I'd Like To Announce.......

....the arrival of little Aubergina and Cucumberella.Despite weighing in at only a few ounces each, they are hale and hardy little gems. Though not exactly fraternal twins, they were both nurtured in the same whiskey barrel womb and are very welcomed. Excuse me for a moment while I gently nestle them back in their crisper crib where they can chill out quietly before they go on to greater glory this evening. (OOO, I am feeling most wickedly unmaternal here.)
There, they are both settled in, cozied up to the spinach and basil.
Enough nonsense. This is the first year ever that we have not had a proper garden. Living where your business is has many advantages as well as the disadvantage that sometimes there are no closing hours, and so other things like gardens go, by the wayside. I did plant some lettuces and Asian greens in an old wheelbarrow. Unfortunately, one of my sweet Newfoundland dogs discovered she had a love of organic greens and has repeatedly helped herself. As these were in her fenced in area and the normal big garden was never prepared, we are not about to enjoy a harvest this year. Oh, well...next year, damn the torpedoes,full speed ahead, it will happen.

Happy weekend to all..and yes, the date is totally wrong. Oh, well..

Best

These Pictures Make Me Happy....

My niece took these pictures of my sister's beloved dog, Angus. In my imagination, Angie is at a Renaissance Fair performing with joyful abandon for all of the Ladies in Waiting, who are secretly swooning in the presence of the gallant knights in armor. The trumpets have sounded and the jousting is about to begin, all to be followed by a heady banquet, well oiled with mead and accompanied by minstrels and jongleurs.
In the smoky light of a hundred torches, jeweled chalices flash their brilliance.
And where is Angus now? He is asleep under the dais, nestled cozily by his Lady Eleanor's elegantly slippered feet, his belly filled with tidbits of roasted oxen, pheasant and snippets of sweetmeats.

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Do You Think......

...that it's safe to eat these? I know that there are 100 year old duck eggs that were carefully entombed in the earth by experienced hands, but I am a little concerned about these.


What do you think?


Best!

R.I.P.

Dear Robert,
May you rest in peace you faithful little servant of dust, dirt, dog hair and general grunge remover. I miss you. I miss your persistence and assistance, your cheerful little motor, your lightness and maneuverability. You ingested tons of unwanted grit in your day. You gladly soldiered on through thick and thin. I have a replacement for you now although you will never be replaced in my heart. This newcomer is heavy and unwieldy and does not possess your charm. Thanks for the miles and for always being there for me. We all go out eventually. You did your best by me. Thanks old friend!
Dear Mr. C.
I cannot say that I will miss you. I am glad that you are gone. I was so tired of you widdling on my counter top every morning, I was tired of your lid that always fell off. You were not a good servant like Robert. You had no heart. You have been replaced by a much simpler machine and he is behaving quite well so far. He has not messed on my counter and he produces a lovely, hot and aromatic drink for me without complaint or bad behavior.
Dear Dryer,
I am sorry that you have had to sit idle for so long. (You have no idea how sorry.) I feel uncomfortable that your innards are exposed to all who pass by you. I know that you did not intend to start eating our clothes, nor did you set out to howl and screech when I urned you on. You just need a bit of surgery, some new parts and you'll be as good as new. I promise it won't be too much longer before we'll have you warmly spinning and doing what you've always done best. Meanwhile, please pray for sun.

Groups, Gatherings and Gangs

Early this morning I could hear a rooster crowing from across the highway. Not long after I heard the racket of the crows in the woods. I love to hear a rooster, though I'm not especially fond of them as I have been on the wrong end of their "cockiness" more times than I care to remember. This caused me to wonder "if a rooster crows, why doesn't a crow crow?" (Deep thoughts here..hold, they get deeper.) These ponderings led me to consider the names they assign to groups of animals. With the help of my computer, I present you with some of my favorites.

a battery of barracudas
an obstinacy of buffalo
a pounce of cats
a coalition of cheetahs
a flamboyance of flamingoes
a trip of goats
a bloat of hippopotami
a lamentation of swans
a gulp of swallows
an exaltation of larks
an ambush of tigers
a bouquet of pheasants
a troubling of goldfish (is this possible?)


These wonderful descriptions led me to name a few groups of things that exist in my house.

a lamentation of unfinished projects
an ambush of dog hair
a battery of spiders
a trip of junk piles
a bloat of leftovers
an obstinacy of lost items
a pounce of laundry
a flamboyance of dirty windows
a gulp of clogged drains
a coalition of mismatched knitting needles
a bouquet of cobwebs

All are true, except the gulp of clogged drains. I just couldn't resist. I didn't use an "exaltation" as I leave that one to you. An exaltation that she is finally through with her disjointed ramblings. I know you are asking, "Does her elevator go to the top floor?" "Knock, knock, is there anyone at home?" "Should I call the men with the restraining jackets?"
Best!

Prunes/Plums Moving On

Last night I took some fresh plums, put them in the oven with a splash of Balsamic Vinegar and a sprinkle of Turbinado sugar and blasted them with some heat. They were a yummy ending to our dinner. The color was gorgeous, the plums, vinegar, sugar and heat produced a lovely thick sauce. It was great, if I do say so myself.
Prunes/ plums reminds me that in this part of the country they are labeling prunes as dried plums...must be something that is politically correct, or something that appeals to the consumer of today. Heaven help us if we should eat prunes. That smacks of something else (digestive problems?). Which leads me to Fridays. I've already noted that Wednesday is devoted to garbage, but I have not mentioned that Friday is devoted to, as we affectionately call him, The #*itter Man. The Honey Bucket truck (name on the side) barrels into the nursery every Friday morning very early to clean out the Porta-Potty we have here on the grounds. Woe be unto any one that gets in the way. There could be some nasty consequences!
This also leads me to one of my favorite sights on the freeway...following a much bigger vehicle that obviously helps those whose septic tanks are in need of a little help. The large sign reads: Yesterday's Meals on Wheels. You've got to love that.
I think I'll bake a few more plums (not prunes) soon.
Best!