Hi. I'm all sore today because I did yard work Sunday. Not snow removal, but actual touching of dirt and plant matter, mainly clearing the way for my perennials to grow but also fluffing up my poor matted-down lawn. I also took down the Christmas lights from the front yard. It was satisfying in the extreme. I could have kept going but I would have really hurt my back (it already hurts plenty).

I went to a new-to-me sugar shack, the South Face Farm in Ashfield. My city-mouse sister and brother-in-law (okay, mainly the b-i-l) didn't really understand the concept. Why are we driving way out here? And waiting almost two hours for a table? They're just pancakes, right? Nothing extraordinary about them? Instead of waiting for a table, we could have driven out here, bought a thing of syrup, driven back to town and gotten pancakes of similar quality at Miss Flo's or Look restaurant, right?

Well. You aren't supposed to ask those kinds of questions. It's the whole experience of the thing. You have to wait in order to make it seem like something really special. And the syrup is amazingly fresh and still warm. And it's very pretty out there. True, next time I'll just go later and not at peak (10:30) brunch time. But I don't regret it. The city mice, though, said they'd never do it again, though they admitted they were glad they came.

The Oscars last night were possibly the funniest I've seen. Steve Martin is my hero. Thank God the terminally-unfunny Whoopi wasn't hosting, because then the terrorists would have won (that joke's so old it has dust on it, but still). I felt bad and embarrassed for Michael Moore; though I agree in principle with what he said, he sure picked a stupid time and place to say it. Glad he won, though. And Spirited Away got best animated film, which means it might have a chance of rerelease in theaters now (though the DVD is due out very soon, so maybe not). I was happy Chris Cooper won for Adaptation, and his honest reaction (overwhelmed, teary, humble) and non-Hollywood wife were beautiful.
What wasn't so great? Chicago, which I haven't seen but agree with the assessment that the film is like watching the popular girls hog the karaoke machine. They could have had real, non-movie-star people in those roles, people who had been singing and dancing on stage their entire lives. Every time I see Renee Zellwegger she looks stranger and stranger. She has this odd, squinty face and pursed, crooked mouth. You can't tell if she's smiling or frowning. I have no reason to dislike her (the way I dislike, say, John Travolta) so I wish she'd just relax. Michael Douglas/Kirk Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones gross me out. When the Douglases smugly announced the winner for best picture (Chicago), which starred the young woman bearing the next generation of the Douglas superstar line, I wanted to throw up. I did like the acknowlegement of Kirk's stroke-induced speech difficulties, though.

On the docket this week: Writing workshop tonight, shape-note singing tomorrow night, calling a roofer this week and possibly getting work started on the bathroom, and The Fawns CD-release party this weekend. Woo!