So I have been doing serious housework (abetted and sometimes aided by my dear daughter). Also tomorrow her father is coming to visit (the best ex-husband in the world), the next couple of days my parents are coming to visit, and on Saturday there might be a pair or perhaps even a trice of Sheep Thrillers.
So I vacuumed under the couch cushions and found a number 4 sock needle. Virtue likes a reward on the side.
Yesterday Ellie and I did Archival Tidying in the kitchen. Archival Tidying means doing things that are perceptible after more than, say three days (unlike laundry, dishes, or sweeping). She reorganized the spices (this is heavier lifting than it sounds) and I put an shelf up int he pantry so we now have real room for baking stuff (gluten-free and gluten-inclusive) and things like canned fruit. This involved Doing Something, part II, with the Mead. I went on mead-making binge last year while I was trying to find this house. One is supposed to let it age a long time, recanting it monthly. I let it rest about five months and the airlocks dried out, not surprisingly. So I was not amazed that the jug I tried last week (Part I) was kind of icky. Alcoholic, yes, but only Doug seemed to like drinking it. So I apple-jacked it, breaking federal law, and put it outside to freeze. The water ice was really nifty, in very thin wafers with mead in between the layer. I drained it in a sieve, losing about half the volume and tried some. It did not seem much more alcoholic and it tasted wonderful.
I expected the next couple of jugs to be similar, and I have set one out to freeze (in a plastic bowl). One of the other, whowever, was _delicious_ and does not need applejacking. It also had a kick like a mule; about a quarter-cup -- less than half a wineglass -- and I was anybody's. Fortunately no one was there but Sarah and I sobered up by dinner time.
Today I have stayed straight (vacuuming and alcohol don't mix) . The kittens are off being spayed and it is very quiet here.