Cooking Paula Deen

I don't have much free time. Small windows of opportunity to do things that need to be done. Occasionally, I will have the the time to do something I want to do. I spend most of me free time outside, in my gardens. That is where I want to be. I take advantage of simple pleasures, like the smell of freshly laundered sheets as I hang them on the line. Doesn't matter that I have to grab one at a time, hang it and rush back in to check the store.

All this to say that I seldom have time to watch the news on TV. I will turn it on as I am cooking or cleaning and I will hear snippets that are usually interrupted by a customer coming in the store or the phone.

So, as I stood at the sink washing my Paula Deen cookware I pondered her situation. Yes, she said something that she certainly should have edited more carefully before she uttered it. Yes, if you choose to put yourself in the limelight, you should expect a segment of the population to want to bring you down just because that is their only joy in life. They are like insurance investigators, constantly searching for a flaw in your story that they can pick apart and deny you your claim. They serve a purpose in society.

But it would appear that the character assassination of Paula Deen is overkill, don't you think? The news blurbs would have you believe that she is losing her home and will soon be penniless on the streets. WalMart dropped her line. WalMart, for heaven's sake! Like being associated with Paula Deen might sully the reputation of WalMart. I would think it to be the other way around. It is not like WalMart personifies all that is decent.

WalMart's reputation has been on the line many times. I shop at WalMart. Really, who doesn't? They have managed to squeeze out the competition. Small town drug stores have become a thing of the past, as well as fabric stores, bakeries, delicatessens ......... I could go on and on.

Paula Deen is not worried about the "millions" she is losing. She is upset about the attack on her reputation. She is a true southern lady and cares about what others think of her. I have read comments about her apology that aired not being sincere. I happened to see that on TV and can understand how it might be misconstrued if you are not accustomed to the accent and her particular speech pattern. I lived in the south for much of my life and in Albany, Ga for 12 years. Her apology had the ring of truth.

She made a mistake, she apologized. Get over it and go on. We forgave Bill Clinton, for heaven's sake.

I Made My Bed

I made my bed and now I want to lay in it. Making my bed is hard. First of all, I need a step stool to get in the bed and to put the sheets on. My bedroom is tight (cozy) and getting the fitted sheet on is an ordeal, especially if my thumb wants to object.

I used to have higher standards for the place I sleep. I used to change the sheets every other day or so. They had to be pulled taut, no wrinkles. The top sheet had to have a nice big turn down, so that if I wanted to pull it up to my chin, I didn't put any undo pressure on my toes. The blanket had to be tucked into the sheet and the bedspread folded down twice atop the blanket. A mere grain of sand could make me get up and change the sheets.

Nowadays, things are different. It all started with a tiny black and tan Dachshund named Oscar. He was originally a gift to my son-in-law from my daughter. She proudly showed me this dog and urged me to hold him. I declined, told her that I had "real" dogs, not some squeaky little yipper to trip on. My Collie and Saint Bernard were superior to this little handful of a dog in every way.

Oscar became the bane of her very existence. She would recite every reason in the world that she hated this dog. He peed in the floor, he cried all night, he chewed on things, and his tongue was too long. What? He licked her and she did not appreciate this form of affection. She swore that he was making her vomit every day. Poor little guy, the writing was on the wall, he needed a new home. Time would not have helped the relationship. Remember the vomiting? It wasn't the dog, his long tongue or his hound dog smell. She was pregnant with my beautiful granddaughter.

She begged me to take this dog and finally threatened to drop him off at the pound! I took the dog. I have never been partial to little dogs, but I fell head over heels in love with him. Oscar has no self esteem issues. He is sure that he is the very center of the universe. The very first night he wormed his way into my bed and has been there ever since. The Collie, Sarge, had always slept with my grandson, Danny. When Danny got bunk beds, Sarge had the bottom bunk and Danny took the top. But my bed was off limits.

Oscar changed all that. I tried to encourage him to sleep on top of a special blanket just for him. This was to keep dog hair and whatever happened to be tracked in on his feet off my sheets. My fresh taut sheets with the blanket enfolded into the top sheet just so ......... Ah, memories.

When Oscar turned 6 months old, we bought him a wife, Emmy. She fit in the shirt pocket of my husband. She was as sweet as Oscar was demanding. I don't think she met a soul in her life who did not fall under her spell.

So now we had two little dogs in our bed. Two little dogs burrowed under the sheet and blanket with their little paws releasing sand and grass and whatever they walked through before getting into bed. It is a king size bed, so space should not have been an issue; but it was. Oscar must be able to touch me. I am his person and he merely tolerates others. He likes to lay with his back pushed up against my thigh. This is great in the winter. He is warm. But he is also warm every other season.

Emmy was content to cuddle with the person she found herself next to and usually slept next to He Who loved her best. But, the dog hair and sand in my bed nearly drove me nuts. I would grab one of those lint removers and clean the bottom sheet before making the bed every day. I would pull all the sheet off in between washings and take them onto the deck and shake them out.

Before long, the Saint Bernard decided to get in on the mattress action. This did present a space problem. Louise was a sprawler and once she got comfy was impossible to move. We had to ban her from the bedroom. She took over the sofa. Remember, the Collie had his own bed.

Fast forward to today. I still have four dogs in my bed, just not the same ones. Oscar is still with us and despite the dog hair and the inevitable grain or two hundred of sand, I doubt I would be able to fall asleep without the pressure of his back against my thigh. Wall-E likes to sleep near my face. In between our pillows. He used to sleep next to his Papa, but Toni Louise now claims that spot. Oscar has taught them all to sleep under covers. Toni Louis sports a heavy fur coat, but will comply by sticking just her head under the covers. Wall-E is somewhat cold natured and likes a good blanket atop his body, but prefers to have his nose sticking out.

The new dog, Cujo, in true Dachshund form, goes full body under covers. He seems to know exactly where Emmy used to sleep when she slept next to me. In my armpit. When I woke this morning, in my bed of wrinkled sheets, full of every color of dog hair, I did not leap out the bed in horror. Instead, I lay there feeling the weight of a sweet little dog against my ribs (well-padded ribs). For just fraction of a second, I thought it was my Sweet Emmy Lou. It was Cujo and his warm little body. He had sought me out in the night. He has Emmy's disposition and Oscar's determined loyalty. I felt him wag his little tail as soon as he realized I was awake. It is worth a few grains of sand and some dog hair.

Mowing Birds

This is one happy man! He Who mows has a new mower. It has all the stuff that matters to men. He enchanted me with a litany of all the bells and whistles. I confess that all I heard was that this mower will zip along at 10.5 mph. Clearly exceeding my speed limit. Oh, and it has a special spot for the ever-present bubba mug.

 

 After the viewing of his new toy, I slipped onto the porch to check on the Martin babies. There are four of them and their little heads are furry.

From the porch, I went to the peach tree. A Finch nest here. I crept up quietly, didn't want to scare Mama Finch.

Instead I startled baby Finch and he tried to fly. Martha, the boy cat hangs out in this side yard. Run, Tweety, run. Sylvester is hungry!

I caught the little bird. He is not much bigger than my thumb, a mere appetizer for Martha, the boy cat. I tried to put him back in his nest, but he half-flew to the ground again. I hope Martha ate a good amount of cat food before he went out tonight.

Besides that, the new mower has headlamps .......
now I am really worried about the fate of Tweety.

My lilies are lovely ........

and more lovely everyday.

 

 

My iris aren't bad, either.

 

But, my gardens are feeling neglected. I have not had time to weed with any diligence.

The new dog has fit in nicely with his new canine siblings. I did change his name to Cujo. He doesn't have an aggressive bone in his body, that's why I like the name. My Toni Louise has forgiven me and Wall-E has decided that Cujo is fun to play with. Oscar remains indifferent. He does not suffer from low self esteem and is quite sure that I love him the most. Martha, the boy cat is still quite upset and is shunning me. Me, the woman who bottle fed him. Cats.

We have a nest of purple martins on the front porch. The babies have hatched and they will dive bomb me if I try to sit on the porch. I sit there anyway. I found it interesting that 3 adult birds were hovering and feeding the babies. I suppose I would name the mother bird Hilary, since it seems the whole village takes part in rearing the offspring.

Hildy lost another nest of eggs and I found some cracked shells while weeding. I had thought a snake or maybe a turtle had gotten them. The evidence of shells puts the event in a whole new light and I am wondering again about Mr. Martha and breakfast. Nature is cruel at times.

I seem to hear my pillow calling out my name, beckoning to bed. One last trip outside and I am down for the night. 

He Chose Me ......

Meet JoJo. Just look at that sweet face. Melts your heart, doesn't it?

Worked on He Who said "We don't need another dog." Need? Maybe not, but who said anything about need?

JoJo is not 2 years old yet and definitely male, as you can see. He will not be in possession of all that for long. He was rescued from a hoarder and was with a family who could not afford to keep him. That being said, I feel the need to point out to my children that I am NOT a hoarder, so shut-up!

He has fit in nicely with the animals here, with the exception of Martha, the boy cat. Martha loves his dogs and I am not sure why he dislikes JoJo so much. JoJo is not aggressive, as most male dachshunds are. He has succumbed to the rule of Oscar in this animal kingdom.

When his previous person brought him in to "just show" him to me, he put his tiny paws on my knee to be picked up and then nestled into my arms like he had always had a place there. She went to the pool with her family and I kept him to see how he would interact with my dogs.

He smelled like a hound, so I bathed him. He didn't seem to object and my dogs were okay, if a little miffed that I was paying attention to a new animal. Toni Louise is always eager to meet new faces and she sized up the little guy and decided he would make a good little playmate. Oscar was okay with JoJo. He is usually not too happy about new additions to the family, but JoJo seemed to win him over pretty quickly. Wall-E was very upset. Anything that upsets his routine will send him into a tizzy. He will bark and whine and wet himself, then go eat some grass and throw up. He is a delicate being, my Wall-E.

When the family came out of the pool and up to the office, I put JoJo down and he sniffed them all and promptly turned around and came back to me and put his little paws on my knee. It was meant to be. He chose me. He has the same gentle spirit that my Emmy possessed. He is not much bigger than she was and is just a little love.

He picked me ..... what was I supposed to do?

Stopping The Itch

I wanted to post a picture of my huge white lilies, but Sprint was merely teasing me with that temporary fix. I think that tornado might have done something to the satellite on the tower. What do I know? Me being just a woman and all. I know that I can't download pictures and this is moving along at a snail's pace. That is what I know.

I don't want to mislead you into thinking I am really smart, though. I have managed to get a nice patch of poison oak/ivy/sumac on my neck. I faithfully scrubbed it with the Fels Naptha soap. But I don't think I got it in time. I was mowing and sweating one evening when I felt a sting on the back of my neck. I thought it was a mosquito, and I swatted at the pain. It wouldn't stop stinging and I reached up to feel and found a tick. I yanked the little vermin out and ground him to death with a rock. The bite was itchy. So, when I got up a couple of nights later, scratching my neck, I didn't think about poison vines.

I just wanted the itching to stop and I stumbled into the bathroom searching for a remedy. I knew I had a bottle of Benadryl lotion some where, but couldn't remember where I had last used it. I had the hall light on and didn't turn on the bathroom light, me being the ever thrifty user of electricity. I remembered seeing a bottle of Ivy Dry in the bathroom cabinet. I picked up the bottle and sprayed my neck and headed back to bed.

It smelled good. I don't remember it smelling nice. I remembered it smelling medicinal. It stopped the itching and I went back to sleep. When I woke, my pillow was smelling nice, a scent I couldn't quite place. It wasn't laundry detergent or fabric softener. I went on about the business of taking out the dogs and hitting the button on the coffee maker, then went into the bathroom and turned on the light.

There it was on the sink where I left it after generously applying the spray to the rash on my neck. Dog groomer's cologne. Not Ivy Dry. The bottles are very similar. No wonder I smelled good, I was wearing dog cologne. It did stop the itch, though.

 

Humidity, Humility

My iris are starting to bloom, as well as the tiger lilies. The day lilies have gone nuts with yellow everywhere.

I can't wait to see this lily bloom, it will have NINE blooms! I have the stem propped already.

Two years ago these maple trees were just twigs. I can't believe how big they are now. Look at that precious shade.

The humidity has been nasty. My youngest daughter used to call it humility. Kind of fits, if you think about it. Sweat is humbling. Hard to be too full of yourself with sweat trickling from every pore of your body.