I realize, with a moment of wry humor, that a fiber household can be ingredient-only as much as a homesteader’s kitchen (referencing a meme I see frequently). I am surrounded by pounds of really nice wool…in fleece form.

This morning, I went ahead and added a glug of Breckenridge Spiced Whiskey to my Black Rifle coffee because, screw it - why not? In less than a week my glorious feral housewife summer comes to an end and I’ll be rejoining the civilized workforce sans booze in my brew.

We aren’t sailing, should I be worried?

It all started with my refusal to replace perfectly broken-in sheets with crap polyester knock-offs.