Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Much Munching

Last week I decided to halt the carbfest I'd been enjoying and lost ten pounds in four days. In a weak moment yesterday afternoon, I broke the seal on that box of Russell Stover truffles sitting on the computer station since April, and indulged myself, in spite of the fact that indoor temperatures resulting from this inane power-saving project of mine this summer had morphed the normally creamy delights into something nearly unrecognizable to the palate.

Having caved this much, and being disappointed in the results, I called Charles and reversed my earlier decision on whether or not I'd like him to bring dinner home from town, suggesting he buy the daily special at a fast food restaurant. The last time I was in town, I'd noticed that offering on their flashy, scrolling sign. This was the day to succumb to the lure of the inviting signage. Now I know the Monday special is a slim cow wafer buried in much bun and cardboard spikes which were probably French fries before they made the cooling trip home and got plated.

Determined to get something good out of being bad, I asked Son 3 to pop me a bowl of corn while I was knitting. Burned popcorn smells awful -- nothing like the aroma wafting through the house the night before, when I'd managed to resist snarfing a single morsel. I ate the browned corn.

This ill foray into junk food land cost me two pounds. Eggs and salad have never sounded better.


On a more positive note, Albert and Willie have been munching lagoon fare for a couple of weeks now, and when it became apparent they weren't going to be able to put a dent in that pasture, Charles and Son 3 led Florence and carried Elemeno to the lagoon to help the boys. These many days later, the men spent an hour capturing and collaring Nancy and Nellie, so they've joined the others in their summer projectland. I like having them nearer to the house, especially since the girls had disappeared in the towering CowNot pasture weeds.

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink,
or whatsoever ye do,
do all to the glory of God.
I Corinthians 10:31

Monday, June 25, 2007

Peace to My Soul

by Fanny Crosby

O Jesus, my Savior,
All glory to Thee;
Sweet peace in believing
Thou givest to me.

What heights of enjoyment,
What rapture is mine;
While faithfully trusting
Thy promise divine.

Should sorrow o’ertake me,
Thy Word is my stay;
Should trials befall me
Thou guidest my way.

O loving Redeemer,
Whatever Thy will,
In tempests or sunshine,
I’ll follow Thee still.

Peace, peace to my soul
Flows like a beautiful river;
Peace, hallowed and pure,
Constant abiding forever.

For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:
the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap [their] hands.
Isaiah 55:12

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Snap Peas and Synapses

Sadly, I've reached the age when I have to stop saying -- as I have the past very many years -- that I must be suffering from early senility. It's not early any more. And where'd I stick that bottle of sublingual B vitamins? As soon as I've swallowed the remaining, stray bits of sugar snap peas, I need to ram a couple of those puppies under my tongue, so I can enjoy a rise in confidence that the brain burbles won't be rising so often.

"Son 3, I have a small basket of clean clothes sitting out under the whatchamacallit. Would you go get it for me?"

synapses - the point at which a nervous impulse passes from one neuron to another
snap peas - edible-podded peas that differ from snow peas in that their pods are round as opposed to flat

So my synapses are misfiring, and the snap peas are ready to harvest. Charles and I have been on different pages as we watch the sugar snap peas mature. He has snow peas in his head and snap peas in his mouth, so he voiced his opinion after a taste test that the snap peas are gone, not right, we let them get too big.

"Son 4, go pick me 3 sugar snap peas of differing sizes," I said, so I could taste our garden fare, myself. When I was delivered the 3 peas, I set down my mascara wand, received the ordered peas, and quickly nipped and chewed bits of each:

1) tender, tasty, and sweet
2) tender, tasty, and sweet
3) tender, tasty, and sweet

"Charles, these are all really good. You may have had the flavor of something else lingering in your mouth at the time. Maybe you don't know what they're supposed to be, or you just happened to pick one that was really old and no good any more. You may not know what they're supposed to talk like." ........ My own eyes widened, as they're oh, so prone to do -- and too often these days.

Charles smiled and said to the little woman, "Well, I didn't hear any of 'em talking, so maybe I was just wrong about them. *pause* That's pretty funny. But what's funnier is the look you get on your face when you say things like that." *chuckle*

Clothes in the whatchamacallit, where did whatshisname go, put it in the thingyflopper, and talking vegetables in our garden.

snap peas - tasty, sweet peas entering my mouth
synapses - misfiring nerve impulses wreaking havoc with what exits my mouth

There's a wheelbarrow full of green beans and half a trash bag full of snap peas in the second refrigerator. If I can find the refrigerator, I'll be blanching and chatting with vegetables today.

How sweet are thy words unto my taste!
[yea, sweeter] than honey to my mouth!
Through thy precepts I get understanding:
therefore I hate every false way.
Psalms 119:103, 104

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Spinach Harvest - 9 Grocery Sacks Full

Equal 10 cups of spinach
Need I say more?

But grow in grace, and [in] the knowledge
of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
To him [be] glory both now and for ever. Amen.
II Peter 3:18

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

She's Prattling

I frequent the rotting rack in the grocery department of that store I practically live in. Nabbed an angel food cake the other day for a modest price, split it in 3 layers, and slathered it with a whipped combination of cream, powdered sugar, and coffee crystals. Tossed handfuls of toasted coconut on each layer. Taste-testing a piece, Charles and I agreed we could easily devour the entire creation in one sitting but decided against doing it. The sourdough bread on the rotting rack makes luscious bread pudding, but I stopped buying it when I birthed my own Herman starter. Good ol' Herman. I ignored him for nearly a month once (no food, no stroking), and he was still kickin'.
Two nights ago there was a teensy bug inside my computer monitor. He spent the evening creeping around the screen, a constant distraction.
I'm assuming it was my responsive email to a friend overseas, when she wrote to ask if we'd survived the Kansas tornadoes, which prompted a plethora of ISP problems finally resulting in the directive to reconfigure my outgoing mail server. Now I have an outgoing mail server that other customers don’t have. Don't I feel special. That entire, lengthy and detailed incident (for which I was given a totally nonsensical explanation) leads me to the conclusion that I got bumped onto a new and more attended list. Really, they should have come up with something better than the proffered explanation, and if I wasn't so vehemently opposed to lying, I could have written a more believable script for them. For that matter, a mere splutterance of the truth would have worked, since it was pretty clear what the whole thing was really about. Like we don’t already know anyway? It's just ignored by or beyond the interests of many. Ho-hum.
I bought 3 more fans and pried open the windows I'd painted shut last year. The fans are touted as consuming 80% less electricity than air conditioners. Sure is muggy in here.
Not as fearful of tiggers and chicks as I am, Charles is dealing with 50 to 75 chigger bites right now. Maybe if I stopped accidentally reversing the beginning letters nearly every time I mention them, everyone would be more inclined to heed my warnings. Who, after all, would fear a tigger or a chick?
The chickens have scratched and wrenched the pansies from the flower box for the last time, and that not because I stuck the chickens in the freezer -- but don't think I didn't consider that option. I refuse to poke the surviving pansies into the dirt again. Who's dumber -- me or a chicken? I finally realized I was losing my standing as the smarter.
I left towels on the clothesline overnight last night. It rained.

Okay, as I type, there has come upon us a virtual downpour -- not drips, not drops, but sheets of rain. After about 30 seconds, CarolineNot says to herself, "I thought Son 3 went out the back door a few minutes ago. Hmm, he must not have." Door bursts open these 2 minutes later, and Son 3 enters -- drenched and dripping -- with the utterance, "It's starting to sprinkle out there."

Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves:
be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.
Matthew 10:16