The Blues

Feelin' good one minute, then down the next.

All Hallow's Eve has become a night of frolic, where children wear costumes and run amok! Amok! Amok! Amok!

Amok! Amok! Amok! How I love ABC Family and their consistency for "seasonal movies", particularly Hocus Pocus. Which in fact is the reasoning behind my deep hatred for horror films. Yes, I left the theater mid-movie, in fear of my soul, should some horribly aged monster honkers come after me...on their vacuums no less. Regardless, 22 years later I love the show, but refuse to watch it come bedtime. 

Ahem.

So, it's Halloween(ish) of 2010. And you can bet your bottom dollar this crazed dog lady (and her proud husband) have pumpkins fashioning their four legged children's faces. After which consisted of a photo-shoot, complete with proper lighting and atmospheric mood music (my Pop would be so proud). Which brought me to this point; when I actually produce an offspring of my own loins, will I carve it's face on a pumpkin? Probably not, but let's not throw it too far out of fetch just yet. 

Turns out, Brent and I have a knack for pumpkin carving. My new business. Want your picture on a pumpkin? Squash? Banana Peel?! Call me! ...ha....hahahaha... actually, the Pug pumpkin can be identified as Hitler after being told he lost the war. And the Blue Heeler slightly resembles the offspring of Snoopy shacking up with Mrs.Bigfoot. It's okay though, because, like every delirious mother, they find the beauty in their deranged, slightly dysfunctional children. And it's all beautiful! Right...?...okay then.   

Being the trained sweet husband that he is,  I am sitting here blogging, promoting my new carving business, (Joke. Please don't call...just use the pictures as enough proof) while he cleans up any evidence of a pumpkin gut fight.  Enjoy Halloween everyone, may you come encounter minimal contact with "normally-modest-females-who-take-full-advantage-of-this-once-a-year-time-to-dress-as-slutty-as-possible-without-being-sited-for-prostitution". 

Someone put my face on a pum'kin'!!!

Hitler and Snoopfoot eh? eh?

If you were a pumpkin, you would be honored to have our smiling faces rip your guts out.

Two can do better than one toucan can

I think the scenario started off something like this:

"I'm going to make salsa."

"Do you even know how"

"Um. No. Any chance you do?" 

"........."

"I'll just figure it out."

After realizing that I won' just *figure it out as I go*, I researched. and researched. Do you know how many kinds of salsa there are? Much less the sub categories involving tedious and mindless preparation containing the same exact ingredients. No sweat. Right? Right..


Wrong.

One minute I was researching canning techniques, and the next I was reading about bath water. Salsa has grooming standards too ya know. Apparently you need special torture devices capable of 'bathing' your jars. 

Time to call in reinforcements. 

Grandma (and her entire kitchen and garden crops) were headed down to teach me to can.  Turns out it's pretty dang easy, once you have all of the necessary equipment. 

I'd love to share the recipe, folks. But I fear it won't help much....but it went something like this:

Heat the tomatoes in water for like...5 minutes for easy peeling. Pretty cool trick, eh?

Peel and chop everything. Or don't. Because you can just mashed it with a potato masher while it boils. 

Have face mask, eye shield, gloves, and the ambulance and fire department on stay-by because peppers are freakin' hot and they make everything burn.
Boil everything for an hour and a half...or until Grandma says it's good enough. 
Don't stick your face in the pot, because hot boiling tomato juices tend to bubble and land in your eyeballs. 
Put it in the jars, and then give it a bath. Ya know, in the boiling thing...
Don't push on the lids too see if they have sealed, no matter how fun it is to make the "pop" noise, because grandma will get mad at you.

Oh ya, and don't forget to make a special batch for your husband because he is ridiculously picky doesn't like onions.  
Most importantly, be grateful that grandma put up doing something domestic with you, realize how much you love her and how great she really is!!

Torture Device  

And voila! 

Ya sure about that?

This is my life when I come to Wamsutter (please indulge yourself and be desperately jealous of my location).

Yes, this is my actual hotel room. Pa-lease.
and No, this photograph was not horribly altered in any way, shape or form.


Jeeze folks, have a little faith.




...did ya click on the link? Did you happen to notice the 261 population count. I just might make it 262 and move my happy butt out here. 

Nyquil Anyone?

I hate being sick. Not because I hate the yucky feeling on the inside and puking, but mostly because I hate being dependent on Brent. Who am I kidding. I love it....kind of.  Point is, for the last two days I have been bed-ridden sick and Brent took care of me. I know every wife has there "I have the best husband in the world" speech, but come on guys...get real. My husband totally and completely trumps your husband. And I mean this in the most loving a appreciative way. 


From the second I start to feel ill; its all blankets and clear fluids for me. At 2:00 am., after 5 hours of constant whining and projectile vomiting(love the gory details, don't ya?) Brent drove all over town to find Nyquil to shut me up help me sleep.  What a guy.  I don't know if anyone else lives in a community with only one stop light, but I do. And chances are if your town has low enough traffic flow to justify one blinking caution light, you aren't going to find a 24 hour convient store that sells flu medication. Low and behold, nestled in some hole in the wall store, there it was. Nyquil. Not only was it the midnight drive, but the constant check-ups, snotty tissues, temperature taking, umpteen drink refills, and waiting on me hand and foot, secured his husband of the year and/or lifetime award. Single handedly he took care of the most vocal, needy sick person on the planet.


Alls' it took was one "my mommy holds a wash cloth over my forehead and rubs my back while I'm puking..." and there he was. Next trip to the bathroom, Hubby of the Year was at my side, washcloth in hand. I told you.  I'm an impossible person when I'm sick. When wifey ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.  I did not marry a stupid man, people.  Though, the fact that he never seems to catch these same bugs makes me wonder if I did marry a non-carbon based life form.  


Anyway, all this is really just to tell you that I'm sitting here, in bed, breathing through my mouth because my nose is so clogged that my ears pop when I swallow water.  And I'm pretty sure I can smell my own boogers.  Which is kind of neat in a gross way, because HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!




Honorable mention to my Mommy, who spent many years taking care of me while I was sick (faking it or not) and holding that washcloth. Thanks momma! You have officially ruined Brent's hopes for ever comparing to your nursing skills :)

Boogers

Not literal. Physical. Booger is the new cat. His delayed announcement does not go without reason.  His acceptance in to the household was debatable and contingent upon certain stipulations... stipulations pertaining to Brent.  Meaning, Brent had no idea I was bringing home a cat.  The cat stays on the following agreements: a. He stays off the furniture. (Fine. Done) b. We end at Booger. No more animals of any sort. Fish included. and c. He continues to play fetch like a dog, because it is utterly awesome.  


Next concern. Why do we have a cat named Booger you might ask? Aside from his constant runny boogery nose, his original name happens to be Bagheera (panther from the Jungle Book). Which, over a period of time was shortened and coincidently he now responds to Booger. Booger it is.

Playing fetch. With  the dogs. Booger won.

 Who honestly operates electric devices in the bath tub...much less a camera? Come on people.

Inner beauty.

Proud Pumpkin

Being a Christian is like being a pumpkin.   
God lifts you up, takes you in, and washes the dirt off of you.   He opens you up, touches you deep inside and scoops out all the yucky stuff, including the seeds of doubt, hate, greed.  Then He carves you a new smiling face and puts His light inside you to shine for all the world to see!
I love being a pumpkin, how about you?

Happy Fall!

Pumpkin Cake Roll

3 Eggs

1 cup Sugar

2/3 cup Pumpkin

1 teaspoon Lemon juice

3/4 cup All-purpose flour

1 teaspoon Baking powder

2 teaspoons Cinnamon

1 teaspoon Ginger

1/2 teaspoon Nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon Salt

Filling:

8 ounces Cream cheese softened

4 tablespoons Butter or margarine

1 cup Powdered sugar

1/2 teaspoon Vanilla

Preparation:

In large bowl, combine eggs and sugar, beating with an electric mixer until thick and light yellow in color. Add pumpkin and lemon juice, mixing until blended.

In separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, spices and salt. Add to egg mixture, mixing well. Spread batter into greased and waxed-paper lined 10-by-15-inch jelly-roll pan.

Bake at 350 ° for 15 minutes. Remove from oven. Cool for 15 minutes. Place cake on clean tea towel sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar. Cool 10 minutes longer. From 10- inch side, roll cake up in towel. Set aside.

While cake is cooling in towel, prepare filling. Beat together cream cheese and butter; stir in powdered sugar and vanilla and blend until smooth. 
Unroll cake. Evenly spread filling over cake. Roll up cake (without the towel). Wrap in plastic wrap. Cover and chill at least 1 hour. Slice before serving. Keep leftover slices refrigerated. This pumpkin roll freezes well. 

Happy Baking!

Delicious Ambiguity

A lazy day, the boys will play...

...and sleep...

...and play some more.