So, we sharpened the lights and dimmed our wits and went about the ceilidh thing last night. It may be wildly significant that, while there was no fiddle (Jake was in NYC), there was an accordian and a banjo -- which led to a lot of vocal music. Well, there were four or five guitars, and all the other sundry instruments paled in comparison, sound-wise. So that was natural enough. I love singing, and there were many songs. Also, the lost boys band was there and did a couple of very fine spots. (They always practice in secret and I had never heard them before.) For some reason, the last event of the night was arm wrestling, which offers an excellent arena for gauging the competitive inclination of the younger set. Basic personalities really place their stamp on such events, and it was amusing to see who would take such a competition seriously (despite their verbal assertions of ambivalence) and who could truly not care less. Uh-huh.
   Okay, I finally started the seedlings, and they're steaming up the greenhouse to beat the band. No little green tips showing yet, but from the window here I can superimpose the idea of those blank flats filled with leggy seedlings over top of the garden beds just outside the house there. It's a natural line of ascendancy, and I look forward to eventually turning them out like ruminants to pasture. Nothing like sitting back and watching the free-range broccoli lazily foraging across the yard. Never hurt nobody, and highly resistant to frost. I hope they come up. My neighbor already has many flats full of wavy green things. I know better than to place my competitive bets in the gardening circus, but there is such a thing as being just plain embarrassed by a bad showing. Rah- rah! (Ra -- we could use some decent sunshine, too.)
   I think I'll nip down to the barn and let the goats out. It's not snowing, and that young one keeps bouncing off the walls. There's a bit of wire mesh covering all of the animal-exposed windows, and they've been using their spare time (when not accessing their caprine facebook accounts) working the staples holding the wire loose, so it'll flap around. This also exposes them to the glass in the windows, which is not what I want to happen. When careening doe-ling hits plate glass window with flailing hoof, nobody is happy. Then, as with the chickens, their internet privileges are curtailed. That's just the way it is.