Life Without Television

I feel like I talk a big talk about the fact that we don't have a television. I feel like I've lead people to believe that we lack a t.v. because we prefer more intellectual entertainment such as listening to NPR or sipping boxed  fine wine and having compelling discussions about foreign politics over dinner. Perhaps I've lead you to believe that our nightly entertainment is annotating the margins of literary classics.

And I wouldn't be lying if I told you that MPR is on at least once every single day in the cabin or that I've spent the last three nights cuddled up on the couch reading an increasingly tattered copy of Anne of Avonlea.

But here are some truth facts about the whole "sans tv" situation.

• We don't have room for a tv.
• I don't want to pay the bills the service
• I prefer to get my TLC and Bravo fix in short but intense doses when visiting others.

And remember that Netflix account?

Yep, this weekend Andy totally upped our Netflix account so we can have three DVDs at a time.

Can we claim superiority over all t.v. owners out there? I think not.

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A rather cruddy post

There's no denying that winter's long in northern Minnesota. It's common knowledge that you should have a hobby to help bide your time in these frozen days. When it's -30F out, everyone's in want of a thrilling diversion from the dark, long nights like knitting, cooking, skiing  . . . . crud kicking!  

What's winter crud, you ask? Why, it's the wonderful brown substance that forms when snow mixes with road salt. It has a penchant for clinging to cars' mudflaps and frames and is often found in big blobs along road shoulders.

And crud kicking? It's the casual, noncompetitive sport I learned from my father of kicking crud wherever you find it. If you see some crud built up on your car's mudflaps: tap it. If you see a big blob of crud on the shoulder of the road: shatter it with a wind-up kick.  

There's only one rule to the sport of crud kicking, which my father taught my brother and I at an early age: Always tap a ball of crud lightly before giving it your best "soccer ball" kick to make sure it isn't frozen solid. (Your toes will thank you for this.)


Oh the joy in kicking the mud flaps and watching the thick layer of crud fall and shatter on the ground. The excitement in revealing the true exterior of your vehicle. The pride in looking at all brown gunk you've just dislodged and loudly exclaiming "Wow, look at that crud!"

It might seem to be a pointless pastime, but that crud can actually build up to the point where it affects gas mileage.

A crud kicker's job's never done.

(Let's just add this to my sporadic "you know you're a redneck when . . . " series, eh?)

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