Carnivore

Meat has always been one of those things we eat that I'm bit up-in-the-air about. 

Growing up, I never liked steak. Both times my mother cooked steak it was hard to cut, even more difficult to chew, and had so little flavor, the peas tasted better. I never knew until years later that a good steak has to be a better cut than flank, be a little (or a lot) pink in the middle, and served with something other than peas. 

 Chicken wasn't a lot better. I don't remember ever having chicken any way other than fried when I was a kid. It was always dry, although I really liked the skin. But I would never order chicken in a restaurant, never went to KFC, and would rather starve before ordering chicken strips from the Chicken-Fillet fast food in the neighborhood. Actually I really hated chicken. That is, until a few years ago, when Steve learned to grill it. Now chicken is my favorite food - but only if Steve cooks it (I do an imitation of it that's passable). 

Roast beef is another of those things that haven't been on my favorites list. I can't really tell you why, it might be because, over the years, I made it so many times that it just doesn't sound appetizing. Sort of in the same category as beans and cornbread. I make roast occasionally because my family usually likes it, but it's just not something my taste buds look forward to. Not even with ketchup.

Today was an exception. A few months ago Jenny and Ross visited, bringing some South Dakota beef that may have made me consider cooking a roast again - if I can somehow manage to get another hunk of cow from their chilly state. Even prepared in the crock-pot this roast managed to make me take seconds.

Beef from South Dakota definitely tastes fabulous.  The prime rib we had at Jenny and Ross's wedding could be cut with a spoon and melted in your mouth. I've never in my life had beef like that, and probably never will again.

After considering my experience with meats, it's surprising I didn't become a vegetarian at some point. Good thing I didn't though, or I would never have known the fabulous flavor of bovine flesh born and raised in South Dakota. Yep, it's good to be a carnivore. I'm just glad I didn't know this fellow's name.

Ask the animals

Animals talk. I've known it for years and most of the time I can tell you what one of my animals are trying to say. My dog might tell me he wants to go out, watch TV, or even have a piece of cheese. The cat might say to me, "Pay attention to me" or "Get out of bed" and sometimes "That other cat outside scares me."

The goats often tell me who the biggest bully is and sometimes how fed up they are with having Yogi pester them. They tell me it's dinner time and, quite often, that I'm late again. Once in a while they tell me I left the gate open. They have differing ways of communicating these important facts, but it's still talking. Sometimes using their voices and other times, body language.
And because my animals talk I don't often ask them the more obvious questions. They usually communicate the most important information to me, so why would I?

Well, the time has come that I am going to either start having to ask an important question, or take Biology 101 - because I'm totally crappy at identifying the gender of my cats.  Granted, one of the cats (Sassy) did turn out to be a "cryptorchid." That's where the male body parts are internalized, so they don't actually look like a male. Hence, he got a girl's name. So I can safely claim "It's NOT my fault!"


Other times though, it has been my fault. In sexing Bailey I just goofed. Not a male after all - and I seem to have made the exact same mistake with Felix. 

After my vet finished laughing at me, she did say I should just keep the name Felix for her. After all, it's not really a specifically male name. And most cats don't know their names anyway, it's mainly just for us to know who the heck we are talking about.

If you happen to need someone to figure out the gender of your cat, maybe don't call me, not until I enroll in that biology class. Although, I might have better luck just asking the animals.

Magazine cover?

Another winter wonderland

Woke to new snow - wet and wonderful. Now to see if I can go out and get back up the driveway.

From the inside looking out - or not

Oh the life of a cat at my house. These barn cats have it made tonight, all sleeping in the laundry room instead of the barn or garage. 

That's because tomorrow is Vet day, and I don't want the frustration of not being able to find them at 7:30 in the morning. Felix is becoming a home-body tomorrow, just like his adopted brothers did last year, and everyone else is going in for shots. I didn't want Felix to feel alone inside so brought them all in to sleep and keep each other company.


They love their cat tree - I did not put them here, they just like to sleep in this thing all together and somehow don't even seem to miss sleeping in the barn. 
Imagine that!


Baby thinks it's funny to go in the laundry room (usually off limits to her) and see three cats who normally never come in.  She's really in love with Felix - she's definitely not going to be superstitious!


Andy's not too fond of these critters living in here, even for a night, he can't get out the doggy door. Bailey has nothing to say about it, she's at the Vet today getting her toes declawed. 


Tomorrow, Yogi goes for shots, too. Except no sleeping in the laundry for him.

Three inches and counting

I should have had someone install my weather pot - my rainfall and snowfall gauge before today. 
It started snowing about 2 pm and we've already got three inches. I can't wait to see how much we have by morning.

It's German

I love it when people cherish things handed down in a family. Little things that that have a simple rhyme or reason.

For instance, I have an old set of silver my mother gave me, that her mother gave her. It's pretty worthless, is only silver plate and pretty worn out, but I don't mind. It's part of our family tradition, to own something silver that you take out once a year, so the neighbors don't think you're totally destitute.

Actually I used to use that silver every day until I realized it makes my food taste funny. I guess the neighbors are just going to have to ponder.

Sometimes old things are treasured not for their monetary value, but posterity. 
Like this Knobloch jar. Annie and Stevie gave me this for Christmas.  It's a traditional German garlic pot, and a part of Annie's heritage. Annie may have panicked a bit when she learned I don't like blue, but there's a difference between Dutch blue and German blue - one I can handle and even like.  
The dish is really special to me, not only because Annie cared enough to share that part of herself with me, but also because I use a lot of garlic, and have never had a good spot to put it. This dish keeps the garlic fresh, free from molding or sprouting roots. It also fits very nicely with the jars on my island. The shape is perfect.

Heritage and heirlooms are a beautiful part of us. They give us a way to show who we are and where we came from. So now we know, Annie came out of a garlic dish instead of a genie jar.  No wonder Stevie fell for her.

Just grate

I learned something new over Christmas; that I'm old fashioned and a bit out-of-date. I remembered the truth of this when I was making our favorite salad yesterday, while grating the cheese and carrots. 
When I had a house full of kids, we bought foods like pinto and white beans, eggs, peanut butter, and cheese in bulk from a food co-op. That's where a group of people meet together each month and agree to order giant amounts of food from distributors in order to keep down costs. It worked wonderfully, and allowed us to eat nicer meals with plenty of our favorite foods. I made my own bread and tortillas, grated my own cheese, cooked beans in a pot on the wood stove (from the 25 lb. bag of beans we'd gotten from the co-op). We got hoards of potatoes, too, and I'd make stew, smashed potatoes, shepherd's pie, and hash browns. Once in a while I'd splurge and even order a little meat.

Ah, those were the days. I dare anyone to ask the woman who does this stuff what she's accomplished all day. Luckily for all parties involved, no one ever actually asked me that except a couple of ignorant by-stander neighbors who truly had no concept of what it meant to be a full-time homemaker and mother. 

I loved that job. I remembered just how much over Christmas when I was making our annual Christmas morning breakfast burritos. That's also when I realized how old-fashioned I was, when it came time to do the grating. I thought everyone owned a grater (I own three myself, not counting the food processors). I use a grater for all sorts of things; potatoes for hash-browns, carrots for salad, zucchini, cabbage, even cheese. These days it's getting harder to find pre-grated cheese that doesn't have additives (which, by the way, aren't always gluten free). A grater is a must for any old-time homemaker - at least those from the 70s, 80s, and 90s.  I don't mind if graters aren't standard kitchen items these days, as long as my kitchen has one. That's one invention I'm just not willing to replace. 

I know, I'm stuck in a time warp again. But don't worry dear daughters, I won't force you to use these old implements, or even own one. I'll just bring mine along next time so we don't have to call the neighbors early in the morning. That's of course, if I'm doing any cooking.

Cover up

My dining room is getting a face lift! 

William's getting ready to mud my wall so I can paint it red. I'm really glad about getting rid of the ridiculously gross wallpaper that was on there. 
He's spent the entire day building a nice little cover-up cage to keep the rest of the room clean from the dust while he works.

I'm so excited - we've already picked out the color red we want. It's going to be beautiful!!

Too fast

Babies grow up too fast. First they stop wearing newborn sizes, then they start laughing, then walking. Before we know it they're 12, then 20. I wonder if a time continuum makes time go any slower? I would love to live those years in slow motion.

Baby Alora is walking. I visited a few days after New Years and got to see it first hand. The other kids are growing, too but I didn't get any video of them. So today Alora is the star.

Camping In

 I called the fire department today.
 Actually, it was the forestry service, since we live outside the city limits. 

Winter is the best time to burn stumps and logs, and some of the mess made from cutting trees down last year.

First William made a big fire. We let it burn a day and make a big pile of ash, then William stoked it, and buried three big yams wrapped in tin foil beneath the ash. 

Camping is all about hot dogs, mustard, and marshmallows out on the fire after dark - plus sitting around the fire getting warm. William was all ready for us, fire hot, hangers all straightened, waiting to be pushed toward the flame. 

Michelle got the absolute best hot dogs I've ever had - Angus dogs that cooked so well over the hot coals and flames, we ate the entire package.

Then William dug up the yams and fed us. Baby loves cooked yams, almost as much as her mother.
 

For dessert we roasted marshmallows and watched baby climb all over the dog.  

The best part of this camping trip was our nice warm beds just inside. All the benefits of a camping trip, plus the comforts of home.

Overwhelmed

This is Whole Foods in Los Angeles, near Farmers Market and the Grove. You are looking at a small portion of the Gluten Free aisle. I couldn't get the whole area in one camera shot.  There were four aisles of food dedicated to GF products.
It's an understatement to say I was overwhelmed. 

Never before had I seen so many GF products in one place. I had no idea where to begin. In fact, I hardly bought anything.  It took my breath away seeing that much food labeled strictly for people like me (and Michelle) who are GF challenged. It was impressive.

Last year about this time the Dickson Walmart (where, sadly, I do much of my shopping) reorganized their store. Thankfully they made room for a small aisle of Gluten Free foods, for certain people who have to avoid the nasty substance. I am grateful for this contribution, since the GF diet isn't a simple dietary choice for some of us. 

Tonight's dinner made me think of (or dream about) this aisle again. Somehow we mistakenly purchased a product that did not agree with us, leaving Michelle and I feeling puny, even if it did taste good for a few minutes.

The good news is, there's a lot of spaghetti left for William's lunch. He'll probably be eating sauce and noodles for the next several days.  Good thing William likes pasta.

What Papas will do

It's a funny thing what Papas will do for babies. Like dressing dollies for the little girls,

or wearing kitty ears,

or eating baby feet.



Papas might be silly but the kiddos seem to appreciate it.

Snow day

Good snowy morning

Bad dreams lately?

I know someone who has really weird dreams. Actually I know a few people (and they may or may not include myself or my children), but this one person I know has repeated dreams about disturbing characters.

Zombies. 

I have never figured out why people like zombies. Vampires I get-they're dark, sexy, and mysterious: ghosts and ghouls-creepy and exhilarating: aliens are out of this world entertaining. But zombies?

Actually, I don't even think this person I know likes zombies, but still she dreams about them. It's mostly the same dream, about being chased or attacked by zombies. 

So why would a person dream about a fictitious character they don't even like?  

Some people say that people dream about zombies because of their underlying belief in life after death. 

Other people say that to dream you are attacked by zombies, indicates you are feeling overwhelmed by forces beyond your control. You are under tremendous stress in your waking life. The dream represents your fears of being helpless and overpowered. 

To see or dream that you are a zombie, suggests that you are physically and/or emotionally detached from people and situations currently surrounding you. You are feeling out of touch. Additionally, dreaming that you are a zombie means that you are feeling dead inside. You are just going through the motions of daily living. Not a good thing.

Or, of course, dreaming about zombies could simply mean that zombies are coming.

I have never understood why people enjoy stories and films about zombies. I still don't totally understand it, but now at least I slightly understand a little about zombie lore.  

There are a variety of Zombies, which I found out when trying to figure out why people like them. Check this out.

Dad gets educated

Dad just got an American Doll education, and (don't tell too many of
his friends) I think he enjoyed it.