  Ha! I bet you thought that I am going to educate you on people who refuse to accept the fact that this earth on which we live is a three dimensional sphere! Nope. I’m going to talk about travelers who are flat! Really, really flat. Well, yes…I know. I have been remiss in posting over the past few weeks. But we have been up to our elbows in soap…200 pounds of the stuff. We are preparing for the Central Oklahoma Lavender and Herb Festival at the farm of Country Cottage Primatives on June 1st. If you would like to have a lovely day of classes, vendors and lavender picking, set aside this day and make your way to this beautiful place. Look for our canopy and be sure to introduce yourselves!! Oh! And we did have our April drawing and Janet Black of Weatherford, Oklahoma was the winner of the canning tool set. Thank you for all of the entries. Stay tuned for the next give away. I have been working on this post for two days. That’s ridiculous. But I had it nearly finished yesterday, hit ‘save draft’ and instead of saving my draft, it got wiped out!! All of it!! There was some glitch that I have not figured out. It happened again this morning. I hit save again and it said, “You do not have permission to edit this document” and, “kerplooey!” everything was gone. I came very close to losing my normally pretty even temper with a shoe through the computer screen. But I didn’t and so third time is charm. But back to Flat People…Facebook is awesome. There were so many people about whom I have wondered over the years, having lost touch with them for as many as 45 years. Facebook has put me in touch with those wonderful people, letting me see what they look like, what they are doing, what accomplishments they’ve made, their families and it has given me a chance to rekindle old relationships. One of those people, a former high school friend and classmate, Carol, contacted me and told me about a geography project in which her 8 year old granddaughter, Ali, was participating. The students were sending a paper doll, drawn by each student, out to as many people as they could find to be photographed at locations that would introduce the students to new and wonderful places. The doll’s name is Flat Stacy. Mr. Fix-It and I volunteered to take Flat Stacy on our 2000 mile trip recently. It meant that we would stop along the way and take pictures of Flat Stacy in front of places of interest that we thought would be useful to the class. Now, there is nothing like watching the looks on people’s faces as a gray haired woman happily slaps a laminated, cut-out paper person that has been created by an 8 year old, up against some landmark to then step back and shoot pictures with a pretty nice camera. I figure that they wrote me off as some demented older person. But there WAS one place where a couple of young, college-age girls bounced up to ask, “That’s one of those flat people projects, isn’t it?! We did that when we were in school!” They hadn’t been out of school long enough to forget those kinds of things!! I do wonder, though, if they thought that I was somehow still in the third grade!! Mr. Fix-It joined into the project with gusto. Normally, ready to drive without stopping until bladders are screaming for mercy, he would see a sign and say, “Heh! That looks like a good place for a Flat Stacy picture!” and we would detour from our designated route to take in a site, complete with pictures to prove it. I just love that man. Anyhow, I thought that I would share with you just a few of the many places that we visited on Flat Stacy’s behalf. And Carol also sent me a recipe, to try, that her children, grandchildren and their friends brag about and can’t wait to eat when they are at her home. My granddaughter and I had a cooking day and tried these delicious treats so the recipe is posted below.  We stopped in Tupelo, Mississippi to visit the birthplace of Elvis Presley. Very impressive. Flat Stacy had her picture made with the “King” in front of the Tupelo City Hall.  Flat Stacy looked for the checkered flag at Talladega International Speedway in Alabama. I looked for Ricky Bobby.  In Newnan, Georgia, we found Flat Stacy’s store – or, at least it SAID it was her store! She was kinda dwarfed by the structure.  Outside of Wilmore, Kentucky, Flat Stacy had her picture made at Shaker Town, in front of a rock fence that was built before the Civil War.  Our little, long-haired dachshund, Ellie, was Flat Stacy’s traveling companion. Unfortunately, Ellie wasn’t feeling very good on this trip and when we got back and her to the vet, we were sad to find out that she is suffering from congestive heart failure. She is too young for that – just 8 years old. We are treating her with natural remedies and prescription medication to help her quality of life. We want to keep her around for a long time because she is such a joy in our life!  Near Mitchellville, Tennessee, Mr. Fix-It spotted these flat people who were just like Flat Stacy! In doing the research to find out about this sculpture, I found that the state of Tennessee has commissioned artists to do sculptures for each of the welcome stations. It just so happens that this one of the flat people was done by my former drawing professor at MTSU, Phillip Vanderweg! Small world.  Of course, we had to get a picture of Flat Stacy in Oklahoma and what better place than in front of the only working oil well in the United States that is located on the grounds of a capitol building. Our beautiful capitol building in Oklahoma City is in the background. Those are just a few of the pictures that we took. What a fun way to make a trip! And according to Carol, Flat Stacy went as far as Afghanistan for Ali! Here is Carol’s great cookie recipe for you to try. They are light, crisp and buttery. 1 cup butter 1 cup oil (I used coconut oil) 1 cup powdered sugar 1 cup granulated sugar 2 eggs, well beaten 4-5 cups flour 1 tsp. salt 1 tsp. soda 1 tsp. cream of tartar 1 tsp. vanilla  Now would be a good time to introduce our newest product: Bakewell Cream. I was actually introduced to Bakewell Cream way back in the 70′s in Maine but had not used it since because it is not available around here. Now I can have it!! Yay. It is the most wonderful baking Cream of Tartar that makes the most incredible biscuits. I have tossed baking powder and use the Bakewell Cream with soda and oh my….You can find it at our shopping page.  My granddaughter, Miss Peachy Pie, got her first cooking lesson, complete with her own “Li’l Cook” apron.” Typically, the batter wound up in her hair. Directions: Cream butter and oil with sugar and eggs. Sift flour, salt, soda and cream of tartar. Stir into creamed mixture, add vanilla and mix well.  My granddaughter “helped” put the dough balls on the baking sheet. If you are wondering why I cut faces in pictures – after the photo of my mother got stolen and used for unsavory purposes, I have ceased to show the faces that can be photoshopped and misused! Place small balls of dough on cookie sheet. Flatten each with a small flat bottom glass dipped in sugar. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. (Do not grease pan!)  Yep, they are TAAASTY! Miss Peachy Pie loved them.  |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
 |
|
|
|
Archive for the ‘A Day In the Life Of An Okie’ Category
Flat Earth Travelers and Cooking With Children
Friday, May 3rd, 2013
Quoth The Raven Part II
Saturday, April 6th, 2013
  Don’t forget to leave comment to enter this month’s giveaway. This set of canning utensils is going to somebody’s home!! Better sign up before April 15th or you will miss out on your chance! As you remember in part one, we had arrived at a log cabin from the late 1700′s, where we were to stay, and I was not a happy camper. We unloaded the car, put Ellie in her crate and found our way to the retirement community to see my parents. Their home is lovely and the community is amazing. We were shocked to see this jewel in such a tiny town and I understood why my mom and dad had chosen this place to put down new roots. But this knowledge did not erase the heaviness that I was feeling.   I dreaded heading back to the cabin, however, we finally did and I fell, exhausted into the twin bed nearest the floor lamp. The only way that we could turn that light off, was to unscrew the light bulbs, however, the rest of the lights and the lighted Christmas tree stayed on all night. I was too tired to care. At one o’clock in the morning, Mr. Fix-It was frantically calling my name and I groggily asked what was wrong. “You have to get out of here and into the parlor. Take Ellie with you. We have wasps.” Finally awake, I could see wasps pinging back and forth against the ceiling, like in a pinball machine, and diving into the lighted table lamp across from my bed. Now, I must insert here that I am extremely allergic to wasps. I don’t just swell up like a balloon. No. My throat and tongue become alien objects, my hair tries to crawl off of my head, my ears and throat feel like I’m the fire eater on the circus side show and never mind the crazy heartbeat, the hives on hives have me imitating Job from the Bible. And I had no epi-pen. So, I vamoosed, in my PJs, to the parlor, fully aware that the people upstairs might come down at any moment to see what was going on.  I could hear Mr. Fix-It slamming the wall with what turned out to be a 1991 copy of Better Homes and Gardens (yep – 1991) that was lying on the dresser. He killed a number of wasps and declared the coast was clear. I crawled back into bed. The next morning, Mr. Fix-It had me out of the room again and attacked another round of wasps with a vengeance. They were coming from a gap between the ceiling and the log wall next to my bed and seemed attracted by the heat (evidently the heat had not been turned on for awhile) as well as the light of the table lamp. My hubby decided that we would trade beds to put me on the far side of the room. He admitted that the mattress on his bed had a tendency to slide due to the unlevel bed and the slope of the floor and that he had nearly rolled off a couple of times during the night. Oh well. At least I would not be so close to all of the wasps. I could see that it was raining cats and dogs outside. It was Sunday and we were to go to church with my parents – in the pouring rain – and after getting little sleep. I was NOT in a good mood. I had to fully dress in order to head to the bathroom to take a shower (didn’t want to embarrass our upstairs neighbors if they decided to appear). I turned on the little space heater and shivered as I started the water in the big, extra tall, clawfoot tub. It was then that I discovered that the door to the bathroom did not lock nor did it shut very well. I leaned against it and got it to close and then contemplated how I was going to crawl over the sides of that tub without killing myself or spraying water all over the room. It was one of those moments where you turn one way, then another, start to lift one foot, then the other and come close to freaking out in a feeling of total helplessness. I finally sat on the narrow, curved side and slid down into the tub, butt first, crawled to a kneeling position and then carefully pulled up to a standing position. The nice, warm, strong stream of water was a relief and I had a moment of bliss. That is…until I opened the curtain to a steamy room, reached for my towel, stepped out of the tub and suddenly realized that the door was standing wide open with a view of my glorious, dripping, gray headed body for all to see in the entry way! I dove to shut shut the door, grasping my towel with one hand and sat on the closed commode, laughing myself silly. I could hear Mr. Fix-It swatting more wasps. Our situation seemed utterly ridiculous. I figured that I would call the manager after church.  And then we got to the church in the pouring rain. It was one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen. Sparkling white siding with stained glass windows, a bell steeple and gabled roof – the scene was like a picture back from 1800’s Kentucky – with cars. Inside was bright and cheerful on that dreary day and everyone was so friendly. In one, short year, these people – and this church had people of all ages: children, young people, young marrieds, elderly – had embraced my parents and were excited to meet the daughter. I was amazed at the quiet reverence of the sanctuary. People were not visiting. They were very quiet, reading scripture, praying perhaps, but all was very respectful. The minister gave the most amazing sermon and the music…oh the music…it was absolutely gorgeous. There was a tiny brass section, an organ, a piano and handbells. The instruments simply graced the singing with musical undertones while the voices of the congregation nearly blew the roof off of the building. At one point, the music minister stopped the instruments and the congregation sang, in parts mind you, a cappella, to a beautiful hymn. I had goosebumps. I have not heard that kind of singing in a very long time and teared up because it was so wonderful and moving. Two young people did a piece on the handbells and I was worn out just watching them. The whole experience was so worshipful that I realized that God had taken my focus off of myself and my feelings and had planted it squarely back on Him and His blessings. It was a turn around moment.  After a grand lunch at my parents’, spent with them, my sister, and a cousin and her family whom I had not seen in years, I reported the wasp dilemma to the manager and she called the owner to remedy the situation. He showed up at our cabin room door and introduced himself. I was delighted to find him to be a fellow artist who was eager to share his craft with me and the history of the cabin with the two of us. We got a complete tour and he left us with a can of Hot Shot wasp spray and a fly swatter. Yep. He did. There was no other room available. The next morning, I got up and made another stab at the shower, only this time I put my toiletry case in front of the door to hold it closed. I was grateful for the space heater because it was exceedingly cold and I even felt a little at home as I dressed for the day in that little room.   When I trundled back to the bedroom, through the old parlor, Mr. Fix-It was grinning and told me to look out of the window. A heavy layer of snow covered the ground and the whole farm was a white wonderland. The cabins, with the Christmas candle lights in the windows, stood out against the glistening snow and I knew that I had to grab my camera. It snowed all day and night and all day the next day. It was beautiful. The cabin seemed warm and cozy when we returned from my parents’ home, in spite of the difficult front door and the wasps appearing every so often to be stunned with bug spray and then swatted. I felt transported back to Daniel Boone’s “Old Kaintuck”. We curled up with hot tea to watch a movie and then drifted off to sleep.  We left that snowy, quiet little town around 1 pm the following day, a tearful good-bye to my parents who live so very far away from Oklahoma. But I came away with a peace that God has them in His right hand and that they are where they are happy, healthy, active and welcome. We met many lovely people, including the manager and the owner of the bed and breakfast, and I no longer feel like I will be visiting my parents in a strange place. And I kind of miss that cabin!! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Quoth The Raven
Friday, April 5th, 2013
 Don’t forget to leave comment to enter this month’s giveaway. This set of canning utensils is going to somebody’s home!! Better sign up before April 15th or you will miss out on your chance! I figure that since most people are too busy for soap operas on tv anymore, but almost everybody sits at a computer, I would offer an Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ soap opera for your enjoyment. It’s too long a story to put into one post and so you will get two installments – one today and one tomorrow. Will there be a happy endng? Stay tuned for…da da da (that’s organ chords)…The Old And The Feckless! Isn’t it funny how we get it into our heads how something is supposed to be, get all bent out of shape when it isn’t that way at all and then God provides a whole new direction that puts us all back together in contentment? I had that experience last week and I thought that I would share the adventure. Mr. Fix-It and I took a trip – a long trip! It started out heading to Georgia where Mr. Fix-It did some training to remind him that computers, his life’s chosen vocation, never work the way that they were intended. He’s just not as technologically savvy as I am. I know that the squirrels running the machine are simply out looking for nuts. Anyway, I took the opportunity to visit my uncle for the first time since my aunt’s death in December. It was a wonderful visit with much laughter and ample reminiscing. And then we went north to Kentucky. Now, Kentucky is beautiful and it is a wonderful state, but I was a little bummed about the trip to the place because we had to go through the mountainous part of East Tennessee where my parents had lived up until a year ago and where I grew up…and we didn’t stop…because my parents aren’t there anymore. I was sad. My mom and dad sold their house and had moved to a retirement community in a town in Kentucky that I had never heard of before and which was not ‘home’. When we got off of I-75 to wind our way to the town on narrow roads carved into the sides of huge bluffs (with no guard rails) and which narrowed down to one lane bridges in a number of places, I felt heavier and heavier. We were in the middle of nowhere and I was looking for the dueling banjos. “What were they thinking?” I asked myself. It was nearly dark when we arrived in their tiny town…and I do mean tiny. There are no fast food restaurants, only one gas station, a Dollar General Store (nope – no WalMart) and one grocery store. I had made reservations at a bed and breakfast (one of several) where the manager was kind enough to allow our little Ellie dog to join us in our room. The manager had informed me over the phone that we would be staying in a log cabin where the owner had a cat and so a little, long-haired dachshund would be no problem. We stopped at the main home of the two-part B&B, met the manager and found out that the cabin, we would call home for several days, was outside of town. We were to follow her car to the location. It felt like we drove forever, but that is always the case when one does not know where one is going. Off of a main highway, we came to a drive that led a long way down into a “holler” to a picture perfect sight of two, big, authentic Kentucky log cabins. I calculated their ages as it was revealed to us that they were built before Kentucky became a state. 1792 was that year – George Washington was president and Daniel Boone was a resident of the state! Wow.  But my heart sank as we carefully navigated the flagstone walkway that just begged me to be my usual, accident-prone self and climbed the stairs to an uneven porch and to an old, front door. “Now you have to work really fast to get the front door to unlock,” we were told as the manager unlocked a single knob with no deadbolt lock. “Just shove the key in and turn quickly. If you are timid about it, you won’t get it to unlock. Oh, and be sure that you really jam the door shut and double check that it has closed.” There was a note taped to a door pane that ordered, “Please make sure the door is closed.” The obstinate door creaked open and we stepped into a dark entry way, lighted only by an old, opaque globe with a light inside, showing off the various countries of long ago.   First, we were shown our bathroom. The door to the bathroom opened out into the dark entrance where any other guest would walk right past. I was relieved to find out that it was our personal bathroom, but the privacy was definitely wanting. Inside the bathroom was an old claw foot bathtub with circular curtain and old shower assembly. A tiny space heater provided the only heat. We then went into the parlor to the left of the bathroom and I felt like I had walked into an Edgar Allen Poe story. The boards of the floor (original) creaked and sank under the weight of our steps and ancient furniture, books and multiple stuffed animals were strategically placed around an old fireplace on a wall that was obviously uneven, old, painted plaster. Electric Christmas candles in the windows and a floor lamp in the corner offered dim lighting, and a large collection of crucifixes adorned the mantel and hearth. I was looking for the raven quoting, “Nevermore.” A narrow door of vertical boards, held together by a couple of cross boards and painted with enamel paint opened to a narrow set of stairs that led to the rooms upstairs which were occupied by another couple of visitors.  The door to our room was the same type of door, but wider. It was a little lopsided so that there was a gap between the door frame and the top of the door when closed. The doorknob was the old, metal enamel type with no lock. When opened, the door revealed a large room with three chinked log walls and one plaster one, a set of twin beds on a floor that sloped enough to mess with your equilibrium and a very large, lighted Christmas tree in the corner.  That tree, along with a floor lamp, a set of electric Christmas candles in the window, a dim table lamp and a collection of strange, lighted plaster art on the mantel of a huge fireplace, served as the lighting for the room. In other words, it felt like we would be living by kerosene lantern light. The bed that would be Mr. Fix-It’s had one leg leveled by a wooden block. There was a television. And there was a light switch on the wall, but we were cautioned that the light switch would turn off everything, including the space heater and it was cold!  Because there were no electrical outlets, a maze of extension cords and spike bars crisscrossed the corners of the room and over the mantle. A large extension cord dangled from the mantel to be used for a space heater on the hearth. Mr. Fix-It surveyed the electrical nightmare with horror. I just looked around in dismay at the very weird room. By this point, I was really depressed…(and with that, I will leave this to be continued tomorrow!!) |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
A Sick Bed Craft
Wednesday, February 20th, 2013
|
In-FLU-enza…H1N1…Tamiflu…all words that none of us actually care about or even think about – that is – until we stumble into the doctor’s office, eyes glazed, throat that could only feel worse for a fire eater and muscles that scream four letter words at us, as we try to use them. THEN, the flu becomes a reality and a reason to think seriously about finding a sky scraper from which to jump. Such was the past week for Mr. Fix-It and me. He succumbed first. I knew he was sick when he willingly grabbed his keys and left the house early last Sunday morning to hit up the AM-PM clinic for drugs. ‘Mr. Fix-It’ and ‘getting medical help’ are not usually in the same sentence. Since he only had a fever of 99.9, after a nose swab, Mr. Fix-It was rather taken aback when the doctor forced a mask over his face and admonished him not to go anywhere, including work, for 5 days. The doctor was stern in his warning and typed up a letter to give to the boss. He told Mr. Fix-It that he was highly contagious and so he came home, not entirely convinced that he was really THAT sick. But then, Sunday afternoon hit. My hubby was a mess. His fever was quickly inching to 104º and I was frantically making preparations to get him to the hospital. I had tried everything…tylenol, ibuprophen, tepid bath, alcohol rub and then I remembered an elderly doctor’s method quite a number of years ago when our son’s fever had gone to 105. I filled plastic bags with ice, wrapped them in towels and put them under Mr. Fix-It’s arms, on his stomach and on his forehead. Magically, the fever dropped to 102º. All evening I battled the fever and Mr. Fix-It’s irrational statements that let me know he was NOT all with me. By midnight his fever broke and he actually slept while I transferred myself to the couch, hoping to avoid the disease. About 3 am I woke up shaking from head to toe, teeth chattering so hard that I could not keep my mouth shut and throat literally shooting flames. Oh no. Somehow, I made it to the bedroom and crawled into bed next to my ailing husband. I figured that I might as well be comfortable now that I had caught the germs. Of course, I woke him up with my shaking and he crawled out of bed to get me some tylenol and water. I thought I was going to die. We figure that Mr. Fix-It brought the germs home from the VA Hospital where he had done a computer installation the week before. Ten days is the incubation period and it had been ten days since his visit. I am sure that I picked the germs up from his clothes or from him. Who knows? All I know is that neither one of us has had the flu in years and years and years and years and so the ferocity of the disease was rather disturbing. It has taken both of us over a week to get back to normal. But, as always, I could see that there was a humorous side to our plight. I made it to the doctor as well…just our family doctor…and I found out that just the word ‘flu’ nearly tatoos an ‘F’ on your forehead and hangs a sign around your neck that announces, “Unclean! Unclean!” I was told to wear a mask throughout my visit and the nurse who swabbed my nose (might I add that this is one of THE most unpleasant tests on the planet – because your sinuses are already swollen and raw without a q-tip being twirled around the membranes like a chimney sweep’s broom!) barely stuck her head back in the door and said through clenched teeth, “It’s flu!” And it wasn’t just the flu-flu. It was the BAD flu. As I left the room with prescription in hand, the cleanup crew was already disinfecting everything I had touched. Even the woman who checked me out, handed my Visa card back to me, washed her hands, grabbed the pen I had been using, disinfected it and wiped the counter right in front of me. As I stepped back, I felt like I had smallpox. I slunk past ogling patients, bemasked and humiliated. Two days later, still diseased and miserable, I needed to somehow get an order to a friend, who had come in from out of town. We discussed the logistics of this feat without germs and it was agreed that Mr. Fix-It, who was well on the road to recovery, would drive me to a designated meeting place. He did so and when we arrived, dear friend stepped around her vehicle and waved, at a safe distance of 50 or so feet away. Mr. Fix-It got out of our vehicle, placed the box of goodies onto the pavement of the parking lot between our car and Friend’s and proceeded to soak the box with spray Lysol: Bottom, sides and top. The contents had already been lysol’d. I was looking around for Homeland Security to come swooping in with a bomb squad and handcuffs for each of us.  We got back into our car and Friend picked up the box to place in the back of hers. Hopefully, all germs were murdered by Lysol drowning. Now, I have to tell you that being sick is a boring state of being, but thanks to this same Friend, I was given a fun craft project that served to pass my time in bed and produce lots of little bows. She sent me an email with directions for making tiny bows that are so handy for a multitude of projects. And, heh, when you are running a fever and eating popsicles a new craft is a welcome distraction!! All you need is some 1/4″ ribbon, preferably a light weight or organza type, scissors and a four tined fork.  First, begin by running the ribbon under the first tine, over the second, under the third and over the forth.  Pull the ribbon under the fourth tine and pull it all the way to the first tine.  Now, go over the first tine, under the second, over the third and under the fourth.  Push the ribbon up to the end of the tines to keep it tight.  Continue the process until there are either two or three (depending on the size of bow you want) wraps around the outside tines  Clip the end of the ribbon that is attached to the spool and now run a fresh ribbon end up through the tines between the second and third one and in front of the first row of weaving  Pull up other end of this ribbon and clip off, leaving enough that will make it easy to tie  Pull the two ends up, gathering the center of the woven ribbon together, and tie at the center in a knot  Slip the bow off of the fork and clip off extra ribbon. The bottom bow was done with two rows and the top one was done with three rows  Use to decorate cards, hairclips, clothes and anything else you can think of! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I Am Woman!!
Thursday, February 7th, 2013
|
Don’t forget to leave a comment to enter the Valentine’s Day Giveaway! Winner will be chosen on Monday, Feb. 11, for a basket of Prairie Blessings Soaps, handmade right here at the Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ digs.  It was time to go to the chiropractor – a part of my week to which I aways look forward. I feel soooo good after a visit to Dr. Ryan and so it is no effort to make the long drive to his office. But I got into my car – my relatively new car – and turned on the key to absolutely no sound at all. No click. No whir. No nothing. The battery was dead. Why was the battery dead? Because there just has been no battery invented, to my knowledge, that stays charged when the dumb driver leaves the key turned to auxillary for a couple of days. Of course, Mr. Fix-It wasn’t here. In fact, he wasn’t even in the near city. He was two hours away. I called him on his cell phone and he asked what all men ask: “Why is the battery dead?” And I actually thought about spinning a yarn of an alien spaceship that landed in the front yard and sent out weird electronic waves that killed every battery in the area…”I KNOW dear. That’s just crazy isn’t it? I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!!” But I didn’t. I told him the truth and took my lumps of typical male explanations on how I must be more careful and observant about taking the key out of the ignition. Which I should. We discussed my options, including an attempt, on my part, to roll the car onto the driveway next to my son-in-law’s sporty Monte Carlo that is visiting us on vacation due to a blown head gasket (I’m pretty sure that’s worse than a dead battery) – problem being, that the Monte Carlo’s hood is the equivalent of a slab of granite and can only be lifted by a pair of Olympic weightlifting champions. My fate was sealed to pedestrianism, 40 miles from the doctor’s office and 25 miles from any semblance of civilization. My friend pointed out that I could call the insurance company and make use of the ‘roadside assistance plan’ for which we pay. She was so logical in her reasoning, “It’s what you pay good money for!” However, I was experiencing a twinge of that sin that has brought down complete societies in one, fell swoop…..Pride. I did not want to have to drag some poor schlub all the way out to the boonies for a 5 minute job required by a stupid female who doesn’t pay attention. Now, there is nothing more inventive or creative than a woman in trouble. If the government would just put a group of women in a room and tell them that the national debt will cause chocolate to become nonexistent by the end of the year, within two weeks, those women would have the debt paid off, the credit card cut up and Washington, D.C. employees eating mashed potato sandwiches from sack lunches. So when I discovered a car battery sitting on a work bench, my little brain began to form a plan. While the Monte Carlo hood is granite, a car battery is a close second in weight. Those suckers are heavy….and dirty…and oily. I donned a full apron to protect my clothes, which added a floral accent to my situation, and tried to lift the square box. It did not budge. I quickly figured out that one must emit that same “arrrhhhh” that weightlifters’ grunt at the point of assuming full impact of a heavy object in order to make it move. I did so, and lifted the battery into my arms, struggling on buckling legs to transport it in front of my little Nissan Versa. Realizing that I could not hold the battery and bend over to place it on the floor, without dropping it and sending acid all over me and my pretty, floral apron, I looked for a “stand” on which to place it. Fortunately, there was a stack of boxes of canning jars and so this acted as my table on which to place the battery. Next, came the job of opening the hood and as I had never done that to this particular car, I had to get a flashlight and then use the engineering skills that I don’t have, to figure out how-in-the-world the latch worked. Of course, it couldn’t be just a simple latch. No. It had to be one that had multiple levers that acted in concert with the movement of the main clamp, which had to be pressed in a direction that made absolutely no sense. Finally, getting the hood up, I couldn’t find that little stick thingy that holds the hood in place. I searched everywhere, with the blood draining out of my arms while I held the hood above my head to keep it from slamming down on my body for someone to discover the hideous picture of a car that had eaten its owner. That engineering skill, that I don’t have, whispered to me to find the hole in the hood and then trace that directly below to the frame where the stick had to be in order to fit into the hole. I searched and searched on the hood for that recepticle and probably looked directly at the little stick thingy, clamped across the hood, at least a dozen times. It finally screamed at me, “I’m right here, stupid!!!” and I managed to support the hood. Then came the scariest part: Electricity. I had the jumper cables ready, and I knew that black went to black and red to red and that black is negative and red is positive which is soooo confusing since in the business world, black is positive and red is negative (just try to run a bank account in the red and convince your bank that’s a positive thing – well – yeah – the government does that). I carefully placed the clamps on the posts of the two batteries, gritting my teeth in expectation that I was about to arc weld the frame of my car to every steel component of the motor. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a spark and when I turned the key in the ignition, the car started!!! I did my best imitation of a “goal post dance” and wanted to growl like Tool Time Tim. Yessss! I might as well have invented the automobile with the sense of achievement I felt. And speaking of a sense of achievement. I discovered something rather wonderful this week. Most of you are probably not as ancient as I, and probably don’t remember Dannon’s Fruit On The Bottom Yogurt. That was a staple for me throughout my college years. I would go to the student union cafeteria and load up on cups of Dannon Apricot and keep that in my little frig for late nights at the Art Barn or studying for a test. But Dannon Fruit In the Bottom Yogurt went away. There was something about that yogurt with the tart chunks of apricot and the lumps of yogurt that burst in your mouth between smooth and creamy spoonfuls. Anyway, the other day, in making yogurt, a brilliant idea hit me. I have tons of apricot jam made from the bounty of Sir Flying Ace’s apricot tree. I put a couple of tablespoons of that jam into the bottom of my yogurt cups. Then, in my pan of warmed milk, I added vanilla and stevia to flavor the milk and then did my usual adding a little warmed milk to the starter, pouring that mixture back into the milk. I poured the milk and starter mixture over the jam into the cups and placed the cups in my yogurt maker. Oh my gosh!!!! When cooled in the frig and then gently mixed to bring the fruit up from the bottom, that yogurt tasted exactly like that which I ate in college. It is wonderful. I have now tried it with homemade strawberry and blueberry jams as well.  But to beat everything, I was out of buttermilk the other day and on a whim, decided to use that yogurt instead, for a batch of pancakes for Mr. Fix-It. I sustituted exactly the same amount of the fruit yogurt for the amount of buttermilk I would have used. Mr. Fix-It has said that he wants me to make pancakes that way from now on. They were amazing. So here is my recipe. I am sure that you can use just plain yogurt the same way, but that fruit really made some wonderful flapjacks!! One note: The yogurt must be live culture. The blended yogurts and those with additives won’t work. Ingredients: 1 large egg 1 1/4 cup yogurt 1/2 tsp soda 1 1/4 cups sifted flour 1/2 tsp vanilla 2 tbsp melted butter 1 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt chopped pecans (optional) Printable Recipe Sift together flour, baking powder and salt and set aside. In a mixing bowl with a whisk, beat together egg and yogurt until smooth. Add baking soda and mix. Add flour mixture and stir until smooth. Add vanilla and butter. If batter is too thick, add enough water to give it the consistency of hot pudding.  Pour batter onto a hot, well-oiled griddle, heating to around 350º. Sprinkle with chopped pecans. Cook until brown and turn to cook the other side.  Serve with butter and syrup. Good eatin’!!! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Double The Fun and Chicken
Saturday, January 26th, 2013
|
Hi all. Haven’t been able to stand writing much lately. Writer’s block has reared its ugly head and then another issue just gave me more excuses. Most of you know that I have Graves and Hashimoto’s Diseases with the accompanying Thyroid Eye Disease (also known as TED). Lately, focusing on a computer screen for any amount of time has not been fun. I’ve tried. Best intentions and all that kinda thing. My eyes throb, burn and tear up and then, everybody wants to know what I’m upset about and what should send me into tears. Of course, assuring, “nothing,” doesn’t cut it and pretty soon, discussions of Prozac and other drugs of comotosity (is that a word?) become whispers behind my back where my “mom’s eye in the back of my head” is also throbbing, burning and tearing up. I then win the day and all involved relax as I pile ice onto my face, over a sleep mask, and I lay down on the couch to listen to the clickity clack of the Wheel of Fortune wheel. Ya know, something gets lost in that show when one can’t see the board and can only hear the ‘dings’ of the letters turning and the squeals of the contestants. Just not much brain stimulation there. And there’s no use looking because with the occassional double vision of TED, when a contestant buys a vowel, two show up side-by-side along with double consonents and the board looks like Russian! Last night, I asked Mr. Fix-It if he noticed the firelike flames of the headlights of oncoming traffic. He looked sideways at me like I was crazy and said that there were no firelike flames. Huh. January is Thyroid Disease Awareness Month. Now, a year ago, I would have giggled and said, “Are you kidding? They have a month dedicated to the thyroid, of which nobody cares? Sheesh.” But things sure do change when you become one of the stories told by the countless number of people in all parts of the world who have been struck with these really aggravating autoimmune diseases. All of a sudden, you get this primal urge to wear a ribbon or get pledges and walk or something. You try all kinds of natural remedies and keep a journal of what works and what doesn’t work. I have to say that I have discovered that my Rosemary/Peppermint with Sage soap seems to sooth my painful eyes and keeps them from being so red. That’s pretty cool. Literally. But suffice it to say that one feels a new empathy for people who are struggling with diseases that are not necessarily life threatening but that are life altering. I went into Walmart awhile back and the checker was peering with difficulty at the price of my item. One eye was droopy and the other was terribly swollen and watery. I knew immediately that she had TED and I felt such a pain for her having to stand there, trying to see what wasn’t going to be easily seen. I wanted to just grab her to take her to a recliner for an ice pack and relief. I have been blessed. My eyes are not that bad yet. It is very possible that my day will come or it may not, but God has been gracious in allowing me just enough discomfort to keep me humble and not so serious a case so that it keeps me grateful. “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Corinthians 12:10) But I’m still kind of impatient about sitting in front of a computer screen!!  Many things have been happening over the past month…pretty exciting things, in fact. We have the privilege of welcoming Eric and Denyce and their wonderful site Breadtopia.com. They have decided to carry the Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ at their Iowa business. Be sure to hop over and check out their site and their great baking blog. You will learn a lot! Then, the gift store, The Pink Pistol, recently opened in Tishomingo, Oklahoma by country music singer Miranda Lambert, is carrying our soaps packaged especially for them. Privately labeled for The Pink Pistol, the soaps have swarovski crystals centered on the ribbon that ties around the package of pastel tissue paper for a tidy gift with ‘bling’! We have been humming here, producing like Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate bon bon factory and just as organized!! (note my sarcasm) So please accept my apology for the long absence. A combination of writer’s block, eye problems and sheer burnout have plagued this blogger granny. I’m thinking of getting a bottle of Vitameatavegamin. In the interim, reader Lacey from Texas, sent a recipe that Mr. Fix-It and I really liked. It is very easy and very tasty and REALLY fast. The recipe actually calls for chicken thighs with the bone in, but since we especially like white meat, I used boneless chicken breasts, cut into chunks. I think that next time, I will cut the breasts into strips but you can use any part of the chicken you like!! Thank you, Lacey, for a new recipe! 1 1/2 lbs chicken thighs or boneless breasts 1/2 cup Dijon mustard 1/4 cup Maple syrup 1 Tablespoon Rice/rice wine vinegar Fresh rosemary Salt and pepper Line a baking dish with aluminum foil and preheat oven to 450º  In a bowl, mix mustard, maple syrup and vinegar until creamy.  Place chicken pieces into foil lined casserole dish and salt and pepper chicken  Pour the sauce mixture over the chicken and turn pieces to dredge in the sauce.  Bake at 450º for 40 minutes, basting with the sauce halfway through the cooking. For breast strips, it may not take 40 minutes until done.  Remove the chicken from the oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes. Serve portions, spooning sauce over the meat and sprinkling fresh rosemary leaves liberally over the pieces. This is an important addition!!  I served the chicken over rice – but heh – that’s just me. We eat so much rice, we should invest in a rice paddy!! Enjoy!! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You’ll Eat It Like Popcorn!!
Monday, December 31st, 2012
|
I sure hope that everyone’s Christmas was beautiful, meaningful and filled with love. Our home was a little quieter this year, as much of the family was unable to make it due to weather, but those of us who were together had a lot of fun. The grandbaby was here and so all was well. Can’t go wrong with a one year old and her first real Christmas!!  The tree was bare underneath until presents magically appeared Christmas morning! They must have come by train. I can’t resist waxing philosophical after this past holiday season. Shopping was a truly different experience this year. I don’t know if I have just become more observant or if my patience isn’t what it used to be or if I just naturally see the absurd in my surroundings, but I picked up on a phenomenom at the department stores that I just hadn’t noticed before. People don’t read signs. The best way to get an individual to do exactly what you don’t want them to do is to put up a sign and watch them do the exact opposite – like the lady who was trying to force a baby stroller, full of baby, onto an escalator beside the sign that stated, unequivically, “Absolutely no strollers on the escalator!!!”. It’s like people’s minds go into reading in a foreign language because they obviously don’t understand the English before them. “Je ne comprend pas.” “No comprende.” “Me no speaka de English.” Now, I try very hard to be a patient line-stander. The reality of today’s society is that we stand in lines. We stand in lines at checkout stands. We stand in line for concert tickets. And we even purposely CHOOSE to stand in lines on Black Friday at 3:00 in the morning just to be first to make a dive for a Doggy Doo game where the child who gets three piles of dog poop on his shovel first, wins the game. I’m not sure if this teaches a child environmental responsibility or the best way to get worms, but it was certainly popular at Toys R Us. But I digress. I really do try to be a very patient line-stander. I use the time in line to pray for those people in front of me or for the checkout personnel. I browse over the titles of the magazines and make mental notes of Jennifer Aniston’s latest flame and what Vladimir Putin’s alien baby looks like. But on Christmas Eve afternoon, I’m ashamed to say, I kind of lost my patience – and I tapped my foot in frustration. I needed one, measly item that I had forgotten in all of my weeks and weeks of careful planning and lists (yeah, right). A run into Walmart gave me that item – and cheaply I might add – and I decided to go through the express ‘self-checkout’ line because it said “express”. Now, express to me means “faster” or “quicker” or at least “moderately speedier than nonexpress”. It means that the normal person would recognize the word and take it to dictate the necessity to have just a few items. Oh no. People on Christmas Eve can’t read. I think that they read the word “express” and think that it gives them permission to express themselves about every, single item of the 300 in their basket as they swipe them across the barcode reader. In the particular line in which I was standing, one such woman was at the stand with a buggy piled so high with purchases that she had to get a second buggy in which to place her finished bags because there was no room in the first buggy. There were 6 more people between me and her and these six people each had a maximum of 5 items. The first woman did not know how to use the scanner and contemplated each item, of her pile of approximately 400 things, to determine where in the world she was supposed to swipe for a price. She announced the price as there was final success and carefully moved to the next of her 600 items. The man in front of me held tightly to an ice scraper of which he must have been sorely in need because he tenaciously stood in this line with the optimism of Eeyore. He turned to me, rolled his eyes and said, “You would think that they would put ’10 Items or Less’ on the sign.” I thought to myself that if the word “Express” hadn’t been interpreted correctly, what made him think that this woman could count (with her basket heaping with 700 items)?! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the self-checkout to my left and in front of me was miraculously void of all but one customer. I hated to do it to the young man in front of me, but I made a beeline for that stand, careful not to knock him to the ground in my escape. I was also careful not to look smug at my stroke of luck. The woman, who was checking out at that moment, pulled out her card and pressed, “Finish and Pay”, right under the sign that stated, “Credit card, Debit card or Cash Only”. She ran the red card through the reader and promptly got a “Read Error” flashing light. She contemplated the card and tried again. Same response. She turned to her daughter and said, “I guess it wants me to pay the balance first and then use the gift card.” Gift card? The sign didn’t say anything about a gift card. But then, it didn’t say anything about a check either which didn’t stop her from writing one and trying to force it into the cash recepticle of the machine. The check was spit back out and a voice screeched, “Please wait for assistance!!” 15 minutes later, the store clerk, after working on the machine with no resolution, and continually reprimanding the customer for attempting to use a gift card on the machine, flatly stated, “Just go to my stand and I’ll have to check you out there.” She promptly wiped out the entire order and left the lane open for me and my one item. I quickly paid, turned to look at the line of people which had formed behind me and then, as I headed toward the exit, I noticed the young man with his ice scraper still standing in line behind the same lady with the two baskets who was evidently working on item number 800. I have a recipe for which my family stands in line. It is our traditional “New Year’s Day We Have To Have It To Watch Football Games” recipe. I always wind up making two batches – one before Christmas to give as gifts to neighbors and then one for munching. I have been making this for as long as I can remember and it is one of the recipes that you will find in my family cookbook at the shopping page. I really think that you will enjoy it if you like toffee popcorn and nuts crossed with Cracker Jacks. It is truly yummy. Oh, and my favorite popcorn to use in this is the Act II Butter Lovers brand. It takes 3 – 4 bags of popped corn to make a recipe. I pop it and then make sure to remove any unpopped kernels. This brand has no trans fats and quite a bit of the good fats. Candied Popcorn and Nuts Ingredients: 5 Quarts freshly popped corn 1 cup salted cocktail peanuts 1 cup butter (you have to use the real thing!) 2 cups packed light brown sugar 1/2 cup traditional pancake syrup like Karo 1/2 tsp baking soda 1/2 tsp vanilla 1/8 tsp butter flavoring (optional) Variation: Use pecans or roasted almonds instead of peanuts Preheat oven to 250º  In a very large bowl, place popcorn and nuts and toss  In a medium sauce pan, melt butter with brown sugar and syrup and bring to a boil.  Boil until the mixture reaches the soft ball stage. You can check this with a candy thermometer or by dropping a little of the syrup into a bowl of ice and water. Feel to see if the syrup forms a soft ball in the cold water.  When the soft ball stage is reached, remove the syrup from heat and stir in vanilla  And add the soda, stirring quickly. The soda will make the mixture start to bubble and turn to a foamy light tan color  Pour the mixture over the popcorn and nuts and then begin turning and mixing the popcorn and peanuts to coat  When all of the popcorn and nuts are coated, spread the mixture onto a large, buttered cookie sheet and bake in 250º oven for about an hour, stirring and turning about every 15 minutes to keep it from burning. When done, remove from oven and quickly transfer the hot popcorn by spatula to an airtight container. The popcorn will be a little sticky, but it will come off of the cookie sheet easily. It gets harder to remove as the popcorn candy begins to harden. Once the toffee coating has hardened, shake the popcorn to break it into individual pieces.  This is all that is left of the batch that I just made. Oh wait. No. I’m sorry. I just ate it!! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Celebrating A Life
Wednesday, November 28th, 2012
|
I’m listening to saved messages on my cell phone. Do you ever save the voice messages of the ones you love? I do. I don’t know why. I just do. And so, I just pulled up the latest message that I have from my dear Aunt Lois. I listened and laughed, through tears. “Heh girl. It’s your little old aunt, who lives in a little old house on a little old lot (my uncle’s voice says something in the background) – with a little old man he says! Well, you’re SUPPOSED to be available when I call. I’m not sure what to do with this!” Yesterday was the funeral for my precious Aunt Lois Wyrick. On Saturday, she died suddenly while having breakfast with the love of her life, my uncle, at their regular Saturday restaurant. The news was a shock to us all. Nobody is ever prepared for that kind of suddeness. She was 88 years young with a sharp wit, crystal clear memory and the will to go square dancing, though her body said, “I don’t THINK so”. Aunt Lois was an inspiration, an encourager, a teacher – the epitome of the strong, southern woman. She mentored many a young woman, always ready with a scripture and a life lesson. I was one of those women. She and I spent hours on the phone, and cheek to cheek when Mr. Fix-It and I would make the long trek to Georgia, discussing faith and life always with humor and laughter. She embraced our little Ellie dog and always asked if we were bringing her to entertain her. Ellie would lay at her feet, or at the feet of my uncle, and wait for a word from either one of them so she could pound her tail in appreciation.  Aunt Lois walked with me at a very tough time in my life and held counseling sessions with me from 850 miles away. She encouraged me to start my business and had not a few brilliant ideas. She gave me my first huge order and gushed over the presentation of the packaging. She always made me feel like I could do anything and that whatever I did and do is important. She let me know that she was proud of me and of the older woman I have become.  My aunt and I were partners in crime at antiquing. My poor uncle followed meekly behind us, clutching his wallet in fear. My aunt fostered my love of antique, cobalt blue glassware and had a collection that she proudly displayed in front of a window, so that it cast beams of blue across the room in the morning sun. Our personal contest was to proudly find the best bargain of the century and then convince each other that life would never be the same if one or the other did not purchase the item and carry it home, to the chagrin of our husbands. I would talk her into pieces of crystal that she would purchase for her crystal collection from which she always gifted many brides who were fortunate to benefit from Aunt Lois’ good taste. I also talked her into a dining room suite that was purchased for her granddaughter’s new home. That furniture wasn’t much to look at, but when the granddaughter got hold of it and plied the hereditary artistic eye of her mom and grandmother, that suite took on a new appearance which graced the dining room with beauty. Aunt Lois talked me into a set of hand cut stemware that I have treasured for years.  Of course, she – with her sense of humor – most recently talked me into another set of stemware which I’m thinking is a source of laughter for her now. I am at a loss at what to do with these things.  A prolific writer, Aunt Lois shared my love of writing and I have posted some of her writing here, as well as our experiences shared on our many trips to their home. She wrote for a Georgia publication and included some of my writing and experiences in her pieces. Between my aunt and my dad, who also has a gift of the word, I feel that I have been left a legacy of family history that assures that generations will always know the roots, the heritage, the stories and the humor of our varied and colorful family tree. There is no greater gift than written memories passed on from generation to generation.  I could write so much more, but suffice it to say that my aunt was well-loved and most admired. As I wrote on Facebook , “She accepted me lock, stock and barrel, warts and all. She loved me and encouraged me to not be afraid to make a leap of faith. She lovingly supported me in my walk with Christ, creating a bond of faith between us that gives me no doubt that she is having those discussions with Christ right now!!…Though I rejoice that Aunt Lois is at peace with God, is whole and not infirm anymore and knows the true peace and joy that we, as Christians, look forward to with yearning, I am still heartbroken and sad for her family, especially Uncle Ed, and for me, because a vibrant part of our lives is now missing.” Aunt Lois’ message on my phone ends with this: “Hope things are well. I love you much, honey. Bye”…..I love you too, Aunt Lois. Bye for now. |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
How To Freezer Wrap Meat Like the Professionals
Friday, October 12th, 2012
|
Today, we cooks have all kinds of new products to process the various meats that we love to store in the freezer. Electronic sealers, zippered freezer bags and machines that vacuum pack into plastic bags can be costly and, though they promise no freezer burn, often times, the frost and freezer burn still appear. I love my FoodSaver Vacuum sealing system, but I have to say, the tried and true wrapping in freezer paper, like I did at my job in the meat department many years ago, still seems to be the best way to preserve food in the freezer. In fact, if you really want to preserve your meats, you can vacuum pack them and THEN wrap them in freezer paper. I continue to wrap most of my meats in the wax coated freezer paper that can be found at any store. It comes in a large roll that is found in the same grocery section with the plastic wrap and aluminum foil and wax paper. The most common brand is Reynolds. I thought that I would show you how I have wrapped my meats for the past 35 years, having cut and packaged meat professionally after graduating college. (An art degree just didn’t put food on the table – let alone wrap it!!! ) What you need: Roll of freezer Paper Freezer tape or Masking tape Sharpie for labeling  Cut paper to at least 6″ wider than the object that is going to be wrapped. If you are doing large steaks, use two thicknesses of wax paper to place between the steaks. If you are wrapping small steaks or pork chops, chicken breasts, etc, lay the meat side-by-side with large end of the first piece of meat next to the small end of the second piece of meat. The freezer paper should be at least 6″ wider than the width of the two together.  Place the meat in the center of the paper. Here, I am wrapping one pound balls of ground beef.  Pull uncut ends of the paper up between fingers and match the edges so that they are equal and even.  Fold over and slide fingers across the crease to make flat and crisp  Continue folding and creasing over and over until your fingers are stopped by the meat inside the package  Press the flattened roll to the top of the package to make a flat seam  Turn package over to seam side down  Press finger tips into the end of the package to force down the top paper into the bottom, as done when wrapping a present  As in wrapping a present, fold the edges over to a point  Pull pointed end over to the back of the package and tape. Repeat process for the other end of the package  Turn the package over to the seam end and write the date and what type of meat has been wrapped.  Stack packaged meat and then carry to the freezer. Lay meats into the freezer in layers of one to two packages deep on several shelves until they are completely frozen. Stacking too much unfrozen meat into one area of the freezer keeps flash freezing from occuring and can make the packages freeze unevenly. Once frozen, you can move and stack them however deep you wish. |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Good Intentions
Friday, October 5th, 2012
|
I’m a big ol’ softy when it comes to animals, especially hurt animals. That awful ASPCA commercial on television that uses the Sarah McGlaughlin song, Angel, just sends me into sobs and now, I just have to turn the channel at the first strains of the song. Dump a dog and I’ll hunt you down. Bugs and snakes, I could care less about, but birds and mammals hit my tender spot. And so, this morning, as I was preparing to leave the house for the day, that instinct kicked in. I heard Mr. Fix-It come back in the front door after I thought he had left for work. “There’s a hurt cardinal in the flower bed. He must have hit the window,” he said matter-of-factly. Actually, Mr. Fix-It wasn’t expecting for me to do anything about it. He was just informing me in the same manner that he would tell me that the UPS truck had just driven up. He headed back out of the door, hopped into the car and was gone. I, of course, went out to check on our feathered friend. My heart broke to see this gorgeous, male cardinal flopping around under a rose bush, wing dragging, and obviously broken, and mouth open in a pant. I had to do something!! And so, I went into the house, slipped on my pair of leather gardening gloves and went back out to retrieve my patient. I have this bad habit of acting before I think, and this time was no different. I tried to gently capture the bird, but he dove farther into the rose bush. I managed to finally grab him with one hand and he let out a squawk that so surprised me that I nearly dropped him. He grabbed a gloved finger of my other hand and bit down for all he was worth. He would not let go. I stood in the garden, unable to free my hand, unwilling to turn him loose from the other hand’s grip, and contemplating the fact that I had not made preparations for this invalid in the way of a “hospital” setting. I stayed stock still in an attempt to keep the bird calm and for me to decide what to do. Mr. Cardinal let out another squawk which released my finger. Then he looked at me, calmly, with the biggest, blackest, most unsettling eye as if to say, “OK, dummy. What’s your big plan?” I opened the front door with my free hand and wandered around the house, carrying the bird and trying to be creative. I thought of our pet carrier, but thought the cat smells might upset the birdie. “I tawt I taw a pootie tat.” I spotted a couple of laundry baskets and a brilliant idea formed in my pea brain. With my one hand, I grabbed newsprint and lined one basket with the newsprint. Dragging the basket into the front guest bedroom, I situated it in a draft free location and went to retrieve the second basket. And of course, Mr. Cardinal was still trapped in my left hand, being whisked from room to room in my frenzy to solve my problem. I grabbed a small bowl and filled it with water, went to the garage and got cardinal food with whole sunflowers and then placed the water and the food into the floor of the papered basket. I gently placed the bird onto the floor of the basket and quickly put the second basket upside down on top of the first basket. Mr. Cardinal just sat on the paper and stared at me. It was then that I remembered my suet that I had made and proudly announced to the stricken bird that he was in luck. I grabbed some of the suet from the frig and shoved it through a slat in the laundry basket right in front of the cardinal. I shut the door to the bedroom to protect the bird against our aging, but agile, Mr. Sway Cat.  I had to get on my way and so I decided that I would call an animal rescue mission near us and see if I could bring the bird by later in the day. In the meantime, I would text my friend down the road to see if she might have a bird cage. Feeling rather proud of myself, I took off to accomplish my various required journeys. It was around 1:30 in the afternoon when Mr. Fix-It called me to let me know he had gotten home early. I told him about my brilliant accommodations for the bird and I explained that he could not open the door or leave the door open to the bedroom because of the cat. I neglected to tell Mr. Fix-It that I wanted to take pictures of my friend before I took him to the shelter. A few minutes after this conversation, my phone rang again and it was Mr. Fix-It. He nearly screamed, “There’s a cardinal flying around the bedroom!!!” I told him to shut the door so the cat wouldn’t get it. He seemed to think that was a little condescending for me to think I would need to tell him that! And then he said, “Now he’s perched on top of the curtain rods of the window! He’s going to mess on everything!!” I asked Mr. Fix-It, rather incredulously, if the bird was actually flying. I got a very curt “of course…how do you think he got onto the curtain rod??” I then asked Mr. Fix-It if he had taken the top laundry basket off of the bottom one. I was definitely NOT making any Brownie points with him at this point. He said that he had opened the door to the room and that the bird had already escaped. It was my fault. I hadn’t tied the baskets together. I guess cardinals are strong little suckers. And I guess this cardinal didn’t have a broken wing after all. He had just been stunned. I told Mr. Fix-It to just wait until I got there and that we would figure something out. I was mentally visualizing a butterfly or fishing net, neither of which we own. My hubby wasn’t too happy. I could just see him standing in the room next to the antique 4-poster bed, ducking each time the red bird dive bombed him. And he couldn’t open the door to leave because..well, yes…because of the cat. Of course, my blogger brain was calculating, “I’ll take a picture of the cardinal on the curtains, for the blog, and THEN we’ll catch him. I kind of giggled, because I was certain that the distinctive cardinal ‘peep peep’ was being aimed at my husband and that the cat was probably outside the door in a fury. Poor Mr. Fix-It. However, I don’t give my husband enough credit. Before I ever reached the front door, Mr. Fix-It had managed to get the window open and the screen removed so that Mr. Cardinal ‘flew the coop’ without so much as an ‘au revoir’. I got no picture – just bird poop on the carpet, the comforter, the curtains and the window table, bird seed scattered all over the carpet and a soggy mess of water and newsprint in the bottom of my laundry basket. But, yay for the bird. He’s off somewhere happily reunited with his wife and hopefully a little wiser about big windows.   I know they say that hell is paved with good intentions, but this time, I like to think that I gave that bird some R & R so that he could gather his wits before a dog or cat got him. At least he lived to fly another day!! |
|
| |
|
Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company on Facebook
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cattle and Cupcakes
Constant Joy
Deborah Jean's Dandelion House
Enjoy Time Outdoors
Farmgirl Sisters
Historic Cooking School
Homestead Revival
Lady Lydia Speaks
Lazy J Bar C Farm
Like A Bubbling Brook
Little Homested in Boise
Mama To 4 Blessings
New Life on a Homestead
Paratus Familia
Pioneer Woman At Heart
Rural Revolution
Sharon's Place of Blessings
The Beehive Cottage
The Consumer Queen
The Pioneer Woman
The Prairie Homestead
The Prairie Maid