Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Unsure of how to spin the tale of how this came to be - I'll just say that the powers that be in the Media Machine have decreed that there should be barbecue footage and due to scheduling conflicts, I will be rotissing my first chicken early tomorrow morning.
Unfortunately, and to the dismay of said Media Machine, none of our friends will be able to join us for an outdoor hullabaloo. At 7:30 in the morning. On a Thursday. Before work. Yeah.
Bravely, and alone, I set out to plan our "party" today.
First I should say that I have no idea how to use a rotisserie. Not to mention, this grill... it intimidates me. The lid? Just a guess, but I'm gonna say it weighs roughly 748 pounds. BUT, I managed to figure out how to light the whole thing and let it burn for a half hour like the delivery guys said. Step one. Check.
Step two, finding a recipe. The book that came with the grill only has a recipe for turkey. Strike. I looked on-line and found something seemingly easy. However, it did mention the not so smallish detail of tying up my bird.
I stuck my nose in The Joy of Cooking and followed the instructions for a "Simple Truss" and bondaged my chicken as best I could. However, based on a few different Law and Order episodes, I have a feeling my chicken will manage to strangle and somehow frame me before the day is done.
Now, perhaps because it's supposed to be obvious, but more likely it has something to do with the fact that there was no chicken recipe in that book (only mention of a turkey) there were no instructions on how to put poultry ON the rotisserie thingy.
I think my birdie is too small. Or my grill is too large. Far too large.
Regardless. My spices are prepared for the crack of dawn.
I bought a plant for the table.
And now that I'm home from Bed Bath and Beyond where I had to buy a turkey baster and meat thermometer, I've begun preparing some of the requisite barbecue side dishes and snacks. For... two? I guess?
My brow has barely unfurrowed all day... it's been just that confusing.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I'm pretty sure that of all the various bedroom accoutrements, the heating pad is one thing that could never, ever be considered sexy.
Mine, I must say, is especially splendid having been inherited by marriage thus making it 8 years old by default and assumingly 20 years older than that. The cover is pilled and horrible, but I'm afraid that if I wash it, it might simply disentegrate. Therefore, I put a pillowcase on my heating pad.
Picture the rediculousness for a moment. I mean, it's not like it fits.
So here I am, sinus pressure a rage - toting my heating pad from room to room like Linus with his blanket, cord trailing behind, and it occurs to me that at some point I have clearly given up many things fashionable for the sake of comfort. The other night, as I thought a wedge shaped pillow would really make things a lot more comfortable I realized that this was part of getting older.
I think looking at a persons bed can give you a glimpse into what decade of their life they are experiencing. Maybe not in actual years, but in mind set. I clearly remember my bed being covered in teddy bears and winnings from Riverside Amusement Park. Then, the body pillow. For a while, I needed to have all the decorative pillows that came with my bedset.
Now, I'm on to the wedge pillow. I put myself in my late 70's. Early 80's tops.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I was thinking last night about how we say "An" before a word that begins with a vowel. It makes good sense. "A apple", for example - just sounds silly. And then, there's "An historic event". What? Why do we do that? Since when does the letter "H" get to be a part of this vowel business?
As I drifted further into slumber, and my thoughts got arguably sillier and sounding more blog worthy, I thought of the early settlers of our country. No doubt those people who made up some of these rules. I got to wondering if they didn't have British accents.
Maybe Hello - that was pronounced, "ello". Chucking "An" before an "H" makes perfect sense when you never pronounce that "H", ya know? "An istoric event" lets say. And, lets say it with a bit of English flair, if you please.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Many of you may also recall the state of said yard, the pinnacle of which - the "deck" or platform really, because it long ago lost its railings - really, really needed to come down. It was rotten and an eye sore when we bought the house.
Work began last week, but because of the weather - only one real day of much got accomplished. Today however, all contractor hell broke loose here at camp. Things were delivered, dumped, cut, chopped, chipped, and orchestrated in such a fashion that I almost feel like what happened at 9am was yesterday. That makes sense right?
Things are going well with this exception. I'm not really sure who anyone is, and it's far too late to ask. I've been working with these people for about a week now, and everyone has introduced himself to me with a handshake and a really All-American name. "Scott", "Tim", "Rob", There may have even been a "John" in the mix, I'm not sure and I'm almost positive that there are not one but two Scott's - just for good measure.
Here we are. I have my mind on my lawn. My kid. Her spitting up on her self, myself, and other selves - on camera. Oh yes, my mind is also on the cameras, and in the very back of my mind - I'm playing Contractor Who's Who. It's fine, really - until they ask me a question about someone.
"So, did Brian talk to you about the tree?"
"Um. I think so." I say.
"Did Tom go over the plans for the mulch with you?"
"Oh... he was here yesterday, right?"
Uh huh. No idea what I'm talking about. And I know it's really obvious.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Do you think it’s possible that the roots of all the weird plants in the entire world grow directly into my yard?
Digging away yesterday, minding my own business, I found this.
I’ll admit it, for a minute I thought it was a wire. Living in a part of Colonial America, I’ve seen some that resemble this. Once I regained my senses, I pulled and followed. My detective skills led me in two directions – under the steps of the deck, and under the grass, towards the ferns I have yet to de-weed.
I don’t get it. It’s a root of nothing. Or maybe it only wants me to think that.
Down towards the back of the yard, there’s these leaves. Big ones.
Curious, I asked Matt what they were. Curious, Matt got a shovel. Curious, we both scratched our heads.
My first thought with a big smile was “Carrots”! It didn’t take me long under Matt’s smirk to snap out of that false identification. As it turns out, there’s about a 50’ square network of these, all rooted together underground. Perfect.
Our yard belongs to the wild. The violets have clear control of the lawn
the Squirrels use it for storage
and a (flock, school, group, gaggle?) of ants has now taken over my little garden, thanks to a muffin “crumb” Matt chucked in there. They startled me out of my flip-flops when I was watering and the ground started moving.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Things have been busy though, so...
But let me stop with the excuses - the promises - the yadda yadda and get to my thoughts today. I got the email that some of you may have as well... clean out your Yahoo archives! Move em! Save em! Tattoo em on your arm... but do something, cause they're going by the wayside.
So I did. And I read some. And it made me want to write again. I guess I never stopped wanting to write, but it made me want to get myself in gear and do it. What better time to jump in than while I have the most incredibly blog worthy event going on in my back yard?
But I'm writing it at a new-mom pace, which means maybe not a blog a day. In the mean time - I'll be posting some old Yahoo blogs. Getting back into the swing...