Limerick In Honor of KC

Sometimes it could be quite a teaser
When she buried things deep in her freezer
The search has begun
For a cinnamon bun
Excavation successfull -- it pleased her! I knew I'd stashed one in there someplace.

Thanks KC!

Evidence

'Twas a lively in my yard last night. I can tell by the tracks in the snow. I dragged the trash bucket down to the curb at 7:00 this morning before it was all the way light (in my opinion, anyway) then came back out with the camera.

Kitsu wanted to help me outside until I started dragging the can. I don't mind if the mule deer prune my shrubs. I sympathize with any critter hungry enough to eat juniper.I suspect the little leaping critter is a squirrel and it lives in my shed. That would explain the holes in the bird seed bags.I like tree rats, they're welcome to some bird seed, even if the Engineer does gripe about sunflower seed shells on the shed floor.

But My Pants Stayed Dry

Last night the wind came in and rattled the house. For several hours it rained, pitting and melting last week's big snow. It was 37° at 11:00 am. Then the wind went dead and pellets of snow started to fall straight down like little white balls of lead. I could hear them whacking on the roof. The wind whipped up again and the snow danced like a mad dervish. It completely covered the wet ground within a couple of minutes.

I had a noon hair cut appointment. As I was leaving at 11:45 the temperature had fallen to 21° and there was about two inches of snow on the ground. I pulled out of the dread car-eating driveway and headed down the hill.

Two-thirds of the way to my destination, I took a corner at a crawl. My tires decided not to grip and the car went into free fall.

I chanted my mantra, "Expletive Deleted! Oh Evil Language! Oh Holy Expletive Deleted!" as I tried to get my car sideways enough to the curb to bounce off of it instead of over and down the embankment into the yard of the trampoline house.

Whump-bump. I was up over the curb. My mind's eye and viscera saw my car tumbling down the embankment, landing on its crushed top by the trampoline frame.

The car slid across the sidewalk and a tire caught on something at the edge of the lawn that gave enough purchase to send the car back towards the street.

Adrenaline continued to pump through my blood like a flash flood, but my pants stayed dry.

Deciding my haircut could wait for another day, I took the shortest route home.

I am not going out again today. And maybe not tomorrow.

The Jaws

Have you ever looked at something and seen something else?

I do frequently. One of my favorite blogs is Things Look Like Things. The blogger, whom I assume is a woman, has a much more refined eye than I. Comparatively, I go at things with a sledge hammer.

A friend gave me this kitchen gadget for opening jars. Looks lethal, doesn't it. The only thing I can see when I look at it is the business end of a stag beetle.

LambChopGate

We went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant with two other couples tonight to celebrate the Engineer's birthday. There was a huge party in the back room and our waiter was new, so service was excruciatingly slow. One couple had predinner cocktails in multiples. A bottle of wine was ordered with dinner. And then some more wine.

I am not a drinker. Not on moral grounds or anything highfalutin like that, I just don't like my grape juice spoiled. This has turned out to be to the advantage of the Engineer's family, as they all imbibe and have a built-in designated driver in me.

The other nice thing about not drinking is I get to watch the drinkers...

Mrs. A. was sitting between Mr. A. and the Engineer. She's an itty bitty thing who might weigh all of 98 pounds on a fat day. By the time dinner finally arrived, she was pretty well lubricated as was her spouse. When she emptied her own wine glass, she picked up the Engineer's and drained it. She never realized it wasn't her glass, she just saw wine and drank.

On the other side of her, Mr. A. was telling Mr. B. how delicious his lamb chops were and insisting Mr. B. try one. Mrs. A decided that Mr. A. was done eating and thought that the Engineer should eat Mr. A.'s one remaining lamb chop. Meanwhile, the waiter brought a take-home container because Mrs. A. never finishes her meal.

After a couple more glasses of wine, as we were waiting for the cook to catch, kill and prepare desert (at least that's the only reason I can think of that it took so long), Mr. A. decided he wanted his last lamb chop and discovered that his plate was no longer on the table. All was not lost, however, Mrs. A. had a take-out box, so his lamb chop must be in there.

Mr. A. scooped up the take-out box, popped open the lid and started digging through Mrs. A.'s left over rabbit with his coffee spoon. He did not find his lamb chop.

He turned to his wife and asked in a very loud voice, "Where's my lamb chop?"

"I gave it to the Engineer," she said.

"What?"

"I gave it to the Engineer and he ate it."

At this point, Mr. A. turned to the Engineer and announced loudly enough to turn heads all over the restaurant, "You stole my lamb chop!"

We finally managed to mostly calm Mr. A. down by telling him it was the Engineer's birthday so he deserved the lamb chop and that Mrs. A. truly wasn't trying to starve him by giving it away.

Until we went to our separate cars, though, he kept glaring at the Engineer and muttering, "You stole my lamb chop."

I suspect this will be a lamb chop that lives forever in infamy.

Winter Skylight

My bathroom has no window, instead it has a skylight. There are three smaller ones running the length of the hall as well.

I love the natural light they bring into the house. My favorite part, though, is when visitors try to turn off the bathroom light and can't figure out why the switch doesn't work.

It doesn't happen as often in the winter as during the rest of the year because the snow puts a bit of a cramp on the skylight's style.

Eating Like a Kid

Ever noticed how food tastes more fun if you play with it?

As a child, I decided this must be true because my Mother was so adamant about eating like a lady.

As a Proper Southern Lady, it seemed to be her job to take the fun out of as many things as possible. If my back ever assumed a less than rigidly strait line, I would get a sharp poke between my shoulder blades. My bed had to be made with perfect hospital corners to an Army coin bouncing specification. Heaven forfend if I ever sat in any position that didn't cement my knees and ankles together; I would be asked in acid tones if I wanted my picture taken.

That one still baffles me. My more proper than Queen Victoria Mother could not possible have been referring the kind of photos the paparazzi take of Britney Spears, so what was going through her mind?

Hmm... I've wandered off topic again, haven't I.

Yesterday I decided to have the single remaining egg for breakfast. Since there was only one, I, of course, dropped it. After beating off Sachi and cleaning the slimy mess from the floor, I examined the fridge and decided to have the classic college student breakfast: cold pizza and flat beer.

Not really. I only thought about it. I totally wimped out on reliving the decadent Saturday mornings of dorm life. I nuked the leftover piece of pizza before I ate it and had orange juice instead of flat beer, then felt guilty for eating such an unhealthy breakfast. I decided to put a patch on my sins by eating something healthy, so I ate a grapefruit.

It was the best grapefruit I've had in ages. It was a Texas Ruby Red. Since no one was around, I ate it just like I wanted to. I made a lovely big mess.

Instructions for delicious grapefruit:
1. Using a sharp paring knife, but a circle in the skin around the place where the stem used to be.
2. Pop that off, then cut the skin in a longitudinal circle around the fruit from one side of the stem hole to the other. Make a second cut so the skin is divided into quarters. Be careful not to cut too deeply.
3. Peel the skin off in quarters, then spend a whole lot of time peeling that nasty bitter white layer off.
4. Pull the peeled grapefruit in half and take out the icky white stuff in the middle.
5. Peel the membrane off of each individual segment, eating the naked, juice-filled globs of fruit flesh as you expose them.
6. Show segments of fruit to curious cats to watch them make faces.
7. Lick fingers and sigh.
8. Wash area where grapefruit was dismembered so that no evidence remains for husband to question. (Either that or put down a disposable plastic drop cloth beforehand.)
Yum.