Pesto, presto

Yesterday was Pesto Thursday and I still have basil left over.  It seems the last time I gave my plant a haircut, it went crazy and all the rain has helped as well, so I probably have at least three more loads before it shuts down for winter.  Each load makes two small containers so my freezer is going to be full of pesto.  My smaller plant is well....smaller...and lots less productive so I gave it a haircut, too.  I've decided the secret to making pesto is the food processor, NOT the blender.  In the food processor, nothing gets stuck and you're done in a few seconds.  I've now made it with toasted walnuts, toasted pecans, and in the past with pine nuts and as yet, cannot really tell much of a difference.  And the taste difference between homemade and grocery store is just a night and day difference.  No big surprise there.

I also made this recipe for a toffee bar cookie and while OK, it didn't blow my shoes off by any stretch.  Since I had to try it, my penance is now mowing the front yard.  Yuuuuuk.  I'm still in tomato quandary over whether to bother freezing them so no movement there.  And speaking of movement, Sister a-l-m-o-s-t bought it yesterday as she chased a squirrel across our busy side street yesterday around lunchtime.  If a car had been coming, old fat black Sister girl would be gone from this planet.  A neighbor from the next block saw the whole thing from his car and stopped to tell me how bad it scared him.  His dog, Sally, and Sis are big pals and he said he practically held his breath hoping Sis would make it across without a car hitting her.  I told Danny, "it's gonna happen one of these days and her DAD, Mr. Squirrel Hunter, is never going to hear the end of it, you can bet the Farm on that!" and Danny knew NOT to defend a certain someone.  He knows who he is and he got an earful last night.  Yes, sir, he did.

Yikes

Can we talk?  We need to since I just do not get this.  Why would you go to any National Park and sleep outside in a tent, where a bear--any old bear--could stumble upon you and kill you??  A stinky, nasty, bad breathed bear with ginormous paws and enormous claws, and even bigger teeth, that really doesn't give a damn if this is your well earned vacay, or not.  And sleeping in a tent.......that's sure gonna help you a lot when that big old bear gets mad and rips it to shreds with one swipe of the aforementioned claws.  I get all the back to nature stuff but bears???  I don't think so.  And ditto mountain lions on that list as well.  How about a nice little cabin  in the woods, where you can crack the windows and pray a bear doesn't walk by (cause even then some will try to come inside).  And you're not going to leave food out--and certainly not two blueberry pies--'cause I know of someone in Estes Park who did this and ended up with two black bears in her kitchen and they left bear poop (scat) everywhere.

Nope.  Give me a quaint little cabin (with all the amenities) and I'm a happy and safe gal.  Bears??  Great to see--from a distance, thank you very much.

Meet my pals

Yep, I've been playing again on this thing and for the life of me, I cannot figure out why there is that big old hole off to the right side of this page opposite the followers so if somebody out there knows what the problem is, for heaven sake tell me.  I am about to go nuts over this.  I know...I know...small stuff, b-i-g drama.
  Anywho, I am thrilled to announce my sparrows are back at our little "water feature" in the back yard, fightin' like two cats in a bag-- when the water is running.  Now,  I don't know why the running water part makes them so feisty, but it just does.  I can hear them inside the house as they scrap and fight and fly around at each other.  There's plenty of water... so what is the big freakin deal??  And, I don't know why I think it's so damn entertaining but I just do, and those little birds are just hilarious.  They kind of remind me of little bitty kids that are siblings and how one of them is always pot stirrin' and sh** startin', gettin' everybody else's panties in a twist, and then the real fightin' starts.  Or, in this case, the peckin' and squawkin', the wing flappin' and the dive bombing.  Boy.... I have really missed them.  There's just nothing like a bunch of birds fightin', first thing in the morning, while you sip your coffee, to let you know all is right with the world.

Yesterday while visiting with a friend, I found out her dog had been garage sale-ing.  It seems the people next door were having one and when she let her Golden Retriever, Elbie outside, her dog went straight over to shop.  Being a female dog, I don't doubt that for a second.  She saw their display of stuffed animals and headed straight for it.  She mouthed several until she found just the right one, a multi colored stuffed animal fish.  Since the garage salers let her have it, the fish is now named "Freebie".

To can or to freeze....

Quandary for the day:  is it better to make homemade marinara sauce and freeze it, or can it?  Freezing I can handle--it's the canning part I know zero about and from what I've read, takes a whole lot more doin'.  Maybe canned stuff lasts longer....?  I've just been thinking how nice it would be in the winter to whip out some homemade sauce vs that nasty grocery store junk with all the sugar in it.  And the tomatoes are perfect right now so, why not give it a shot?  All I need to do is head down to the Farmers Market and buy some of the seconds--I don't need pretty ones for sauce and they'd probably love to get rid of the not so gorgeous ones anyway.  OK....that's going to be my research project for today--can or freeze.  Just for the record, I'm leaning freeze since it's just so much less hassle, and I freeze everything.  The boys would put it on my tombstone, if I was going to have one, and I'm not.

Now for the second quandary of the day:  why is refusing to carry someone else's shoulder pads because you are a rookie, newsworthy?  They are sweaty, smelly, and yours, so YOU carry them.  Disrespectful?  Nope.  Adult?  Yes.  Stupid?  Very.

Pizza stones

Here's my little bit of wisdom for the day.  According to the directions on my pizza stone, I should have "seasoned" it by putting grease on it before using.  Eeew.  Now, I had read the directions when I bought it that said NEVER use soap on it ever or you will 1) go straight to pizza stone hell and 2) henceforth, all your pizzas will taste like soap since the stone will absorb the soap taste.  Wellllllll, luckily for me, I remembered the no soap part and it appears that putting grease on it is el wrongo, also.  Man....you just can't believe anybody these days--not even the manufacturers.  According to all the pizza stone aficionados on the message boards, the stench from greasing your stone is nasty and way unnecessary, and the funk just isn't worth it.  Well, allrightey then.  Case closed.  We pizza stoners are supposed to pretend like our stone is an heirloom cast iron skillet, and all it gets is water and a scrub if needed.  After that, dry it well and to fully dry it out the stone, you can facilitate that by putting it in a hot oven for 20 minutes.  I say punt on the oven, and mine's resting nicely, post rinse and scrub.  Done deal.

It does, however, look sort of skanky but according to my online peeps, that's fine and exactly how it should look.  So, to pizza stoners everywhere, skank is good.

Oh, Baby!!

The pizza on my Egg grill KILLED and next time I'll do it with a peel--the long handled paddle thing--but I didn't like the ones they had when I went looking so I just did it with metal spatulas.  Tomorrow is operation pizza peel.  Six hundred degrees is a tad warm on the fingers and hands-- and I may just get some of those cool grill gloves, too.  Hey...go big or go home and I need these.
The big pizza funny is, my neighbor hollered over the fence to Bruce, but it was me.  He wanted to know what I was cooking and when I told him it was me and I was cooking pizza on my Egg, he had to see.  So, beer in hand, he tried to climb up and see over both of our fences.  He was doing OK, and then lost it, and I had to howl.  I noticed he sure managed to hang on to his beer, though.  He said one of his friends had a big outside pizza oven and had cooked lunch for people in their office, when he was working in Austin.  He said it was outstanding pizza and kept trying to get invited back.  Yeah, buddy.
So, OK...I was a nice girl even though it was my maiden pizza attempt a la Egg and took some over for him to try.  Even Brian like the loaded one.  Now were all thinking of different pizzas we could make...... and the list is endless.

Pizzzzzzzzaaaaaaa!

Later today I'm going to try yet another Big Egg experiment--pizzas on the grill.  I don't know why but this is just something I've got to do--today.  I made my usual grocery run yesterday in preparation for this evenings festivities, so I am ready, all except for the dough.  That I'll do around four or so, in the food processor, and then it has to take a nap for a little while, which is fine, since so do I.  I'll go kick back and read while it makes gluten, or whatever the heck it needs to do.  I've got prosciutto, goat cheese, sliced red onion, fresh basil, homemade basil pesto, Parmesan cheese, kalamata olives, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers etc., and then the usual pepperoni, in case Brian comes by.  Since this is a DIY pizza bar, I wanted to have lots of choices.  By late afternoon, there's just no telling what I'll have added.  (If Sister keeps whining, she may be on the list.)   The Ina Garten recipe I have calls for arugula, but I think sometimes it tastes bitter and kind of like weeds, so I punted on that idea.  I might make homemade pizza sauce and then I might not--I've got to finish my book so that could get in the way. 

Sorry.  I'm back.  I had to take a minute to go let Wiggles in here with me.  He was sitting at his doggie "jail" gate in the kitchen, wailing worse that Lindsay Lohan.  He's happy now and quiet as a mouse, right by my feet.  Bet she's not, but that's another story, isn't it? More later on Pizzaville.

Here she goes again....

I must be feeling feisty since I'm ready to tackle the subject of......Medical Marijuana.  As a nurse, I'm trying to figure out what the big deal is.  If it's grown legally and is clean, without God knows what pesticides, laced with drugs, and other toxic chemicals, and brings relief to people in excruciating pain, where exactly is the problem?  And even if it's not homegrown, but is legally grown by people for medicinal purposes, I still don't see a problem.  In fact, since then everyone would "claim" they need it for pain relief, why not just make it legal, period?  Shocking, no??  Why buy it illegally from Mexico, Columbia, etc, laced with every neurotoxin imaginable, when you can get it here, legally and clean?
And think of the drug cartels...one less thing for them to try to smuggle here since ain't nobody gonna be buyin' theirs.  Why don't we just grow our own and buy American?  You know what I'm saying....keep the money here, in this country.  Let's face it, folks.  Making something illegal doesn't keep anybody from doing anything and I'm talking strictly "comfort" use here--not recreational uses.  And, yes, will those overlap?   Yes, they probably will and so what's really changed here?  Nothing, except the people who need it for pain relief get it legally and it's clean, and those who are using it for other purposes simply benefit as well.  Add to that, we keep the money here in this country and everybody wins.

I'm not here to pass judgment on pot smoking one way or the other.  That's a whole other topic.  But if you are going to do it, and we already know people are, then why not use our brains to our own benefit?  Our economy is swirling the drain as it is, so any little boost makes sense to me. 
And I'm not going to tackle whether pot smoking works as a pain reliever or not.  I flat don't know.  I've never smoked it for that reason.  I've smoked it, sure, but for the other reason and I'm not going to pretend like I haven't. ( I'm not asking for a show of hands on who has, so relax.  :)   I will say this : if it brings relief to people in chronic pain, I say smoke American and make it legal--in all fifty states.  And, that's just how I see it.

Ahhhhh...

 Here is a shot of my beeee-u-tiful flowers and I wish I could spin them so you could see all the way around.  There's a snowy white lily on the back side that is to die for and lilies are a favorite of mine.  These smell incredible and I'm moving them around from room to room with me so I can enjoy them everywhere I go.  When arrangements start to get "tired", I love to take them apart.  Seriously.  I do.  I like to rearrange them and recycle them all over the house.  Even in the bathroom.   Several smaller vases, a few new snips and some fresh water, and voila'.    Instant lovely.  Everywhere.

Tomorrow

It was brought to my attention this morning by a chronic Internet researcher that the new medication Wigman is on just happens to be a form of doggie morphine.  Well, allrighty then.  If he turns into a dog drug addict I can deal with that.  But I did have to laugh.  Eeeegads.

Tomorrow is the one year mark on one of  the scariest and worst days of my life--so far.  And in order to make the day one of reverence for the gifts we were given by Brian's life being saved after his motorcycle crash, I am going to take the day off from blogging.  No smarty pants comments, no sarcasm, and no random posts---just an all day appreciation for God and His miracles.  I thought yesterday I might send emails to all the people who were so kind, supportive, loving, and who prayed so hard for us, thanking each of them for what I remember they did for us.  And I do remember.  In fact, I remember it soooo clearly that in trying to craft the emails, it actually re-traumatized me, thinking back to that time.  When all those memories came flooding back, it practically unglued me.  So, instead I decided to just thank you all here, however generically, and let you know that your actions will never be forgotten.  And I am profoundly grateful to each and everyone of you--even if you aren't a lurker or a follower.  I figure as long as I write it here in black and white, and post it, who ever needs to know will know.  Somehow.  Some way.  That's how the spiritual world works.  You do the legwork and God does the rest.

I also have one more plan for tomorrow:  I'm going to send myself flowers.  Yep, I am.  I've never done that before and I'm just gonna do it.  I love flowers more than anything and I think I'll just sit back, relax, and enjoy looking at them.  And thank God for taking such exquisite care of Brian, and all of us.

Wigman the Comedian

Late this afternoon, Wiggles had an appointment with Dr. Bain.  Yeah, that Dr. Bain (Muffin).  But not for that reason.  It was essentially a "how can we buy the Wigman more time, in comfort and with a reasonable quality of life"-- that doesn't send me to the nut house early.  After much kibitizing, including me doing a spontaneous interpretation of Wiggles walk when his right leg doesn't work, Dr. Bain and I decided to put him on Trazadol, along with his other meds.  After my performance, he probably would have liked to give me a little somethin', too, but he didn't.  Trazadol is a pain med for his "Arthur-ritis", and along with his other meds, may make him not only more comfy but possibly a tad sedated.  Ohhhhhhh, bring it.  This constant moaning and mewling is gettin' o-l-d.  I gave him one once we got home and he's in there now, barking, so maybe not so much on that sedation I'd hoped for.

But it was what he did on the way over that had me struggling to drive and not wreck my car.  Again.  When we turned off Skillman onto Mockingbird about a half block from the Vet Clinic, he let out this stuttery groan,
that sounded just like the boys' grandmother.   And I'm not saying which grandmother but if you know our family, you know who I'm talking about.  The groan just came out of nowhere--- other than he's no dummy and knows exactly when we're near the Vet--but it caught me completely off guard and I nearly drove through a Long John Silver / KFC, trying to make the turn.  With Wigman in my lap, he knew he'd made a funny because I was lauging so hard.  Sixteen.... and he's still got great comedic timing.  He's sooo funny, in fact, he almost got car sick on the way home.  But the AC saved him.  Whew.

My smoked little friends

Lawsie...my big old green gal Egg has come through again.  I thawed some tilapia fillets (4) and two Cornish hens and decided to see what she might do with those.  I decided to try apple wood this time since I had some and just wanted to.  So, the soaking of the chips began as I got everyone else ready for their descent into smokin' hell.  The fire started easily, so I left to refill my iced green tea and cool down.  I lightly slathered everybody with a swish of vegetable oil this time, and then commenced the seasoning.  You name it, they got it.  Garlic salt, lemon pepper, some of Tammy's Herbal Rub, and my Paula Deen salt, pepper, and garlic salt mixture that I keep in a shaker--for everything.  I did the same routine to the tilapia and as soon as the heat hit the right temp, on went the soaked chips, the grate, the fish and the chickens--in that order.  I put the fish to the outside since they have to come off after 10-12 minutes and the chickens get to stay and cook.  I figured it might be faster that way and I'd lose less time and heat.

And then I chilled.  And drank my tea. At the 10 minute mark, I checked the fish and they needed a couple of minutes more but their little fillet bodies were turning that slightly darker "we are smoked", color.  Tick, tick, tick and then finally time to pull them off.  One tiny little edge came loose from a fillet so when I got inside, I tasted it and I liketa to died.  I practically knelt in the kitchen.  Fish for the Gods. 

I just went out to check my heat on the chickens and since this is my first time on these, I'm just flat winging it.  I'm figuring they're done when the legs wiggle easily and we are about 3-5 minutes more from that, as best I can tell.  And if not, well, hell..... you can just ask for your money back.

They deserve each other

Hello, Houston....we have a problem.  It seems that Sister now thinks my office chair here by the window is HER'S.  She wants it for one reason and one reason only--as a squirrel watching perch.  She's learned to jump up in either chair--mine or Bruce's--and it's a somewhat death defying leap since both chairs swivel and roll.  For a fat girl, this is a true leap of faith.  She's even thrown caution to the wind before and jumped though the armrest opening-- practically knocking her brains out. Only to try it again.  The second I get up out of my chair, she makes a running leap for it. 

And here's the absolute most sickening part: we are thinking of building her a window seat so she can safely watch and relax.  I know ....that's just totally over the edge but maybe with a little ramp, we could knock out the jumping part.  Bad for a fat girl weenie dog's back.  Yes, it might interfere with my computering--so we may just have to put it on Bruce's side since he's gone during the day anyway.  I know he'll love that idea.  His fat black dog right next to him so they can watch for prey--together--on his side. 

I think it's only fair that this impact Bruce--after all, he created this hunting monster and has fanned the proverbial flames with all of his squirrel talk to her.  He's the one that grabs the pellet gun and shoots --and then let's her carry the dead squirrel to the trash.  It's not that I protest the squirrel killing--my motto is the only good squirrel is a dead squirrel.   They chew everything--my outdoor pillows, the fence, the eaves, etc.  It's all the hunting frenzy and yapping that makes me nuts.  And the dead squirrels in the trash.  Want to guess who's yapping right this second?  Yeah, her.

OOOO la la....

This morning I've got a hankerin' to head to the Farmer's Market--even if I don't buy a thing--and I know I will.  There's just something about the Shed with the real Farmers that gets my motor running.  I love their sunburned, leathery faces, and their gnarly hands.  ( Shuuuuudup...I know the real farmers are seldom physically there since they are home.....well,  farming.... but since this is my blog, I can pretend they are, and a few times they have been.  So there.)  On my list will be: tee tiny baby new potatoes, if there are any.  And if there are, fresh green beans are a must so they can be friends, in the pot while they cook. Next, tomatoes and fresh peaches.  Since I didn't eat a single one of my sister's Freddysburg peaches that she brought for Mr. Tonsillectomy , I might just indulge in at  least one, if it's a run down your chin, juicy, sweet one.  If not, I'll pass.  Now, if they have some Pecos, Texas, cantaloupes, I'll get 2 or 3 and share some with, Mary, my next door neighbor.  I like to slice them up like little gondolas, and put them in a ziplock in the fridge, so you can just reach in and grab an ice cold juicy sweet one.  Deeee-lish.

Since I've been eating frozen vegetable for a month now on my eating plan, I don't think I can handle any squash, even though I love it.  I think I'm gonna have to take a powder on that one, for now.  Bruce loves black eyed peas and that's just great.  He can buy a can of them at Tom Thumb if he wants to eat some because they are just grosssssssss.  Nasty.  Not gonna do it.  I might get so some fresh spinach if it's not a bunch old giant leaves--I'm a baby spinach gal.  Oh, yeah.

Flowers are a maybe if they are really fresh and not tired looking but a watermelon is a big nooooo.  I am watermeloned out after slicing up 5 over the last 4 weeks, again, for Mr. Tonsillectomy.  At least for this week, we are going to be a watermelon free zone.

P. S.  We are just back from lunch and the FM.  My haul: one big thing of tomatoes, 2 big things of Betty's peaches (they were bigger than Mrs. Lemley's and just as tasty), and three canatoupes--one sliced and snoozing in the fridge--the other two are greener, and waiting their turn.  Mary just received her back door delivery a la Bruce of 2 big tomatoes and 3 big peaches. I'll send her a half of a ripe cantaloupe later in the week--she won't eat a whole one as she's about as big as a pencil.  I did indulge in a peach and true to form, it not only dripped on my hand, but on my shirt as well.  Oh, hell yeah.

KH

Yesterday I had a planned visit from my old assistant who I worked with forever at Medical City.  She had called Wednesday, in the middle of all the Muff drama, and said she'd be two blocks away at a funeral on Thursday morning, and could she come by afterwards, to visit.  Oh, my gosh, YES.  Now, knowing her, and my life, that was no mere coincidence.  When one of us is hurting or in a bad place, unknowingly, we will pick up the phone and call the other one--out of the clear blue.  We've done it back and forth to each other now tooooooo many times to count and we just know we are supposed to be together.  If Bruce dies first, she and I are going to have rooms next to each other in the same Nursing Home.  We've already planned it.  And were only going to invite people we like to live there.  If you aren't on our list, sooo sorry.  Find another home.
And she knows me better than probably anyone walking the face of this Earth.  Maybe even Fred.  She's had me as  her boss, her friend, and her fellow prankster.  And she still loves me.  And I love her.  She loves animals even more than I do so she teared up when I told her the scoop on the Muff man.  Wow.  I have missed seeing her.  Emails are just not the same thing.  We talked for one hour non-stop and could have gone on for days--we were just scratching the surface of some topics--but it was time for her to head North, to work.

  She lives on a rural spread outside of Allen, in Lucas, Texas and has all kinds of animals--some I'd never heard of but, boy, I know about them now.  When she worked for me, something was always happening to one of them.  She used to have a donkey named Harold Eugene Helton, III, that would bray and kick the chain link fence outside her house, when he was hungry or bored, and wanted her to come out and visit..  She fed him grapes, Doritos, watermelon, along with his regular food and he was spoiled to death. He was a regular in almost every Parade in Allen and he had numerous costumes--ones for every holiday.  Ditto her goats.  One year she dressed all of them them up in Elf costumes to be in the Allen Christmas parade, and ended up on the front page of the Allen paper.  There is not a funnier woman alive and the stories she can tell are just unbelievable.  I used to lie down on the floor of my office so I wouldn't fall down, laughing.  Yes, she could make me crazy sometimes but I'm sure I must have made her crazy as well.

She's like the brunette sister I never had.  When she hopped out of her little white sewing machine of a car, 45 pounds lighter, I almost keeled over.  She has always battled a weight problem and she rooked mahvelous.  We hugged, we laughed, and she saw the puppies-- even though Wigman was so sound asleep he never woke up to greet her.  She looked at me and nodded that the end isn't far away for him, either.  And Sis loved her. And would have gone home with her in a nano second. 

I used to tease her all the time about stirring her food together--she'd make a big old salad from the salad bar, and then stir it all up--and put 15 kinds of salad dressing on it.  I warned people who were eating with us for the first time that eating with her was an experience, and some people just shrugged, until they saw her do it.  She once explained it to me this way.  She said "I like all of the flavors and I want to taste them all together" as she dipped her stirred up salad bite, in BBQ sauce.  There's nobody like her and I wouldn't trade her friendship for anything.  Life would just be too dull with out her.  And just no fun.

Muff and Bruce

Well, who knew?  After all the love tortures Muff endured from Bruce, who knew Bruce would be the one to usher him to Kitty Heaven?  Bruce used to love to put underwear on Muff's head, socks on his back, and hold him up near the ceiling fan, while it was running.  And that's just a few of the tortures he's conjured up in the last sixteen years.  Is it a surprise to anyone that occasionally Muff would "fin" him with one or both of his back claws or poke a hole in Bruce's shirt?  Well, hell no. 

Last night, after I'd called to pull the official trigger on Muff, Bruce went to get the cat carrier and pay for him.  When he got there, Muff hadn't "gotten the call yet" so Bruce stayed, and loved on Muff while they put him out.  He said Muff was talking and shedding up a storm--a clear sign that he's not having a great time--until the shot to sedate him.  Muff--not Bruce.  But Bruce probably would have loved one, too.  Muff wandered around, exploring the exam room, and then jumped up in Bruce's lap, to chew his tail.  This is a long standing habit and family joke since I had told Bruce eons ago, Muff would outgrow the tail chewing.  Sixteen years later and he's still a chewin'.  And then Muff got loopy.  And his legs got all gimpy.  So Bruce laid him down on the counter, and our Vet sent him off with the last shot.  Thirty seconds later he was gone.  Poof.  Sixteen years of love and hilarity gone in a whisper.

This morning, Bruce told me all about it, as last night, I put myself to bed when he left to go get the cat carrier and to pay our vet.  While not a total basket case, I was really close and just needed to shut 'er down.  As Bruce is telling me all this, this morning, he rolls his wrist over to show me Muff's parting gift--one last tiny "fin" mark. How appropriate.  Both of us just hooted out laughing.  That is so Muff.

He's on the train...

It is with a heavy heart that I type this.  Muff is catching the evening train to Cat Town, after Brian gets off work, in case he wants to go tell him goodbye.  It seems Muff has lost almost another pound and only weighs 7 and either has Diabetes or Hyperthyroidism.  I say either simply because I told them not to find out.  Either way, I'd have to poke a pill down his throat twice a day, or give him an insulin shot, twice a day.  Uh, no.  Especially on the pill part--he totally freaks out and pees and/ or will just go hide.  Dr. Bain totally understood and given Muff's age and general downhill slide, will punch his ticket later today.  Brian was the one who convinced Dr. Bain to let me give Muff his asthma shots instead of dragging Muff in every time so I feel especially grateful that Dr. Bain will be the one to slip him out of this world, to cat heaven. 

I asked Dr. Bain if it's "ugly" and he said "no...quite the contrary".  They sedate the kitty first so he's just really sleepy and then send him out with meds, via his IV.  I love that idea.  To say that I am sad is an understatement but I know it's the right thing to do, given Muff's personality and just who he is.  The pill poking or needle sticking would just NOT be how he'd want to live and I wouldn't want it either. 

I've left a voice mail for Benji and emailed him, but he's recording at the studio today and hopefully won't pick up the message until he's finished for the day.  Ditto Brian.  I just hung up with Fred, and he's just as sad as I am.  Wow.  I had no idea today was the day...but it is.  RIP Muff man.  We love you.

Good luck Bristol and Levi

Since my morning did not start off real well, and believe me you don't want to know the specifics, suffice it to say I got a big old smile when I read that Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston are engaged.  Good for them!  And I send them my sincerest hopes for a long and happy marriage.  And the best part??  I bet Sarah Palin is about to have a cowwwwwww.  They didn't tell her--they sold their story to Us magazine.  Now, admittedly, that might not make for the best possible start but since they both knew Sarah would not be pleased, at least they avoided a personal version of Sarah's Hiroshima.  They hope to be married very soon--4-6 weeks maybe, in Alaska and if it was me, I'd do it outside, in nature, with just my closest friends and family. From what the Internet article said, according to Bristol, it sounded like old Sarah wields a pretty big stick and that Bristol is a little afraid of her.  Honey.....we all are.  Make no mistake about it.

Now, on a different "nature" note, I have not had a white bunny sighting in ages and I am concerned.  If I knew for sure where he lived, I'd go check on him but I don't.   He may have been moved inside to beat the heat, and that's my hope, otherwise in that fur suit, he's got to be dead.  On a positive note, maybe he's hopping around inside the house, in the cool air, being doted upon.  Let's hope so.  I didn't know it but rabbits can be really mean--they can bite and pee on you.  I almost got it in Idaho one time when I walked up to a caged rabbit and was about to lean down and look at it.  I was quickly pulled out of peeing range and told not to mess with that rabbit, unless I liked rabbit pee.  And here I thought it was just a nice, big, fat old rabbit.  See....I told you rabbits and cats were alike.
Whoa.

How sad...

As much as I might enjoy it, I just can't get myself to tee off on Mel Gibson.  I'm sure you may be wondering why, and I have to admit I am pondering that a little bit myself, and here's what I think it boils down to :  I don't think I could do a better number on him, than he's already done on himself.  I thought Tiger was self destructive.  Mel makes Tiger looks like a kindergartner.  The more tapes that are released, the sadder it gets, and the deeper he digs himself.  Probably the best thing for Mel would be to go buy himself a deserted island somewhere and just go live there--- so he cannot hurt anyone else--especially his children. 

Yes, he and Oksana both got "played"--- by each other. What goes around, comes around.  Sad, sad, sad.  And sick, sick, sick.

Literary Treasure

I realized just a few minutes ago that I'm getting frustrated.  Over books.  Yeah....books.  Everywhere I look emails, newspapers, magines, there's a list of yet another book I want to read-- right now.  This minute.  And let's face it, that's what summer is all about--- it's just that I can't get anything else done if  I just give myself over to books.  Now, it's not like I'm a career diplomat or brain surgeon who has appointments every minute of each day.   It's just that once I start reading, and a book is really good, I'm gone.  I barely even get hungry.

My mom used to be a big reader and I remember as a little girl telling my mom one summer that I "was bored, there was nobody to play with ", etc.  You know the little kid lament.  She took me around the corner in our upstairs hall, to a double sided, three shelved book case and grabbed a book.  She told me a little bit about the story, I grabbed it, and the rest is history.  It just so happens it was Island of the Blue Dolphins and I've never gotten over the power of books since.  I was that kid on the Island.  I did all the stuff he did.  Once I was finished with it, I went back to her for another suggestion and she gave me Caddie Woodlawn.  Again, I disappeared, and this went on for ever.  I read all of the Nancy Drew series and all the other spin offs--you name it, I read it.  Mom either kept the books coming or handed me a kids reading list, and then drove me to the library where I'd get pissed if a book was already checked out. :)  I'd choose something else-- but the waiting made me crazy. 

And then came Gone with the Wind.  My parents didn't see me for a week.  And I'm a fast reader.  I was holed up, with my book, and only took brief pit stops before I'd disappear again.  And by the way, Scarlett O'Hara was not brunette--at least not in my book because I was her, and I'm NOT brunette.  And I think that has to be my favorite thing about books:  I get to be the casting director.  If  I don't like the way they describe the main character, and I'm playing her, then of course, she looks just like me--only better.  But I'm still her.  And if I don't care and just want to enjoy the story, then everybody stays just as the author created them to be--I keep my imaginary hands off. 

Reading.....sooooo many books.  Sooooo little time.  I just have to do it.

Random thoughts

By my calculations, I should have West Nile virus by tomorrow--Tuesday at the latest.  I went out to water all my pots and the hanging baskets and was feasted upon by an entire squadron of mosquitoes.  And when I tried to use my hose sprayer to spray them off, it was like I somehow tasted better.  Now in the backyard, I'm safe.  We have one of those mosquito misting things and though one day I may wake up with hair growing on my tongue, from the "natural" chemicals it uses, at least I can be outside.  It has this cool little remote and if you are worried there might be a lone mosquito out there, you can always blast him by hitting the remote.  Ahhhh....backyard chemicals.  Nothing like it.

I just hopped out of the shower and this is something I just don't get : why do cats like to lick shower water off the door?  I know that's random but I just don't get it.  Muff has a little bitty water bowl that I keep filled with fresh water for him, so he doesn't have to walk all the way into the kitchen.  Yeah...yeah...I know.  That's a tad over the top but Sister used to chase him and be real mean to him so I just tried to make life a little easier for him.  But shower water???  What's up with that??

Final Frick and Frack update:  My car is out---- but the door still has to have somebody come either give it the Last Rights or put some new supports on it.  Since it's older than either of the boys, I'm all for pulling the plug. Buh bye.

Frick and Frack update

Holy cow...those two have left me stranded, with my car in the garage behind a closed garage door, while they "continue to repair the door".  If I try to open it, all hell will break loose--mostly on my car.  Frick just left in his car and Frack is still asleep at his apartment, this morning.  It's a good thing I don't know (or want to know) the combination to the Gun Safe.  This is what's known as typical Harris "fixing".  You start it--- but you just don't getter duuuuuuuun'.  And then you go on about your merry way and leave somebody else holding the bag.  My new motto:

Don't get mad----Get Even.

Frick and Frack

Frick and Frack are outside working on our garage door and it seems that after over 30+ years, our door has decided to start getting really serious about falling apart.  But it's not the door that makes me laugh--it's the two guys fixing it, that slay me.  They are two peas in a pod and they scream out laughing over the same stuff.  Both love the exact same things (hunting, fishing, the outdoors, hunting, hunting, and especially hunting.)  One of them is pretty handy---the other one---not quite so much.  I bet you can guess who is who but even that part doesn't matter.

 The most important thing to me is how much these two love each other.  My dad and my brother never had a close relationship, so this is a revelation to me.  I've never seen guys like this together with a connection like these two have.  I love to be off in another room doing something, and just listen to them talk.  I'm not eavesdropping--they are just having man yak, in the man cave.  And the TV must be on.  And it has to be on some channel I would not watch, even with a gun pointed at my back.  Then inevitably, they start howling over something--usually something on TV--and the donkey braying, wheezing, gasping for air, laughter starts.  They hee-haw, and hee-haw and hee-haw.  On and on they bray.  I usually have to come watch them because it's so freaking hilarious to see them so out of control and, their laughter is contagious.  Wow.  A father and son who really adore each other.  What a gift.

Stoning.... really??? C'mon.

As a World, I just don't think we can say we've made much progress in the area of Human Rights.  I realize this is a topic I could rag on for days, due to it's enormity, but for today I'll just spout off on Women's Rights--or more specifically the lack there of and STONING.  Stoning...with a woman getting buried deeper than a man.  Stoning a woman accused of  having sex outside of marriage.  And did I mention, she was a widow??  With two children.  Yep.  Her husband died prior to this "accusation".    In my very American book, that would make this woman free of all marital promises and responsibilities.  She is no longer married.  Clearly, that must not be the case in Islam or they change the rules to suit themselves.  And since women basically are nothing more than chattel, do you think there's a woman or women making all these cultural rules and regs?  Uh, no.  It's a bunch of unshaven, mean spirited, angry, scared, dirty, smelly men trying to control an entire culture-- of men and women.  But the best part is this :  I haven't seen or heard a word about her very male co-participant being stoned.  Oh, nooooo.  Not a peep.  And that's if there was a participant-- and any of this actually happened.  If it actually did, you know those nasty old men are just laughing and handing him the pipe to smoke.  And scratching themselves. Ugh.  Oh, well.  Boys will be boys, even in Iran.

And what about the woman's two children?  IF you kill HER, the children are now orphans.  Brilliant.  One more set of children that no one will want due to the oh, sooooo terrible act of their mother (again...IF it happened).  What an unconscionable act--sex.  Seems like the situation just keeps getting made much worse than it originally was.  Welcome to Iran.  Welcome to being a woman in a country where your net worth is that of a Kleenex--disposable on a whim-- by a male.

Clearly, I wouldn't last a millisecond in Iran. If my family didn't kill me for not buckling under, I'd have done the job for them.  There is just no way I could live like that--whether I'd been raised to believe all that BS or not.  Knowing there was another way to live, in the West, would not really give me hope.  I think it would merely render me terminally depressed.

On a final note, for now it seems the widow will not be stoned--they may just kill her another way.  Wow.  Unbelievable.

P. S.  I was just reminded by a friend that there's be a special place in Hell reserved for peole who do stuff like this to others --even in Islam--and there won't be any 72 virgins waiting for them either.  I laughed my head off!!!

Food Should Taste Good...and this does!

I know I haven't talked about food in awhile but this one I just have to discuss.  Bruce has the coolest friend ever, Brian Gooding, who is just this cook extraordinaire.  Or at least in the Smoked Gouda Chipotle Pimento Cheese realm, he is a God.  Bruce had mentioned to him awhile back that Pimento Cheese (PC) is one of those things that I will walk across hot broken glass for, as long as it's "good" PC.  None of that grocery store stuff with sugar in it. Noooooooo.  And Brian told him "well...I make a pretty mean one and I smoke the jalapenos (chipotle peppers) and the Gouda myself."  Game on.

The long and short of it is, Brian came by last night and brought some of his PC.  He'd waited in case the peppers might be a tad singeing on Bruce's throat.  And the chips he brought to go with it were a brand and type that must have been a Whole Foods purchase since they sure as heck were no Frito-Lay or regular grocery store find.  OK.  I'm back.  I went to get the bag and it says they are a tortilla chip and a cracker, too, made with flax, sunflower, and sesame seeds, oat fiber, brown rice, quinoa, and soy.  Now before you go all "that's too healthy" on me, just chill.  The brand name is Food Should Taste Good and oh, honey, these sure do.  Even eaten alone these kill, so you can just imagine what they are like with Brian's PC.  Out of this world.  Not even in this solar system.

Now my mission is to get Brian to give me a tutorial on smoking cheese and jalapenos.  I asked him last night and he said he would, and that " the cheese is the tricky part."  I know that's right.  The heat has to be super low.   I can just imagine lifting the lid on my Egg to find a giant melted cheese-- gooshed everywhere.  A big old Gouda queso.  Knowing me, I'd just go get the chips and get busy.

I tried to snag a picture of the chips from the Internet but it wouldn't let me copy the picture.  It does say they are available at Starbucks.  Weird but OK, fine.  If you are interested, google the name.  They have a gabillion flavors of them--even a chocolate.  That might be a bit of a stretch for me.  And....maybe not.

Twizzling

There's a really handsome guy walking around downtown that you might run into, if you are lucky.  This guy is soooo cute, it'll hurt your eyes.  He's especially cute now since he shaved the dead rat off his face last night.  It went in stages but it's gone and that's what really matters.  It's not that I didn't like how it looked.  That part was OK though sometimes I almost didn't recognize him since he just did not look quite right to me.  It was how it felt that was just awwwwful.  Like kissing a scrub brush--especially the upper lip part.  B-A-D.  Now he's soft and slick as a baby's butt and THAT'S the part I like.  Woo hooo!

Every now and then he has to do the "mountain man" thing and grow something ratty, and when my sister-in-law told him he looked younger with it, that sealed the current face toupee and extended it's duration.  I don't mind the look of  facial hair--I just hate all the "twizzling" that goes with it.....you know what I'm talking about.  All the playing with it, wiggling the hairs around, pulling on them, teeth-raking, noodling and doodling, and fiddling.  And then more twizzling.  And then food in it.  Or worse.  Barf.

Shame on Attorneys...all of them

I've just got to get this off my chest so here goes.  You might want to buckle up and if you are an attorney, by all means READ ON.  I HATE attorneys.  (I realize that's a "No, Duh" for most of you all but it's more recent for me.)  I used not to hate on them-- but I sure do now.  I used not to really get why people hated them so much and why they made such nasty comments and jokes about them.  I get it now.  Damn.  And it's tough to see what's happened to our judicial system and how the "truth" has nothing to do with  what happens in Court--it's all about who can lie, manipulate, skirt the truth or flat out lie, twist the facts, and put on an Oscar award worthy performance--for the jury.  And then there is their arrogance.  And did I mention the politics?  OMG.  I don't even need to go there, do I?
  There is not one shred of truth that comes out of their mouths and then they earn these enormous fees for lying like a bunch of dawgs.  How do they do that, every day, and look themselves in the mirror and not hate who and what they see?  I'll tell you how.  It's all about "winning".  It's NOT about doing the right thing.  Always taking the high road.  Oh, noooooo.  They always take the low road, just in case you don't.  I don't think they could find the high road anymore anyway since it's been soooo long since they've seen it--if they ever did and that's really disturbing.  They'll do whatever it takes--lie, cheat , manipulate, snuggle up to the judge, put $$ in his reelection campaign coffer, all to assure that HE leans their way.  I realize not all judges are such sleaze balls but a lot of them are. Sleaze balls with power....it's the making of nightmares.  And what is a judge?  Nothing more than an attorney with power.  Scary, isn't it?

Which brings me to honesty--rigorous honesty.  Oh, and that little thing called "the facts".  What happened to that?  Oh....I forgot.  That has nothing to do with it anymore, does it?

My dog squeeze

My man dog is in here with me in one of the freshly laundered white chairs.  Yeah, I know....bad idea if you want the chairs to stay white longer than a few days but he's old, so I let him.  In an attempt to prevent a "hair chair" look, I took off my robe (washable, remember) and put it down first.  He likes his people's smells, it comforts him, and I figured it might just get fur on my robe v the chair.  No wonder I do not work at NASA.  All he did was spend several minutes "digging" and "snooting" (re-arranging with the snoot) my robe until I couldn't stand it any longer, and the robe was essentially in a ball.  So much for the covering the chair idea.  He is now smack dab on the white chair cushion fabric, with my white throw tossed leisurely over him.  Yeah...I did that, too.  And he is happy.  And snugly.  I can tell because when he's really comfy, his breathing slows down, and he sounds like a dog version of Darth Vader.  Frankly, for him, I can't think of a lovelier way to spend the morning.  He was up early, had a little dog breakfast, has been back out, and is now back to dog dream land.

Before he came in here with me, he wanted to go out front so I went with him, carrying my coffee. I'm never really sure what he wants these days as I do not yet speak fluent "Whine", but I am working on it.  So far, I speak enough to get the job done.  Whine is a difficult language to master let me just tell ya.  There are all kinds of subtleties that I just do not get yet.  The dementia whine (nothing specific), the go outside whine (slightly different), the I want what you're eating whine* (I have that one down), and the I don't want my food but I'd sure like yours whine*--* see previous whine description.

Anyway, he is hilarious to watch.  Ever the independent man dog, he has to look and sniff for ages to find the perfect blade of grass on which to tinkle.  And then once he's finally found it, and his mission is accomplished, he has to hang around and bark, and let his 'hood and his homies know he's still here.  He adopts a "don't mess with me" posture that's totally hip and happenin', and then he barks at nothing.  Undoubtedly, that has to be my favorite part : an almost totally deaf, half blind, practically toothless, wobbly back legged, ferocious barking, macho man eater.  Gotta love it.

We're BOTH ready!

As much as I adore him, I have to admit--I'm ready.  I'm ready for my life to get back to normal, whatever that is, and to have my house back to myself during the day.  I've enjoyed having my patient here but it's time to roll him out the door in a wheel chair like they do at the hospital.  Except in his case, we don't need the wheel chair.  I'm ready to hand him his car keys, phone, etc. and shove him out the door.  Ahhhhhh.  Peace and quiet.  No blaring TV's.  No more Bat Masterson re-runs or Hispanic soaps.  No nasal spraying and the ensuing.snarking" that goes on.   Just me and my nest.  .Yahooooo!

An older friend warned me a while back that when her husband retired, she nearly went nuts.  She said she kept waiting every morning for him to leave--goooooo some where---dooooooo something--but he didn't.  Nope.  Just hung around and basically pestered... her... to... death.  She's now gotten used to him, and having him around a lot-- but she warned me, and I now get it.  Whoa.  Change can be tough.  Now she laughs about it and loves having him there.  He gets to wait for the AC man, the carpenter, the sprinkler guy.  Now that I can relate to.  I knew there'd be an up side in there somewhere.

Anywho, many thanks to all who called to check on Fred and brought him "cold stuff".  As I peel off my Nurse Ratchet suit and hang it up, it feels good.  Mannnnnn....he has been one pampered guy, but then he's worth it.  Nasal spray and all.

Ahhhhh.....

O..M...G...   Hide all the spoons.  Bruce's ice cream was his best ever and he knows it.  This is exactly what it looks like and if I could have put a taste button on here, I would have.  This stuff just kills.  So far, I have had a tee-tiny bowl and I can hold off on any more though Mr. Tonsillectomy has now had two, and will no doubt need another one, by the time the fireworks start.
Yum.

Happy 4th

Brian came by last night and asked his Dad if he was making his usual Mexican Chocolate ice cream to celebrate the 4th.  Uh, oh....  Clearly, a "No" was not going to work.  Bruce looked at me and said "Well....I could...." and the rest is history.  After a quick run to Tom Thumb, he was all over it and I knew, basically, to clear out of the kitchen.  He was using all my cooking toys and that was a little more than I could handle, considering how he cooks.  It totally freaks me out so it's just better if I don't know what he's doing, or how he's doing it.  After a quick infomercial on my mixer and new cookware, I hauled, and started reading my book--with my white noise maker on so I couldn't hear him banging around.  

This is his area--he LOVES to make ice cream.  He used to make it in an old, old electric ice cream freezer with the rock salt, the ice, and the NOISE.  It was so loud it sounded like a jet engine, with an ear shattering screech.  He used to wear pink hunting ear plugs while it churned-- in the Utility Room with the door shut.  Not any more.  A few years back, I threw a rod and tossed out his old ice cream freezer/screecher, and told him to find himself a new one.  And he did.  His Cuisinart freezer is purring, as we speak.  Minimal noise, no ice, no salt--no hassle.  Laughing, he just told me he can "set it and forget it".  Keep in mind this man, in his pj's, has not even had breakfast, and he's processing his ice cream.  I'd say he has his priorities in order.

Happy 4th to ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm outing myself....

I know you all have probably noticed.  I've been slacking off in the world of food.  Barely a word.  Even I'm shocked.  But here's why and it's ugly, so get comfortable.  I finally decided to attempt to lose some tonnage--- so I'm doing Meal Balance.  You order it online and it's delivered right to your door--OK...that's not the ugly part.  The BIG UGLY part is that it's a no sugar, nothing white (except cauliflower), only certain veggies and it's a portion controlled, eating plan.  See....I told you it was bad.   But surprisingly, the food is good and you don't have to cook.  You just grab, nuke, and eat.  I don't even do "throw backs" when I want a different vegetable.  I just eat the damn thing.  And I have been shocked at how good the meats have been.  Either that, or I'm hallucinating.  And breakfast rocks-- all protein.  Add coffee, and I'm good.  No thinking, no food obsessing about what to cook, how to cook it, etc.  And no recipe searches, Food Network visits, nada.  I'm having withdrawals to read a cookbook.  That parts almost as bad a no sugar.  My cookbooks are my little friends.  I miss them.
 The good news is,  it's all done for you and the foods NOT full of crud, fillers, MSG, etc.  And once you get out of ICU, from sugar withdrawals, it's not bad at all.  You have two snacks a day so you are really not all that hungry.  Well, at least not after ICU anyway.  And you walk.  Everyday. Yep.  You heard me right. You get sweaty.  But the best part is, you only weigh yourself every 6 weeks.  Ditto on taking your measurements.  Score!  I can do that.   My initial weigh in, behind steel, locked & bolted doors, was 10 days into the plan, and even then there's not a torture conceivable that would get that number out of me. And the measuring?  Oh, Yeah...like I really wanna know that information. When my clothes bag (some day), that'll be good enough for me so no numbers, please.

And don't think I can't hear ya'll laughing, figuring I'm going to need to be sedated on the 4th, to keep from either cooking or eating, something verboten. My flags and my Martha Stewart bunting are up.  Ten bucks says homemade ice cream is just around the corner.

Irony

I have seen some things lately that I think qualify.  Some made me laugh.  Some not.  For example, the two UPS trucks parked right near burial plots at Sparkman. (burial place right near us on NW Hwy)  All I could think of was either some poor departed soul had ordered something that was really on back order or maybe some folks were still catalog or Internet shopping from"the great beyond."  Either way it made me laugh.  Then there was the guy begging on Lemmon Avenue, near Central, holding up his little "homeless, need $$" sign.  Did I also mention he was smiling and jammin' on his Ipod?  Yeah...you heard me.  His Ipod.   And he probably had an IPhone 4 in his pocket also.   I'm not sure but I don't think a lot of folks were buying his "need $$" bit.  That one made me roll my eyes and laugh.

Which brings me to Smart cars.  They're NOT Smart.  They are a casket on wheels.  Ain't nuthin' SMART about driving something that's gonna ultimately kill you and it's not an "if"--it's a "when".  Yes, it takes a teaspoon of gas to run but so does a lawn mower and you don't drive one of those on Central either.  I think it should be called "The Casket Car"-- drive it and then be buried in it.  Or, "The Card Table car", since you can bet it's gonna fold up on you the second somebody taps it.  Catchy, to the point, it just says what it is.  No beans about it.

And lastly, smarty pants people.  The ones that give you grief when you can't find your glasses, cell phone, shoes, pants, keys, hat, checkbook, etc.  They priss around as you tear apart the house, when they know they can find your stuff in a nano second.  They love to be all holier than thou since "they never lose anything."  And, truth be told, they usually don't --except now they can't find their (her) glasses.  And she's looked.  Everywhere.  Crap.  :)

Slipcovers...OMG

Slipcovers.  I thought they were supposed to make life easy.  When they got dirty you just popped them into the washer and voila'--fresh and clean.  Well, yes...that's the idea IF you can get the damn things off your chairs.  I have two Pottery Barn chairs and an ottoman that are slipped in white duck (cotton) and I love them.  If these chairs could talk, the stories they could tell would gas you.  These were the chairs that Crashman convalesced in, with his ex-fix, post crash, and even post ex-fix.  They are the chairs Bruce, Sis and Wigman are currently napping in--Sis actually owns one of them and just shares hers occasionally.  So you can imagine these chairs have seen quite a bit of action.  Hence the need to wash their slips.

It's just that getting the slips off is a wrestling match worthy of WWF.  I got Bruce to do the first one and he was worn out by the end.  It was like trying to stuff a fat girl in a tight dress or stuff yourself into the jeans you wore in fifth grade.  C'mon.  I'm all for a custom fit but egads.   And did I mention all the interior Velcro that snags and prevents progress at every turn?  I stripped the second chair and let's just say the dogs headed back to their beds in the den due to the language that spewed forth.  But I gotter dun.  Next came the actual washing--or more accurately the pre-soaking.  This pre-soak business is usually not part of my of my repertoire but this time I figured it might be worth it.  So I filled up the washer with warm water, dumped three big old scoops of OxyiClean in there and let it dissolve, and in went the slips to swim around.  The directions on the box for pre-soaking said soak 1-6 hours.  Hmmmm....that was a problem because it was already 8:30 pm , so I googled pre-soaking with Oxy.  Somebody on a message board said they'd left their stuff to soak overnight so that's what I did.  I figured it wasn't like I'd left them overnight to swim in chlorine bleach so off to bed I went. 

I am happy to report that overnighting was an excellent call--they "rook mahvelous".  The second one is about to be re-applied, wrestled, cajoled, and cussed back into place so that means my workout for the day will be done.  And the dogs will head back to the den.