One of or great-grandsons wanted their new dog to sleep with him one night. Unfortunately, the dog – a Golden-Doodle – was too big to get onto his bed, but he was so heartbroken that his parents came up with another solution.
The dog couldn’t come to the boy, so the boy came to the dog. This is Tex and his dog, Cooper, looking totally at ease and comfortable together.
In all of Cookingdom there are few things more aggravating than having to crack open a can of Tomato Paste
The stuff comes in 6-ounce cans, but recipes only call for one tablespoon. The rest of it sits in the fridge and goes bad, no matter how you try to keep it useable. From what I understand this stuff comes in squeeze tubes in Europe, but that would probably been seen as a Communist plot by one political party or the other if we tried to introduce it in America . . .
This time around, I came up with an idea that I hope will solve the problem. I have a one-tablespoon cookie scoop, so I laid out a sheet of wax paper and then I emptied the can by plopping out recipe sized scoops of tomato paste and putting the entire business in the freezer. Once they were frozen solid, I popped them into a zip-lock, and labeled them.
Now, I can only hope I A) remember I have them next time I need them, and B) find them in the jumble that is the freezer.
The Squire was having some severe internal problems Sunday evening, so I carted him off to the Emergency Room. We should have known better. When I went to the hospital for my busted head, we arrived at 9:30 and left at 6:30 in the morning. This time, we again arrived at 9:30 Sunday night, and didn’t leave until 8:15 Monday morning.
I simply do not understand why they can’t just treat you and get it over with. We were there about an hour before they took The Squire’s vitals. Maybe an hour and a half later they took him back to draw blood. Sometime after that – based on the blood tests, I imagine – they called him back and hooked him to an IV. A bit later, they took him back to talk about his problem.
We’d been there about 9 hours.
Eventually, the staff took him to a cubicle. At this point, we’d been on our feet 24 hours. The Squire promptly fell asleep. I went to the cafeteria and got two strawberry yogurts and a cup of coffee, which set me back $10! Can you say, “Highway Robbery”? By the time the doctor finally saw him, and we got the paperwork, it was after 8 AM. We came home, had a breakfast, and went to bed. I only slept a few hours but went back to bed at 7 PM and slept straight through until 6:30 Tuesday morning.
One of the members of our knitting group mentioned that she had an appointment with her neurologist. “He’s checking for stones.”
“Did you say Neurologist or Urologist?”
“Why? Is there a difference?”
“Well, unless somebody told you that you have rocks in your head, a neuro isn’t going to be checking for stones.”
For nearly as long as The Squire and I have lived here we have been putting out cheap dog food for the local wildlife – foxes, possums, raccoons, and the occasional coyote. For quite a while we fed both the foxes and the raccoons on the patio, with the two groups sitting back-to-back, and pretending the other critters weren’t there. Since we understand that not everybody is as kindly intentioned toward wildlife as we are, we decided to move the dishes to the “back forty” – the mowed strip behind the barn, under the power lines.
We had snow Monday night and into Tuesday and when The Squire went out last night to put out the food, he saw enough tracks to make one thinks we have a dozen foxes back there. We have quite a few black plastic “flats” from various frozen foods, so I suggested we put out several of those, instead of putting all of the kibble in one big dish. “That way, we don’t have one fox hogging all of the food.”
The Squire just looked at me. “You know, you really should have been zoo-keeper.”
It is common knowledge that The Squire and I really enjoy jigsaw puzzles. Our local library has a twice-monthly puzzle swap, and we are always the first in line, trading out grocery sacksful at a time. It’s gotten to the point that we have worked just about everything over there.
Eldest Daughter gave us (me!) a Book Puzzle for Christmas, which I am enjoying tremendously. When I get it finished, it will be 9 x 7 x4.
I had visions of having to buy all kinds of paint, but when I opened to box, I found all of the wood had already been stained or painted. Not that that is going to make life all that much easier, but it does save a lot of hassle.
As you can see, I do have a lot of my work already cut out for me. And more for me to cut out, as there are three sheets of book covers and other bits and pieces to be snipped and pasted here and there.
The Squire and I are both people watchers, and we’re seen some doozies. Mind you, we’re aware that folks probably think the same about us, but . . .
The woman was not too odd – long blond hair, very 1960-ish – but he was a real eye-catcher. He bore a strong resemblance to Kim Jong Un – chubby and the same weird haircut.
They played put-and-take with the grocery cart the entire time they were there. She’d put something into the cart, and he’d pick it up, look at it, and return it to the shelf. Turnabout is fair play, and when he took something off the shelf, she’d return it. They were there about fifteen minutes and only had one item – a box of pasta – in the cart.
The thing that struck us both was that this fellow had long fingernails – at least as long as mine – which were covered in a silvery grey polish.
To each his own, but you do wonder.
The day after Christmas, The Squire decided to sort through all of our greeting cards, looking for a birthday card for a dear friend who is turning 90.
Well.
Apparently, my habit of buying cards from House Mouse and then forgetting I have them and grabbing one at the Dollar Tree can have some serious consequences. For me, at least. The Squire put various get well, birthday, and sympathy cards, into hanging file folders, and then politely asked me to go through the Christmas cards and decided what I want to keep.
And, no, I can’t keep all of them.
thisendoftheswamp 