A slight cool spell swept into the area and dropped the morning temperature back into the middle 60's. It made the daily walk, with the ever so entertaining Runtly, the Jack Russell Terrier, even better. Runtly likes cool morning walks.
We skirt the outside edges of our little community and now that school is out, there is very little traffic in the mornings. The many grey squirrels provide endless entertainment for the Runt, although he probably would not know what to do with it, if he ever caught one.
The geese are molting, as they do every year, and the ground is littered with feathers of all shapes and sizes. Some days, Runtly proudly carries a long wing feather in his mouth, as if he has won a trophy of the highest award. The goslings are in various stages of growth. The older ones are beginning to resemble their parents in a fuzzy sort of way. The middle stage of the goslings' growth makes them appear like small velociraptors, as they try to keep up with the rest of the flock. A funny thing about geese is that when they molt, they are all rendered flightless at the same time. Perhaps a perk of nature, to keep the adults from taking flight when the kids are driving them crazy. One more thing about geese, before we round the corner to pass the tiny village, they live a really long time, over 30 years.
The tiny village lays to our right. Runtly has never taken notice of this place. There is a fence that runs along the border of the property. On the other side of the fence is the back side of a small strip mall, but it sits several feet higher than our path. The backside of the fence has many years of leaves and pine needles compacted against it. It gives the fence the appearance of being one of those ant farms, in the clear container so the viewer can watch all the comings and goings of the ants. It is not ants that make this area interesting, although there are surely hundreds of them in there, this is where the chipmunks live. Their tunnels and paths are visible against our side of the fence and on occasion, they can be seen darting through them.
The path between the ponds is covered in a canopy of pine boughs and brings to the walk, a true feeling of the closeness of nature. The tall pines are home to many feathered creatures and there is usually an ongoing chorus of chirps and tweets, if one takes the time to really listen. A red shouldered hawk banks sideways through the trees and crosses our path, the chorus becomes suddenly silent. No one wants to be called dinner.
A distant siren greets us at the end of the path, giving Runtly a perfect reason to cut short his part of the walk. He does not like sirens and is more than ready to go inside. Walking dogless means no more stops. No more stops to do his business, stops to smell some new scent, or stops to find something to roll in. Finishing the walk alone helps to keep a constant pace and the path begins its descent to the lake. The walk back up the hill takes a lot longer.
Looking down on this place from above, we could see what might resemble the Matryoshkas, the Russian nesting dolls. This small place, lies within another slightly larger place, that lies within another slightly larger place and on and on. Each one of those places touches the other, so, we are never too far from where we started our journey.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Will We Ever Learn?
"What has been will be again. What has been done will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:9
Rewind to a time around the early 1960's. We are in a small town restaurant, possibly on a Friday evening. Dad, Mother and myself. I'm quite young, but neither of my older sisters are with us, so I must have been around the age of seven or eight. Quite an impressionable age.
We are sitting in a booth. Behind the booth in the corner is a pinball machine. Something I do not believe I had ever seen before. At the end of the machine was a young man who seemed hellbent on a mission of some sort, but I was not sure exactly what kind of mission it was. The pinball machine fascinated me. It had bells and buzzers and lots of flashing lights. The young man would lunge against the machine with all his might, while pressing buttons on each side that made the paddles under the glass top swat wildly at a small steel ball. I was totally immersed in this display of man vs. machine. I do not recall what the man looked like, but I do remember one particular thing about him. He had tattoos on his arms.
There were two parental "truths" I learned that evening. Pinball machines were only for young men who roamed the streets with no supervision or plan for their life and tattoos just confirmed that in writing, no pun intended. In other words, I was to avoid both, forever.
Fast-forward to present day. I'm sitting in a local restaurant. It is a Tuesday evening and therefore it is taco Tuesday. My young friend, Jazzy and I are seated in a booth. Jazzy has a tattoo of Beetlejuice that runs from the top of her shoulder to her elbow. If you do not know who Beetlejuice is, please google it, there is not space here to explain. It is a dark work of art, but, that is just my opinion and it is not the only visible tattoo she has. While we are sitting in the booth, waiting the arrival of our tacos, two young girls stop and tell Jazzy how much they love her tattoo. This is not the first time this has happened. Actually, it happens every time we are together in a public place. Later that evening, my husband and I were discussing how, in the not too distant future, it will be an oddity if one does not have a tattoo.
There is an ancient Hindu text called the Mahabharata. Within that text is a story that happened over 5000 years ago. It is a story of a war among two civilizations. It goes on to tell about a weapon that had never been used before and describes what happened when the weapon was used. This particular story came from a part of the text known as the Bhagavad Gita. No one understood the meaning of the description because there was nothing to compare it to. Then, in the mid 1940's, a man by the name of Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, stated, after watching the detonation of the first atomic bomb, a line from the Bhagavad Gita, "I am become death. The destroyer of worlds." He was later asked how it felt to be the person to make the first atomic bomb and his answer was, "Well, not the first atomic bomb."
According to the old scripture, there is nothing new under the sun. What has happened will happen again. Things come and things go.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could learn to not be so judgmental, be told some of the real truths of our past and learn that we do not need to repeat it?
Rewind to a time around the early 1960's. We are in a small town restaurant, possibly on a Friday evening. Dad, Mother and myself. I'm quite young, but neither of my older sisters are with us, so I must have been around the age of seven or eight. Quite an impressionable age.
We are sitting in a booth. Behind the booth in the corner is a pinball machine. Something I do not believe I had ever seen before. At the end of the machine was a young man who seemed hellbent on a mission of some sort, but I was not sure exactly what kind of mission it was. The pinball machine fascinated me. It had bells and buzzers and lots of flashing lights. The young man would lunge against the machine with all his might, while pressing buttons on each side that made the paddles under the glass top swat wildly at a small steel ball. I was totally immersed in this display of man vs. machine. I do not recall what the man looked like, but I do remember one particular thing about him. He had tattoos on his arms.
There were two parental "truths" I learned that evening. Pinball machines were only for young men who roamed the streets with no supervision or plan for their life and tattoos just confirmed that in writing, no pun intended. In other words, I was to avoid both, forever.
Fast-forward to present day. I'm sitting in a local restaurant. It is a Tuesday evening and therefore it is taco Tuesday. My young friend, Jazzy and I are seated in a booth. Jazzy has a tattoo of Beetlejuice that runs from the top of her shoulder to her elbow. If you do not know who Beetlejuice is, please google it, there is not space here to explain. It is a dark work of art, but, that is just my opinion and it is not the only visible tattoo she has. While we are sitting in the booth, waiting the arrival of our tacos, two young girls stop and tell Jazzy how much they love her tattoo. This is not the first time this has happened. Actually, it happens every time we are together in a public place. Later that evening, my husband and I were discussing how, in the not too distant future, it will be an oddity if one does not have a tattoo.
There is an ancient Hindu text called the Mahabharata. Within that text is a story that happened over 5000 years ago. It is a story of a war among two civilizations. It goes on to tell about a weapon that had never been used before and describes what happened when the weapon was used. This particular story came from a part of the text known as the Bhagavad Gita. No one understood the meaning of the description because there was nothing to compare it to. Then, in the mid 1940's, a man by the name of Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, stated, after watching the detonation of the first atomic bomb, a line from the Bhagavad Gita, "I am become death. The destroyer of worlds." He was later asked how it felt to be the person to make the first atomic bomb and his answer was, "Well, not the first atomic bomb."
According to the old scripture, there is nothing new under the sun. What has happened will happen again. Things come and things go.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could learn to not be so judgmental, be told some of the real truths of our past and learn that we do not need to repeat it?
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Making A Left
She stared into the pantry cabinet. It was getting pretty bare. She pulled open the refrigerator door, same scenario in there too. It was Saturday, her husband was working, again. She let out a long sigh and instantly thought of her mother and how when her mother sighed, just like that, it always drove her crazy. She sighed again.
The truck roared to life at the turn of the key. She guided it through the quiet, winding streets. Saturdays were always quiet and now with school being out of session for the summer, the children could sleep in on a Saturday, after all, they had the entire summer ahead of them. She turned onto a busy thoroughfare and drove to the first stoplight. For groceries, she needed to turn right. The light turned green, she gripped the steering wheel, took a deep breath and turned left.
It was not long before she was sailing along on interstate 40 headed due east. She smiled to herself and wondered if all the people who were going the same direction, were all going to the same place. She marveled at the pine trees, something she could never quite wrap her head around, that the south eastern part of the USA was covered in pine trees, zillions of them.
The terrain began to flatten and the sky, it seemed to grow wider and was beginning to fill with huge flat bottomed cumulus clouds. She wasn't sure if that was a real phenomenon, but she sensed it every time she got close. Every so often, the trees gave way to a few acres of farmland, reminding her of home.
She drove into a small city and laughed to herself that everyone must have had the same idea because now the traffic was bumper to bumper. She didn't mind, it gave her time to take in the scenery. The road turned into a cause way that began to climb higher and higher. As the truck reached the crest, she looked out the driver's side window. She saw what had taken precedence over a trip to the grocery store. The majesty of it never failed to take her breath away. The ocean, in all of its glory was in her sight, patiently waiting, just for her. She glanced quickly, as the road began its decent into the chaos of human structures, knowing that the view she had just witnessed would be obstructed, at least until she could find a place to park.
Parking turned out to be a challenge and she continued to drive, catching quick glimpses of the Atlantic between the brightly colored seaside houses. Finding no empty parking lots, she continued to drive south. If nothing else, she could just drive until she could go no further and then simply turn around. As soon as the truck left the city limits of the small seafaring town, the wall to wall houses disappeared and the view began to open. She drove on. As she rounded a curve, what she had been looking for came into view. The beach. No buildings, high rise hotels or brightly colored beach homes, just the beach for as far as the eye could see. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean were rising and falling, making sure that there would never be a shortage of sand as it pummeled the shore, again and again.
She parked and began to plod her way through the sand. There was no other way to walk through deep sand but to plod. She stepped upon a hard surface, what was left of a paved road sticking out of the sand. A reminder of who was actually in charge when it came to building structures on the shoreline, thinking they could stand the test of time against the sea. She walked towards the water, to where the sand was firm. There were several concrete piers in the distance, that was her destination.
She sat down on one of the piers and faced the sea. This was much better than grocery shopping, even if it meant there would still not be anything for supper.
The truck roared to life at the turn of the key. She guided it through the quiet, winding streets. Saturdays were always quiet and now with school being out of session for the summer, the children could sleep in on a Saturday, after all, they had the entire summer ahead of them. She turned onto a busy thoroughfare and drove to the first stoplight. For groceries, she needed to turn right. The light turned green, she gripped the steering wheel, took a deep breath and turned left.
It was not long before she was sailing along on interstate 40 headed due east. She smiled to herself and wondered if all the people who were going the same direction, were all going to the same place. She marveled at the pine trees, something she could never quite wrap her head around, that the south eastern part of the USA was covered in pine trees, zillions of them.
The terrain began to flatten and the sky, it seemed to grow wider and was beginning to fill with huge flat bottomed cumulus clouds. She wasn't sure if that was a real phenomenon, but she sensed it every time she got close. Every so often, the trees gave way to a few acres of farmland, reminding her of home.
She drove into a small city and laughed to herself that everyone must have had the same idea because now the traffic was bumper to bumper. She didn't mind, it gave her time to take in the scenery. The road turned into a cause way that began to climb higher and higher. As the truck reached the crest, she looked out the driver's side window. She saw what had taken precedence over a trip to the grocery store. The majesty of it never failed to take her breath away. The ocean, in all of its glory was in her sight, patiently waiting, just for her. She glanced quickly, as the road began its decent into the chaos of human structures, knowing that the view she had just witnessed would be obstructed, at least until she could find a place to park.
Parking turned out to be a challenge and she continued to drive, catching quick glimpses of the Atlantic between the brightly colored seaside houses. Finding no empty parking lots, she continued to drive south. If nothing else, she could just drive until she could go no further and then simply turn around. As soon as the truck left the city limits of the small seafaring town, the wall to wall houses disappeared and the view began to open. She drove on. As she rounded a curve, what she had been looking for came into view. The beach. No buildings, high rise hotels or brightly colored beach homes, just the beach for as far as the eye could see. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean were rising and falling, making sure that there would never be a shortage of sand as it pummeled the shore, again and again.
She parked and began to plod her way through the sand. There was no other way to walk through deep sand but to plod. She stepped upon a hard surface, what was left of a paved road sticking out of the sand. A reminder of who was actually in charge when it came to building structures on the shoreline, thinking they could stand the test of time against the sea. She walked towards the water, to where the sand was firm. There were several concrete piers in the distance, that was her destination.
She sat down on one of the piers and faced the sea. This was much better than grocery shopping, even if it meant there would still not be anything for supper.
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Symptoms Of WDS
In the beginning, metaphorically speaking, but more like back in 1928, Walt Disney breathed life, again, metaphorically speaking, into a large eared cartoon rodent and named him Mickey Mouse. From that time forward, many species of animals became beloved cartoon characters of whom have entertained us for nearly a century.
It also seems from that time, ordinary people began to think more in human terms when it comes to animals, especially pets. If you have a pet, or better now known as "fur babies" and have any of the following symptoms, you may have WDS (Walt Disney Syndrome)
1. Your pet has more toys that some children do.
2. Each of those toys has a name......and they all start with Mr. ;
Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Flat Squirrel, Mr. Fox, etc.
3. Your pet sleeps in your bed. This arrangement usually can be described as two full grown humans clinging to their own side of the bed while above said pet is stretched out in the middle.
4. Your pet has a special toy that they cannot leave home without. In case of the toy being left behind, you see no problem with spending whatever it costs to overnight it to wherever you are.
5. You talk to your pet as if they are as human as your next door neighbor. This behavior will undoubtedly lead to your pet possibly understanding just as many words as you do and also leads to odd looks from people you meet on the street, during walk time.
6. You purchase your pet a new toy each time you have to go restock the pantry......and the pet expects it when you walk in the door, arms loaded with plastic bags.
7. You find a pet hair, in a crockpot, that has been sitting inside of a cabinet, 3 feet off the floor, for at least a month....and you're OK with that.
8. Your pet has its own cup in the bathroom for those late night 'my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth' moments, even though their water dish is just a few steps past the bathroom door.
9. Your pet also has its own bath towel.
10. Your pet has its own Facebook page, with more likes than some people.
This is just a small listing of the symptoms of WDS. If you have more than three of the symptoms, it's a pretty good bet that you have WDS. It is also a pretty good bet that you can add to the list.
It also seems from that time, ordinary people began to think more in human terms when it comes to animals, especially pets. If you have a pet, or better now known as "fur babies" and have any of the following symptoms, you may have WDS (Walt Disney Syndrome)
1. Your pet has more toys that some children do.
2. Each of those toys has a name......and they all start with Mr. ;
Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Flat Squirrel, Mr. Fox, etc.
3. Your pet sleeps in your bed. This arrangement usually can be described as two full grown humans clinging to their own side of the bed while above said pet is stretched out in the middle.
4. Your pet has a special toy that they cannot leave home without. In case of the toy being left behind, you see no problem with spending whatever it costs to overnight it to wherever you are.
5. You talk to your pet as if they are as human as your next door neighbor. This behavior will undoubtedly lead to your pet possibly understanding just as many words as you do and also leads to odd looks from people you meet on the street, during walk time.
6. You purchase your pet a new toy each time you have to go restock the pantry......and the pet expects it when you walk in the door, arms loaded with plastic bags.
7. You find a pet hair, in a crockpot, that has been sitting inside of a cabinet, 3 feet off the floor, for at least a month....and you're OK with that.
8. Your pet has its own cup in the bathroom for those late night 'my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth' moments, even though their water dish is just a few steps past the bathroom door.
9. Your pet also has its own bath towel.
10. Your pet has its own Facebook page, with more likes than some people.
This is just a small listing of the symptoms of WDS. If you have more than three of the symptoms, it's a pretty good bet that you have WDS. It is also a pretty good bet that you can add to the list.
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Knowing The Difference
There seems to be a new disease or plague sweeping across the country. Unfortunately, the CDC does not even list it as a disease and offers no protection or vaccine to help make us immune to it. The sickness does have a name and it is called Disrespect.
During the last week, I have read several articles addressing this issue of disrespect. They ranged from college graduates walking out of a speech being given by the VP of the USA, to doctors talking about how many times they see this epidemic in their practice, with young children and their parents.
The saddest part about this is that the problem starts at home. I am reminded of this daily while I am walking. There is a small transport vehicle that comes into the complex every day during the work week. It is there to pick up a child for some sort of schooling and I'm assuming it is probably a Pre-K type of program because the child does not look to be too old. Everyday, the driver pulls up in front of the building and honks the horn, then the waiting game begins. Sometimes the driver's wait isn't too long and other days they sit there for several minutes. I once knew a driver of student transportation who had a 3 minute egg timer hour glass that he would turn over at each stop.....and wait 3 full minutes for the child to come out, while periodically honking the horn. If the vehicle holds 18 small students and it has to wait three minutes on each one, that makes the ride time for the first child over an hour long and that does not count the travel time between stops. This always takes me back to a time when I drove a similar vehicle. It did not take long for the children on my route to understand, that if they were not coming out the door by the time I got there, they would have to find another way to school.
I hear the words privilege and rights used a lot lately too. My dictionary app defines these words as: privilege; a benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most...rights; that which is due to anyone by just claim, legal guarantees, moral principles, etc. It seems to me that the definitions today are one in the same, but I beg to differ.
It is a right for children to go to school. If the child lives a certain distance from the school, it is a privilege to have the transportation provided but, it is disrespectful to make the driver wait. It is a right to exercise your freedom of speech, but it is a privilege to have the Vice President of the United States speak directly to you, regardless of your political preference but, it is disrespectful to get up and walk out because of that preference. It is a privilege to have a child and it is their right to receive love, guidance and discipline and to learn to be respectful. It is not their right to have every whim fulfilled by their parents, nor should it be a privilege.
So, the last couple of generations of raising children with no boundaries does not seem to be paying off in the long run. While the thought of being their friend, instead of their guidance, seemed like a good idea, the results of that are rather terrifying. I shudder to think about them working in nursing homes, taking care of our beloved elderly. If they are lacking respect of their elders now, what happens to their parents when the parents are elderly?
Just one more thing. These days I hear a lot about "white privilege" and my reaction to that phrase and its meaning is always the same.....it makes me want to puke. If you live and breathe in this country, regardless of color, it might be a really good idea to take a look at how other people, in other lands, live. It will not take much of a search to discover just how privileged we are. That privilege is also a right, so it might be a good idea to understand the difference and respect that.
During the last week, I have read several articles addressing this issue of disrespect. They ranged from college graduates walking out of a speech being given by the VP of the USA, to doctors talking about how many times they see this epidemic in their practice, with young children and their parents.
The saddest part about this is that the problem starts at home. I am reminded of this daily while I am walking. There is a small transport vehicle that comes into the complex every day during the work week. It is there to pick up a child for some sort of schooling and I'm assuming it is probably a Pre-K type of program because the child does not look to be too old. Everyday, the driver pulls up in front of the building and honks the horn, then the waiting game begins. Sometimes the driver's wait isn't too long and other days they sit there for several minutes. I once knew a driver of student transportation who had a 3 minute egg timer hour glass that he would turn over at each stop.....and wait 3 full minutes for the child to come out, while periodically honking the horn. If the vehicle holds 18 small students and it has to wait three minutes on each one, that makes the ride time for the first child over an hour long and that does not count the travel time between stops. This always takes me back to a time when I drove a similar vehicle. It did not take long for the children on my route to understand, that if they were not coming out the door by the time I got there, they would have to find another way to school.
I hear the words privilege and rights used a lot lately too. My dictionary app defines these words as: privilege; a benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most...rights; that which is due to anyone by just claim, legal guarantees, moral principles, etc. It seems to me that the definitions today are one in the same, but I beg to differ.
It is a right for children to go to school. If the child lives a certain distance from the school, it is a privilege to have the transportation provided but, it is disrespectful to make the driver wait. It is a right to exercise your freedom of speech, but it is a privilege to have the Vice President of the United States speak directly to you, regardless of your political preference but, it is disrespectful to get up and walk out because of that preference. It is a privilege to have a child and it is their right to receive love, guidance and discipline and to learn to be respectful. It is not their right to have every whim fulfilled by their parents, nor should it be a privilege.
So, the last couple of generations of raising children with no boundaries does not seem to be paying off in the long run. While the thought of being their friend, instead of their guidance, seemed like a good idea, the results of that are rather terrifying. I shudder to think about them working in nursing homes, taking care of our beloved elderly. If they are lacking respect of their elders now, what happens to their parents when the parents are elderly?
Just one more thing. These days I hear a lot about "white privilege" and my reaction to that phrase and its meaning is always the same.....it makes me want to puke. If you live and breathe in this country, regardless of color, it might be a really good idea to take a look at how other people, in other lands, live. It will not take much of a search to discover just how privileged we are. That privilege is also a right, so it might be a good idea to understand the difference and respect that.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
A Yellow Raincoat
The rain had been peppering down for most of the night. When I donned the yellow raincoat, the rain had subsided for the moment, but I decided not to take the chance of getting soaked. I left alone this time, without the dog.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier and I have been walking each morning. We strive for at least a mile and a half and there are many times he would rather bail at the 3/4 mark. With his recent dip and dive into a pile of goose poo, while I was chatting with a new acquaintance, a following bath, that was not on the list of things to do that day, I decided to leave him home. My husband had already had him out earlier and trying to clean him after a walk in the rain is like, well, it's like having to bathe him all over again.
Walking without Runtly meant I had no need to stop walking every forty steps or so. There were no piles of leaves or pine needles that needed sniffed or places that needed re-marked from the previous day. Once I started moving, I had no reason to stop.
As I walked, I encountered several geese. This is nothing new, it is gosling season and there are geese everywhere. Even when it is not gosling season, there are geese everywhere and most of the time they are ready to let a person know that we are invading their space.
As I approached one group of geese, I noticed they did not seem to mind my presence. Granted, they do not like Runtly and the feeling is mutual, but I was walking right into a group of them and they seemed to not even see me. Not one of them hissed or honked at my intrusion.
I began to wonder if it was the raincoat. Maybe geese are color blind and cannot see yellow. If that was the case, perhaps all they could see was my legs and since they are not any taller that a goose, I surely posed no threat.
It looked as if I had a cloaking device. I tried it again with the next group of feathered honkers and had the same result. Although it was only a two test experiment, I believed it was true.
As the walk ended, the rain began to pepper down once again. I did not hurry, my mind was filled with many thoughts. Lately, I have been giving too much credence to my own problems. Problems that I know, in 150 years will not matter but, never the less, I have let them bother me now.
This morning my thoughts turned away from myself and how bad I think I have it. I thought about my cloaking raincoat. I thought about how I wished all those people, who were leaving the concert in the United Kingdom, had been wearing a cloaking yellow raincoat.
Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier and I have been walking each morning. We strive for at least a mile and a half and there are many times he would rather bail at the 3/4 mark. With his recent dip and dive into a pile of goose poo, while I was chatting with a new acquaintance, a following bath, that was not on the list of things to do that day, I decided to leave him home. My husband had already had him out earlier and trying to clean him after a walk in the rain is like, well, it's like having to bathe him all over again.
Walking without Runtly meant I had no need to stop walking every forty steps or so. There were no piles of leaves or pine needles that needed sniffed or places that needed re-marked from the previous day. Once I started moving, I had no reason to stop.
As I walked, I encountered several geese. This is nothing new, it is gosling season and there are geese everywhere. Even when it is not gosling season, there are geese everywhere and most of the time they are ready to let a person know that we are invading their space.
As I approached one group of geese, I noticed they did not seem to mind my presence. Granted, they do not like Runtly and the feeling is mutual, but I was walking right into a group of them and they seemed to not even see me. Not one of them hissed or honked at my intrusion.
I began to wonder if it was the raincoat. Maybe geese are color blind and cannot see yellow. If that was the case, perhaps all they could see was my legs and since they are not any taller that a goose, I surely posed no threat.
It looked as if I had a cloaking device. I tried it again with the next group of feathered honkers and had the same result. Although it was only a two test experiment, I believed it was true.
As the walk ended, the rain began to pepper down once again. I did not hurry, my mind was filled with many thoughts. Lately, I have been giving too much credence to my own problems. Problems that I know, in 150 years will not matter but, never the less, I have let them bother me now.
This morning my thoughts turned away from myself and how bad I think I have it. I thought about my cloaking raincoat. I thought about how I wished all those people, who were leaving the concert in the United Kingdom, had been wearing a cloaking yellow raincoat.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Meanwhile, Back in the Kitchen
It had been with us for a long time. A really long time. Weeks, even months. It looked the same as when it first graced our living space, nothing about it had changed. It sat solemnly in the drawer at the bottom of the refrigerator, never complaining or doing much of anything in particular. It was just being itself, a butternut squash.
Arguing seems to be the best thing to do anymore and the birth of the butternut squash is no exception. It is a winter squash and was developed in Massachusetts somewhere back in the early half of the 1900's. There are two claims to fame for the squash, known as a pumpkin on the other half of the globe, hence the reason for the argument.
Since deciding to try new foods, I purchased the butternut squash after having a delectable experience with a spaghetti squash. One thing about winter squash, their hides are tougher than nails and I was hoping the butternut would not be as challenging as the spaghetti had been. As usual, when it comes to much of anything that goes on in the kitchen, my hopes were all but naught. Another thing about winter squash, they do not come stamped with an expiration date, so I figured it was still good.
This time, I let my husband use the recip-saw to cut through the squash....while I held it......something I shan't do again anytime soon. The halves fell apart and upon close inspection the squash looked to be as good as the day it was purchased. According to the directions, the next step was to peel it.
Peeling a butternut squash, or attempting to, sent me back to a time when I used to go fishing. I fished during the summers as much as possible. One of my favorite water holes was teaming with snapping turtles and the owner had told me they would be more than happy to have a few of them gone. I had watched one behemoth of a turtle trying to grab my fish, that were at the water's edge, on a stringer. I set out to catch it, and I did. I had never dressed a turtle before and had many suggestions as to how to do it. To make a really long story short, my turtle experience went something like this: I wrestled that turtle all over my back yard, had to call in the help of an experienced outdoors-man and even had to set up spot lights to get the job completed.
After that experience, I learned two things. One, the first person who ever decided to eat a snapping turtle had to be one of the hungriest people on the face of the planet and two, I vowed to never do it again.
By the time I got the butternut squash peeled, I ranked it right up there with the turtle.
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