In a Nutshell

Well, this last month has been unusual, to say the least. When Cappy went back out on the boat, I packed up the dogs and went to visit Aunt Gussie for a few days and to videotape her "for posterity", as my Dad would say. She is such a joy and delight to Cappy and me. Just talking with her on the phone makes our day. I'm sad to say that the visit was not at all pleasant, but we look forward to going back next month with better results. I came away armed with motivation to let everyone I know to please take pains to closely examine the caregivers who are taking care of our loved ones. CLOSELY. The wonderful Mrs. Linda who is now taking care of our dear Aunt Gussie is a blessed hero. God Bless her richly for her observations and true affectionate nurturing.

Maybe next time when I go to visit, I'll leave the dogs with their own 'caregivers'. They didn't help the matter much, since, despite Aunt Gussie specifically demanding the "boys" come visit, and that they were her houseguests, the nutty criminal who was initially looking after our dear lady, constantly lectured me that dogs belonged outside.

The many piles of fireants lurking out in the yard made the visit more difficult as well. (This has been a bad year for fireants...we haven't completely irradicated them in our own yard.)

So, we came home, the dogs and I, where upon I found that the ants had invaded our house!! I had just cleaned the stove, but there was a line from under the front door, all along the edge of the wallboard, up the pantry wall, along the back of the sink and to the stove. They were in, under, around and through the stove...ant if wasn't funny, either. I waged a battle royal for about three days until they finally gave up. One night I woke up around 4:30 a.m. and found myself down on my hands and knees with a damp paper towel swooping up the tiny invaders. They wouldn't touch the ant poison, but walked right over it. I think I have the residents of one whole ant pile trapped and bottled up in my vacuum cleaner with the poison.

Having cleared up those two problems, I accidentally 'poisoned' myself. See, it's this time of year when I do my Christmas shopping, and my traditional 'fast food' has always been sweet and sour soup. Don't ask why, cuz I don't know. All's I know is that whilst I'm out shopping, I like to stop at LIN's Chinese restaurant and get a take-out bowl of soup and slurp it down in the SUV, then go and finish my shopping. Well, while grocery shopping, I picked up a package of the usual sweet and sour soup mix that I sometimes get instead. At home I got it ready and while it cooled down, I put away the rest of the groceries. Ahhhhh, it was soooo good and sooo soothing. About an half an hour later, I felt as though I had gotten sucker punched in the gut. Uh oh. I fished the package out of the garbage and read. They changed the recipe, as some companies do, to save money and it clearly read, "contains Wheat". Too late to 'froe it up'; it was already too far down and causing destruction. So, I was about a week trying to get over it. When something like that happens, despite feeling as though I should be lying in an emergency room, there's nothing one can do, unless extremely dehydrated, but to 'wait it out'. I'm still not completely up to par, but working on it with lots of fresh fruits and veggies, and very little spice.

The next week found me taking the dawgs to Petsmart in Baton Rouge for a badly needed grooming. I took Louise with me so I could treat her to a birthday lunch at PJ Chang's where they are meticulously careful about celiac foods. They have a gluten free menu, which is always fantastic. I brought enough food home for a couple of days worth of meals, but we both luxuriated in the chocolate dessert on the spot. They even brought her a special little extra tiramesu dessert with a candle, which caused her eyes to roll back in her head. Lucky girl.

On our way home I noticed a black lab sitting back off the road in a farm field alone, looking lost or injured. After I took Louise and the dogs back to my house, I went back to see if he was still there. It was almost dark by then, but I found him on his side curled around a woman's black shoe, trying to go to sleep on the big lumpy rocks where I had seen him. The poor boy. He was happy to see me...or anybody and was so sweet and willing to come home with me, but I had a hard time getting him into the SUV. When I'd get his lanky front part into the side of the vehicle, his back leg would buckle and he almost sat down in a big fireant pile. That would not have been good at all. Somehow I managed to get him in and take him home. I fell in love with the big goof because he reminded me so much of Casey the black lab we had in Rochester years ago. I called him "Casey", just so I had something to call him. I called shelters and vets offices and put signs up everywhere to find his owners, to no avail. SparkyBear liked playing with him some, but "Casey" didn't get to run freely, being on a leash attached to my arm. MarkyBear had other thoughts, and they were not lovely. He told "Casey" on several occasions who was boss in his yard. I had "Casey" tied up on the patio and the change in his diet apparently changed his 'potty habits'; however, being a sweet polite guest, he refused to have any 'accidents' on the patio, but needed to go 'potty' several times during the day AND night. Still weakened from the bout of wheat poisoning now loss of sleep, we'd get up at midnite, 2 a.m, 4 a.m., 6 a.m., 8 a..m. to go walk around the cold wet yard in 'our' Croc's and pj's, then it's always difficult, once I'm awake, to get back to sleep. I was staggering around punch-drunk, and thus knew that somebody else had to take over the responsibility of finding the poor guy his owners or a good home. I decided to do what we had done with Raleigh, our other dog rescue story which turned out with such a wonderful ending. I decided to take "Casey" to the animal shelter in Sorrento, with the provision that they would NOT put him to sleep, but to rather, call us if it came to that, then we'd go back, get him, and keep him til we found him a good home. I opened the back hatch on the SUV and "Casey" just so gracefully lighted up into the back, all excited, looking out the windows...("oh boy, where we gonna go?? Home??") On the way, while sitting at the corner waiting for the light to change, I thought I'd drop off another flyer at the River Store, so stopped. Inside, the owner waited on me, so I asked him if he would post my sign. He read it and asked, looking out the window, "Where is he"? Sign still in hand, he went right outside, saw what a beautiful, SWEET dog "Casey" is and said, "I'll take him! Don't take him to that shelter; if his owners don't show up, I'm keepin' 'im!" His son, who looked to be in his late twenties, said, "But you already have that other dog". The store owner told "Casey", "sit", whereup he did and quietly sat there obediently. (Also, he "heeled" perfectly) The store owner said again, "I'm keepin' 'im", then rolling up the sign tightly, repeated quietly, "if the owners don't show up". But it's been over a week and no one has called. So, that's another dog story with an happy ending because I'm told by people who know, that this store owner LOVES animals and will treat him better than if the dog was a person. Tah dah! :-)

This final week 'til Cappy gets home will find me pickin' more hot peppers, and tending the garden, which Cappy and I planted the day before he went back out on the boat. I'd have more pictures, but my handy camera broke...baw!

Tonight I'm taking a pot of my smoked chicken, andouille gumbo to a Forum dinner, where there will be other pots of other kinds of gumbo. (Oh, it was fun trying to keep my 'smoke' going the other day with the wind and rain blowing out on the patio, lol.) For those Yankees, who aren't aware of what gumbo is, it's a combination of many wonderful ingrediens that make up a comforting, delicious, "soup" served over rice or baked sweet potato, or potato salad. YUM!!! I made enough to have some in the freezer waiting for Cappy, and will can some more to send to my son, Joe in Rochester. Next time I make gumbo, I want to use our friend, Smokin' Sam's smoked sausage and smoked andouille and a big fat smoked hen...I'll bet that is going to be some goooooood stuff!!!! For some kind of 'political' reasons, only understood fully by other Cajuns, Cappy insisted I do it all myself this time.

Oh...and the citrus is ripening...the lemons, the grapefruit, the oranges, and the SATSUMA oranges!!! I pulled down a big frond of about a dozen ripening bananas, and will make them into loaves of banana nut bread. The pecans have been dropping for about a week now, too....all good news from the yard.

So, that's what's been going on around here, in a BIG FAT NUTSHELL...from soup to nuts.

Our Cajun Joby

I watched the news from New Orleans today. No mention of it. A tower is missing over there today. To us, Joby was New Orleans. A great big tower of a man with a voice that sounded like a deep foghorn.
I think I 'met' Joby even before I 'met' Cappy in the Cooking Room on Yahoo. Since I was such a newbie online I was always having technical problems, so Joby, as he did with others, patiently talked me through all the mazes. And it was amazing; so much so that I began calling him "Jobyson" as though he were my sensei, and I was the 'grasshopper' who had much to learn. I never was able to be good enough to 'snatch the pebble from his hand', but because of him, I learned to at least be able to navigate online and know where to go for help. Whenever I'd thank him and say, "Thanks again, good-bye", he'd say, "Nooooo, Boo, (he called lots of us, "Boo", as it's a Cajun term of endearment)....Nooooo, Boo, don't say 'goodbye', that sounds too permanent, like you'll never see me again...say 'Cya' ". He also introduced me to real Cajun music. He sent me ("pirated" Cappy would say) CD's that he'd burn of his favorite music. WONDERFUL stuff! One of his screen names in the Cooking Room was "They Call Me the Breeze". I asked him where he got that name and he said it was the title to one of Lynyrd Skynyrd's songs. Believe it or not, 'til then I'd never heard of ol' Lynyard's band. (I'd led a very sheltered life). He also requested that I learn a song called "Lola Lola Lola Don't Go Out to Bingo" to play on my accordian. Which I did, and played for him at one of our family jambalayas when I moved down to South Louisiana. That made him happy. I'm glad I did it.
Now there was a reason Joby was in the Cooking Room; the man could cook! I have printed out so many of his recipes and tried them and they are fantastic. Most every year he would come to our family jambalaya and bring a dish to pass and a special surprise for me that was celiac friendly...no wheat or gluten carefully prepared so as not to have any cross contamination, which is a hard thing to accomplish. Every year the family would wait in anticipation to see what he would bring. LOL...I think it almost hurt Cappy's feelings sometimes because Cappy was working so hard on the main dish, either the seafood courtboullion or the jamalaya, but everybody kept talking about Joby's dishes. No matter how hard Joby tried keeping my food separate, 'the buzzards', not content with what he brought for the crowd, always swept down on the aluminum covered container clearly labeled, "Peggy's Special Food" and began grabbing with both hands. It was so funny to watch. I actually got some of it...deLISH.
We just loved the big guy. We hadn't heard from him in awhile, tho...at least I hadn't; I guess Cappy had. He had undergone a lot of upheaval in his life of late; had intestinal bipass, and when we were all wondering where he was for the family jambalaya this year, we learned that he had gone off and gotten remarried to a beautiful woman, so was honeymooning . aha, that explains it. Today was his birthday, so yesterday as I do every year, I went to BlueMountain ecards and sent him a card with a note saying how very happy he looked in the photos we saw of him on Facebook, and that we HAD to get together SOON with him to meet his lovely new wife.
Then last night Cappy called and said that he had heard that Joby had died last Friday. No way. We would have known...somebody would have called us. We didn't believe it and thought it was a mean practical joke. Cappy called Joby's cell phone and told me to look and ask around online. Since Joby is one of my friends on Facebook, I went there and saw...
Sighhhh...then I went to the link that took me to the funeral home on Canal Street in New Orleans. We just can't believe it.
This morning my plans were to go to New Orleans to see the ship USS New York depart with much fanfare to leave, going down the River before heading north toward New York City. This is the ship to which Cappy spoke about in an earlier post, which has been made of steel and materials from the Twin Towers in NYC. Today's departure commorates the birth of the United States Navy. October 13, 1775. The ship was to pass two big Navy vessels that prominantly sit in the River in New Orleans. Joby was responsible for those two ships. Joby worked for the Navy making sure these two supply vessels were well-equipped and well maintained. He would have been there today. Cappy and Joby had a running joke whenever they'd talk on the phone. Joby would always address Cappy in his deep booming voice, "HEYYYYY Coo-zan!" and Cappy would say something like, "Hey ya ol' pirate, how ya doin'? I just passed by your two old rusty buckets sittin' over there in the River the other day". And they'd joke back and forth, laughing raucously. sailors.
So today, Joby's birthday, Oct 13, also the birth of his Navy, and sadly, was also the day of his funeral. When I went out to my SUV to head over to New Orleans, I found my back passenger side tire flat. Well, that's about right. Too late. I wasn't about to unearth Cappy's Jeep, Tinker Bayl and head over...oh yeah, she'd like that for sure; it was thundering and lightening and pouring rain again today.
I wanted to go over and tell our Joby good-bye. It's strange, but all day it just felt like Joby was around. The only way I thought I could stop 'puddling' up tonight was to come back to the computer where I found him,... or he rescued me, and tell him "Cappy and I will dearly miss you old friend"...so..."Cya Jobyson".

Saints Game BBQ

Our good friends Sam and Louise came over today for an afternoon of BBQ and football. We had a wonderful time watching tv and running to the pit during the commercials. In this picture Louise is helping me get the drunk chickens to the pit. Sam snacking some chips & dip, and SparkyBear, atop his favorite perch where he figures he gets a better view of his world, and watchin' Sam, wonders where are his appetizers...oh yeah...there they are; Sam has them, but hold the salsa.

We loaded the pit with the 2 chickens, some sausage, and a couple redfish fillets that Sam brought over. The fish fillets were cleaned with the scales left on them, which makes it possible to put them on the grill. They smoke, scales down, and the skin helps keep them from falling apart.
The fish came off the pit with a wonderful smokey flavor. If you ever get the chance, you really need to try this. It's truly wonderful. We just lightly season the fish and baste it with butter, lemon and seasonings. As usual, a pan of our smokey bbq beans always seems to show up whenever we light the pit.It was a wonderful afternoon filled with good food, and good friends, and of course, the football. Our son, Dan called from western NY because that's where the Saints are today, playing the Buffalo BILLS up there in Buffalo, and Dan is the BILL's favorite fan. We're sorry we 'spanked' ya, Dan. The whole time I've been off work, it's been raining, so my time off has been pretty miserable, but to make up for it the the Saints won!! and their defense stepped up in a very big way, making me think for the first time ever, well.... maybe.....jussst maybe...but uhm, I don't wanna say it out loud.

Down the Drain

We had all these wonderful plans for as soon as Cappy got off the boat. Fishin', bbqin', taking Tinker Bayl off ridin' down along the coast...FunFunFun!!! Meanwhile, here at home I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want Cappy out there on the boat worrying. The toilet wouldn't flush properly without a major fight. I knew I could handle the situation til he got home. I've called plummers...plumbers(??) before, but they never wanna show up, or even return my phone calls. This was something to do with the outside sewer system
...do plumbers even do that sort of work? So I waited til poor, excited, unsuspecting Cappy got home. His wide smile turned south the minute he heard, and who could blame him.
"surPRISE..."(<:- /)
So, anyhow,that's what he's been working on for the last few days. Yesterday he called one of our neighborhood good guys, Mr. Dennis. He's always right here when we need him. Unfortunately because our little town doesn't have public sewage systems, Mr. Dennis has to be here more than we'd like him to be...even as much as we like him. Cappy called him late in the day and, even tho he had plans to be busy all day, he was here bright and early with his big ol' truck and hose, which we call the 'honey wagon' and got the toilet flushing perfectly again.

I wish he could suck up all the other problems life has been handing us of late, as well. ChangeChangeChange...we've got change alright, along with a lot of Americans. A lot of change has been going down the toilet as well as all the other stuff. One of our friends who suggested that I have a tendency to write more pessimistically when Cappy is on the boat, will take note that Cappy is home and I'm still writing in low-tones. Ahhh...it's like this...I say if God closes one door and opens a window, I aint gonna throw the baby with the bathwater out that window. (Oh Lord...she's flipped ;-)I'll just find something else to be happy about. Like YAY...looks like I'll be getting a new camera cuz the one I have just broke!!!grrrr >:-(

Presently Cappy is sound asleep, happily sawing logs, peaceful knowing that he fixed the toilet problem and all's well in the world, for the most part kinda/sorta...til he wakes up in the morning and coffee cup in hand reads this..."surPRISE". And now, despite the fact that it's supposed to rain most every day that he's home, and our neighbor, Old Man Kelsie's pond and lake turn once again into Old Man Kelsie's Ocean, draining slowly, I hope Cappy finds some kind of way to have FunFunFun, til it's time for him to go back out on the boat. Poor guy, if things don't stop going downhill soon, he'll probably feel like RUNNING back out to his boat. An' this time I'll wanna go with 'im.

Spam Sammage

Recently our town's forum friends held their monthly gathering as they do, and decided to pick Spam as the menu choice. Now understand, this is a sleepy lil town deep in the heart of Cajun country, and you may be shocked that outa all the wonderful things to eat down here they picked Spam. It started kinda as a joke, gathered momentum, and in the spirit of "a Cajun can make anything taste good", they held their gathering with plenty to eat and drink, and, as we say in cajun country, "Dey passed a good time". I wasn't able to attend on accounta I was on da boat. When I told my first mate the story he said, "Shoots Cappy, Spam sammages sounds good to me for a night-time snack", so we went to makin' up us each a couple fried Spam sammages and kinda vicariously joined my forum friends, long distance. I had my sammages, on toast with 'sammage spread' and a couple spears of Peggy's dill pickles I had on board.

The first mate Darby, had his Spam on white bread with onion and tomato. We may not have been there at the party but we did pretty good for ourselves that night in the marsh, tied up a few miles north of Grand Isle. For those of you wondering, NO the fridge ain't dirty; it is rusty 'cause all da paint has been wiped off'n it from over-zealous deckhands scrubbing it. We have fresh paint ordered and will repaint it again (yes again) in a few days.

Well-Heeled

Oh bummer. One of our friends, a Mr. Bebe` says he can tell just from my writing, when Cappy is on the boat and when he's home. I guess I tend to be less peppy and upbeat. I hadn't really noticed. Mebbe so. I know I kinda hibernate more. I've got plenty-plenty to do...and a whole month to do it, but for some reason I let things drag on. Dang. At least the dogs don't mind. They are good company. We sympathize with one another. SparkyBear jumped off the back of Cappy's chair and hurt his back again and has been rather solemn about having to take meds and not being able to jump up on the couch to sit with me, as happened last time. His brother, MarkyBear's been good about 'hanging with me' wherever I go...outside or just in the house. He never went to doggy school like SparkyBear did, but still, he knows how to heel. I like his moral support (like Cappy likes SparkyBear's) because I've been 'gimping' around for more than two months now. I don't know what I did this time, but my right heel is so very painful. Two sets of ex-rays says it's not bone spurs. Soft, gel "boingy" heel thingys in my shoe isn't working either. The darned pain has forced me to be more sedentary than I was and boy, I feel the weight piling on by the hour. That aint helping my foot neither. Trying to keep busy and watching the television really, really can bring a person down, too. The whole woild is a mess.GAH!!! Cappy said when he gets home he'll drag out my beloved exercize equipment outa the shed for me. It's in there stacked behind huge gumbo pots and burners, yard contraptions, and what not. BAW!!! I just wanna have my heel all well like it was before. Poor MarkyBear, tho, he still limps all the time and has for years because of his squirrel versus MarkyBear war injury to his hip, but he's the sweetest guy. He actually smiles at me. I wonder what he's really thinking sometimes, when SparkyBear is sniffing around sadly and I'm down in the dumps.

Yeah, buddy, I know; it's a dawg's life.

Smothering Dreams

September already? Yow, where did the time go? We just planted our okra 'last week' . Up north in western NY when Fall hits, the first thing we used to think of in terms of warm comfort food was a nice hot bowl of chili. Down here in South Louisiana, we think of a nice big bowl of gumbo. Cajuns never think of cooking it during the summer months. Horrors, no! Not until the first cold snap hits does anyone's fancy turn to thoughts of gumbo. With that in mind, we plant okra.
Cappy thinned out our okra garden, but it's tall and very productive.
The flowers for each okra stalk start out as a gorgeous flower. The flower only lasts for a day, then falls off, then to replace the flower, comes the okra.

I just hauled in this colandar load today. A lot of people use the regular short dark green okra, but Cappy and I grow what is called "Long-horned" okra, which has been the tradition in his family. The bigger ones have a more mild flavor. Personally, my choice is.....either:-)
What I usually do after I pick them, is to wash them, slice them and put them in bags in the freezer. Slicing them takes a little bit of time, but I spend that time dreaming of the dark, rich gumbo it will be making. When we've got a TON of sliced okra accumulated in the freezer, we take them out and 'smother them down', using Cajun sausage, the usual chopped vegetables, like onions, garlic, etc. and our own blend of Cajun seasoning spices. Cappy spent time smothering our okra, savoring the experience when he was home last time. His Aunt Gussie, after she found out, kinda/sorta scolded Cappy for using a black iron pot, because it turns the smothered okra a dark color, having leeched iron from the pot. Last year we used a big aluminum pot. Either way, once the smothered okra becomes a main ingredient in the dark brown gumbo, it tastes Wonderful! Smothered okra, on it's own tastes pretty darned good as a side dish as well. When people are going through all the stages of making the smothered okra, I think their thoughts are far in the future months, to the 'cold' weather when they will be savoring their gumbo made with the okra they are "smothering" in the present. (Just thinking about it right now is making my mouth water.) The pot starts out with crisp veggies, then after tending to it for quite awhile, it becomes a pot of moosh. Smothered Okra. Yum-eeeee!

This year we have to give credit to Mr. Ed, our good friend from Rochester, NY, whom the ol' guys from our town Forum call "Winchester". Mr. Ed taught us a technique for canning that is so amazingly easy. So, with that in mind, we took our freshly made, hot and steamy smothered okra and canned it. Now, whenever we open our pantry, besides all the jelly we've made, we see future pots of smoked chicken/andouille gumbo sitting there in rows looking for all the world like so many jars of mysterious greenish brown mush. It might not look all that appetizing, but I can tell you, it's the stuff dreams are made of.

The Dog's Pajamas

We've always had a battle with our Brat, SparkyBear. It took us seven years to figure out his game plan. Although we put in a dog door so that the 'boys' could go outside any time they needed to, "somebody" always left a puddle on the floor during the night. We scolded, we rolled up newspapers and spanked, we threatened, we consulted the vets, the doggie books...we tried everything, and MarkyBear was getting pretty darned angry about it. I waved paper towels in front of both of their noses to try to shame them, but neither bought into it. MarkyBear always acted insulted and sulked after the daily confrontations. FINALLY we watched what was going on with these dogs.

MarkyBear is the "little" warrior. He'll take on anybody who he deems as posing as a threat to his family; he's faithful and loyal to his "pack". Not man nor beast dare tread on his turf uninvited. I've seen him chase off dogs five times his size! BIG dogs. He's constantly patroling his 'beat'. He still wears a limp even years after his confrontation with a squirrel, when he got a 'war injury' because his hip went out chasing the darned thing. But his heart will carry him farther than his legs will. He will run like a shot way out onto the far side of the yard after somebody before he realizes "Owww", usually after all the barking is done and the business at hand has been taken care of, then he heroically hobbles back to the house to see if his "Mom" has a pat on the head for him for a job well done. Day or night he's on the job. Many times in the middle of the night, even if he's sound asleep and he hears anything, whoosh, he's outa the dog door with his "Semper Fido" attitude. Whoever or whatever's out there better looooook out, cuz he will bite!

On the other hand, Cappy calls SparkyBear our little ambassador; he loves everybody. He'd happily go off with anybody. I don't know how many cars he's jumped into when people have stopped by to visit. He's been in the UPS truck on several occasions trying to 'talk' the guy into taking him for a ride. The dog just loves people. But animals...not so much. One time he barked at a dog who was way up the street. The dog came running, the closer he got, the bigger he was and chased him right into the dog door. Scared the heck outa him, and musta 'traumatized' him, because now he waits in the house to see 'what' MarkyBear is barking about before he'll venture out. He 'waits' on top of the back of Cappy's chair. So...Finally, I noticed that he won't go out the dog door at night. He'll stick his head out and kinda look around, but then decides he doesn't have to 'go'. Mystery solved. Cappy told me to go buy a pair of sweatpants and cut the legs to make 'pajamas' for SparkyBear. I read somewhere dogs learn quickly not to pee in their pj's because it gets cold. And it's true. He did it a couple of times then decided in that little doggie brain of his that's it's better to 'hold' it. Now before we go to bed, I turn on the outside light for him and let him out the front door. He goes right on out and takes care of business, then I call him and tell him to come get his pajamas on. We spoil our dogs rotten, but you know that by now. I sing him this silly song as I get him dressed for bed, "Get your pajamas on, you dirdee little Amazon, duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DUT AND..!!!" to which Cappy always says, "You're weird". Yeah, I know.

If that's not bad enough, we cook for our dogs. We COOK for our DOGS. It all started last year with that Chinese dog food poisoning. When we got over the scare, we put them back on regular dog food. About that time their skin rashes and infections came back, which we had been fighting tooth and nail. The vet put them on special dog food, some kind of hypo-allergenic stuff and charged us ...holt onto your hat...$93 for a twenty pound bag. I don't think so. We took them back to their original vet who lives way farther away, but she knows these guys really well. When I mentioned the high price of dog food we were charged, she resignedly nodded her head and said, "Yeahhhhh, that's what they are charging now; it's terrible. A lot of people are cooking for their dogs". Really??

Full time?? So we went back to cooking up big batches of what she told us to cook , making sure they are having a balanced diet, and vitamins. Boy! Their coats got all healthy and more importantly, so did their skin. We actually have fun cooking for them and freezing up big batches. You also must know that Cappy and I love to cook in general, anyhow, so this is just another 'adventure'. The other day while Cappy was working on that muscadine jelly project, I decided the dogs needed something harder to chew on for their teeth, so I found a recipe for dog bones. Since SparkyBear is always interested and watching everything we are up to, he was already in the chair, which Cappy had brought into the house for just that purpose; he wanted his dawg to have a comfortable chair to sit in while he 'helped' us, so I let him "help" me make his and MarkyBear's "cookies". I let him lick the spatula (which went into the dishwasher later in the STERILIZE mode).

Yes, they're spoiled and we're both a little weird about our little family. We were all excited for a few weeks, tho, thinking we had somehow accumulated a family of kittens. They had come at the right time and had done a marvelous job of erradicating some mice and a couple of rats who thought they could just move in. Cappy had always told me that we were never going to have a cat..."No cats in the house!!!" He didn't have to tell me twice. But he told me thousands of times over the last 8 years. "NO CATS EVER!! And I mean it!" Our dogs, Bichons, are notorious for loving cats. One used to come visit SparkyBear everyday when he was about one years old. She'd rub against him and roll around and play with him cuffing gently at him. He loved her. We called her Chatterly. Chat, being French for Cat, and she being our dog's Lady Cat friend. But she 'up' and disappeared. One day she was rubbing up against Cappy's leg while he sat on the porch swing secretly smiling fondly at her and the next day she was gone.

Now as to the new batch of kittens and their mother, I was excited and so, of course was SparkyBear, and I was aware that even Cappy seemed happy and excited about it, too. They were making themselves at home behind our shed, where the dog's battery collars wouldn't let them go. So they had a safe haven. Cappy told me to feed them a can of salmon every other day so that they'd stay around, but still hunt mice for a living. MarkyBear sat at rapt attention the whole time for hours every day, barking merrily at them (not the whole time). They knew he couldn't get to them, so they seemed content. The dog in the back yard adjacent to ours wasn't allowed to bark at them. He wears a collar that keeps him from barking. Maybe MarkyBear's barking bothered those people, I don't know. Cappy and I kept making MarkyBear "give it a break" and come back into the house. Cappy told me that there were two black kittens and he named them "Midnight" and "Jet". The little grey one he named "Smokey", the orange one he named, "Satsuma" and the multi-colored mother cat, all black and grey and orange splotches he named "Barbie-Q". We were all thrilled and excited. I planned on letting them get to know us, then one by one, bring the dogs out to meet them, which would take some time. Cappy said that sounded like a good idea. The little gray one let me stroke his head one time and Barbie-Q came and laid down by the food pan and 'talked' to me, but I didn't try to pet her. I didn't want to rush things. They had been there under our shed and in the thicket of our "Blues garden" since their birth. Brett, our young neighbor who mowed our lawn told Cappy about them weeks and weeks ago. Barbie-Q had chosen to raise her family in our yard under our shed. They lived here.

The next day MarkyBear sat there most of the day watching around the shed for them. I took salmon out and called, "Kitty-kitty" as usual, but nobody came out to eat. Smokey was usually the first one out. Cappy and I kept going out to check all day, too. Nothing. Nobody was home. Oh noooo. Not again. Cappy said somebody must have set one of those 'friendly traps' and taken them all away. How mean. I'm still tempted to call the animal shelter and ask if anyone has turned them in, and if so, tell them, "Those are OUR cats!!!" But honestly, I don't think that's what they did with them. It costs a lot of money to take even one animal to a shelter. We learned from our experience with Raliegh-Raliegh, our Katrina rescue dog. (you can search our blog to see how very, very nicely that turned out)

So, we are 'cat-less' again. Maybe for the better. I was already starting to wonder how I'd manage a family of kittens and their mother during this hurricane season if we had to evacuate.

Well, I see that the dogs are ready for bed. Actually, MarkyBear has already gone to bed in the dark bedroom, one ear left on high-alert, no doubt. SparkyBear is still 'hanging' with me, with his pajamas on, the dirdee little Amazon, but he's having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Guess I'll go get mine on and join them. G'Nite Yalllll :-)

Why Dad Always Said, "OHHHhhh, You KIDS!!! You're Enough to Make a Preacher Swear." (>:-(

In an earlier post titled, "Them's the Brakes" I reminisced about the cars that my Dad and Grandma had. It brought back some memories for my brother as well. He wrote his memories about Dad's old dark green Packard, and here's what follows...but wait; before I do that, here's a old photo of my brother, who is Dan or "Sam" to the rest of the world, but to me he's Butch. Alongside him is Bev, our aunt. We are all about the same age. My poor Dad and Grandma tried riding herd on us and Butch's band of "hooligan" buddies. Grandma especially despised my brother's best buddy Smitty, whom she considered to be 'weasily' and called him "Smithy!", and always with disgust. I'll just give you one reason why.

As young teenagers, my brother and Smitty had gotten into some kind of mischief, so Grandma banned Smitty from coming to the house or having anything to do with my brother. Whenever he called the house, Grandma would slam the phone on him and say through gnashed teeth, "Oh, that was that Smithy!!" She thought she had the problem taken care of. One cold winter's night, with a houseful of Holiday guests and family, everyone was sitting around the family's antique round table in the dining room, which was covered with Grandma's fancy white crochet'd tablecloth, laden with a wonderful bounty, and everyone was making merry. The lights from the dining room shown out through the many windows onto the big white snow drifts which had blown in close to the house, like a big, soft, thick blanket. Grandma was in her glory with her children, grandchildren and loved ones all around her. She was having a wonderful time.

...but unbeknownst to her, out in the dark, on the far side of the house, 'weasily' Smitty, shinnied himself up onto the porch roof, then quietly eased his way along 'til he came to Bev and my bedroom window, tried it, but couldn't get in, then came to Grandma's window...and God was merciful to Smitty that night because he couldn't get into her window, either. So now he was up on the roof...how to actually get in?? My brother's window was on the other side of the house with the big tall, slanty roof in between. Maybe it was because Smitty was wiry, that Grandma had gotten the mistaken notion that he was (forever emblazoned into her brain), "weasily". Well, he easily hoisted himself up onto the roof and his footing was as sure as ever. So very stealthy he was. He decided that the best way to access my brother's room was to lie down on his stomach, lean over the edge of the house and tap on my brother's window to get his attention, for my brother to sneak downstairs and they'd be off...or some such quickly hatched plan. But first up there in the icy-cold darkness, he needed to get Butch's attention.

Downstairs in the warm dining room, along with the rest of the family, my brother sat eating a piece of Grandma's most luscious cherry pie, and laughing at the usual jokes with the rest of us. Giggling, Grandma reached over and delicately picked up one of her buttery flakey homemade biscuits from a platter that was overrunning with them, and took a big mouthful of the yummy thing, when suddenly we heard upstairs over our heads a tremendous thudding, and a shreiking, wailing sound then something lit up as it passed by the windows. In the brief second it took for the thing to whoosh past from the top of the window, we could all see 'somebody' upside down, facing us, spread-eagle, eyes bugged to 'un-human' proportions and mouth horribly agape. Whoever it was landed headfirst in the deep snow drift, so that all that could be seen of them was their artic boots sticking up out of the snow. Grandma pointed and shrieked, "That's Smitheeeee!!!" spraying the table and everyone with biscuit crumbs. By the time she'd gotten to her broom to chase him off, as everyone gawked out the window, he had slithered outta the snowbank and was nowhere to be found.

So there you have it; just one reason why Grandma hated "ol' Smithee".

And now to my brother's story, in which you will see the wiley "Smitheee" is still to be found helping to make mischief. This story apparently took place while Dad and Grandma were away visiting or leaving the house just long enough to go get groceries, but...just long enough.

My brother writes:

Dad had finally given me the keys to the old Packard. He told me there might be enough gas in it to get it to a gas station, which made absolutely no sense to me. I had no drivers license and the car didn't have any license plates or registration. How was I supposed to get gas??? Anyway, I figured it should have enough gas in her for a couple of laps up and down the road to see how much juice she had left in her, 'cause Dad never drove her over 45, or at the most 50.

Of course, Bev begged me to be the first to drive it, so I told her she could...but only once!

It seems as though we started picking up people with every lap we took up or down the road. At first it was only Smitty, Ted White who sat in the back and me up front in the passenger seat with Bev driving. At the top of the hill at East State Street by the bridge, we picked up Lory Shumway, who just happened to be walking along toward the public swimming pool, which was just on the other side of the bridge. He spotted us, put a smirk on his face and stuck out his thumb, saying he needed to hitch a ride to the swimming pool. Well, the poor fool didn't realize the ride he was in for! Just moments earlier, he had been just walking along in flipflops, with no shirt, and was wearing his swimsuit on his head. I scooched over next to Bev and let Lory in beside me in the front seat.

We all got to joking around, urging Bev to make the ol' girl go faster! Bev said that she was pretty darned good at shifting a column shifter because Grandpa Ludwig, her Dad, used to let her sit on his lap while he drove, and left her shift the gears...so she claimed. (Grandpa had passed when we were still little kids...Peg and Bev were 9 years old at the time.)

Well...we made our first lap (with everybody in the car) in good shape, with Bev managing to actually shift from first gear to third gear after winding it all the way to 45 mph in first. Did I mention that the muffler fell off just below the family sign shop about halfway between it and Clarkies "house" at the end of our short road?

On the second 'lap' up the road, Bev found second gear and laid a 'patch' in front of the old hide house, managed to hit third gear on the flat ground just before the steep rise up at (busy) East State Street, where she slammed on the brakes, throwing Smitty and Ted White up over the front seat, into Lory and me, then falling again into their respective places in the back seat. We were laughing so hard our ribs hurt, but Lory was begging to be released right there; however Bev had other plans. She jammed the ol' gal into reverse and did a reverse "U-ee" out onto the levee, then put 'er in second, stalling her, when you (me..."Pegody")came running out waving both your arms, yelling that you wanted a ride, too. (I do NOT remember doing this, but will go along for the ride, sez Pegody;-) Before Lory could escape, Bev stopped and you crammed in, in the back beside Smitty and Ted, then off we went!

This time Bev hit all three gears inside of 6 seconds and we got good air as we launched over the small hill in the road between our house and our sign shop, landing well beyond it, with sparks flying from underneath. Bev got the swerving thing back under control just in time to avoid hitting the huge trees and bushes that hid Clarkies "house" as we slid up his driveway and came to a screeching halt right at the foot of his house. After the dust settled, we sat looking face-to-face with three ladies of the evening and Clarkie, who were lounging on the front porch, taking in the air. They sat there emotionless, blinking and staring at us, until Bev somehow got the Packard into reverse again, accidentally honking the horn in the process, which brought everyone on the porch to their feet.

We left in a cloud of dust in reverse...all of us howling with laughter, then Bev swung the old girl in another quick "U-ee" at the turn around below the sign shop.

For lap number three, Lory Shumway was hanging halfway out of the passenger side window yelling and waving his arms, bawling and blathering for help, when we started to take the small hill in front of our house again, bottomed out, and showered sparks everywhere. About 50 yards up the road I think I accidentally bumped Bev's arm which caused her to temporarily lose control of the steering wheel. The Packard swerved suddenly to the right and slightly off the road, exposing Lory's face, neck, shoulders, arms and chest to a full array of angry blackberry shrubbery, for perhaps a good 30 feet. He immediately pulled himself back into the car, screaming from pain and indignancy, so Bev stopped long enough to let him out. He staggered around, pulling blackberry prickers out of his hair, snatched his swimsuit out of one of the thickets, then tried stomping up the black tarred road, in his flipflops, which about half the time his heels hit in the shoes and half the time they landed on the road.

Spinning the car back around, we left him to his misery as we tore back off down the road again.

Our last and final lap ended with us speeding back up the street at a good 50 miles an hour! Just as we were about to reach the sidewalk where we had picked up Lory, at the main street up there, a black teenager suddenly walked into our path, but she was turned away, looking back at the strange sight of Lory, whom she had just passed along the way who stomping his way home, instead of going swimming. We were going 50 mph!!! Too late!!! Bev hit the brakes hard and we skidded right to within 2 inches of the poor girl, who was frozen in her steps, her eyes as big as tennis balls, and so were ours!

We all caught our breath as Bev backed the Packard back down the levee, where the car finally died...out of gas. It was the old girl's last gasp. We pushed her back down into the driveway, just before a police squad car cruised down our East Avenue, only to find a bunch of teenagers sitting innocently on our front porch swinging on the porch swing. The End.

But it's not the end. Thank God that part of the story ended peacefully enough, tho'. Not long after that, we all grew up. And here's a picture of my brother to prove it. More will follow about this, at some point. A respected ex-Marine with purple hearts...who woulda thunk that? Dad and Mom and Grandma were all proud of him, and so am I.

Muscadine Jelly

We have told yall a number of times that we live in a small town in the country full of nice country people. Here's proof: I was sitting drinking coffee the other morning when a good friend of mine, Todd called and asked me if I wanted to ride over and help him butcher a goat and sample some of his homemade brews. Well, I sharpened my fillet knife, jumped in "Tinkerbail" and fired her up. Having not been started for a month, she was cold-natured and required some warm-up time, cursing and choking. By the time I got to Todd's house he was already finished up with his butcherin' and cleaning up. We visited over washing up and I sampled a couple of his homemade beers from the infamous "kegerator" where he has like, 8 pony kegs in an ole chest-type cooler for tasting purposes. The whole thing looks like a science experiment gone wrong with tubes going everywhere, but they all wired up to compressed air and when ya fish out a "spicket", beer comes out. Anyways I digress. After sampling his wares and visiting with his family, I left with a bucket full of muscadines picked that morning here's how we made them into jelly.

For those of you unfamiliar with muscadines, they are a wild grape that grows all along the Gulf Coast and are wonderful for jelly, wine , pie, anything ya do with grapes. Here is what wikapedia says:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muscadine

The first thing ya gotta do is extract the juice from the grapes. This is accomplished by barely covering the grapes with water in a large pot, bringing it to a slow boil, and boiling the grapes for an hour or so, stirring occasionally, 'til the skins are soft and all the grapes 'pop'. This process smells amazing! Once the flesh and skins are soft, we let them cool over night, then strain them through cheese cloth, squeezing out all the delicious juice. once we had the juice prepared, we followed this simple recipe:

Muscadine Grape Jelly

4 cups grape juice

4 cups suger

1 box sure jell

Place the juice and the sugar into a pot and bring it to a boil. Boil for 20 minutes, stirring almost constantly. Add the Sure Jell, boil for 5 minutes then reduce heat to 215 degrees (use a candy thermometer). Skim off the foam with a metal spoon if necessary,(it was).

We always have our jelly jars in a 220 degree oven hot, and on standby, and our jar lids on the stove in a warm water bath(200F)

Once everything is ready it's just poor seal and wait for that glorious sound (the "tinks").

This makes a wonderful soft jelly, easily spread over a biscuit or toast. It is also wonderful with peanut butter. Peggy uses it to make a sweet and sour sauce that is out of this world. As a suggestion, make small batches at first and see how ya like it. It's tart and ya may want it sweeter. If ya like ya jelly firmer try the pink box Sure Jell. Either way it is truly wonderful. Here is a lil slideshow of the process. Happy jelly making: