Today’s weather in Tampa: Sunny, high of 80 degrees, low of 61 degrees, current temperature 73 degrees, feels like 75 degrees
Today’s weather here: Snow, high of 36 degrees, low of 29 degrees, current temperature 32 degrees, feels like 32 degrees
40-year-old: “What have we done?”
6-year-old: “This is the BEST DAY EVER!”
Yummy.
“Apples? Well, that’s weird.”
[Bite]
“But, mmm, that’s good.”
Thanks, Simply Recipes!
Next up: Norsk eplekake, by special request.
The good news is the heater in the house works.
The bad news is I seem to be missing a box of clothes for the girls … the one with all the long-sleeve shirts in it.
I need turtlenecks. Size 5.
When I stepped into the garage last night to take the dog out, I saw a flash of hind legs of some critter. A rabbit? Dog? Cat? The legs were white. I’m thinking it was a rabbit. All I know is I have to remember to close the garage door after dark unless I want critters to walk in the back door and cozy up to a night of Animal Planet on the tube. Or … maybe they like Project Runway?
… turn off all the lights … and run for cover.
The bugs, good grief, the bugs!
If I don’t gulp my wine (or chug it from the bottle), I get to fish out a half dozen tiny but happily drunk bugs from the glass. And those are the ones that found the wine. The others hover around the bananas, the lights, the trash … well, everywhere.
Anyone have a beekeeper getup I can borrow until the snow comes?
Why, they play the banjo, of course!
Since moving here, I’ve joined two cooperatives: one for my electricity and the other for my telephone and Internet. One of them held its annual meeting tonight, and we went (hoping to win one of the 32-inch flat-screen televisions they were giving away, natch). I’d never been to a cooperative annual meeting before, so I didn’t really know what to expect … you know, singing in rounds and eating potluck? Seriously, I had no idea.
But it was your typical meeting, with minutes, reports and elections. And, oh yeah, the banjo-playing.
Here’s another one. I can’t help it. Now I see it every morning because I have to take the dog out.
I spent eight hours at an estate auction Saturday to get this. I’ve been looking for something for this space in my kitchen. I had something in mind but couldn’t explain it. I looked at a few things, and they weren’t quite right.
This? Perfect.
Since it was furniture, though, it was one of the very last things sold at the sale. I had all day to think about it, and I wasn’t about to go home without it.
That’s one thing I’ve missed about living in these parts — a good auction. I love the banter and standing across from someone who wants the same thing you do — bidding, nodding and mulling it over. (Not to mention wondering, “How on earth can I explain spending $150 on a hand-painted Italian coffee set?” Usually, I can’t.)
An auction is often bittersweet. It’s usually a sale of the belongings of someone who died. The woman who owned this cabinet was 97 when she died. I met someone who was her neighbor for almost 50 years. Many of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were at the sale. They actually helped me load the cabinet into my truck at the end of the day. After looking at the massive amount of belongings for sale, I got to thinking about the things the family did not sell — photos and family heirlooms — and all the things we accumulate in a lifetime.
I hope this cabinet has some happy memories attached to it. I hope to add to them over the years.
Cathy was right. They’re called hedge balls here, but they’re also known as hedge apples, as she said, or Osage oranges, as Bob said, or even and horse apples, as Becky said — although, ahem, horse apples meant something different where I come from.
Other fun names include wild orange, bois d’arc, bodark (or bowdark mainly in Oklahoma and Texas), bodart (in northwest Louisiana), bodock (mainly in Tennessee and Alabama), and bow wood, monkey brain, monkey ball, monkey orange and brain fruit.
You’re supposed to put them around the house to keep the bugs away, although some governmental agency apparently gives hedge-ball harvesters a hard time because the whole bug thing is not a scientific fact. Oh well.
I take it back about sending one in the mail. Bob was right. They’re getting pretty darn disgusting. They’re slimy, and they smell worse than they look. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be the most pleasant thing to get in the mail. Besides … ewww.
In any case, here’s some fun and amusing information about hedge balls.
