The Squire suggest we have mac and cheese for dinner. Once I put on a pot of water we discovered there was not enough elbow macaroni, not nearly enough pepper jack cheese, and we were short on milk. Apparently, all we had enough of was cheddar.
We substituted rigatoni for the elbow noodles, added cauliflower to make up the difference, and just went with what we had. For a hot game of roulette it wasn’t too bad.
I use milk cartons to hold my clothes pins on the line. They are free, easy to obtain, and recyclable. People who know me understand all of these things.
This morning two of our squirrels got into a raging fist fight, chasing each other all over the yard, and up and down the trees. They ended in a large oak tree beside the carport, and from there out across the clothesline. One of them hopped into one of my milk carton-cum-clothes pin holder, and the other jumped into the one beside it. They continued their slug fest from these perches until one of the handles broke, and the squirrel fell onto the grass.
The other sat in his little sky-bucket and yelled “nanner-nanner”.
I swear, I couldn’t possibly make this up.
Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!
First of all, I was digging up a bunch of peanuts under the clothesline. Such a tiny plant, but there were hundreds of peanuts under it. I carried them into the house by making a basket of my skirt and was planning to put them in my sink, but my mother pitched a fit, and wouldn’t allow me to do so. “And look at your clothes! They’re a mess. Honestly, you can never do anything right.”
Even in my dreams she fusses with me!
Then I ended up in our own church, and my dad was saying Mass, accompanied by my sister, of all people, as his chalicist. One of our daughters came in and sat beside me, and called me by the name my mum always used. I glared at her (I don’t know what girl is was) and she apologized. “They’ve saying that all day, and I forgot.”
Of all the characters in this little melodrama, only my daughter is still alive. This is the second time I’ve had this sort of dream, and – as I said before – I’m not making any long-term plans.
This is just plain creepy!
For the last few weeks, just at dusk, we have seen a large buck either in our back yard or just at the edge of the woods around us. We put out deer corn in the “back forty” (the power company right of way behind us) to encourage him and any friends he might bring along.
The last day or so, he’s been missing.
Yesterday morning, The Squire and Blazer went out to collect the newspaper and found the deer in the woods on the other side of the stream. Ninety acres of state-owned forest behind us, and Bucky had to cross the road. He’d managed to drag himself a good distance from the street, and was lying on his side, with his head resting on a log.
Right now, he is perfuming the neighbourhood, poor thing. I kinda wish the vultures will find him soon.
I think the thing that disturbs me most about deer – and mice – is that they don’t close their eyes when they die. They just lie there and stare at you accusingly.
I have just finished reading a book by Bryant Simon, The Hamlet Fire.
The Triangle Shirtwaist fire took place in 1911, but it seems we have not learned much in the ensuing 80 years. A fire broke out in a chicken processing plant in the little town of Hamlet, NC, on September 3, 1991. The fire itself was caused by the owners’ deliberate disregard for common safety procedures, insisting on repeated makeshift repairs to a cooking vat rather than spending the money to repair the thing properly. Add to this, the doors were all locked, and the windows boarded up – to prevent theft, according to the owners. Twenty-five people were killed, and an additional fifty-five were injured, some very seriously.
Although North Carolina had passed legislation to provide for safely inspectors, they had not funded the project. There were so few inspectors in the state that, had each one visited four factories a day, each plant would have been inspected once every seventy-five years. The health inspector did inspect the place more often, and was aware that doors were locked from the outside, there were no marked fire exits, and the place was a dimly lit rabbit warren, but since these things did not affect the food being prepared he didn’t bother to report the conditions. A really classic case of “it’s not my job.”
The most profoundly damning part of the book, in my opinion, was comes in the epilogue, when Mr. Simon discusses what happens to your chicken between the egg and your dining room table. It’ll ruin your appetite, for sure!
This afternoon, as I wandered through the coffee station, I overheard a fellow telling somebody he was going to parameter-ize something “once the results were available”.
I can only hope he meant prioritize. The English language is rich enough without making up new words.
We had a Colonial Fair at Resurrection yesterday, and both The Squire and I are still dead on our feet. We had these Fairs for five years, ending about thirty years ago, when they sort of collapsed under their own weight. With all of the history we have in our own back yard, we decided to give it another try, with more emphasis on the history of Joppa and Copley Parish.
We had a few vendors – we’d have liked to have had more – plus a group of Piscataway Indians, and some Revolutionary era suttlers/reenactors. I found myself volunteered – not that I minded – to give tours of the church grounds, stopping at Low Street, the Court House, High Street, and the foundation of the 1724 church. The Squire picked up the group in the narthex, pointing out some of the artifacts discovered on the property, and then shepherding folks into the church itself for a slide presentation of the plans Panitz had to developing the “new” Joppatowne. I did three circuits, which took 45 minutes each.
When I got home last night my feet were killing me, and today I can’t get my shoes back on.
We both took cameras, but neither of us managed to get any pictures, and I’m not sure anybody else did, either. The best I could do was this shot, which is from 1976. The Squire is on the far left, and I am in the middle of the back row. None of us can get into these costumes today!
We have been purchasing raw peanuts to feed our squirrels from a local farm stand. (Yes, I know there are plenty of acorns. Somebody has already pointed that out to me.) The critters have been chowing down on the nuts all summer, but now that cooler weather has arrived they have begun burying them. Every place.
When The Squire and I were hanging up the clothes on Tuesday we discovered a garden of peanut plants all over the yard. I doubt they’ll survive the winter, but if they do, we’ll end up selling peanuts instead of buying them.
Well, I finally have a title for what I’ve been doing at church – which is pretty much everything.
The bishop came this morning, and I was – as usual – the crucifer-cum-acolyte-cum-chalicist. While I was marking my hymnal and lighting the candles, she asked me what my position was in the congregation, and I told her, “Pretty much whatever”.
“Ah,” she said. “You are the dean.” Blank look on my part. “Does Everything As Needed.”
I like that. It’s much nicer than being called a Pushy Broad.
Yesterday I was struck with a fit of ambition and took Blazer over to the park. Actually, it was that or go to the Y with The Squire, and I just find it hard to get jazzed up over sitting on a machine.
However…
We had a nice long walk – the loop is just shy of a mile and a half – and we were both pleasantly tired when we got home. Blazer was panting pretty badly; I had walked him down the boat ramp so he could get a drink but the moving water startled him. He took one or two licks and then backed away quickly when the river lapped at his feet. He tanked up when we got home.
This morning I had a couple of errands to run, but it is cool enough – 60º at 12:30, up from 52º at 7:30 – that I didn’t feel he’d be in danger left in the car for ten minutes. I grabbed his leash and suggested a ride. He took one look at me and went back to his bed. Normally, he will follow me outside, so I left the kitchen door unlatched and went to feed the birds.
The Squire said he told Blazer to “follow Momma” and the dog just looked at him and snorted.
Maybe we’ll try again on Monday.
thisendoftheswamp 