my glasses, and wanted to make sure I had a pair in reserve ... y'know, just in case.

But everyone knows the Rule of Three: Three is two, two is one, one is none. With only one pair of backup lenses, I wanted to get another spare pair.

But holy cow, glasses are expensive – especially glasses ordered through an optometrist. I know I got hosed on the pair I ordered, but at least it meant I got an up-to-date prescription.

In fact, that was something I insisted upon – having my prescription written down. They were a little reluctant to provide it, because doubtless they knew exactly what I planned to do; namely, order glasses online. I took the prescription card home with me and carefully stored it in a place where it wouldn't get lost.

The one measurement every optometrist will always deliberately omit (when providing a client with their prescription) is the pupillary distance – the space between the pupils of the eyes. This allows the manufacturers to add the correct nose bridge to bring the proper focus for each eye. Presumably they omit this critical measurement to discourage ordering glasses online. Aha, but Older Daughter had already looked up online how to do this.

So Don found a form online, sat me down, and measured the distance between my pupils. He measured twice, just to be sure.

Then I logged onto Zenni Optical, selected some frames I liked, input my prescription ... and was kicked off. It turns out the particular set of frames I liked wouldn't accommodate a prescription as dramatically bad as mine.

Okay, onward. I found another online eyeglass provider called Eye Buy Direct and repeated the process. Select the frames, "try" them on the virtual models provided on the website, and input my prescription details. Bing, bang, boom – done. The cost (including shipping as well as a case) came to about $80, dramatically less expensive than the pair I got through the optometrist. But were they any good?

The glasses arrived literally within a week, and the answer is yes, they're great!

"Order another pair," Don urged, so I did. This time I got a discount for ordering a second pair, and my total came to about $50.

Now I have three spare pairs of prescription eyeglasses, which gives me great comfort. And kudos to Eye Buy Direct for an excellent product, cheap prices, and fast turn-around.

All bark and no bite

For two years in a row, as you recall, I foolishly tried growing garlic in a water tank I thought was filled with dirt and topped with bark. It turns out the tank was completely filled with bark.

Not a great growing medium for garlic (or anything, for that matter), and I was disgusted with my rookie mistake.

So as part of our general fall cleanup before that seven-inch snow whomp, I wanted to get rid of the bark, both the stuff in the water tank and the collected bark from two years' worth of splitting firewood. That pile of bark was "disturbing my wa," as we like to say.

So I pitched all the bark from the pile into our little 4x8 trailer and prepared to take it to the county's organic refuse dump. It filled the trailer to the absolute brim.

In fact, the trailer was so full, there was no room for the bark contents of the old water tank, so I figured I'd pitch it into the back of the pickup and bring the double load to the dump.

But then a funny thing happened. The bark in the water tank was several years old (we don't know how old exactly), and it was in the process of breaking down into beautiful mulch. So, rather than get rid of it, I pitched it into the wheelbarrow and dumped it onto the compost pile. Next spring, it will mix beautifully when we install our garden beds.

A few days passed, and I didn't get around to taking the trailer-full of bark to the dump. But in pointing out the older semi-decomposed material, Don and I decided not to get rid of the bark after all. Why not give it the same opportunity to break down into compost several years down the line? Waste not, want not.

So we assembled a quick cage made of field fencing...

...and pulled the trailer alongside it. I started pitching.

Within half an hour, the cage was full.

And there it will sit for the next several years. We're not in any hurry for it to break down. In fact, it's the first of what we hope will be an extensive composting system as we develop the property into a workable homestead.

As far as we're concerned, waste management should be on everyone's radar in the days ahead. Composting bark is just one aspect of that goal.

Clothing blindness

Recently I plucked a book off the shelf I hadn't read in a long time: "30 Days to a Simpler Life" by Connie Cox and Cris Evatt.

Re-reading this book was amusing simply because it's so dated. Published in 1998, it touches on the marvels of a newfangled form of communication called "email" and other trendy technology.

The book goes through all the usual simplicity advice popular in the 1990s, including a great deal of guidance on how to handle one's packed wardrobe and cleaning out one's overstuffed clothes closet and otherwise minimizing one's overflowing clothing options. Once the surplus is weeded out (we are advised), then the pared-down closet can be organized efficiently into categories such as skirts, shirts, slacks, blouses, scarves, belts, accessories, shoes, handbags, and other so-called necessities.

I found this advice both hilarious and unnecessary for a very simple reason: I have clothing blindness.

What do I mean by clothing blindness? It means I am utterly indifferent to fashion. It is invisible to me. I literally never notice what someone is wearing. Clothes bore me to the nth degree. It's been that way for as long as I can remember.

My wardrobe consists of the following:

• Black T-shirts

• Gray sweat pants

• White socks

• Thrift-store sneakers

• One pair of sandals

• One skirt/blouse combo for church (worn both summer and winter)

• A couple pairs of shorts

• One each of necessary winter wear (sweater/gloves/heavy coat/scarf/boots/etc.)

And that's it. I have a few more clothes, but they were packed away during the move and I haven't seen them in two years, so I may as well not own them.

I wear the same thing day after day. I have "day" clothes (for dirty work) and nearly identical "evening clothes" for after I've showered. I wear my clothes, literally, until they're rags (I wash them, of course), at which point I toss them in the burn barrel and move onto another identical set of T-shirts and sweatpants. Isn't it great?

To my way of thinking, that's the ideal thing about living the home-based rural lifestyle we do: I never have to think about clothes. I don't have to impress anyone. I don't have to dress for an office environment. I can utterly indulge in my innate clothing blindness.

As for what others wear ... well, I suppose I'd notice if you were wearing something outlandishly inappropriate, but outside of that I wouldn't pay any attention. If you were to tell me "Quick! Close your eyes and describe what I'm wearing," I couldn't do it. My husband is sitting behind me at his computer at this moment, and unless I turn around and specifically look, I couldn't tell you what he's wearing. His clothes are always worn by the man I love, so who cares what they look like? (Ironically, he can easily tell you what I'm wearing: a black T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and thrift-store sneakers. Easy peasy.)

Clothing blindness. It's a real thing.

What's with all the pheasants?

It seems we are dripping with pheasants lately. Everywhere we turn, we see them.

These are ring-necked pheasants, originally from Asia but introduced into North America in the late 1880s. They're popular game birds.

We had occasional pheasants in our last home, but here they're abundant as anything. They're extraordinarily cagey during breeding season (even the males), but come early winter, they're so casual that it's hard not to run over them with the car, even while creeping along at 2 mph on a dirt road.

Like most game birds, females are a bland and cryptic brown.

And even in their off-season, they're shyer than the males, scurrying across open areas and preferring less exposed locations.

But the males are beautiful and showy. During the off season, they're much bolder.

In late October, I heard a commotion and looked out the window to see some pheasant up in a blackberry bush, gobbling the dried-up remains of the season's fruit.

See the female?

They're such ground birds that I've never seen them even in a bush, so those must have been good berries.

For obvious reasons, the females are easier to spot when there's snow on the ground.

I was driving out one morning and had to wait for two handsome boys to cross the road. They moseyed to the embankment on the side and just stood there watching me. "Fine," I said, grabbing my camera. "I mean, if you're going to pose..."

A few days later, the same thing happened. C'mon, boys, move....

Why did the pheasant cross the road? Now we know.

A solitary bluejay

A couple weeks ago, Don and I were taking Mr. Darcy for his evening walk when I heard a raucous bird call. "That sounds like a jay," I said, puzzled.

Jays aren't common around here. Their niche is dominated by magpies, which are ridiculously abundant.

Once in a while at the feeder, I had a Steller's jay or three, but even those aren't overly common.

But the call I heard didn't sound like a Steller's jay. When I spotted the source in a neighbor's willow tree, I was beside myself with excitement. It was a bluejay! A real live bluejay!

Bluejays are very common east of the Rockies, but vanishingly rare around here (my bird book refers to them as "casual" visitors in this part of Idaho). The neighbors whose tree it is says the jay has been hanging around for a couple weeks.

In fact, we ended up seeing this jay for several days. Always alone.

The last time I saw him was the last day of October.

It sure was fun seeing a bird that was so common during my New York State childhood. What a pity we don't get cardinals.

The ultimate in tech savviness

Don found this. Cracked us both up.

The eagle has landed

When I was a little girl, we lived in a tiny town outside of Buffalo, New York called Clarence Center. My mother, like most suburban mothers in the 1960s, was a collector of S&H green stamps, which was a rewards program offered by many grocery stores at the time. The stamps were pasted into books provided by stores, and later redeemed for products selected from a catalog.

Anyone remember this logo?

Anyway, sometime in the mid-60s, one of the products my mother selected for the appropriate amount of stamps was an eagle. It was solid metal and had a gold finish. My parents hung that eagle in the house for years. It was part of my childhood.

Last April, my parents shipped me a box of items, including the eagle.

We kept the eagle displayed on the wood cookstove (which was not in use at the time) until yesterday, when Don mounted it in the perfect location: Over the deck doors.

It required molly screws, since there were no convenient studs in the wall in that spot.

Once mounted, it brought back such memories! The eagle has a new home.

As far as I'm concerned, the eagle has landed. I'm proud to carry it onward.

Thank a veteran today

Today is Veteran's Day. Please remember to thank a vet for your freedom.

We can't forget the brave men and women who have served our country.

Nor will we forget the ones who won't be coming back.

Thank you to our veterans.

It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer
Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

For an amazing photo tour of Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium, where Don's uncle is buried, see this post.