No Pie Left Behind

The No Pie Left Behind Act of 2008 should ensure that each piece of pie gets our full attention. I and my colleagues in the Pieous Party take our roles very seriously, and believe in the equality of all pies, no matter the color of their fillings or the shape of their crusts. My friends, do you hear the slice of Pumpkin calling for equanimity from the fridge, or the slices of Pecan struggling amidst sheets of foil on the countertops? Well, I do. And I intend to do something about it. Right now! This very minute! 

I ask you to join with me to fight against this stain on our society. We must work to lift up these disadvantaged pies by setting measurable goals for pie consumption each week. If we work with this end in mind, we can be rest assured that neither little Cherry Crumble from Nebraska, nor Strawberry Rhubarb from Idaho, nor Southern Pecan from Texas will find themselves falling further behind their more fortunate peers. We advocate the equal distribution of whipped cream and coffee to give all pies the help they need to acheive consumption.

Tonight, my fellow citizens, I urge you to not only ask the question "Is it Pie time?" but to make the commitment to Pieousness by responding with vigor that "Yes! It is high time for Pie time!"

Theorems of Kitteh Affection

After a long weekend of living in our closet to avoid close encounters with the houseguests, the kittehs were still wary on Monday as they patrolled about the house. As I sat in the loft writing, Sebastian cautiously crept up the stairs, every whisker at attention and ears pricked for any sound from enemy territory. Finally he was satisfied that I was the only inhabitant of the upstairs and came over to curl up with me in my chair, recovering some small portion of the cuddling losses incurred over the weekend while I was distracted with guests. 

A few moments later, I saw Belle's ears, eyes, and then nose gradually appear as she also ascended the stairs in Full Reconnaissance mode. She stalked the perimeter with wide eyes to see if any humans under the age of ten would suddenly come bursting out to love her against her will. After the all clear, she also made herself at home on whatever lap real estate not already monopolized by Sebastian. This is unusual--they very rarely share territory, so I must think that this is in response to the weekend of houseguests.

I've found that the interest rates on repayment of kitteh cuddling can be very steep, depending on various factors. No one really knows how they calculate how much you owe them, but I'm working out a theorem and am planning a round table discussion very soon. 

For the average weekend we are out of town, we have to include in our calculations not only lost hours of direct affection, but also lost hours of nearness (i.e. bedtime or watching television time). The rate of return on this affection loan of sorts is complicated by a factor of intensity (ranging from lower-intensity cuddling over a longer period under normal circumstances all the way to excessive neediness and obnoxious affection particularly prevalent when the human is trying to read a book or trying to type). 

There is also a positive correllation between the number of houseguests over a weekend and the intensity of expected  repayment following said weekend.  Furthermore, an exponent may be derived directly from the number of houseguests under the age of ten.

So far the equation is somewhat messy, so my theorem is best described visually:

A Note on Verbal Stickers

I think most of us use common phrases to express our delight to our friends when they have good things to share about their lives. We say "Oh, that's wonderful news!" or "Good for you!" and maybe even "Awesome!" but some of us go even further, into the world of verbal stickers. Just like back in First Grade when we rocked the penmanship world with our perfectly-formed Q's, and we got that yellow shooting star sticker as a reward. 

Denise telling me "That's Super!" just now was maybe the shiniest verbal sticker I have ever received. 

The Inquisitive Chicken Atrocious Song Lyric Challenge

Dear Gentle Reader:

Occasionally we come across lyrics that inspire disbelief, consternation, and even nausea. I invite you to submit lyrics that you feel are worse than the two samplings I have for your inspiration today.

Runner-Up: This song was so popular that I had the opportunity to hear it many times on the radio. I remember that first awakening when I started listening to the words instead of just the music and singing. I thought I would never find a more terrible example of rhyme over reason. Sheesh. These words make absolutely no logical sense, but you get the distinct impression that they are somehow supposed to. Disheartening. Very disheartening. Without further ado:

"You're Beautiful"

by James Blount

My life is brilliant 

My life is brilliant, my love is pure 
I saw an angel of that I'm sure 
She smiled at me on the subway 
She was with another man 
But I won't lose no sleep on that 
'Cause I've got a plan 

You're beautiful, you're beautiful 
You're beautiful, it's true 
I saw your face in a crowded place 
And I don't know what to do 
'Cause I'll never be with you 

Yes, she caught my eye 
As we walked on by 
She could see from my face that 
I was flying high 
And I don't think that I'll see her again 
But we shared a moment that will last 'till the end 

You're beautiful, you're beautiful 
You're beautiful, it's true 
I saw your face in a crowded place 
And I don't know what to do 
'Cause I'll never be with you 

La la la la la la la la la 

You're beautiful you're beautiful 
You're beautiful, it's true 
There must be an angel with a smile on her face 
When she thought up that I should be with you 
But it's time to face the truth 
I will never be with you 

Please do not hurl on your keyboard--run quickly to the restroom. Quickly!

Winner: Well, imagine my utter surprise that "You're Beautiful" was edged out by a little emo ditty that I've heard on Pandora for a while without understanding the lyrics. It needs no further introduction.

"Like A Rose on the Grave of Love"

by Xandria

Come like the dusk
Like a rose on the grave of love
You are my lust
Like a rose on the grave of love

I curse the day I first saw you
Like a rose that is born to bloom
Don't look at me the way you do
Like the roses, they fear the gloom

Your thorns, they kissed my blood

Your beauty heals, your beauty kills
And who would know better than I do?
Pretend you love me!

Indeed, reality seems far
When a rose is in love with you
Slaves of our hearts, that's what we are
We loved and died where roses grew

They watched us silently

A rose is free, a rose is wild
And who would know better than I do?
Roses are not made for love

Stunning. Simply Stunning. I'm always on guard when I hear the word "rose" in a song--it makes me listen with a kind of lyrical trepidation. I was particularly moved by the completely nonsensical stanza set off by the "bloom" and "gloom" rhyme. Brilliantly, brilliantly bad. "Like the roses, they fear the gloom." Beat THAT! Ha!

My challenge to you: 

Find something that puts these winners to shame. In fact,

I challenge you

To be true,

Else make me blue

Or want some stew.

I challenge you;

Just a few!

Old-- even new.

Maybe Motley Crue?

It's up to you. 

It's up to you.

UPDATE: 

Although I don't think the "Piranha" lyrics can exceed the horror of "Like a Rose on the Grave of Love," since one is meant to be taken seriously and the other surely not, they are very entertaining, especially in the context of speed metal drumming. Please enjoy the musical stylings of an unknown band singing a song about a piranha. Thanks to Eric for accidentally finding this little gem, and Kami for hooking us up. Indeed--who needs coffee in the morning when you could listen to this? 

Disclaimer: I cannot find who wrote or performed this song, and am unaware of any copyright infringement. If someone can tell me who credit should be given to, I will gladly do so, and if the proven owners of this song wish, I will unhappily remove the link from this site.

Seven Years & Two Hermits

Instead of giving each other cards and expensive gifts, David and I have most enjoyed going on trips to celebrate our anniversary. One year it was a Caribbean cruise, last year we had a wonderful trip to Boise. This year we opted for something closer to home, but wanted a destination distinct enough from our normal landscape to feel like a getaway. We chose to drive less than two & a half hours to stay in a rustic cabin at the peaceful Wilderness Lakefront Resort on Broken Bow Lake in Oklahoma.  Hey, it had a full kitchen, so it wasn't too rustic.

Home away from home: Cabin #4

The landscape there is indeed very different from what we might have expected: Towering trees, steep hills, a clean lake, and abundant wildlife. This was a wonderful place to celebrate our seven years of marriage by spending time enjoying a beautiful place together. 

Thanks to a local squirrel for taking our picture.

We also had a fantastic dinner at Abendigo's Restaurant in Hochatown. David had the fire roasted tomato risotto (I sampled it--was outstanding); I had the Signature Steak Filet with bleu cheese glaze, port wine sauce and garlic mashed potatoes. I could've died happy, right there, but gladly did not, as that might have cast a general pall over the weekend. And I wouldn't have gotten to go canoeing. 

Below is evidence that we actually didn't look like hermits the entire weekend. I had the camera set up on the porch and we had to do several takes with me pushing the auto-timer and sprinting in flip-flops down the steps and tearing throught the gravel in the picnic area to the bridge to "act natural" for the picture.

Yep, we've been standing here casually for like, ever.

On Sunday we first had a flat tire, which the owner of WLF was kind enough to fix for us--he's a great guy. After that we took out the resort-provided canoe on the lake for several hours with lunch in the ice chest. I was in back as the awkward rudder. David was in front as the power paddler and harasser of the awkward rudder. It was a lesson in having to work together! We figured it out eventually--mostly, without anyone going overboard or getting smacked in the head with a paddle. I love canoeing!

The Power Paddler, doing what he does.

After canoeing and a rest, we hiked in the McCurtain Co. Wilderness Area, which is where the first picture of this post was taken. It had some steep terrain, with some lovely pine forest. The scent of pine needles and the sound of the wind rushing through them is an ideal condition for peaceful wandering.

J'Non's proximity to local spiders in this photo: 6 inches or less!

A clear stream running through the trail--a good spot to wash the walking sticks.

We checked out on Monday and drove about 20 minutes to Beaver's Bend Resort Park with its trout stream, nature and hiking trails, camping, canoeing, and nature center. They even have a mini-golf course, strangely enough! We plan to go camping there in the future, but we only had time for an afternoon excursion this time. At Beaver's Bend we hiked two scenic trails and drove around to see some of the camping areas.

 

The trout stream is chilly with water coming from the bottom of the lake.

This was a little steeper than I had anticipated. Hmm. And the rocks a little pointy. Hmmm.

So, to avoid the steepest part of the trail where we had to hold onto stuff and climb up over rocks, we decided to hike along the river on our way back. This worked well to a point, but then we started ascending gradually from the river until we found ourselves in the middle of a very steep embankment with no sign of a trail at all. I think we took the mountain goat path.  It was almost a sheer drop to the river (injury guaranteed), or we could try to go up the side of the hill slowly (injury less likely) and hope not to fall like some human Plinko through the sharp rocks and trees down to the river (death, dismemberment). 

We decided we'd better not fall on the way up. So, we took it slow and held onto any available trees as we tried to find good footholds. It's one of those scenarios where you keep thinking "This is so stupid. I can't believe we are doing this," and yet on we went.

Way down yon is the river. The grade is so steep that I can't even see our starting point on the mountain goat path.

Amazingly, we made it in one piece back to the end of the trail to head home and were none the worse for our adventures except for a few stowaway chiggers. Nothing says romantic weekend quite like chigger bites. Except for maybe a roving seed tick or two. These aside, it was a perfect weekend for a couple of hermits in love!

Stealth Salad: Operation Purple Smoothie

You know where I stand on salads. Love, hate--the line can be very fine. And eating spinach on its own? There's no love here. It's a texture thing, the way it feels between the ol' molars. It's a little squeaky. Anyway, at my sister Jennifer's recommendation, I am getting my squeakier greens disguised with berry and banana goodness in a "green" smoothie (but berries make it a much more palatable purple).

Here's where I got my directions:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXr8-jru1KE

I just tried a similar version, in my standard, non-fancy blender, with the following basic recipe:

2 C. Cold Water
5 Collard Leaves (I used the ones growing in my mini-garden in the backyard)
Organic Baby Spinach (fill blender up to top with this)

Whirl on "Puree" setting until all leaves are annihilated. Color will be an alarming shade of green--the exact color of your fresh lawn clippings, in fact.

Add:
1 Banana,
1 C. Yogurt (optional)
2 C. Frozen Berries (I used the tri-berry mix from Costco)
More Spinach--IF you dare!
1/2 tsp. powdered Stevia (optional)

Whirl again until all objects are obliterated into a deep purple.

Other ingredients to add to your smoothies:
Kale
Apples, cored and sliced

I tried it, preparing my tastebuds for the worst, and was shocked to my very toes that it didn't taste at all like berry-flavored lawn. I sampled some more to make sure I wasn't crazy, wrote this down immediately because I was so excited, and slurped down the rest of it.

Another exciting way to clear my dietary conscience. Those brownies sitting on my counter will soon be a mere memory.

Brownies? What? I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.

(Shifty eyes while discreetly raking crumbs from keyboard).

Biking in DC

We went to visit David's sister Debbie and her husband Greg in Washington DC a couple of weeks ago. One morning we had an opportunity to bike some of the usual tourist destinations near the Mall, and in the afternoon biked the beautiful Mt. Vernon trailway with some friends.

Ridin' on the Metro, with Debbie's Schwinn cruiser.

Thanks for the hydration packs, Momma Sue!

In the afternoon I had my first real bike wreck (anything without blood really doesn't count). About halfway through the ride, just a half mile from the turnaround point at Mount Vernon, I let my front tire get off the asphalt ledge into gravel. Of course overcorrection ensued on the wet path, and my left elbow, hip, and knee pitched in to help me out with the forward momentum problem I seemed to be having as I crashed.

Thanks, Knee!

Thanks, Elbow!

Little accidents like this really make you appreciate your skin layers protecting your nerves from the pain of water and air. I hope there was at least spectacular flailing and artistic color for the four people riding right behind me (slowest person typically sets pace). The only thing better than a bike wreck is for there to be lots of witnesses. Awesome.

Audience Members: Justin, Alisha, Ryan
(Who, incidentally, could all probably crush me like a bug with one of their calf muscles. Fortunately though, all very nice people).

The Baring Of One's Soul: (On Writing)

Writing can be a very public activity. Even the act of writing something down privately means that you realize that someday someone else might read it. I could be flattened by a truck tomorrow, and then some unfortunate soul would have to go through my things: my letters, my writing folders, my prayer notebooks. As a writer with a chronic editing complex, I have always at some level been aware of this and write my first drafts for the possibility of an audience other than the one originally intended.

The written word is a powerful thing, telling unauthorized tales between the lines, and has even more value when we have something to lose. In this very blog, I write more humor posts than anything, but I have very little to lose in doing so. Oh, sure, I may lose some dignity in my self-deprecation, but it shouldn't cause any permanent damage. But to write about the deep things which give me pause or pangs? Offering these up for public consumption is cause for greater anxiety and is much more difficult. Greater depth in subject dictates greater agony in revision as well. Conveying the nuance becomes more important as a writer becomes emotionally invested and desires a response in the life of someone else; the reader.

I had a great creative writing teacher, Dr. Randy Prus, who used to tell us that sentimentality was like a dog returning to its own vomit. I love this simile because it helps me stem the tide of pathos somewhat, and at the very least to keep it a little more real. There is certainly a place for sentiment, but in proportion. I don’t do syrupy.

Themes of so many works of fiction and works of life are the search for fulfillment, love, happiness. These seem to be the mirage in the distance for so many--searching everywhere to fill the void within us. Haven't we all been lost there at some point? Replacing the emptiness with whatever can make us forget for a time: food, entertainments, addictions, sarcasm, competition, consumption. Distractions. But the best times in my own life have never been related to things or objects or entertainments. They have been lit by the glow of happiness I felt when I was with those that loved me, and those whom I loved in return. They are my life.

And the writing. I've always thought it was much easier for me personally to write in the face of difficulty than in happiness. Turmoil is much easier to explore without sounding clichéd than joy (again, the sentiment). I wonder why that is? I'm saddened to think that humans relate to pain & suffering more than happiness--is it because we are accustomed to having the other shoe drop? Because we have empathy or compassion which has developed over the years as we also have hurt, have felt alone, and have cried ourselves to sleep with the pain of living?

When my heart is heavy, I think that I cannot make it relive all those hard times just for the sake of writing something meaningful. But I realize that those times are part of me. As much or more so than the good. The trials and sore heart is where the shape of my character has mostly been carved. So do they make me bitter? Do they make me sad? Do they make me strong? Do they make me judgmental? Do they make me compassionate? Yes, all. And I have to choose to overcome that which needs overcoming; to try and make sense of the imperfection that I am; to seek contentment in those aspects of my life I cannot change, while working to identify and correct the variables. All of this informs the writing which is the most difficult but most necessary to share. I’ll try to be brave enough to give you my best along the way.

Off the Wagon

I'm back from a twelve-day trip from Dallas to Kentucky, D.C., Tennessee, and back to Kentucky. I had a wonderful time, but I'm very glad to be home! I will be posting at some point on some of the adventures there, if I can squeeze some creativity from my brain. Nice visual, eh?

Comfort Food

When I'm feeling low, it directly influences what foods I want to prepare and eat. Do you feel the same? I don't head for sweets or chocolate, but instead crave those foods which were part of my childhood: My grandmother's soup with saltines, corn meal mush with butter and sweetener, and my mom's pinto beans with buttered cornbread. Whole-grain pancakes and macaroni & cheese I pretty much crave all the time, so I don't add them to this list officially. Today I'd like to introduce you to the soup.

Granny only ever made one soup that I recall, so if she said she was making soup for dinner everyone knew exactly what to expect. Thus it is so clearly associated in my memory with her. Sometimes we would make cornbread to go with it, but more often than not, we'd have saltine crackers instead, putting about five or so on each of our plates but having the open cracker sleeve handy for refills.

My grandmother was such a comfort to me for most of my life, and I can't make the soup now without thinking of her and the wonderful sensations I always experienced in sitting down to eat this meal with her and the family--the fragrance of steam rising from the bowls, the thin, hollow sound of crackers breaking into pieces, the spoons gently scraping against the sides of porcelain or stoneware, the soft whistle of air as we cooled each spoonful, and the flavor that tasted like home. The familiarity of Pat Sajak in the background and the ding of letters on the board. What a blessing! (Granny, family, and soup--not Wheel, you understand, although in general I think it a fine program).

I was such a thin little child, but I could eat at least two full bowls of this soup, and if allowed, probably a third. Where did it all go? Straight to my heart, of course, and has remained for all these years. My mom recently told me about being in the hospital after delivering one of my older brothers. The hospital food was terrible, but they wanted her to eat a certain amount every day in order to be released. She finally told them that if they would let her go home and have some of her mother's soup, she might live. They did and she did.



Granny's Soup

Basic ingredients:
1 lb. lean ground beef
1 large white onion, diced
2-3 lb. red potatoes, scrubbed and diced (amount depends on size of family and taste!)
salt and pepper to taste
water

Optional ingredients:
2 cloves fresh garlic, minced
1-2 carrot, sliced
1 can diced tomato (Rotel will make it very spicy)
1-2 c. frozen corn (or one can)
1-2 squash or zucchini, chopped
4 T. Butter
Ketchup

Directions:
1. Brown ground beef in large pot with salt, and add chopped onion when beef is about half done.
2. When beef is fully cooked, spoon off whatever grease weighs on your conscience.
3. Add diced potatoes and sliced carrots; cover with water (water line should be about 1" above ingredients).
4. Bring to a boil, lower heat to medium and cover, stirring occasionally until potatoes are beginning to soften. Add squash, corn, tomatoes, butter, salt, pepper; cover and return to a simmer.
5. Soup is ready when vegetables are soft. Adjust salt & pepper to taste. Soup will thicken over several days of reheating. Don't freeze it--the texture of the potatoes will change.
6. If you want a little punch to it and are feeling reckless, stir about two tablespoons of ketchup into the soup in your bowl. Oh yeah.
7. Share with your loved ones, with plenty of crackers between you!

Southern Hospitality

Ok, so maybe we don't have polar bears or electric eels to contend with in Texas. But we got some scary bugs. And weeds. (Can I get a witness?) And Bermuda grass, which I think I'm gonna start calling Bermuda Weed. Yep, that sounds more like it. Anyway, we have to look for our adventures around here in more modest ways than in bear conflicts. That is why we go Dale Gribble on the local fire ant colonies, trying to get inside their heads in the expensive and unwinnable war we have going with them. But this is the New American Way.

"I think they're gonna move toward the Bradford Pear and set up a strategic base camp there. They know that it'll be a weak point for us. I've just got this feeling."

I've poured boiling water on hills, knowing that it would not win the war, but wanting to make them re-think their proximity to my sidewalk. It's tough making the decision to move ahead with it, despite the certainty of casualties in my day lily bed. This is war. Sacrifices are made.

David grew up in Idaho and represents it as the land flowing with milk and honey. He paints a picture of an idyllic childhood, roaming the neighborhoods, hillsides, and forests with his little brother and sister, Mike and Debbie. There were numerous camping trips with his family, all without a single fire-ant encounter.

I even remember a time before fire ants, believe it or not. I grew up in Southern Oklahoma before they had migrated that far North. I remember plenty of other bugs to avoid while growing up, and many varieties of ants. But these usually minded their own business instead of having a preemptive foreign policy of attacking anything that moved. An enjoyable childhood activity of mine was to disturb part of an ant hill so I could see how they repaired it. Fascinating stuff. I enjoyed their unswerving devotion to perfection in making their beautiful hill just as beautiful as before.

But if you do that to fire ants, they just want vengeance, and they'll worry about rebuilding after they have demolished anything living within chomping distance. Less fascinating than exceedingly creepy is the way they boil out of their dens. Yeesh. Idaho is sounding more and more inviting all the time.

Texas is always using size as a marker for the reasons for its greatness. If we're talking beef ribs, belt buckles, or even hair, that's one thing. But insects that are large enough to be chipping in on property taxes? Or large enough to be wearing a seatbelt (nod to Larry)? Alleged friend and Boise resident Pam Blue even goes so far as to so sweetly remind me that they don't even have cockroaches up there. Probably no termites, either. Those Idaho license plates which currently say "Famous For Potatoes" should be boasting "Very Few Bugs." But I bet their beef ribs are really small. And probably tough, too.

Freeverse No. 1

Anymore, I don't write much poetry, or whatever label you'd like to attach to such a liberal use of the word. But I think it's good for people to get out those things which seem too abstract for simple prose; the things which we are still working out in the dim recesses. It also provides a memory bank for those moments which are perhaps not important of themselves, but are a marker for a time and a place that we may forget after a time. It's good to remember.

3/16/01

A life just passed before my eyes,
And another, then another, and
An unlimited number of them;
All driving to some point, all
Having a fibrous network of other lives
Intertwined with theirs,
All believing that indeed,
The world does surround--
No, that the world does spin
In a neat circle around them.

I sit here, inconspicuous
On a balcony overseeing them all,
Knowing that the world does
Not revolve around me, nor
The man cleaning the grime
From the parking garage floor,
Nor the woman cleaning
Invisible dust from the windows
Of the office building across the street.

She is in her world, in a still
And silent boardroom, surrounded
By her thoughts, busy in her work.
There is no thread between us,
Only panes of glass now, and
The static of a city beyond them.
Back indoors, the static seeps in,
But perhaps she cannot hear
Over the static of her own thoughts
The hum of living; silent and deafening.

Roadies

Hi. My name is J'Non, and I'm a roadie:



It's official, since we just purchased a couple of road bikes last Sunday from a local bike shop to replace the mountain bikes which have been taking us sweating and wheezing over hill and dale for the last year. We are retiring my old bike to Northern pastures, and I'm using David's Trek to run errands here in town, since it's still in good shape and is more comfortable for short jaunts.

The newies (nod to Aaron Blue for the neologism) are Specialized brand, Allez models, which is pronounced like "Allay". Mine is an Allez Double, which is so much of an upgrade from the bike I was riding that I cannot truly express my joy at the changes. It rides "like buttah." Oh, yeah.

Since they were out of his size in the Double, David got a discount for an upgrade, the Elite, which has a bit more carbon fiber for a softer ride and slightly better hardware all around.



I'm gonna be honest, I had my heart set on the bike designed for girly sensibilities--the Dolce, which was yellow and white with flowers on the frame and seat. Sigh. It was very pretty. But, unlike most women, I do not have a compact torso. I'm of above-average height, at 5'9" and my proportions are much better suited to men's frames. No flowers for me. But I've decided that I will probably live over this injustice, and I do love my bike.

We rode about 17 miles for our first trip and felt the vast differences in the aerodynamics, the energy economy of using these gears and skinny road tires. The seats take a little getting used to--they are...ahh...firm. I'll have to check the specs again to make sure, but I think they are made out of granite. This is why you buy those bike shorts with the padding in the rear. We don't yet have these, so we have some very bruised rear-ends instead. But hey, the air conditioning is great when you're in a tuck, snacking on your handlebars down a steep hill between 30 and 40mph. A little bruising on the old caboose is totally worth it.

We definitely shaved about 25% off of our previous time, and weren't even totally exhausted when we got home. We'll be trying to increase our stamina and speed so that we can ride with a local group on Sunday mornings. They leave at 6:30 am and go about 34 miles, averaging about 15 mph with no rest stops. These group rides are organized by the shop where we purchased the bikes--Rockwall Cycling. It's a fun place--the people working there are really knowledgeable and passionate about bikes and cycling. You get a sense that they are genuinely excited for you that you are getting this awesome opportunity to ride decent bikes. Welcome to the biking club--it's gonna be a good run.

I love the camaraderie of people who bike. And the calf muscles. You take a few steps into the biking world and you'll start to pick up on the humor, the culture, and the love. And the opportunity for developing amazing calf muscles. You'll see a twinkle in the eyes of those who say with obvious joy, "I'm a roadie," like Kamps, the stocky, athletically-built manager of Rockwall Cycling. He's a Rockwall local who, as of July 2007, does not even own a car. He cycles wherever he needs to go, and probably has a more pleasant daily commute than most people I know. I commented to him that it must be liberating to not have a car payment, and his eyes lit up as he said "And no insurance!" I'm right there with ya, Kamps. Say on, brother.

Tall, cyclist-thin, and twenty-something, Tyler is the sales guy who sold us the bikes, fitted us for them, and answered the million questions we had along the way. He usually commutes about 20 miles to work in Rockwall from Plano on a big bike with fat tires. He says it takes him about an hour each way, which is pretty amazing, considering it takes me about 40 minutes to get to Plano by car. I stole the "snacking on your handlebars" phrase from him without remorse.

I'm thinking that the shop must have a shower facility in the back, because for all this physical commuting, these guys look awfully fresh and squeaky clean. I know what I look like after cycling for 17 miles, and it's not anything that should ever face the public. I'm usually red-faced from exertion for an hour or so afterward, and the sheer volume of sweat is pretty spectacular compared to any other form of exercise I've ever tried. This is not for people who need to look like they have it together. The pictures I included earlier in the post are taken only about 1/4 of the way into our ride. For honesty's sake, I should probably include one of the end of the trip if my vanity will allow it. We'll see.

Farewell, Trans Am

We sold the Batmobile last week, courtesy of a Craigslist posting, and I feel that a farewell is now in order.


Though we will miss the sounds of your snarly exhaust, the adventure of your racing suspension, and the wind and gnats in our hair from the open T-tops, we know that you will have many years of adventures ahead of you in Finland. Perhaps even now you are on a huge boat, sailing across the seas to your new home--a place where your beauty and American muscle will be appreciated even more for its rarity.

Do not cry, dear. You will need your wiper fluid for removing the remains of the numerous Finnish insects that you will exterminate with blunt force trauma by your gleaming brow. Even now, these insects are gamboling about the Finnish countryside and mocking with abandon the teeny cars which swish quietly along the highways. Cheer up, Love--how many of your friends can say that they've flattened Finnish bugs? Hmm? This is the adventure of a lifetime! Bon Voyage!

Support Local Agriculture!

Since reading The Omnivore's Dilemma, a fascinating book by Michael Pollan, I've become more aware of the underlying costs when I buy "cheap" food that has come an incredible distance. While perhaps more convenient to me personally to buy something that was produced in Chile, shipped here on a refrigerated semi-truck, and placed in a tidy stack at Kroger, it's probably costing me more in a larger sense.

I am competing with my own long-haul produce for fuel, after all, not only in the transportation costs to store it and then bring it to me, but in the natural gas required for making synthetic fertilizer and the petrochemicals used for producing pesticides. I'm also competing with that juicy steak, too, since the corn that either fattens him up or ends up in my car as ethanol is heavily subsidized by the taxes we all pay.


Ok, ok. But what can we DO about it? Well, ok, I'm still shopping at my local Kroger, and the incredibly cheap organic bananas I buy are not grown in the U.S., but I feel increasingly compelled to support local farmers when I can by purchasing directly from them throughout the growing season. I hope that they are able to actually make a decent living without sacrificing responsible methods of farming or becoming dependant on subsidies which we support through taxes.

There are some very helpful websites out there designed to help you find out where the farmers are in your area. Two that I have used recently are www.pickyourown.org and www.localharvest.org.

This past week I had an opportunity to go on a circuit to 3 different farms which are relatively near my home. The first stop was Akin Farm in Terrell to get beautiful red potatoes, yellow onions, garlic, and pick-my-own Roma green beans. Proprietor Wendy Akin threw in some fresh bay as a gift. She and her husband are retired, and they've been farming those several acres organically for twenty-two years. The prices were very reasonable, and it felt good to know that the exchange of their good produce for our money was helping both of us and hurting neither.

From there I went north to Commerce to pick up some fresh organic blackberries from a small, family-run operation that the owner is developing slowly as a retirement project when he no longer drives a truck for a living. The berries were incredibly huge, flavorful, clean, and ranged from perfectly ripe and sweet to slightly tart. The price was way below what you would pay at the grocery store--even for conventionally grown berries. The seeds were large, but unless my appendix tells me otherwise, it was worth it!

And by the way, the blackberry cobbler we had for dessert that night was top notch. My mom made a traditionally southern crust, which is a butter pastry crust with a lift, courtesy of a little baking powder. She always sinks a layer of crust inside the pie, so you get this bonus layer enveloped by a thick, luxurious filling of whole berries, sugar, and flour. Mmmmm.

The rest of the berries I tossed with some sugar and put into freezer bags to wait until I decide to make preserves, desserts, or fruit salads in the coming year. Eating more locally also means eating more seasonally--buying when things are ripe and putting up surplus to enjoy later from the freezer. There's something very satisfying about seeing your freezer full of food that you put up yourself!

Also in Commerce was Windy Meadows Farm, which offers organic-pastured chicken, eggs, beef, and lamb. This is also family owned and operated, with a processing facility on site. They actually encourage people to come out and look at the facility--it's spotless. I haven't had a chance yet to cook the chicken I purchased, but will let you know how it turns out. I've a hankering for fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy that will not be denied! The prices are similar to what you'd pay at the grocery store for organic meats, which could be affordable if families make meals which are more often vegetarian than meat-centered.

I was pleased with my first foray into the local food scene; it's very encouraging to see people making an effort to grow food responsibly and sustainably.

A happy Jersey calf at Windy Meadows Farm
(Jerseys are used for milking, not meat, so this happiness should continue for a good long while).

The Embodiment Of All That Is Cute In Adolescent Goatiness

Cuteness Notes--This goatlette has a variety of cute factors in its favor.

1. A gratuitous parting of the hair at the top--just like my oldest brother's senior picture from the late 80's.
2. Nibbular lips. For nibbling. And for looking cute in photographs.
3. Proportionally skinny, pre-pubescent neck.
4. Ears which appear genuinely excited to be attached to this goatlette. Look at them--they exude goat satisfaction and could probably serve very well as dual-action ladles should the need arise.

Biking Keeps Me Humble

David and I have been biking for exercise since last fall, with a lull during winter while we lived on our fat stores and supplemented any possible loss with hot chocolate, coffee, lots of whipped cream, pies, and ice cream. When the time came to come out of hibernation, we were raring to go.

Ok, ok. David was raring to go, and I was feeling like my muscles were made out of some really gooey pie. Mmmm...piiiiiiiiiiie. Maybe a chocolate pie, with a little caramel drizzled over the top. Mmmmm--No wait! These are post-hibernation legs...better make that a Coconut Cream. Mmmmm...piiiiiiiiiie...

Ahem, where was I? Ah, yes, I have always a bit on the non-muscular side. One of my illustrious nicknames in school was "Pebble" because a girl said that when I flexed my bicep it looked like a pebble was lodged under the skin. And calves? Oh, isn't that sweet that you think all humans have them! No, I had legs perfectly resembling the number eleven, descending from knobbular knees all the way to bony ankles and ski-like feet. With this kind of physical makeup in my past, it even now takes me a while to work up to an endurance level that doesn't leave me wheezing after the first mile. But, David says my calf muscles actually poke out when I'm going up hill now, so I've got to say it's worth it.

The first opportunity for developing my humility was getting passed by an older gentleman who was on foot. Granted, this was in the middle of the "hill of death," as I named it for its steep and punishing grade. On the upside, this was probably a boost to his confidence, and really, I'm just happy to be out here doing good works. Motivational cycler--that's me.

We've just recently increased our distance to between ten and fifteen miles on a new route that takes us through some very pleasant country. There we see horses of varying models, rotund cows, and all kinds of wildflowers this time of year. On the way down a very lovely hill I had my first encounter with a wasp as an adult, and one in which I ended up with more collateral damage than he (you may read about this in the previous post).

This particular exercise in humility happened as I was gaining speed down a big hill about six miles from home. I had trouble stopping while trying to rid myself of the unexpected passenger, who seemed much more calm and collected than I. I was one second away from leaping off the bike while still in motion to rip off my t-shirt and perform a couple of minutes of impromptu Riverdance on it--I did have appropriate sportswear underneath, so it seemed like a plan perfectly suited to being in the middle of nowhere with only the cows to look on me in judgment. But then I saw the couple slowly cycling up the hill to meet me and already looking at me with some amusement at the show of wild antics wherein I steered heroically with one hand while whapping myself on the back with the other. I decided against the disrobing idea.

When I finally opened the bottom of my t-shirt and flapped it to encourage my angry little pal to leave, he flew out and appeared unscathed, a large fellow who was an irate shade of orange. As I and the couple passed each other, I offered an eloquent explanation. "A wasp totally just flew into my t-shirt! He got me four times!" They laughed as they rode by, which was not really the reaction I needed at the moment. Sympathy? Horror? Shock? How about an "are you ok?" or "can we call CareFlite for you?" Well, I lived, as it turned out. Perhaps with a few throbbing spots on my back and neck, and with less dignity than before, but that just meant I had all the less to lose in my next humility lesson.

On Wednesday evening, we again struck out for a little biking adventure, and this time I was wearing a shirt with a small neck opening. Ha, ha! It's like I'm learning or something! We had gone a full two hours of biking, covering about 15 miles of hill and dale. It was a good run, if exhausting. We were almost home but my usual way of getting up on the sidewalk to go through the park was blocked by some teenagers milling around their truck, talking and laughing. I'd have to stop and walk my bike up over the curb, or jump the curb like David had just done. In my weakened mental state, I thought, "Oh, I really don't want to, but I'll just do it!"

This is one of those times where it would have paid dividends to be a weenie. As it was, I gamely got myself ready to face it head on and was so ready to feel that wheel up on that sidewalk. Instead, I didn't quite get the height that one needs to retain dignity, so my bike crashed into the curb, I crashed into the front of my bike while making a lot of sounds like "Ooooof!" "Hhcckk!" and "Unnggh!" and fighting Sir Isaac Newton himself. I'm gonna call it a draw. He's a wily old dude.

Cue the awkward moment of silence where all six teenagers are staring at me as if I had just sprouted antennae from my forehead. Once I found myself to be alive, if currently the object of unwanted onlooker interest, I got back on the bike and attempted to roll on out of there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the chain was thrown, so after a few more awkward moments, I had to dismount and put the chain back on (I think with David's help at this point).

Cue more awkward moments. I don't know those kids, probably will never see them again, doesn't matter. Amazing how it's still humiliating, despite all of that logic! So, are developed calf muscles really worth it? Yes, indeedy.

Excerpt From The Diary of Winston B. Waspington

Introduction:
This snippet of diary was recently discovered in Rockwall County; exact location unknown.

May 4, 2008

Today I went out for my daily trip to the grocery for my dear Mrs. Waspington, as she requested that I pick up a fresh garden spider needed to complete the insect soup she planned for our dinner. I was happy to oblige, but as I was on my way, my day took a most extraordinary turn.

Without warning, I was struck by a large mammal which was perched on top of a two-wheeled metal device. It must have been traveling at a great speed, and I was barely able to get my bearings after the collision in order to cling to the backside of its neck, which was sweaty, warm, and overall a very disagreeable surface.

Before I had time to even consider how to safely escape, it tried to kill me by crushing me with one of the two long forelegs attached just below its neck. I managed to defend myself with two stings, though the second was interrupted as a second attack by the foreleg caused me to lose my grip and fall inside the large tent covering its thorax.

Once inside this tent, I could see clearly that this was designed to be a trap for such innocent persons as myself. The opening at the top was held open by the rushing wind which sucked in any victims as the creature sped along on the metal device.

Not willing to be eaten alive with poor Mrs. Waspington left alone to protect our nest of youngsters still in their pods, I gathered my courage. This time I gave a mighty jab near the base of its right foreleg where I thought it would be difficult for my attacker to reach me. I underestimated the reach of those giant, mantis-like forelegs, which now attempted to crush me in the tent material.

Narrowly escaping serious injury yet again, I dropped down and over to the other side and clung to a more stable section of material which fit closely to my attacker's body and which spanned across the back of the thorax. Undetected there, I made one more effort to save my life, and stung with all my might, down through the material and into the flesh of my attacker.

At last, my defense had worked! A secret hatch was opened at the bottom of the tent and I was able to fly out! Disoriented, but with all my wings and legs accounted for! Shaken, but alive! When I returned home to the nest, Mrs W. made such a fuss over the incident and would not be satisfied until my wings and legs were each inspected to a millimeter. We each agreed that one could not be too careful when these sort of mammals are around, and that ultimately, the best defense is "sting first, ask questions later."

Garden Crime Report: 5/7/08

Case # 542096

Officer J. Whitlark first noticed heavily nibbled collards and radish tops during a routine watering in the lower West side.

The suspects: Two caterpillars, approximately .75" in length and wearing black running suits were sighted about an aphid's throw from the community at Collard's Crest.

Case Notes:

The two suspects did not appear to trial, and are considered missing. Investigators fear that they are victims of vigilante justice, but no witnesses have come forward.


Case # 542097

Officer J. Whitlark observed the results of vandalism to one Cinnamon Basil structure on the Southern corner of Herb Square. After a shakedown, one Mr. Inchwormpants, of light green color and approximately 11 mm in length was taken into custody for booking. The primary officer on the scene noted that the suspect smelled strongly of basil and seemed disoriented.




Case Notes:

After mug shots and feeler-printing, the suspect escaped during prisoner transfer. Location is currently unknown. The suspect is armed with .77 mm mandibles and considered very dangerous. All basil should use extreme caution if encountering this individual.

Stealth Salad: Operation Spring Roll

Let's face it, shall we? Humans can only have so many salads without feeling listless over lettuce. Miles of lettuce. Endless munching. Pausing to chew our cud, we reflect on how the wrangling of lettuce leaves and the mess which ensues as we stuff untidy piles of dressing-covered leaves in our mouths can seem a smidge undignified, if not embarrassing. "Darling, there appears to be some vinagrette on your temple."

I hate to disparage salad, though, as it can serve useful roles at the dinner table--like creating a platform on which to eat large quantities of croutons, cheese, and ranch dressing. And let us not forget perhaps the greatest service of all, which is to dispense with any residual guilt which may be loitering around our consciences from the recent ingestion of cheeseburgers, steaks, and/or plates of al dente carbohydrates smothered in heavy Italian cream sauces.

To break the monotony, sneak in all the components of a clear culinary conscience by making cold Vietnamese spring rolls with an almond-curry sauce sometime. I'm going to be honest--at first, these are pretty time consuming unless you already have some mad burrito-rolling skills and a totally awesome blog to walk you through the steps. One out of two isn't bad. They become very simple over time, and the texture and flavors are worth it. Not to mention the crystal clear conscience. "Yes, I do believe I will have another pat of butter on my cheesy baked potato, thank you."

Secret Agent Parsley, pictured with other operatives:


Step 1: Locate Ingredients!

Much of this you may already have on hand, but there are a few items that you wouldn't have unless you make sushi at home. Check the recipe for the almond-curry sauce at the bottom of the post for some of these items, and don't forget to substitute wildly from your own pantry and let me know how it turns out! Or, purchase the items and plan to go nuts and make sushi at home, too! Look at you, being all adventurous in the kitchen!

Rice Paper (found in the "Ethnic Foods" section--those without wheat flour work best)
Rice Noodles (thin rice vermicelli is best)
Cucumber
Carrot
Lettuce
Sugar Snap Peas (just a handful will do)
Herbs of your choice
Mung Bean Sprouts
Whatever else you have in the crisper that needs to be consumed


2. Prep ingredients!

Have the vegetables washed, sliced--ready to go. You can use whatever you like--we typically use cucumber, carrot, fresh cilantro and parsley, green onion tops, mung bean sprouts, romaine lettuce, sugar snap peas, and even young collards. For protein, you can also include tofu or chicken.

Rice noodles take just a few minutes to cook in boiling water. Rinse them under cool water to stop the cooking process and make them easier to handle--less sticky!




3. Assembling!

I use a small plate, turned upside down with plastic wrap draped across it for my rolling station. Wet one sheet of rice paper under the tap, making sure that all surfaces area comes in contact with the water. One dip'll do--the sheet will soften as you add ingredients. For presentation, be mindful that whatever you arrange in the center of the roll will be visible when you are finished.

Cilantro is a nice start, placed upside down:


You can add ingredients in whatever order you like, but I like to play with the presentation by adding a canvas of cucumber for the cilantro, with maybe some carrot for color:


Sugar snap peas add a nice crunch and flavor:


Crisp lettuce on top of that:


Then, add some mung bean sprouts. Yes, mung bean sprouts look pretty hideously unappetizing, but they are very good and add a satisfying crunch to the rolls. Top the hideousness with pleasant-looking rice noodles (these may still be warm from cooking):


Fold over one end and bring down the upper part of the wrap. The rice paper sticks to itself when damp, so it seals itself if you help it make the right connections:


Fold in the other end. While holding the ingredients in with your thumb and forefinger, roll the whole business down on top of the front side of the paper:


Now you can see how your design worked out! Pretty, but not too pretty to eat:

You can refrigerate the rolls overnight or even a couple of days without much compromise of taste and texture.


4. Get Saucy!

The sauce that we typically have with these is made primarily with almond butter, also adding some protein. Curry, garlic, and a little chili sauce adds a great kick. Just stir together all the following ingredients (or whatever you have that seems similar enough to these ingredients). Substitute at will--I certainly do. No cooking required:

1 heaping Tbs brown sugar
2 Tbs rice wine
2 tsp rice wine vinegar
1/4 - 1/2 tsp curry powder
2 tsp soy sauce or tamari
1/4 tsp sesame oil
1/2 tsp chili sauce
1/2 tsp minced garlic
1/4 C coconut milk
3/4 C nut butter


You may need to stir the sauce again before serving:




5. Revel in a Clear Conscience!

The continuing search for clever designs and compelling ingredient combinations will be fun experimentation. I'm thinking already thinking ahead to my next batch: a little red pepper...some beet greens...some blackened ahi tuna? Hmmmm... would ranch dressing be good as a sauce? Hummus? See, people? These are the questions which will drive the planning of my next not-so-covert SaladOp.

Now, get me my creamy Fettuchini Alfredo and garlic bread with extra butter--stat!

Bok, Bok: New Digs!

Many hennish trills of delight go out to David for coming up with a character and header design for me and my teeny little world stage. It's lovely to have a talented husband on the team, and of course a chicken sporting a monocle is always good to have on board. I'm trying to decide what to name her. Henrietta?

I now also have the domain inquisitivechicken.com, which forwards directly to this blog but is much easier to remember.

Side Note: If you've never actually heard a hen trill with delight, you are missing out. Happy hens, full from grazing on green grass and a delectable assortment of bugs actually do warble in the evening as dusk nears and they settle on their roosts.

Chocolate Truffle Cake: The Obsession Lives

Newswire: Tragedy was narrowly averted late last Thursday evening in Rockwall, when J'Non Whitlark was struck by the realization that she had lost her only paper copy of a recipe for Chocolate Truffle Cake.

Dear Gentle Reader,

Oh, yes, this was the final hormonal straw in a week already punctuated by various combinations of stormy weeping and inexplicable exuberance, and I could not be consoled at this unexpected loss so late in the game. I had planned to make it the next morning for the NTBMO on Saturday evening. No Google search could find anything that quite reflected the simplicity of the recipe given to me by Michelle Rickard several years ago, though I found some hope from a post of something that looked similar on someone's blog from Sweden--pretty cool.

I hated to ask Michelle for it again...but the thought of no truffle cake I hated with all of my being. So I pleaded mercy. She, of all people, would understand the Power of the Truffle over my emotional well-being. Somehow sensing the underlying desperation beneath the veneer of a calm request for the recipe "if she had time" to look for it, she came through with the recipe just in time, and my weekend was saved!

For me, and those who profess to love chocolate, this cake is the epitome of all that is good and right in the dessert world. No added sugar, just lots of dark chocolate and a generous helping of delicious cholesterols to round out the recipe. The cake requires refrigeration after cooking. It is during this time that you must plan to be out of the house and away from the killer chocolate smells emanating from the kitchen. These smells have been known to cause mental paralysis, blurred vision, increased salivation, behavioral problems, and sweeping regret. You may want to open some windows to help yourself stay on the wagon.

Once the cake has cooled and the tantalizing aromas are somewhat contained, you get to the creative part, which your brain can actually handle since you are past the mind-altering smells of baking chocolate. I love the beautifully rich brown of the finished product, upon which you can create elaborate or simple designs using sifted cocoa powder and confectioner's sugar. For this particular cake, I was in the mood for argyle.

Truffle Cake

3 c. (18oz.) semisweet chocolate chips (or dark chocolate bars/baking squares)

2 sticks (1 c.) butter

6 large eggs, at room temperature

1. Heat oven to 425 F. Coat an 8x3-in. round cake pan with nonstick spray. Line bottom with wax paper; spray paper. Have a larger roasting pan ready and put a medium pot of water on to boil for later.

2. Melt chips and butter together; sir until well blended.

3. Beat eggs in a large bowl with mixer on high 7 minutes, or until tripled and soft peaks form. Fold in chocolate mixture until blended. Pour into cake pan.

4. Place large pan in oven; place cake pan inside. Pour boiling water into roasting pan to come halfway up sides of cake pan. Cover cake pan loosely with foil; bake 40 minutes. (Cake looks soft but sets when cold.)

5. Cool cake in pan on a wire rack. Cover and refrigerate 3 hours, or until firm. Invert on serving platter; shake down sharply to release cake. Peel off paper.

6. If desired, lay five 3/4-in.-wide strips of paper 3/4 in. apart on cake. Sift cocoa between strips; carefully lift paper. Repeat in opposite direction, this time sifting on confectioners' sugar. (You can cut out and use any other template--be creative!)
7. Resist the desire to take a bite out of the side of the cake. People will notice teeth marks.
8. Pray for leftovers

On Tax Day

Is it not a sad state of affairs when we are excited to get a tax refund? It feels like we are winning a prize or something. But that's our money we are getting back! They just had it in government coffers throughout the year and were probably profiting off the interest, which they do not give back.

But Yay!!! We got a refund! Let's go buy an awesome new plasma TV! Let's go put a down payment on a new car!

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty to buy stuff we can't afford and don't really need. Of thee I sing.

https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2187rank.html

Driving With Larry: A Post-Camping Story

Occasionally there is a moment when you are keenly aware of your human frailty, your incomprehensible emotions, your most unwarranted fears, and your utter ridiculousness. I will share such a moment with you.

After a full weekend of camping and alleged "relaxing," David and I, along with all of the mountain of gear that we'd stuffed in the Subaru, made our way home on Sunday afternoon. Our foreheads and noses were sun-seared and served with a side of broiled ears. These paired nicely with freshly-scratched legs and sore muscles. My exhaustion was done to a turn from the combination of two nights of sleeping bags, pushing thirty, and being an introvert among a lot of people I didn't already know very well. Did I mention the pushing thirty bit? David drove home, since he had slept like the dead until an obscenely late hour on Sunday morning, and my pillow and I settled in as grateful passengers to drowse away the return trip. Closing my eyes was so very delicious that I just leaned my head back and embraced the weariness.

All of this peace was short-lived, since a giant black cockroach had just sprinted across David's lap and was now continuing at cheetah-like speeds across the pillow on my lap. David yelled "It's on your pillow!!" Of course my heavy eyelids sproinged open nimbly, instantaneously communicated to my brain what "it" was, and convinced my body that my best defense was to shriek wildly while attempting to carry out a brilliant plan which involved simultaneously rolling down the window with my right hand, picking up the pillow with my left, and trying to shove the offending occupant out the window without ever touching him with any part of my person, since it is well-known among womankind that touching a cockroach, spider, or anything disgusting in the insect world can cause irreparable damage to the body part involved. I could have died, people. It was a big cockroach.

Did I mention we were on the freeway at this point? Oh yes, David did a manfully good job of keeping the car between the lines as his usually-calm wife thrashed violently in the next seat over and assaulted his ears with all the noises that come out of a scared soprano. Needless to say, my incredibly well-developed plan did not work, and the cockroach merely retreated from the maniac in the front passenger seat by crawling hideously down under her seat and cloaking himself in darkness and safety until he could disembark more securely.

Larry, as we called him, remained there for the duration of the trip--over an hour. I kept a wary, sunburned eyeball patrolling the perimeter for as long as I could manage, but ultimately succumbed to dozing off for long periods. These were punctuated by the occasional start and wild-eyed look around my seat and over my shoulders, with suspicious squints down at my pant leg openings. Once home, I think I saw Larry make a run for it on the driveway as I shook and pummeled the pillows that were stowed directly behind my seat. But a thorough car-cleaning this week will provide insurance, as eye-witness testimony is yet inconclusive.

Later I laughed until I cried at the remembrance of acting like such a girl about a bug--one that doesn't even bite or sting. As David says, "it's just a big beetle." This may be true. So I suggested to him that if it wasn't such a big deal, an alternative plan might have been for him to drive with his knee while rolling down the window and grabbing Larry with his other hand, tossing him out, and telling me about it later when I woke up. Hmm--sounds better than my plan at the time. At any rate, that evening was a prime opportunity to settle in and watch the movie Starship Troopers. It seemed like the thing to do after such a drive home with the likes of Larry.

"The only good bug is a dead bug."