Saturday, Nov. 3

Daylight Savings Time ends today, drat it. Time to set the clocks back one hour. Now it will be dark by about 5 p.m., making the evenings stretch on forever. I always think that at this time of year, since I can't be outdoors, I can accomplish a lot of cleaning, sorting, and organizing, but I never seem to do it, because all I feel like doing is hibernating.

Up around 7 a.m., but skipped my exercises after breakfast, so we could get ready to travel about and hour south to attend an open house event at a pioneer village, sponsored by the town's historical society.

Had a little time before we left, so I spent it finishing the book I borrowed from the library for my e-reader. I expect it will be removed tomorrow.

It was an especially beautiful autumn day for the outing, sunny with temp in the low 80s. Before we visited the village, we went to a favorite restaurant for lunch. Daughter met us there.

We arrived at the restaurant just after 11 a.m., and the breakfast buffet was still offered. We settled for what few lunch items that were available...chicken and dumplings, mashed potatoes, etc., but visited the buffet as soon as the lunch items were in place, so we could get veggies to go with our meal. I especially wanted to get macaroni and cheese for Mother, since this is her favorite dish at that restaurant.

As soon as we finished eating, we traveled to the village, and spent a couple of hours touring the old buildings, and watching docents in period costumes perform pioneer skills of blacksmithing, spinning, quilting, churning butter, basket weaving, etc. Daughter enjoyed participating in the children's games of jump rope, and hoop rolling.

Around 3 p.m., we were ready to head home. Got back after 4 p.m., and I accompanied Mother to her house, and then Hubbie and I watched our favorite college football team play to a much-needed win, for a change.

While we watched the game, I transferred photo files to an online storage site, and then downloaded them to a CD, so I could delete the files and free up space on my computer. I hope to do a few files each night until the task is complete.

I then uploaded snapshots from today's excursion, and downloaded some of them to my social network site.

Much later, Hubbie and I had bowls of cereal, with toast and strawberry preserves, for supper. Before we could do that, though, Hubbie had to go to a grocery store and buy a gallon of milk, since we were completely out.

Spent the rest of the evening watching TV until bedtime.

Watching the blacksmith working at the village made me want to go back and re-read this poem:

The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.


His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.


Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.


And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.


He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.


It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.


Toiling,---rejoicing,---sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.


Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)