In the Pink, So Far

   Well, Cappy got a good report from the doctor's office today, so YAY!! That's the good news...the GREAT news. 

   The other news is: Looking around our "kingdom;" is not so pretty. For the last couple of years, with Cappy's health in a downward spiral, as he describes it, and my not able to handle working outside in the HEAT, Cappy and Pegody's World has become a weed jungle. The yard is in desperate need of care. 

   Our neighbors, whose yards are showcases, have stepped in with their riding lawn mowers and made quick work of the grass. Now, with Cappy's health improving, we are hoping to make inroads on the yard's upkeep.

   Presently, and for the last while, to seek solace, we sit in what we refer to as our "courtyard" area in the back. Here we spend time dreaming about what steps, tho' minor, we can take to begin the tasks at hand. Since this is our place of reverie, we find ourselves snipping at this odd branch or picking that weed there...little things, as we recuperate. (I got socked with another bout of celiac distress...accidentally, at a very nice restaurant got served a dish with wheat in it, GAH!!) 

   While perusing FaceBook's local pages, we noticed that there is a flurry of activity surrounding a particular climbing rose named the Peggy Martin. It gained popularity in our area due to the fact that it had survived a long bout of saltwater in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. 

   Some people are saying that this beautiful little rose has no thorns, while other folks say it does have small thorns. Some say the rose is pink, others say it is white, others insist it is red. Nonetheless, wherever the truth lies, it seems everyone is rushing to snap them up. In light of the fact that we've not been able to persuade anything to climb up the two trellises on our shed, we thought that maybe this resilient Peggy Martin might do the trick, so we hopped in the SUV and drove to a local nursery to "get while the gettin' was good," if they still had any left. They did, so we got two of them.

   Now, I'm thinking that while our 'courtyard' area isn't a priority, (what with the rest of the yard looking so awful...and believe me it does, especially our driveway area!) just this little bit of pretty has inspired us to get up off our thrones and go step-by-step (baby steps, even) to try to make our "realm" more presentable. We plan on making "VLOGs" along the way of our progress. Come join us; we could use your company and encouragement. 

   (Presently, the newly planted Peggys do have small thorns and the flowers are pink. I hope they manage to survive this Peggy's yard, because I'd hate to add 'crinkley brown' to the list as one of Peggy Martin's descriptions.)

Link to our VLOG about the Peggy Martin roses is in the picture below. 

(Lord Help us, it was hard making this video using  YouTube's music, after trial and error and error and error, I still managed to cut Cappy off a li'l at the end there. Hope you like it anyhow!) 



Where Have We Been!?

  As y'all know, too, the last few years have been tough on all of us.  As for Pegody and me, we are hoping that today's post will mark the beginning of a new era, as we plan to return here to our blog and YouTube channel.(Search: https://www.youtube.com/user/cappyandpegody where, so far, we have 94 videos) We plan to begin telling about our world again through what we think are called "V-logs" or somethinglikethatthere.    The short ~4 minute video below will let you know how things have been going here with us.

   We did miss y'all, thought about y'all, and we hope y'all come along with us as we relearn and start on over on Cappy and Pegody's World.  




   I told Cappy, "I'm sorry, I just can't do it anymore; he drives me crazy". 
    I know a lot of people love John Madden, Cappy being one of them. It was rough enough suffering through years of Howard Cosell. That guy would get on my nerves as a sports broadcaster. If somebody on the field made a mistake early on in a game, he'd excoriate them saying something like,"That guy is a bum, he'll never go anywhere in this field of sports", then later on in the game when things had turned around for that particular player, Cosell, would 'swagger' something like, "I told you all along this guy was one great player, he's really going to go far in his career as a football player; remember, you heard it here first". Still, I was sad to see ol' Howard go; you know how it is. Although he aggravated me, others loved him, and he was a part of the 'watching sports experience' for years and years.
   Then it became John Madden's turn 'at bat', so to speak. Well, as I said, the guy just drives me nuts. He's a likeable ol' fella, but when I'm in the big fat old middle of an intense game, I get so angry when he's busily showing replays and drawing all over the board, when in the background the tv viewers can hear the roar of the crowd in the stadium because another play is going on...but we can't see it...nooooo...we are watching John draw X's and O's and lines all over the screen.
   Well, I love watching football games with Cappy because it's just a lot of fun, being on the same side, most every time, curled up together, snacking on good stuff, shouting for our team, or gnashing our teeth when they mess up. 
   When he's out on the boat, and too far out of range for television reception, it's okay if he's still in range to pick up a good radio reception. When he can get neither, it's rough for him. At those times he's asked me to turn it up a little so maybe he can hear it over the phone, but that usually doesn't work either. So I usually used to just tell him, disdainfully, some of the stuff John was dispensing, as part of his expertise as a broadcast analyst. Stuff, like, "Hey, the offensive linemen are the biggest guys on the field, they're bigger than anybody else, and that's what makes them the biggest guys on the field". I guess that would stand to reason...and so does, "Here's a guy, when he runs, he moves faster". I know I'm blonde and all, and not familiar with all the nuances of the game, but at least this next one, I, too, have to agree with, "To get more yards, it's best to move the ball from the line of scrimmage down the field".
   But,I got so I just couldn't take it anymore, nice guy that he is.
   Now just put yourself in poor Cappy's shoes, tho. He's in a blackout area, and really, REALLY wants to hear how the New Orleans Saints are doing. They've gotten pretty darned good in the last few years, so we are having a blast watching and rooting for them. So there he is; no television...no radio...and I have both.
    At first he'd ask me, "What's going on??? I can hear yelling and cheering...tell me". So I thought I'd turn John Madden's sound off, so I couldn't hear it and tell Cappy what I saw going on, on the field. I'd really get into the game and start yelling, "OH!!!! He's got the ball!! He's GOT the ball and he's running down the field with it!!!"
   Cappy would yell back, "WHO's got the ball??"
   I'd be saying, "I can't see his number but he's ....OH NOOOO!!!!" 
   Cappy:"What?!? What happened?"
   Pegody: "I don't know, I'm trying to find out, he's laying on the ground all curled up in pain holding his leg, and now they are bringing out a stretcher". 
   Cappy: "WHO??? Our guy? One of ours?"
   Pegody: "Oh, they've gone to a commercial". OR. Pegody:"Oh, one of our guys is running down the field and they tackled him". 
   Cappy: "Where did they tackle him?" 
   Pegody:"On the field". 
   Cappy:"$#!+!!...WHERE on the field??" 
   Pegody:"Oh, I can't see his number, or the number on the ground where he fell down".         Cappy:"He fell down? I thought you said they tackled him." 
  Pegody: "Oh, they've gone to another commercial; no, they're back already and now they're gonna kick it".
   Cappy: "For a field goal??"
   Pegody:"No, it's for one of those long kicks".
   Pegody:"Okay...the Bengals are running with it, and now one of the Colts tackled him...yay!"     Cappy:"Peg....what is a COLT doing suited up and running onto the field to tackle anybody for...this is a game between the Saints and the Bengals". 
   So I tried to concentrate a little more to make the game a little more accurate for him. (Okay...concentrate on who is doing what and what the numbers are on the lines. Pegody:"Okay, there's the snap...one of our guys is running....Wow! He's really running...he's ahead of the pack....he's at the 20...the 30! the 40! the 50! the 55! the 60! Oh no!!! They tackled him at the 65 yard line". 
   At which point Cappy said, "Uh, Dear, I think I'm going to let my co-pilot take over, so I can go take a nap...I love you, Dear". 
   He didn't even want to hear the rest of the game, to see who won! I think I'll tell Cappy in the morning he can have ol' John back, or whoever it is now. 
   I'll tell him, "I just can't do it anymore; I drive you crazy".
   I didn't even watch the rest of the game, so I don't even know who won, so therefore, I'm going to quote good old John Madden, who apparently does a better job than I do, and he says, "Usually the team with the most points wins the game". 
 That's it, and there ya go.


Yeahhh...We Gotta Fix Dat.


Since our back door hasn't been locking well,I always set up a complicated booby-trap at night, stringing up mostly loud,noisy,"rattley" kitchen items, plus a broom to fly at their head in the dark to terrorize anyone who would deign to try to sneak into the kitchen while we are asleep, and also to wake us and da dawg up. It's probably not even necessary because we live in the tiniest house in the neighborhood surrounded by homes that would be more profitable to sneak into, any time of day or night. It's only because our bichons have actually chased people out of our dark yard at night...thank God they were with me while I was out there! I still get nightmares about it. As Cappy likes to say, "In today's brave new world, who knows what to expect anymore", and thus,nightly,I maniacally contrive my crazy "Rube Goldberg" "petard".

  This morning I forgot to undo the whole shebang.

  Presently,I'm in the computer room,adressing Christmas card envelopes while keeping BeauxBear with me to prevent him from making trouble with Cappy and the Spectrum cable guy, who is here because their tv service has been crazily "pixelating" since the hurricane.

  While absent-mindedly writing and shushing BeauxBear to make him be quiet, I could hear the men amicably chatting in the den, while trying to work out the problem with the TV, then they moved into the bedroom to check out "my" tv, which was having the same infuriating "pixelating" issue. 

  Apparently the man, who has been working many, many hours of overtime, trying to make hurricane damage cable repairs, sometimes until as late as 11 o'clock at night, as are his fellow crew-members--and he was having a bad day already, what with his truck not working,and then the next company truck he was relegated to try out, with the wrong equipment on board, fought with him tooth and nail to get here in this miserable "piece of truck", and all the while he was trying not to be late, and not looking forward to the prospect of his whole day looming over him with truck problems now in the mix. In spite of his aggravation, he sounded as though, by talking and joking with Cappy, that his nerves were calming down a little.

  Happily visiting, they moved along to the back side of the house and out the open window I could hear them begin talking more business-like; the Spectrum guy was explaining to Cappy, thus, "Now, ya see here, this line goes...". I kept mindlessly writing, enjoying the cool breeze.

  Suddenly, there came such a loud racket and horrible ruckus!...things crashing in several tones, like metal and clunking pans and Cappy's voice hollering and the Spectrum guy who had opened the door for Cappy,yelping!! 

  (...and me...I was in here nodding, "Oh no! I know what that was." I stayed put.)

   The guy gasped and whimpered, "Did I do that?"

   Cappy just shuffled on in, moving a path in the odds and ends with his foot, knowing just who...(in this case not a fancy "whom"), but who he is married to, said,"No..." and was about to go into detail, but the guy rushed off around the side of the house to his truck, exclaiming in a high, pinched voice that he had a full day ahead of him, slammed his "piece of truck" door and chugged it out of the neighborhood.

  Ahh, I think we'd better get that lock fixed. I don't want to get hoist in my own 'trap'...now I've got to go gather up my "ammunition" and get ready to reset it again tonight. 

  I "pity the fool". 

      ...Don't you?       


Presented Again This Year, Because it's One of My Favorites to Tell: I'm Mrs. Green Christmas, I'm Mrs. Sun...

                                              (Originally posted Monday, Dec. 11, 2006)

   This was the scene out my window every year. Although most everybody else I know/knew in western NY just love to go out and frolic in the snowy weather, I preferred to stay in cuz it was COLD out there. I still talk to people who say, "Oh, I love the cold". Good for them. It's just not for me, and never has been, even when I was younger. 
   The only way I can remember liking snow was when I might go out for rides in a warm car, stuff like that.
    I know how to drive in deep snow. I remember having to drive one morning before the snow plows went through, and having to guess where the road was, hoping not to drive into a ditch. I made it okay.
   I know my Aunt Bev hates the cold, too, but it's mostly my fault. She and I are only 20 days apart. (Imagine your Mom and Grandmother both being pregnant at the same time. I 'won', so I'm older. She holds every one of those 20 days over my head..."You're OLD". So, I don't call her Aunt, either.) 
   Well, anywaze...Yeah, it's kinda my fault Bev got her fingers frozen when we were wild and crazy teenagers. I had this nerdy boyfriend (Paul), who ended up being Bev's boyfriend later on.     At the time, she was having dental work cuz, as she put it, her teeth were all "snaggle-toothed" and it made her chin jut way out, kinda lantern-jawed.
    But, anyhow, because Paul got to drive his parents' car around, we three, Bev, Paul and I went on a lot of excursions together, summer and winter, which was fun. 
   One night, a few days before Christmas, Bev and Paul got the idea to buy some 'liquor' to celebrate the holidays. Oh sure...I was "innocent"...(I thought it was a great idea, too). Paul was 18, old enough to buy it, but we were only 16.
    He came back out of the store with some "Triple Applejack"...a cheap wine, of sorts. It was pretty yucky tasting. Not sure what ol' Paul thought of it, but Bev pretty much liked the taste of it. 
   We had driven, in a snow storm, along a country road, then stopped so Bev could get out and 'potty'. By that time, she was pretty 'wasted'. I had to get out and help her over a snowbank, out of sight, to get her tight girdle down, so she could 'go', then try to reverse the procedure. The poor girl was roaring drunk, happily singing at the top of her lungs up into the icy black sky with its shiny stars staring down at our debacle as we staggered around in snow up to our thighs.
   I had to sit her down on the edge of the snow bank and told her to fling her legs over the top of it, to get to the other side and back to the car. 
   She kept trying to flop them up, while repeating, "I just FLING my legs up over the shnow banKK...", but her legs wouldn't go.
    She looked me earnestly in the eye and said, "I hope I don't throw up in my sleeve....ok, just FLING my leg UP over the shnow banKK", but it still didn't go.
    "What do you mean, 'throw up in your sleeve!??" I asked.
    "Kathy (another friend of ours) got drunk one time and didn't have anywhere to throw up, so she opened the cuff of her sleeve and threw up in it". Bleckkk.
    "Well, that's not going to happen to you...you aren't going to do that...hold on, let me get Paul, so he can help me get you back into the car."
    Once we got her back into the warm car, we took the bottle away from her, and got the car in motion. 
   We were starting to worry, cuz the storm had turned into a blizzard and visibility was getting bad. The car went a little ways up the slight hill, then the wheels started spinning. Paul tried backing the car back down the hill, but it slid into Bev's "shnowbankKK" and got stuck.
   Oh Oh. Now what? This was before cell phones. This was WAY back. Bev was wearing a 'girdle', remember? 
   I said that I thought I remembered seeing the lights of a house not far from where we were, but it was sitting up a long driveway on a hill.
   Paul, continued to try to spin us out of there with his Dad's car. He did manage to back us up into the ditch at the end of the driveway I'd seen. 
   And again, Now what? Well, we could walk up to the house and call a tow truck to come and get us out. Paul, for sure, didn't dare call his parents. The alcohol and all. (and this was even way back before they 'carded' people) Still, his father wouldn't have appreciated we three 'nice' Church Kids having liquor...and in his car, no less. 
   Since Bev had gotten the bottle back again, with what little was left in it and was patting it and singing Christmas Carols, loudly, Paul and I talked over her, trying to figure out what to do. It was a long freezing walk, but we decided that he and I would trudge to the house that looked so warm with lights shining from the windows, and leave Bev in the warm car, bundled up, ...with her bottle, and we'd be RIGHT back. For her to just stay put! We'd be RIGHT back. 
   She said, "OKAYYYY". 
   The icy air blew right through our coats, freezing us. 
   We finally made it to the house and knocked on the door. A nice lady answered and brought us right inside. We put on our best Sunday School manners and demure politeness and explained that our car was stuck at the end of their driveway, and that my aunt was staying warm in the car waiting for us.
    Well, of course she let Paul make a phone call, then insisted on making us some tea to warm us up from that walk up the hill.
    Her house was all pretty; cozy and quiet, and she was so sweet. 
    I daintily picked up the china cup, making sure to keep my little pinky finger up and was about to take my first sip, when suddenly there was a thundering pounding on the back door!
   The lady looked shocked and embarrassed in front of her 'genteel' guests and asked no-one in particular, "What...who in the world is that??", as she made her way toward the door. 
   Just as she got to the door, it flew open, loudly slamming into the hall wall. 
   The poor lady fell back against the same wall, shocked and horrified at the sight that just barged into her house! 
   There was Bev, hair frozen in a hundred different directions, wild-eyed, jaw jutted way out, exposing snaggled-teeth, as I'd never seen them before. She looked like an abominable snow monster! She was covered in snow and vomit was dripping out of her sleeve onto the lady's immaculately cleaned floor. 
   I stammered weakly, "Oh...it's my aunt."
   The lady shrieked, "Your AUNT?!"
   Bev wanted none of it...she pushed past the lady and said, "I just want to lay down on your red couch and throw up" 
   The lady sprang at her, wailing, "Noooo, that's my new couch, I just got that as an early Christmas present!" 
   Poor Bev. Poor lady. Bev's fingers were about frozen. I don't know what happened to her gloves...probably lost in a shnow bankK on the way up the hill. She'd gotten tired of waiting, she said. She nearly froze, too, on the way up the hill, then when she got there, she looked in the window and saw us sitting there all warm and cozy having tea. 
   She was really ticked. She still is til this day, even tho' she managed to forgive us.
   Eventually, the tow truck came and pulled us out. I don't know if Paul ever told his Dad what happened. 
   If  you ask Bev, she'll tell you how much she still gags whenever she hears the words, "Triple Applejack", and how it's my fault...and Paul's that she hates the cold, cuz of us.

                   (We never did anything like that again...just so you know, and I still hate the cold cuz it's COLD!!)


Lizzy the Lizard Who Lost her Tail...Oh NO! This is Her Tale!


   I am Lizzy. I live on a Patio with a lot of other South Louisiana Lizards. We make a good living on mosquitoes, flies…you know, all the good stuff…Louisiana food can't be beat…you just ask anyone!
   Life is wonderful…or it was. I accidentally wandered into the house next to our patio and couldn't find my way out for quite a while. I finally made my very clever escape. I'm glad, too, because the food they served me in that house was boring…BORING.
  Well, as I was saying, life outside on my big patio was wonderful once again. Until.
  First of all, I don't know where they came from, but these big white furry dog-monsters started chasing me and my family for dear life. We think one of them must have got Morty because we found him laying out flat…and yes, he was dead. None of us saw what actually happened, but word got around that one of those awful birds took off with his body. Good-bye Morty, we hardly knew ye, we all said.
   Well, if that trauma wasn't bad enough, we now see this big black shiny "cat-thing" slinking and sneaking around the patio with big green eyes that are looking at everything…it chases our flies, "Hey! Those are our meals you are messing with, you!" It chases us, even! It chases the birds. It runs up trees in the yard, fast!
  Now here is the scariest thing that ever happened to me: it got me! We all saw it slinking around the corner of the lawn mower, so we all scurried under it, and I thought I'd made it, but it grabbed me! The black shiny monster had me! It was pulling me away from my family by my tail!
  I screamed, Lila, my sister screamed…my whole family and friends were screaming too!
  The monster was thrashing and causing such a wild commotion, that somehow, our beloved lawnmower moved around, which I guess scared the killer, so he let go, but one of the wheels rolled right onto my tail!
  Before the monster could get his paws under our machine, everybody grabbed onto me and pulled. I felt something behind me snap, but I was free to run with the rest of them, and so we did.
  I never saw the rest of me again, but from the stories I hear from the old folks in my family, it's supposed to grow back bigger and prettier than ever. At least that is what they are telling me.
  So, I guess the moral of my story is, be careful out there in the big scary world. (…and don't listen to Cappy's version of how the moral should go about how to not lose your tail.





I wrote this several years ago before Cappy retired:

  I just put Lizzie outside today. I was finally able to catch her. She was what I called a lizard, but I guess she was really a chameleon; isn't that a lizard?
I first spotted her in the den window with her little paws on the glass, looking around at the big outside world. Poor little thing.
  I tried catching her for about a week, to no avail, because she'd dive to the floor and take off zipping away, hiding behind some heavy piece of furniture that I couldn't move…but every morning she was back at her post in the window, watching life going on the outside the glass.
  I began to worry about her, thinking she'd need something to eat, especially if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life trapped inside our house, pining away for the freedom she could only see through the window. I began to put tiny little pieces of raw hamburger on the sill, along with a spot of water.
  Aww, she was so cute. Every day it was the same ritual; she'd see me getting close with the meat, so she'd run to the top of the window pane, then slowly...very slowly she'd descend, upside-down staring at the meat. When she'd get down to the corner and onto the window sill, she'd do this really funny thing with her head, quickly moving it in and out...backwards and forwards toward her meal, sometimes waving her arms around, too. She'd get to the meat, then stand and look longingly out the window some more, at which point I'd leave her alone and go get some work done. A little while later, I'd come back to find that the meat was gone and she'd be 'splayed out' all paws on the window.
  But, the other day she didn't come for the meat and I didn't see her for a couple of days. I hoped that she'd finally been able to find her way out, the same way she'd found her way in.
   I kind of missed her. When Cappy's on the boat, as silly as it seems, it's nice to have another living 'body' in the house; 'somebody' to take care of.
  This morning I was settled down on the sofa with my cup of coffee, when I saw a little movement on one of my indoor plant leaves just below the window. Then I saw a skinny tale moving around. "Lizzie??? Izzat you, girl?"
  Sure enough it was. I picked up the whole plant, hoping she'd stay put 'til I got her outside...and she did. She even tried changing colors, but she was either too worn out, or confused, because she turned tan instead of green. I took her outside and let her jump down into the flowerbed by the front door.
 "Bye Lizzie!! Have a nice life out here in your big wide world!"


Clean Out Your Ears! Wha??

    Sometimes when I didn't understand what my Mom was saying, she'd say in disgust, "Clean out your ears!" 

   My phone doesn't make things any easier these days, either.

   I was just talking with my daughter, who's concerned about her dad, who lives alone and is in the hospital.

   She said, "Well, you know he's an island?"

   Hmm, I thought, very intuitive and thoughtful of her to say that. I said, "Yes, I guess he is, isn't he?"

   She asked, "You know he's an island?"

    I answered, "Well, living alone like that would make him an island, wouldn't it?"

   "MOM! I said he's an island...an ISLAND."

    "I know, Jen...an island."

     "MOTHER...I SAID he's in Thailand...I didn't say island."

    I was thoroughly confused now, "WHO? WHO's in Thailand? I thought we were talking about your dad...how did he get way over to Thailand...I thought he was in Rochester. What's he doing there?"

   Long pause.


   "Yes? Who are we talking about?"

   "Dad...we're talking about dad, did you forget? He's an island, NOT and ISLAND! AND he's NOT in Thailand...what would he be doing there?? He's an ISLAND...island...Highland...HIGHLAND Hospital," muttering followed.

    Me, "..oh."

    "Clean out your ears!"


A "Safe Place" to Go...Even for a Tiny Peace of Mind During All of This Trauma

     Wouldn't you just love to get away from all this madness that's going on for a while? To someplace far away peaceful, where none of this confusion can reach us...just for a little while?
    Let's go! Cappy and I can take you on an all expense paid mini-vacation were we can soar along on air-blades across open meadows with the wind in our face, a few feet above the grass, or even as high as 60 ft., if we want. Freedom!
    Of course, if we all want to ride together, we can go in an avicar. (It's wings were designed by NASA back in the 20th century, eons behind us.) Either way, we'd have the option of riding along on roads with the usual conventional traffic, where the speed is dictated by unground directing lines, or, we can, by clicking our 'Up' arrow turning indicators, head up and off over the lush green fields of Neo-Eden. 
    We know of a little town named Lifton where life is lived at a slower pace. We can lunch at the Sandwich Board where the jawbees are soft, warm and chewy. Melt in your mouth. Or, just down the street, we can enjoy some spicey meat pies at Mrs. Elsie Pinke's Marvelous Meat Pie stand...her daughters Wiltsie and Nancy are in the back making them. And just try staying away from Mrs. Muddlety's Sweet Shoppe...it just can't be done...you'll see. Then there's Nellie at the Lifton Inn where we'll be staying while we are "down planet"...Oh my! I'm not going to talk about her here, although I could...I really could, but I won't.
    But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The trip, by air travel will take ---days to get there. First, we will meet our ship captain, Loos Aucoin, and even ride along with him on his way to work! En route he'll give us a history lesson, fill us in on working details of the ship, and educate us on some scientific aspects of what has made our voyage possible. It's all just to help us understand where we are, how things are, and to help prepare us to "buckle up" for the trip ahead.
   Once aboard, we'll meet the crew, who I know are going to like you, and, I think you'll pretty much like them. One word of warning, though: steer clear of crusty ol' Sarge, head of his ABS aeronaut crew. You do not want to cross him or he might put you outside the ship helping his crew paint the bow, or, he might stick you on gardening detail in one of his gal pal, Miss Fern's bio-deck levels, mucking out the filters. Not good. Sarge is a crunchy ol' guy with a growl for a voice, but still in all, you'll like 'im.
    The food aboard the ship is mostly ship made. Just so you know, the most popular snack is Narch. If you decide to try it, be careful not to get it all over yourself, or all over everything. It's luscious and comes in Jerk flavor or regular. Extremely messy, but delicious. You can wash it down with shipshakes, and it's all brought to you by the service bots. Just be glad you will not have to, on this trip, resort to eating your "Bio-Nutritional Sustenance", or as the captain refers to it, "B. S." 
    Before we actually take off, there are some things our captain has to attend to on the ship, and we get to accompany him. We will also sit in on the all-important pre-departure meeting with his department heads, making sure everyone on board is present and ready to launch. 
    So, you ready? If you decide to go with us, we will climb aboard the Intrepid, an armed Intergalactic space supply vessel, and prepare to go sailing through the gloriously colorful universe, feeling as though we were in a huge comfortable needle with valuable merchandise strapped to her belly.  Be assured: you will have a wild ride with lots of fun, some sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat heart- pounding adventures and a "What's up with that guy?!" intrigue in the mix. 
    By the way, your trip is already paid for! Check in at Barnes and Noble, or Smashwords for the next month and a half where you can download "Space Freighter Neo-Eden", revised edition, by Cappy and Pegody. The only "payment" we ask is that upon leaving Neo-Eden, that you write a review, letting us know how you are enjoying the trip, so far. 
   We are boarding now!                   Free-Free-Free.


  **A note to those who have already read our e-book and left a wonderful comment, when we uploaded the revised edition with illustrations, for whatever reason, we lost all of our customer reviews. Would it be okay if we asked you to please rewrite your impression? Also, feel free to "take the trip again!" If you liked the first version, we're sure you'll love this revision.


FINALLY Posting the "Finally Fall Gumbo" From Last Fall

I wrote this months ago: Last week we had our first cool day of Fall, so I got us a hen and had it cut up into "gumbo pieces".
Most any Southern small town store has these "gumbo pieces" already on display. If not, the butcher will gladly cut them up for you.  What they are, is a large baking hen cut (with their meat saw) into small pieces.  This opens the large bones, exposing the marrow, which makes an amazing stock.  Also, it being a mature hen, it stands up well to a couple hours of simmering, whereas , a young chicken, being so tender, will usually fall apart in the broth after an hour or so of cooking.
  I also bought a lb. of andouille sausage and, giving a nod to my St. Landry roots, a lb. of Savoie's smoked sausage.
I sprinkled our own blend of Cajun spices over the hen, 
 sliced the andouille and put it and the chicken into a large pot, along with a gallon of water. I got it to boiling, then reduced it to simmer while I got the rest of the ingredients ready.
  I sliced the sausage,
tossed it into one of my beloved cast iron skillets that has been in my family for generations, with some roughly chopped onions, a little more of our spice, then browned it all down, lightly cooking the onions.
Once it cooked down good I put it in the chicken andouille pot.

along with some chopped green onion, a diced bell pepper and a healthy tablespoon of minced garlic.

   At this point, after another half an hour more of simmering, many of you would call it done, "a good gumbo" but, I like a nice brown roux in most of my gumbos.  Now, since Peggy is a "celiac" and can't have anything with wheat or gluten in it, we can't make a traditional roux so, we constantly search for good alternatives. We've found that this Savoie's powdered roux is a good choice. We sprinkled what we thought would be the right amount into our gumbo pot... 
let it simmer for another half an hour and voila!! Our first good gumbo of the season!
So, this begins our annual gumbo 'throw down'.  I make a gumbo, then Peggy makes a gumbo, and repeat. I make simple old-fashioned style and Peggy, daughter of a chef, makes hers a bit more complicated, but what I like to call "award winning" good.  They are all good, but I must admit my Yankee wife out-does 'er Cajun hubby.  I think it's mostly cause you can taste more love and effort in hers.  This is my first round offering. We plopped a big ol' sweet potato right into the middle of the bowl...another nod to my St. Landry Parish upbringing.  
Okay, Peggy, your turn, get busy! I can hardly wait.  :-P