With the help of my hair dryer and a skinny screwdriver, I managed to pop the plastic off the bottom of my saucepan. The largest piece came off immediately, but I had to use a bit of “Body English” on the sides.
A bit of steel wool will clean off the bottom and we’re home free.
I was hustling around the kitchen, juggling pots and plates, trying to get dinner on the table. I sat this pan on a hot pad on the counter and noticed it wasn’t quite level, but figured I’d straighten it out “in a minute”.
This is what I discovered when I cleared the table after we ate.
I have no idea how – or if – I am going to get the gunk off the bottom of the saucepan. Aaargh!
According to the Pentagon, those are not U.S. military aircraft, but rather MiG-29s. A member of the Moscow-based Center for Analysis of Strategies and Technologies, confirmed that, and noted that an assault rifle in the photo is also from Russia.
I hadn’t even finished my breakfast yesterday when The Squire called me into the bathroom. “Does one side of my face look odd to you?
Indeed it did! The right side was droopy, his mouth didn’t open properly, and he said he couldn’t focus his eyes. Honestly, I thought he’d had a stroke. A-n-n-n-d we’re off to the ER. He was admitted pretty promptly, but I wasn’t allowed to stay because of the virus. I could sit in my car or go back home. I gave them my phone number and came on back to the house, where I occupied myself sending out frantic emails to everybody we know. After loads of testing, including blood work and CT sans, the doctors decided he has Bell’s Palsy. Whew! That’s a relief. Steroids and time should clear up the problem.
One nice thing about being a Nervous Nellie is that you end up with a lot of nice surprises, but I’m sure it must be hard on my friends.
And, on an entirely different note, the hospital said The Squire is pre-diabetic. That’s interesting.
Today was one of those blue and gold days that come along in early fall, blessedly cool at night and just exactly warm enough during the day. The sort of day that calls for taking a walk – or making bread. My car is in the shop and The Squire was at church, so I chose to make bread.
I have a favorite oatmeal and Honey recipe, and since we were just about out of bread I decided to make a double batch. Math was never my strong suit, but even I can normally do “two times”, but not today. I had so much excess liquid that I ended adding another cup of flour and half a cup of oatmeal. So – we have three loaves instead of two. There’s no problem with that, but I had to dig around for another bread pan.
And without further ado:
Honey Oatmeal Bread – 1-1/2 pound size
1-1/2 cup water
1-1/2 tablespoons oil or butter (I use butter)
4 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup oatmeal, quick or regular
3-1/2 cups unbleached flour, plus 2 tablespoons gluten if desired
1 package yeast, or 2-1/4 teaspoons
Bake at 350 for 25 minutes, or loaves register 190 internally, or sound hollow when tapped.
Double at your own risk!
A friend at work recommended this book. It was written by two friends of hers, and it was a choice of Reese Witherspoon’s book club. When I asked her what is was about, she just smiled and said “Everybody gets what they deserve.”
And they did. I’m not going to give away the plot, but – everybody gets what they deserve. and it wasn’t until the last eight pages that it all came together.
See if your library has a copy.
Quite a few people have remarked that we have not had many butterflies, honey bees or hummingbirds this summer. The day The Squire and I cleaned the walk, a hummingbird – the first we’ve seen this season – flew up almost in my face, and then busied itself among the Cleome and Jewel Weed blossoms. I immediately came inside and made up a small batch of nectar, and had our feeder out that evening. When I hung the feeder in the dusk, I saw quite a few honey bees flitting around the flowers. We have also seen a lot more butterflies in the last week of so, including a couple of Monarchs. The weather has cooled down considerably, which might make a difference.
I’ve been only been using a half-cup of nectar at a time, as it will go bad fairly quickly when it is as hot as it’s been – upper 80s and low 90s – so it doesn’t get wasted. Tuesday evening I misjudged the distance to the hook and dropped the feeder on the ground and the plastic shattered. Aaargh! I had to search on-line for a new feeder, as this is not prime time for them. Got a very nice one at Petco – the top has an ant moat, which is a Good Thing, but I did find some huge ants on the feeder when I brought it in last night; when the breeze moves it too close to the squirrel baffle, they are able to get from there to the base of the HBF. Apparently, the regular ants are too small to swing between the baffle and the bottom of the HBF. This necessitated shuffling everything around, as we have a regular feeder, another for the finches, plus a “cage” which holds two suet blocks, all of which hang from various shepherd’s hooks. We also have a hopper-type feeder which is on a pole, but that wasn’t involved in the Great Feeder Migration.
So – at the moment, it looks as if we have two hummingbirds, tanking up for the trip south. The feeder is right outside the den window, so I can watch them while I’m on the computer. We’ll have to put the HBF out early this coming spring, and see if we can keep them around.
Whether you love Donald Trump or loathe him, this book should be required reading.
The fact of the matter is that Fred Trump should never been allowed to father children. He was a cold, cruel man, totally without empathy, and saw no value in people or things that were not worth money. He expected people to know instinctively what he wanted, and then berated them mercilessly when they failed. To him, the cruelty was the point. He enjoyed seeing people squirm – including his children. When his oldest son, Fred Jr., was not suited for Big Business, Fred was not satisfied until he had utterly broken Freddy’s spirit – and then disinherited his wife and children.
When Donald figured out he could never do anything right, he decided to do whatever he pleased, and his father admired the boy’s “killer instinct”. Fred thought Donald could do no wrong, and trusted him with large and large projects. When these didn’t work out, rather than admit his error Fred paid his son’s debts, and let Donald take all of the credit.
Nothing has changed, except bigger messes and bigger coverups.
thisendoftheswamp 