thisendoftheswamp

Resistentialism. This is the idea that inanimate objects are innately evil.

Frankly, I believe it. I have a kitchen drawer full of knives that lie in wait for me, and frying pans that take great delight in burning my fingers.

When we lived at the Rice Paddy the fluorescent light in the bathroom refused to turn on, no matter how many times you flipped the switch. And then, when you finally decided you could do what you came to do in the dark, the light would come on just after you washed your hands. Many’s the time I bathed by candlelight.

The light in the den only came on only on alternate Mondays. We simply left the light on 24/7, but a friend accidentally flipped the switch on her way out the door. There’s a certain irony to using an oil lamp to use the computer.

Resistentialism

Among the things we brought from the house is an Oriental rug that was a gift from my parents. It was in their dining room for about thirty years, and in our bedroom for another twenty or so. It laid flat on the floor in both of our homes, quietly keeping our feet warm.

When The Squire and I moved into this condo we put the carpet in our new dining room, and it has apparently decided it doesn’t care for these new digs, as it seems to be trying to escape.

Every Saturday morning, I get down on my hands and knees and push the rug back across the floor. Once a month, The Squire and I move the table and chairs, roll up the rug, and then unroll it, making sure it is absolutely flat.

One end is held down in the middle by an antique cedar chest, and I put industrial strength hook and loop tape along the sides. The middle is under the table, and you can see that even that area has some tiny ripples. Sometimes you can see where the rug has actually pulled the loop part of the tape away from the hook part. Beats me.

The Squire says it is trying to move back south, heading for its original home in Roxboro, NC. Makes as much sense as any other explanation.

My BFF recommended The Jackal’s Mistress to me, and boy! am I glad she did.

Jackal was the name Southerns gave Yankee soldiers during the American Civil War, and the story revolves around a wounded Yankee soldier, left to die by his unit, and the Southern woman who reluctantly rescues him. That’s all I’m going to tell you, other than the fact that I devoured all 300-some pages in one sitting.

The author is Chris Bohjalian, and your local library should have a copy.

Mary Ann, over on https://ajoyfulchaos.blogspot.com/ was talking about bean soup, and it brought to mind a recipe that I happened to stumble upon one day when I was looking for something quick and easy to throw together. As it happened, I had all of the ingredients on hand, which made it even better!

2 tablespoons vegetable oil 1 onion, diced
1 teaspoon caraway seeds (optional) grated zest of 1/2 orange
2 cups grated beets 1 1/4 cup stock
14 ounce can lima beans drained and rinsed 1 tablespoon wine vinegar

Sauté the onions, caraway seeds and orange peel until soft but not colored. The Squire does not care for caraway seeds, so I omit them. Add the *beets, beans, #stock and vinegar and cook over low heat for 10 minutes longer.

*If you can find canned shoestring cut beets it saves a lot of time and mess.
#The original recipe called for beef stock, which we don’t use in our house, but mushroom stock will serve just as well. Suit your family’s taste.

Spoon into bowls, and top with a dollop of sour cream or plain yogurt, and sprinkle with parsley. Theoretically, this serves 4.

When I took out our trash this afternoon, I discovered the sad, sad end to a long life.

This is a small community, so I was aware that one of our number had died, but it is jarring to see that family members have simply dumped a lifetime into the trash.

Being the waste not, want not type that I am, I pulled out two door hangings – a pretty little Valentine’s Day heart-shaped wreath and a pocket trimmed with lace and paper flowers. There was also a rolling pin that looks to have been from the 40s or 50s, possibly part of this lady’s hope chest. A pretty little towel, still in the wrapper, that read “Bless this Kitchen”.

I found a sweet little teapot, trimmed with grape vines, six Pyrex custard cups, a canning jar suitable for homemade jelly, and a hinged glass trinket box (which I propped open with a bit of silver card). Plus, a working surge protector.

I’m keeping two of the custard cups, but everything else will be packaged and taken up to a local thrift shop. There might be more treasures buried in there, but even I have my limits. Besides, it was getting dark.

Maybe I’ll look again after church tomorrow.

My faithful readers remember the battles we’ve had with Comcast over the land line. They claim we can’t have it because if we called 911, the emergency vehicles would come to the wrong place. Everything I’ve ever had occasion to call 911, they always ask for the address. Let’s face it, if the place is on fire, I can find the desk phone a lot more quickly than I can stumble around trying to find my cell phone. The really weird thing is that we can still make out-going calls and if you have a 679 exchange, you can still call us on the landline.

Back when Eldest Daughter brought her poppa a new Smart Phone, I was bullied into taking his old one. I still prefer to use my ancient flip phone for any number of reasons. For one, I can open it and use it. I don’t have to fiddle around unlocking it – it is always ready. But the new one has some really neat games, and Eldest Daughter added the Yuka app, which is wonderful. If you’ve never heard of this app, it allows you to scan the bar code of most foods and many cosmetics, and it will show you what’s good and bad about the product. If something has too much salt but is high in protein you can decide for yourself if you want to eat it. Some stuff – positioned as “healthy” – is anything but. OK, I never expected a candy bar to be good for me, but that energy bar I grabbed at the health food store ought to rate higher on the scale than it did.

So – back to my story. I lost the hand-me-down Smart Phone. I honestly lost it. I didn’t put it down someplace, walk off and leave it or drop it in the offering plate at church. I lost it. Didn’t bother me one bit, but both The Squire and Eldest Daughter were upset. She sent me a new phone. It is small and seems flimsy to me, and I like it even less. The Squire bought a case for it, which outweighs the phone by about six to one. It has a coin pocket, slots for cards – and a strap. I can’t carry my hairbrush or my little flashlight or . . . so I stick it in my purse.

Both The Squire and Eldest Daughter are really pressuring me to use a phone I simply do not like, and it bugs me no end.

Now, quite often the new phone won’t talk to The Squire’s phone, so I have to use my old flip-phone anyway. I can hear him talking, but he can’t hear me. If I have it on me, I just dig around and find it so I can call him back, but a few days ago we had a bit of a set-to. I had to run into a store for something simple which only took a few minutes. Normally, he parks the car where I can see him and waits for me to come back out. This time he couldn’t find a parking space so he was parked “out in left field” and I couldn’t find him. I pulled out my phone and dialed. We did the old “Hello, hello, can you hear me” routine. I tried again with the same results, so it was back to the flip phone. As far as I know, he ONLY has this problem when I call him, so he had to know it was me. And he had was -presumably – waiting to pick me up. If I’m calling and he’s waiting for me, why didn’t he just come get me?

To quote my oldest and dearest friend, I must love him. I didn’t kill him.

Borsi is fascinated with ice cubes, especially those in a glass, a fact which we sometimes forget, much to our dismay.

This evening The Squire and I were working a jigsaw puzzle when I heard a distinctive “thunk”. We had not put our half-empty drinking glasses in the dishwasher after supper, and Boris had decided to investigate. He’d pulled one glass over and was busily pawing that the second one when I pounced on him. Water all over the table and on the dining room rug.

Oh, joy.

The entire condo is carpeted with wall-to-wall beige pile. I don’t know whose idea this was – probably some man’s – but it is the devil’s own to keep clean. We took the Karastan out of one of the bedrooms and put it in the dining room here, but the amount of water Boris had dumped soaked through and got both the rug and the carpet wet.

We had to get out the carpet scrubber to draw as much water as possible out of rug and then had to lift the rug off the carpet and drape it over the table and two chairs.

OY!