Assortment

Goodness Gracious & My, my, my

 

We may be ruined for good. 

All by a quiet, unassuming wedge of tender Gouda--Belgian Gouda--I might add, hand-picked in a little cheese shop on the quiet Dutch side of St. Martin Island in the Lesser Antilles. 

It was part of a wheel purchased there by a friend, who well knows his way around cheese.  We happily accepted his quarter-round gift and began tasting with irresistible nibbles here and there, but finally succumbed to throwing up or hands and having it for dinner next to crisp, sweet apples and nutty whole-grain crackers.  For dinner!

And all I can say is my, my, my! 

I could talk about  depth and complexity of flavor, about smoothness balancing the fine edge of sharpness, about how you know, when you have it in your mouth, that this is the real deal, and it would all be true.  This cheese makes the standard Kraft Mild Cheddar seem brassy, contrived, and a bit cheesy, not unlike a woman wearing gaudy costume earrings and too much bubble-gum pink lipstick. 

Our wedge is dwindling fast, and I'm concerned for us all.  Kraft has never dealt us a bad turn, but after this Gouda, I just don't think we can go back. 

St. Martin is a bit far from here, but I'm sure we can figure something out.

Well, Well, Well

Five days ago:

     

Two days later: 

And three days after that:

 

 

Didn't even get around to hiding the seeds under soil, or covering the tray in plastic wrap, like I'd planned!  

Guess who's snickerin' now? 

Bigfoot 101

 

There's a boy in this house, a nine-year-old boy, whose interest in Bigfoot runs deeper than he is tall. 

There are Bigfoot warnings made by him and posted in the boy room, one says (and I quote), "Caution: Serieous Bigfoot Territory!", there's a two-foot "life size" Bigfoot sketch on the wall, and there are near daily Bigfoot sketches on the table, not to mention a novel edition as well as a comic edition of his original book entitled, A Bigfoot-Sized Mystery.  He's cleaned out the libraries in two counties of all their Bigfoot related books and has thoroughly researched any and every movie he can find about these tall hairy creatures, all the while wearing his Bigfoot t-shirt.  

This boy has been wanting to post Bigfoot information here for quite some time, because you never know who might need it or want it.  So, for his special boy night last night (he and I got to stay up later than anyone else and do whatever he wanted), he decided it was high time for his long-awaited Bigfoot post.  Are you surprised?  Are you ready?

Here, in his words is:

 

Bigfoot 101

Bigfoot is a huge, hairy, man-like bi-ped creature.  As my mom said, I am extremely interested in him.  He has five toes, although the Australian Bigfoot called Yowie, has four.  Even stranger, the Bigfoot creature in the movie Legend of Boggy Creek, has three! 

It is said to live in the forests of North America, mostly in California... and Colorado, I think.  Bigfoot has many names.  In China they call him Yer-en.  In the Himalayas they call him Yeti, and on the Asian island of Borneo, he is called the Orange Pendek.  In the northwestern part of North America they call him Sasquatch. 

There have been many Bigfoot hoaxes, like the one at Bluff Creek, California, in 1967.  Two men, named Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin (also known as Robert Gimlin), set out on their horses to Six Rivers National Park.  They packed a gorilla suit on one of their horses.  Gimlin put it on, and hid behind a tree (so no one would see him too soon) until he was signaled by Patterson.  He walked in a timber-littered part of the Park.  Patterson recorded Gimlin as he strode behind a huge pile of boulders.  This film is the most famous piece of evidence (or so the believers thought) of Bigfoot.  In fact, it is so famous, whenever you read a book or watch a documentary of Bigfoot, it's impossible not to see it (unless you lived before the 60's, which you probably didn't). 

I haven't been able to figure out why I like Bigfoot, and I just don't know why. 

Although Bigfoot is said to be harmless, like he was in Harry and the Hendersons, some stories go a little bit too far, like the one at Ape Canyon , where a whole group of Bigfoot started bombarding a home with humongous boulders.  Obviously, if you bombarded a home with boulders, the home would have a lot of holes in it.  A Bigfoot reached inside one of these "holes", and grabbed an ax (this is where it gets a little too out of hand), and tried to hack somebody in half.  Had it not been for the gun in the hands of the man inside the house, the Bigfoot might have succeeded.  But he dropped the ax.  Now, does that sound a little bit far-fetched to you?  I bet. 

Another one which gets out of hand is the story about Albert Ostman.  It was said that he was "kidnapped" by a Bigfoot, and brought to its home way up in the mountains.  He realized that there was a whole family of Bigfoots.  A father, mother, son, and daughter.  Whenever Ostman tried to get away, the father would bring him back.  The father got really into Ostman's tobacco, and ate a whole bunch.  The tobacco made him really thirsty, and while the father Bigfoot went to get a drink of water, Ostman had the chance to escape.  I think that Bigfoot is a little too primitive to have the brains to kidnap someone.  That is also very disbelieve-able. 

For further information, I recommend these books:  Bigfoot by Steve Burgen (a book in the series Edgebooks), also, another one named Bigfoot, author unknown (to me), which is a book in the series Strange Encounters, Field Guide to the Sasquatch, also one that I don't know the author's name.  The movies I recommend are: Harry and the Henderson's, Last Chance Detectives: Mystery of the Desert Bigfoot, and The Legend of Boggy Creek (I haven't seen this one yet, so I can't really recommend it yet, but I think it's going to be awesome.  We rented it on Netflix, so it's coming either tomorrow or Friday.  My mom and dad are going to screen it first.  If I do get to see it at all, I'm thinking of watching it during the day.) 

This is the end of  Bigfoot 101.

Until next time,

 

The Nine-Year-Old Boy

 

 

Snickerin' Wheat-berries

 

I've been itchin'. 

The potting bench has been calling to me (hollering, actually).  

I thought it would be fun to have a tray of wheat-grass with rocks tucked in here and there (think Ireland's countryside) sitting on the dining table for St. Patrick's Day (please, can we retire the green construction paper shamrocks?).  It was a fun thought.  Good thing another St. Patrick's Day will be here before I know it (!).  Good thing, too, that ideas can be modified for the next holiday to come around the corner.  

Like Easter. 

Now, that's a fun thought: a hammered metal tray sprouting fresh, spring-green wheat-grass sitting on the dining table, wooden eggs peeking out here and there from between the blades (can we retire the plastic Easter eggs, too?). 

 Good thing my potting bench went to hollerin' or I mighta missed that one, too.

 

Although I've gardened along the way from the time I was a girl pulling weeds on my hands and knees alongside my grandpa, I've never planted wheat.  But, it couldn't be too hard, now could it?

I didn't think so.  That's why I didn't read up on it first.  Ahem.

 

Of, course, I had wheat-seed sowing help.  I always have help.  Even more than my fair share at times, I'm sure. 

But, my, he was a good seed sower.  So thorough.  Ag is in his blood, if I'm not mistaken. 

The seeds looked all tan and happy lying there in their bed of earth.  If I had paid more attention I may have heard them snickering to each other.  Snickering because they knew I'd never before planted wheat, that I hadn't stopped to read about how to grow wheat, and that they'd sprout much more quickly if I'd soaked them in water for 8 hours first.  

   

Snickerin' wheat-berries. 

I have to say, though, in my own defense, that the thought that maybe I should have soaked them first did cross my mind as I was giving them a good soaking with the spritzer.  But, I was in this far, and there was no turning back.

 

We'll just see how they like being under a soft blanket of warm, moist soil that's been covered, nice and cozy, in plastic wrap.  

It might take a few extra days, but in the end, we'll see whose snickering.

  

Caesar & Perrier, For The Girls

 

A lovely weekend evening with Caesar, Perrier, and my good friend. 

Oh, and a movie, too, which never was played, what with all the chit chat and all.

It was all good, I say.  Nothin' but good.

 

And Then...There's This

 

Over the Humps

 

 

My six little feet and I took to the trail on the flat Florida ground. 

Sometimes I wonder if these guys will turn out alright.  I mean, there are no hills here. 

No hills. 

No bumps, no lumps. 

No hills.

So, I wondered, "Can a boy grow up alright without experiencing what it's like to build a slap-dash, rip-slash, rough-shod scooter just for the sole purpose of careening at break-neck speed clear to the bottom of the biggest hill around, the wild wind and his equally wild brothers yee-hawing in his ears the whole wild way?"

"And what about hamstrings?" I wondered some more. "Will they even know that they have hamstrings if they've never hiked up an incline that's steep enough to use them?  Every boy should know about his hamstrings!"

All this was flat-out worrisome to me as we walked along on this flat Florida ground.

Alongside the lake, we took the hog trail that cuts off through the palmettos, like we do when we're feeling adventursome, which is most of the time.  We kept our eyes peeled for anything new we hadn't seen before. 

We weren't disappointed.

 

Evidence of the food chain was found near the eagle's nest.  Thank you,  Mr. Rabbit, for your sacrifice.  

Not too far beyond that, we came upon the Mystery of the Corn...

   

Hard corn kernels on the ground in the middle of the woods.  Hmmm. 

Never did figure that one out.  (I'm sure the forest animals enjoyed it without trying to figure it out.)

Never figured it out, because the swamp was right there, just beyond the corn.  Or, what used to be the swamp.  Now it was all dried up, and we could hike back in where we hadn't been able to hike before!  This was clearly more exciting to put one's mental effort toward.  Corn, schmorn.

The newness of this wild place piqued every nerve.  We were alert, walking through brush, dead grass, and small southern pines.   

Then, we saw them.

Humps. 

Honest-to-goodness Seuss-looking hills!

Really, they were a stand of 10-15 foot-tall pine trees that had succumbed to the suffocation of a wildly invasive vine that had completely engulfed the trees in a feathery-green net.  Seuss-hills.

Gasp! Did I say hills?

I definately did!

You know what's comin.'

You do.

 

Hills were made for climbin'!

 

These guys were brave.  They were gallant.  They were tough.

 

They were using their hamstrings to my heart's content!

 

A hill, is a hill, is a hill--to a boy!

 

Even if it looks like it came straight from the pages of Hop on Pop!

 

And, you know, what goes up, must come down...

 

Landing on a green mattress?  What's not to love?

 

Weeeell, uh, it's a little steep from way up here, he's thinking.

Some prefer a little caution in their adventure.

Others aren't sure what caution is, and they don't want to stop to find out.

They climbed, they slid, they jumped, then did it all over again. 

The sun was setting, it was dinnertime, and they wanted to stay. 

Could I blame them? 

They were climbing hills in Florida!

Be, Some More

When I look at these peaceful knobs of white, I think  of what be is for me...

 

Be in the moment.

 

Be still.

Be

 

Be cozy.

 

  Be silly.

(He stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni)

 

 

Be adventurous.

 

Be sandy.

 

Be all that you can.  Every day.

 

 

Yep, It's Florida

It's exciting when your whole family is crowded anxiously around Daddy's laptop, listening to the monotone count-down to the lift-off of the Discovery space shuttle and watching the amazing on-screen sight of the initial ignition of the forces that harness enough power to thrust this ship into space.  

It's even more exciting when, seconds later, Daddy says, "Let's go, let's go!" and every body in your family jumps up, tears outside like their butts are on fire, and looks to the northern sky, leaving the laptop and NASA's monotone voices talking to no one.  

And then you see it, there through the trees, like a white-hot torch searing through evenings' dusk.

All up and down the street, neighbors begin coming out their front doors, onto their front lawns and into the street, pointing and shouting, "There it is!"  just like you.   Kids are running and jumping like it's the Fourth of July.

  

It's like that. 

Only more exciting. 

And not so loud. 

   

It's a quick celebration, though.  Short and sweet.  Because by this time, the shuttle is traveling at nearly 7000 miles per hour. 

Then it's gone.  

And all you see is the glint of the sun on the separated fuel tanks as they fall toward their ocean grave, and the contrail as it expands and fluffs, the post script of an astronaut's day.  

Yep, it's Florida.