Skyline Chile eight ways!

After an early night, we rise at six thirty, there has been no more snow overnight and a slight thaw has set in when I open the garden room door and let Norman out to do his duty. I feel better today, no headache and I slept well. Fortified by our full English, Normy and I venture as far as the little bridge over the dyke, at the bottom of Carr Lane. The ditches at either side of the path, that were flooded a week ago, are now full of snow and ice that is thawing slowly into a grey slush. There are two or three other dog walkers abroad and we exchange pleasantries with them as we pass the farm. Two Grey alpacas are sat together, but facing in opposite directions and look like the "push me, pull me", from Dr. Dolittle, a book I read over fifty years ago. The scene that most sticks in my mind, is the one where the Doctor is given freshly baked bread when he is thrown in jail, after releasing Sophie the seal into the sea, Icould almost taste that bread. I give Norman a choice at the bridge, to push on through "almost straight wood", or turn round and make for home, he opts for the latter and sprints back over the bridge, the waters of the dyke beneath it, black against the snowy banks. Indoors again, I put fresh water out for Normy, change into clean navy blue corduroy trousers for church, and then pack the ingredients for the "sky line chile eight ways", for Leslie's lunch. Father Roy is ill and the ten thirty mass is lead by father David, whose choice of hymns is so obscure, that hardly anyone in the congregation knows them, but the choir leads and we pick them up hesitantly, as the tunes progress. The inclement weather and a recent increase in colds and flu, have thinned the congregation a little, but as I leave, after the service has finished, I notice an elderly man wearing an oxygen mask. That is real commitment! I arrive at Cedar Grove shortly after Eleven Thirty, Leslie lets me in and I can see at a glance, that something is amiss, he looks deflated and tells me he has had a bad night, despite the tablets Dr. Hill prescribed for him. We make our way into the kitchen and I place my shopping bag on the table, before disgorging its contents, there is a lot in there, as I have brought everything I need from home, in order to make lunch, in case Leslie doesn't have it. Leslie sits by the table while I unpack the rice and then measure it out, before putting it in the microwave for ten minutes to cook. The chile con carne, just needs heating through, and I do that whilst the rice is fluffing up after rinsing it with boiling water. Most of the time is taken up with setting the side dishes out, salsa, sour cream, guacamole, spring onions, chopped tomato, cucumber, and a mixed salad. The last things made ready are the tortillas and a couple of bottles of Sol, Mexican Beer, but by midday, we are sitting down to eat. Leslie asks where I learned to do all this stuff and I explain that I picked up the principles from Mexican restaurants and then elaborated from there. Leslie confesses he has never been in a Mexican Restaurant in his life. Despite his appetite being poor, he gets the hang of making mini wraps with a mixture of sides and eats two whole wraps, and a fair portion of the rice and chile. There is enough left over to make two more dishes of rice and chile, and I also combine the salad side dishes into a bowl, in order to make a mixed salad, and then cover the three dishes with cling film and put them in the fridge for him to eat later. The washing up afterwards takes longer than the preparation, I can see the old boy is flagging a little, so I leave around one o'clock, promising to call in again on Tuesday. William and Margaret are visiting tomorrow. Norman has to make do with dry dog food for lunch, when we get home, but better things await him for dinner. Around three, I dress Normy in his coat and drive to the supermarket to buy more potatoes, vegetables, coffee and bread. Unusually the place is packed and assistant tells me it is panic buying, ahead of the snow forecast overnight, we are expecting about two inches, not the onset of the next ice age! Afterwards I drive to Saturday Market and park by the Market Cross, before we wend our way through town and up Greyburn Lane to Felicity's House on Albert Terrace. She has just made tea for herself and I come bearing custard tarts, so once I have made myself a mug of tea, we sit and eat them while exchanging news. She has fallen again, this time in the house, on a strip of carpet, which a friend, Emaline, has subsequently taped down. The house is a death trap, she has pictures, objects d'art and sculptings, all over the place, minimalist it ain't! But it is her house and this is how she chooses to live, (and that is without considering her two dogs). She would rather kill herself here, than be safe and cared for in a care home, but it is an awful burden for Melissa, her daughter, who lives a life of constant worry, regarding her mother's safety. Normy and I leave after our tea, and make our way back to town, before driving to Sam's house, down Copendale Road. Sam and the girls have just returned themselves, and although it is almost dark outside, Laura wants to build a snowman in the garden. It doesn't take long, the snow is soft and wet and rolls easily, leaving clear tracks of grass where we have been rolling snowballs. We stack the giant snowballs, on top of each other and then top them with a smaller one, for the head. A triangular section falls off the back and I stick it on top. It looks like a Bishop's mitre, or perhaps the Pontiff's headpiece, Laura doesn't like it, nor does she know who the Pope is, so the hat has to go. A carrot for a nose, some broccoli for eyes and a curving stick for a smiley mouth and the snowman is finished, Sam takes our picture with him, and then we retreat indoors, my hands numb with the cold, but soon warmed up, wrapped around a mug of tea. I arrange with Sam to call round with Louis tomorrow and to collect Laura from school on our way and then Norman and I drive home. Dinner for me is a tossed salad with crusty bread and the last of the smoked salmon, supplemented with a couple of slices of Parma ham, Norman gets his just reward, two free range pork sausages that have been marinaded in the gravy from the braising steak. Needless to say, this makes him a very, very happy boy. After dinner, I sit and crack a tough puzzle and watch the snow fall as forecast, and wonder at the panic. In the really bad winters of the past, the disruption was less, because most people could, at a push, walk to work. In the era of the car and commuting, an inch of snow is a disaster. Progress?