Swamp Musings

..continued from previous post. Since I had acquired lamb tits (it was labeled breast of lamb) on the Wednesday shopping trip it seemed to me a nice night to cook up a decent meal. Now I dearly love lamb and each time shopping I have to look. The new store had leg 'o marked down 20% which meant the fetal leg which was about twice the size of my fist was "only" $30. It's hard to enjoy a meal when it costs a buck per forkful! The lamb tits were cheaper than hamburger and the store screwed up as it was a rack of lamb! Fetal lamb of course but what the heck. Garlic & rosemary plus some Crosse & Blackwell at hand and a large Castro Valley thistle with homemade Hollandaise sauce (the first lemons are ready off the tree which also means the speckled-water trout are probably running off Horseshoe) and just-baked homemade bread made my innards all happy. Sleepytime happy however there were all those nice scraps the little dawggies would enjoy. One big handful for each and someday I'm gonna draw back a couple of hands with all the meat sucked off the bones! As Friday night was clear, brightly lit, and nicely nippish, it was time to pronounce "Night Hike!" No jungle hike, just a mile or so up and back the lane to the big field to enjoy the sky canopy and the gals hauling arse off chasing cottontails. Came back just cold enough to appreciate the old unheated earth shelter, de-stiffened from the day's labors, and re-affirmed why I live here. Supper dishes? They'll keep. The morning's electronic project could keep as well. Since I'm in the process of re-reading the 3 dozen or so John D. MacDonald books in the collection and was on a 1953 title that has gone unread for a decade or so, it was time for Radio Margaritaville on the hi-fi, a glass of pineapple juice, and the can of cashews I'd spoiled myself with last shopping trip! Settled in to the former 1941 mortuary bed and life was good. The gals lit up with "children of the night, what music they make!" probably due to a neighborhood sing and I was awful tempted put on some britches and go out and join in but it was all nice and warm, the sheriff had just found the bodies of the adulterous wife and traveling salesman under the garage slab, and Radio Margaritaville was at lullaby level. Pineapple juice and cashews are a perfect complement and morphos was soon to visit.

Then it happened. A sound and sensation truly Lovecraftian. I was mildly disappointed with the cashews as the store brand (50% off) were not as greasy or salty as the premiums, probably partly due to lamb being so greasy, still nice to pop one in and enjoy the texture until that last one. The most godawful crunch. Two lower molars I've been fond of for most of a half century were not up to the strength of compression of a pebble. Bone conduction sound of grinding rocks. Try getting that earworm out of your head. After spitting out the remains of teeth my evening kinda went downhill.

Could have been worse. My dentist was a splendidly healthy fella, married forever to the same gal with the same interests in horticulture, fishing, and both being Mormon, lived the healthy lifestyle. I knew his age and the first time I met her at a IFAS open house on hydroponics in '99, I was thinking trophy wife! Lots to be said for a reasonable attitude on tending oneself. He dropped dead fishing at the ripe old age of 62. Could have passed for 42. Ask not sayeth Mr. Dunne.

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Can't get too worked up about politics at all anymore. Moonbat McPatton, a.k.a. "The Honorable John P. Murtha" has shot himself in the ass with that "War in Iraq" posting. Read around if you wish, I did. Pitiful. The JAWA report did a bit of a job on the fellow with Murtha Has History of Urging Cut & Run and additional linkage. Yeah, I toobed ABC and watched the Main Spin Media take. Just pitiful.

Another piece of pitifulness was Venezuela to Provide Discount Oil to Mass. Kennedy and Kerry's state. Sponsored by Rep. William D. Delahunt who represents the Tenth Congressional District of Massachusetts -- which includes Cape Cod, the Islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, and Boston's South Shore, from Quincy to Plymouth. Obviously accepting foreign aid from Fidel's suck-buddy shows communism is a powerful force for good in the great state of Mass.

At least Emily Proctor is still on CSI: Miami and that's enough to cause me to keep a teevee! When she gets killed off it'll do to my viewing habits what the death of #3 did to my following of NASCAR. Haven't watched a race since. Dale was just plain-old good at what he did, Emily is an actress simulacrum of a few ladies I truly enjoy and respect.

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18 years old:



Had a halfway decent freeze down here in the hole last night. Since I don't hunt meat until after one, might just go shoot myself a Thanksgiving rabbit tonight after I clean up the old .22 target pistol. The poor thing is a bag of rust after being ignored all the wet, sweaty Summer.