Dad and Dutch singin' to that song on YouTube

The Son's Tattoo

I think he looks a little like Jesus as well, according to some pictures in my Bible. He got this tat when he turned 18, and I could no longer say, "NO, you can't get a tattoo"......he got a "Jesus Hovering Over a Rose" tattooed on his right arm, just to make sure I wouldn't bitch too much about it. I think it looks like "Jesus Hovering Over a Smelly Cabbage" myself, but who am I to say? My son is now 30 years old.

My 2009 batch, so far......

28 quarts, up from 12 last year - I got me some canning accessories, along with some courage from last year's batch, therefore, I did over twice as many quarts, along with some hot, spicy, garlicky okra............I'm hoping this year's batch tastes half as good as last year's..........oh, and look at little pickle man - I was surprised when he showed up! I'll try not to eat him until the very last.

UPDATE: My final batch total is 40 quarts and 12 pints .........I only have 26 quarts left.........makes me sad for myself, but am glad I had enough to share. My Dad gave our cucumber grower friends a couple of big trailers, a huge flatbed that can probably carry at least 8 bales of hay, and a big enclosed thingamabopper trailer, with the understanding that I would be supplied with cucumbers for life. It was a great deal as far as I am concerned! I only wish I could grow enough cukes myself, to fulfill my needs, but alas.........maybe in a year or two. I will never forget how Dad sweetly held the mandolin for me as I made slices out of the bigger, older cukes they brought at the very last, which gave me the opportunity to make dill slices for the first time ever.

I have some antsy, pickle-loving cousins who came to visit earlier this week, and none of us could resist testing them........we put a pint of spears and a pint of picked okra in the fridge to cool down, then ate them for starters, along with some deeeee-licious Fischer's Smoked Turkey Sausage, Fischer's Block Medium Sharp Cheddar and a veggie tray - it was wonderful! Despite the fact the pickles hadn't set long enough to suit me, (made 6-27-2009 and eaten on 7-15-2009) they were quite tasty. I know they will be wondermous come September...........

My Baby Buzzard Boy

Bubbard, bubbard, come get Shoosie! I used to say that in retort to my sister, Susie, who would hold me and rock me, and call to the buzzards to come get me. I guess that's why she's my second favorite sister.

So no wonder when THIS happened:

I took this first picture about three weeks ago. Here's Baby Buzzard - perched with one of his other two siblings. There they were, three buzzards perched atop our gazebo. I took many shots, first thru the window, then opened the window, then finally went outside and got more pics. They didn't fly away until I hollered at them and told them it was ok to go home, but to be sure and come back soon. They finally flew down to a clump of oak trees not too far below.



Then, today, he came back. It was raining (hopefully it will rain some more!) and he perched up on the power pole outside my office window. I guess he chose that spot, because just below it is our trash dumpster, inside which contains the remains of a dead armadillo which my dogger had rubbed around in TWICE. Pew-wee! BB took a nice long bath in the rain, and I'll be darned if he STILL isn't there right now. That's been over an hour. His tail feathers are still quite short, so I'm guessing since he's all wet, he's afraid to fly away, or else he just likes the stinky smell. Here's a picture of him flapping his wings to dry off.



Anyway, I just love him! And he's still there!

Edit: I posted this at 2:54PM and he finally flew home to roost at 8:13PM - you do the math - he stayed up there a long time!

Pranks - # 1 - Pulling the Purse

Preface: My grandfather, Ollie, used to pull this prank. He was the rural mail carrier for our po-dunk town's mail route, delivering mail in a horse and buggy. He passed away in January of 1958 and I was born in March of 1959. Some folks tell me I am the spitting image of him, and I know I have some of his weird tendencies and interests. Ollie's wife Audra, my grandmother, told me about "pulling the purse". He was a prankster, and occasionally, so have I been. Among several things, Gran Ollie used to tie little flashlights to kites, fly them at night, and then listen the next day as the townsfolk talked about UFO's they'd seen over town the night before. I love that, but haven't tried it just yet.

So, back to the purse pulling. The set up is this: take a purse, hook some fishing line to it, and put the purse in the middle of the road, right about dusk......reel the line out to a good hiding place (Ollie and Audie's cellar for me, which was covered in nice tree limbs and leaves because it was summer and there wasn't anything else to do for entertainment in a small town) and wait until someone drives by, sees the purse, stops their vehicle, gets out to grab it, and then yank away!

I had two experiences with this on the same night, and have never done that again. The first time, the town jerk saw the purse, slammed on his breaks, jumped out of his old pickup, and almost got rear-ended by another vehicle traveling not far behind. Since we lived in the definitive one-horse town back then, I could not believe another car would be right behind him, but it was.

He actually ran after the purse as we pulled it, fell down and tumbled over. I sort of felt bad, but he was a really irritating person, so I just laughed my arse off, as I kept reeling in the fishing line. He eventually gave up, walked back to his truck, while scratching his head, looking over his shoulder, and eventually got a good tongue lashing from the driver of the car that almost rammed him. I was hiding too far away to hear what that lady was yelling at him about, but I could tell by the way her arms were moving, she was pretty mad.

The second time I attempted to pull the purse, the driver stopped, got out, tried to grab it, saw it being pulled away, got back in his truck and drove like a bat out of hell following the pulled purse down the vacant lot......that scared be bejebus out of me (along with three of my friends who were just there watching) so I dropped the line and we scattered.

Pranks can be dangerous, I'm just glad there wasn't a car wreck that night.......the old jerk was actually an evil, greedy person, lucky he didn't get killed or cause someone to get killed by just slamming on his brakes and hopping out to collect up a purse in the middle of the road....I'm sure he thought there was great gobs of money stashed in it.

Any of you ever pulled any pranks?

"Man cheng jin dai huang jin jia" , or" Curse of the Golden Flower"

Is there someone out there who has seen this movie besides me? I hope so.

Gong Li/Li Gong is beautiful, and I think Chow Yun Fat/Yun Fat Chow is not so bad himself.

The White Man's Burden

I have the first stanza of this poem posted over my desk, and read it every day....I printed it off the day before George W. Bush started the Iraq war, back so many years ago. Here's the whole poem, by Rudyard Kipling. It's still controversial to this day.....I consider it timeless.

It fascinates me.

The White Man's Burden

Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to naught.

Take up the White Man's burden--
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden--
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humor
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light
"Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden--
Have done with childish days--
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.