Happy Birthday Robert Bunsen

Thanks to Google for pointing out  that today is the 200th anniversary of the birth of Bunsen of bunsen burner fame.  I love me a good lab reference.  I like the smell of pseudomonas.  And the way E. coli looks on EMB agar.  Just thought you should know.

Wrap It In Bacon

A week of firsts.  The Goob got his first hunting license.  A one day bird license.  I could only be more surprised if he had ridden his bike to hunt the pheasants. 

This presented another first.   Cooking pheasant.   (Thanks to the STP I didn't have to clean the pheasant and I have new feathers in my fly tying arsenal.) 
And I just wish Mary Baron could see me now. 

Everything I know about roasting a pheasant I learned from the internet.  And I learned a lot.  For instance, I learned how to bard the bird. 

For your benefit, I will explain bard.  Bard was formerly a person who composed and recited epic or heroic poems, often while playing the harp, lyre, or the like.  Bard can be ornamental armor for a horse, or a Celtic Poet, or a piece of larding bacon or pork fat placed on game or lean meat during roasting to prevent drying out.
So I recited all the Celtic poems I know (which amounted to a man going up a hill with all the strawberries) while I wrapped the birds in bacon.  And put them in the roaster breast side down.  And then I photographed it.

Because this was either going to be really good or really bad.
I adjusted the bird and the oven temperature a couple of times and then I put the bird in a tent. 

And while it rested I made rosemary roasted potatoes and a spinach salad.  The anticipation was building along with the aroma of bacon.   The dog could hardly wait.

The recipe online also suggested I serve it with a rustic bread and a light dessert. Really?  I mean some people must have nothing better to do than cook.  All I can say is good thing pheasant season is not in the summer. 

In conclusion, any meal which includes a pound of bacon gets 4 stars in our house.

I've Got a Quarter

I know the STP doesn't appreciate country music, but sometimes it speaks to my soul as well. 
This is what my car looked like yesterday morning:

 And I am just a little tired of scraping my windshield.   So I am singing along with Jo Dee Messina:

let's flip a coin
Heads, Carolina
Tails, California.


Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer.


The sad part is that I will need more than a quarter to get someplace warmer.  So I will continue to scrape my windshield and go to work.  Saving my quarters. 
Remind me in July when I finally get to my vacation in Williamsburg that I wanted to be someplace warmer.

Brother-in-Law Day--The Sequel

Three years ago I promised you a video.  That post from January 2008 is one of my most popular, because occasionally Google will lead people there who are searching for information on Brother-in-law's Day.  Imagine their surprise to find that the celebration involves sucking and a hardboiled egg.
I am finally ready to post the video.  The only problem is that I have several of them.  And they are precious fun to me as a series.   So I have decided to post them all.  For my own entertainment and because if you are wasting time surfing the web searching for Brother-in-law day info this is exactly what you deserve need. 
Video # 1.  In which I am holding the camera sideways.  And the nephew is involved.

Video #2.  In which I have righted the camera. And a Sister-in-law has come to the aid of the BIL.

Video #3.   In which said Sister-in-law retreats to read a magazine on the couch.

And BIL decides he needs more fire.  A near success.

Video #4.  In which BIL almost sets himself on fire.  And Sisters-in-law laugh.

Video #5.  In which BIL declares he has given up on egg sucking experiment.

Video #6.  In which the real BIL celebration takes place.  Feel free to hoot and holler.

The 4DSisters are planning to get together again this summer.  We will either be doing the world's longest yardsale or a fly fishing trip.  We will be accepting applications from the husbands to see who gets to celebrate Brother-in-law day with us this year.  We might even let them drive the truck (or clean the fish.) 

Unintentionally One Fourth

I didn't mean to read the whole book.  I picked it up from the library yesterday afternoon.  I worked 9 hours, slept 8 hours, and went out to lunch with a friend. And I read the whole book.  Evidently, tempus fugit when you're reading a good book.
It wasn't on my list to read this month, but since I finished it (and the STP never returned the book I intended to read), I might as well count it. 

Time Is A River by Mary Alice Monroe

A two love story almost mystery novel wrapped around (believe it or not) fly fishing.  (that's not exactly the quote on the back of the book, but you get the idea) 
An short exerpt:

      He studied the river; then he pulled his pack of dry flies out from a vest pocket and opened it, revealing dozens of fuzzy flies of all sizes.  Maddie came closer to watch as he poked around the small compartments with his index finger, deliberating.
     "Look at all those.  How do you know which one to choose?"  Maddie asked.
     "Well, you--" he began.
     Mia interrupted him.  "You look at the river then you look at your flies then you poke around with your finger at the mess of flies in your pack, and then you just pick something small, brown, and fuzzy, give it a funny name like Mr. Big's Breakfast, and go for it."
      Maddie burst out laughing.
      Stuart lifted his sunglassed and met Mia's gaze.  They shared a silent, commiserating laugh.  He handed her a brown fuzzy fly.
     "Here you go.  Mr Big's Breakfast."

(Can't you just feel the tension here?  Doesn't the fly fishing innuendo make your cheeks flush?)

Some things this book made me want to do: 
1.  Fly fish with the STP.
2.  Fly fish with my sisters.
3.  Spend all summer in a cabin in the mountains.
4.  Tie some Woolie Buggers.
5.  Write a blog entry about the 'stories".
6.  Read The Four Seasons by this same author.
7.  Add the Latin phrase "Tempus fugit" to my vocabulary.

Idiot Alert

Made a brief stop at Barnes and Noble in the city.  Saw a "Paint Your Pet Kit".  I thought it was like a face painting kit to make your dog look like a cat for Halloween.  Turns out it was a kit to teach you how to paint a picture of your pet.  I still think the title was misleading.
Also saw the "Idiots Guide to Manga Fantasy Creatures."  I didn't even know there were Manga fantasy creatures.  How big of an idiot must I be?  Turns out B&N has a whole section labelled "Manga".  That's all I really need to know about that right now.  Just letting you know its out there.

In Search of Spring

This is my newest flower bed.  It exists mostly in my imagination and on the east side of my house.  In my imagination it is lush and green.  It will require some hard work, extended attention, and quite possibly divine intervention this summer to approach my hope for it.  Who would have guessed this is where Spring would show up first.  What?  You don't see it?  Look a little closer.

Still no sign of the daffodils, but I was so excited to see these little red sprouts.  In the Fall the STP cut me some plant markers from a milk jug.  And I used them to label the dirt, so I would know where to look for my perennials.  And I know what these sprouts will grow into.  And I couldn't be more excited.

Want to guess?  I'll give you a hint. 

Oh, and did I mention, it is snowing again today.  (The daffodils are under the ground high-fiving each other on their decision to stay put a few more days.)

That's What He Said

Spent the day thrift shopping with the STP and the Goob.  Here are a few of the more entertaining things that the Goob said:
1.  (About the thrift shops we visited)  The first one was kind of a snooty thrift shop for rich people, and the last one was like a warehouse full of donated clothes for homeless people.  That pretty much sums up our thrift shopping experience, although we did manage to find something to buy at both ends of the thrift shopping spectrum.
2.  (About the fruit and vegetable selection at the Golden Corral buffet)  I thought they might have strawberries, but it turned out to be grapefruit sections swimming in their own secretions.  No problem for him because he managed to fill up on all you can eat meat, rolls, and ice cream.  Protein, grain, and dairy.  He counted his Sunkist orange soda as his fruit and vegetable.
3.  (About our cute, young waitress)  She's really nice.  (...And later in the meal, when she refilled his drink)  Did you say her name was Valerie?  This may be the first time I noticed the Goob noticing another woman.  Not sure how I feel about this one.  The phrase 'mother of the groom' ran through my head.  Let's not go there right now.

March Madness

My dad wore wore Chuck Taylor high tops for years.  Because he only wore them on picnic/family reunion days and trips to Lakemont Park, he could get multiple years of wear out of a single pair.  In his honor (and just in time for Spring and March Madness) the flamingo returned to the flower bed this morning sporting his own pair of converse all-stars.

But no matter how often or how hard I stare at the ground there is no sign of my daffodils. 

Free Bird Sermon Notes

Have I mentioned that I love my pastor?  No, really.  He speaks my language.  On Sunday he spoke directly to my thrifty bargain-loving soul.  He used these red-letter verses:

Matthew 10:29a   Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?

Luke 12:6a  Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?

Do you see it?  It's the Buy-Four-Get-One-Free Bird Bargain.   And my pastor pointed out the relative worthlessness of that fifth sparrow.  And how society always has its fifth sparrows.  And then he finished the verses:

Matthew 10:29b  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.

Luke 12:6b  Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.

God keeps track of the sparrows.  Every one of them.  Even the fifth sparrows.  The ones at the bottom of the pecking order.  The ones that don't matter to anyone else matter to God.  I like that thought about the fifth sparrows.  I really like my pastor.  And I really, really like my God.  And what He says in big red letters in both Matthew 10 and Luke 12:

Don't be afraid.  You are worth more than many sparrows.

If I was on the twitter, I would tweet that.

Breakfast of Zumba Champions

Took two caplets of Excedrin with caffeine before I got out of bed this morning.  Whoever combined a pain killer with caffeine is clearly a genius over the age of 50.  Why didn't I think of that? 
(Maybe because I am no genius--but you can still leave a comment Uncle M.)

When Life Gives You Lemons

You can make lemon meringue pie.  No, really.  If I can do it, you can do it. 

Since the arrival of 6 lemons in our last bountiful basket the Goob has been plotting a pie.  I have been plotting how not to make a pie.  How about lemon bars?  Lemonade?  Just putting the lemons in a clear glass container or a bowl on the table? 
I was not sure if I had ever made a lemon meringue pie.  Half-way through the meringue spreading, I was sure I had never made a lemon meringue pie.  I would remember this.  (Although maybe I had it filed deep in my memory file.  Under "Things I never want to do again.")

The Goob crossed 'zesting a lemon' off the list of life skills he should aquire before leaving home.  And he learned that 'stirring constantly' and 'remove from heat' are important instructions to follow.  And we both were surprised to learn that the yellow color of lemon pie filling comes from egg yolks, not lemons as we had suspected.  Also, making a lemon meringue pie takes about three days.  And only uses 3 lemons.  But it is so doable.  And so much better made with fresh lemons than with a box of lemon pudding/pie filling.  In fact, it is downright delicious.  I was so impressed with myself and my pie baking skill (note 'shiny', 'peaks' and 'lightly browned' in relation to my meringue!) that I was thinking of changing my last name to Crocker.  Then I remembered that I had unrolled the crust from a box labelled "Pillsbury."

We have three lemons left.  I am going to make them into lemonade before the Goob gets home from school. 

5/24

From The Grasshopper Trap, pg 183:

You see, no matter how much stuff you have for fishing, there's always more stuff you need.  There's always new great stuff that you absolutely have to have, even though you didn't know you needed it before you saw it in a catalog. Fishermen spend hours poring over catalogs to find new stuff they can't possible get along without.  It's wonderful!

A sad aside to the STP's dip in the lake is the loss of his fishing stuff.  (Which was in a bucket and is now on the bottom of the lake.)  A happy by-product of said loss is the joy of replacing his fishing stuff.  Two weekends ago he managed to visit Cabelas, Scheel's, and Big Bear in a search to find ice fishing rods.  (Which should have been on sale since it is so close to the end of ice fishing season.)  ((As evidenced by the ice which allowed the STP to drop through it.))   The STP reported that they did not have what he needed, so he only spent $75.00.  Meanwhile, though, his fishing buddies have shown up with fishing stuff.  A new fishing vest.  An 'extra' rod.  An ice fishing chair.  And a brand new ice fishing rod which they happened to find on sale.  I believe the exact words were, "They were practically giving it away."  Which made me wonder if they were giving them away, why didn't he get more than one?

I thought at first this might be a guy way of reaffirming the STP.  Instead of hugging and crying to express their pleasure that the STP did not die in the lake, they find it easier to give him manly gifts of fishing stuff.   But then I rethought it.  And I think it is more likely that it is a good excuse to buy fishing stuff.  Stuff they don't have to take home or justify the purchase to their wives. 
Because there are some wives who don't understand that you can never have enough fishing stuff.

Tag-a-longs

Goob:  Can I have a tag-a-long?
Five minutes later....
Goob:  If I ever have a daughter, I am going to make her join Girl Scouts.

The Dangers of Reading Aloud

If the book you are reading is laugh out loud funny, and you feel compelled to read aloud the parts that make you laugh out loud, some in your house may feel you are reading out loud too much.  But the real risk is that someone may feel you are reading too slow or leaving out other good parts, and when you lay your book down they will pick it up and start reading it to themselves.  And then they will be laughing out loud and reading you the really funny parts.  And if you happen to be in the shower when they leave for school, your book may end up in a backpack inaccessible to you for they rest of the day. 
Don't say I didn't warn you.