Eatin' Out

For three years, Husband has wanted to take me out to eat to a certain eating establishment. He knows I love me some steak, and they are reported to have the best.

So today, since I had to go to the doctor's down Atlanta way, we decided we'd have lunch there. We knew it was a pretty pricey place to eat, so we figured the  noon meal would be a whole lot cheaper.

May I say, "Lord, help."

We ate there for the first time, and it will be our last.

Don't get me wrong. The staff are as nice as if they've known you all your lives. They call you by your Mr. or Mrs. with warm friendly smiles.

There is no cheesy music of any kind playing. The tables are set with fine linen and silver and crystal.

The steak was really, really good. I've had as good, but I ain't complaining. The potatoes were wonderful. The salad was meh. The tea was southern sweet.

Husband said his food was great. Daughter said hers was too.

It was the bill that was hard to swallow.

Perhaps we had bitten off more than we could chew.

I won't bother to tell you how much the total was, because, fact is, I'm ashamed to say.

Husband decided to visit the men's room before we left, and as he walked from the table, he raised his arm a little, and I burst into a fit of giggles.

"There goes Minnie Pearl," I said to Daughter.

She frowned at me, took one look at her daddy and giggled too.

He had a nice, large, cardboard price tag hanging from his arm pit.

We became fairly, uh, amused.

When he came back we gently told him by making fun of him.

He, too, became amused and we were all laughing so hard it probably  was - okay - was inappropriate.

I expected someone to come up and say in a low, cultured voice, "Excuse me, but ain't ya''ll got no couth?"

Alas, we did not.

But we paid our bill, adding a pretty good tip, in a a stiff upper lip sort of way.

Husband muttered the whole time this was Sean Hannity, WSB radio talk show host's fault, because he's the one who yammers about how good the food is at this place all the time.

I suggested he call Mr. Hannity and tell him how poor we are and see if he'd reimburse us, but Husband nixed that idea, so I guess we'll be paying the old piper when the credit card bill rolls in.

Just remind me next time Husband has a great idea about eating at a restaurant recommended by a multi-millionaire to ignore him.

'K?

BANG!

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1966: from "The Sonny Side of Cher" her second single "My Baby Shot Me Down"

I was five and you were six
We rose on horses made of sticks
I wore black you wore white
You would always win the fight

Bang bang you shot me down
Bang bang I hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang bang my baby shot me down
I sang that song at the top of my lungs, as I did every Cher song I memorized when I was twelve.

For the record (no pun intended)  I was never suspended from school.

I guess I've led a charmed life.

Terrifyingly Bored

We canned 26 quarts of green beans today.

If you have ever embarked on this endeavor, you know of what I speak.

Terrifying because of that dang pressure canner.

Boring because you have to wait....and wait.

I don't even own a pressure cooker, because I'm scared of 'em.

Why? Well, my grandmother used them to cook with. However; she'd leave the kitchen and talk on the telephone or whatever, and the next thing you knew there were green beans  hanging from the ceiling.

Things like that scar a person.

The pressure canner we use belonged to my (wait for it) great-grandmother.

She died in 1965. At age 87.

So, the canner has a wee bit of age on it.

Mother says, "I just hold my breath every year and hope it works."

Well, I just hold my breath every year and hope I live through it.

The boring part is waiting for the canner to build up enough steam to put the little thingie on the hole so it can jiggle.  You continue to be bored as you wait for the pressure to get to ten and try to keep it there, juggling the heat of the eye all the time. You have to wait twenty-five minutes after that, turn the heat off the canner, wait for the pressure to go down to zero, open the lid and wait some more until somebody thinks it's safe enough to pick up the hot, hot jars and set them on the towels on the counter.

We did this little process four times today.

We'll have green beans to eat this winter.

And I got sausage, biscuits and a fried egg with homemade blackberry jelly for breakfast.

That was neither terrifying or boring. It was the silver lining of the day.

Beans

Ah am tard.

Got a bushel of beans yesterday.

Today: I have strung 'em and broke 'em.

Doesn't sound hard, but when you  have my body, it is. My poor Mother who ain't in any better shape than me helped.

So did Daughter.

Monday: We will wash 'em. look 'em, wash 'em and look 'em again.

Then we'll pack 'em.

Salt 'em a little and fill the  jars with water.

Put the lids on the jars and

Can 'em.

And listen for that precious pop that means success.

Ta da!

Bossy and Bull

Walking this morning, there were cows grazing placidly across the river. One bovine looked at me thoughtfully as I walked by, slowly chewing her cud. 

Cows are big. 

Anyway, it reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years back.

I apologize in advance:

All the cows were layin’ quietly down on the ground,

Except for old Bossy, who stood lookin’ around.

Most the ladies were wantin’ to just take a nap.

But Bossy looked like she was fixin’ to snap.

Earlier that day, old Bull had crossed her path.

He’d snubbed her, ignored her, and raised up her wrath.

And since that mornin’ she just couldn’t be set.

She spent the rest of the day stirrin’ up a fret.

Some of the girls tried to get her to chill,

Knowin’ that milkin’ time would help out until

Bossy could get a grip on her mood,

Or have it out with that old Bull dude.

But milkin’ time didn’t come fast enough,

And when Bossy saw Bull again, things began to get rough.

She eyed him and lowed way down deep in her throat,

Then startin’ right for him, bellowed at the old goat.

All eyes were upon the bull and the cow,

Cause they knew something terrible would happen now.

The struggle was fierce, a battle to mourn.

But I guess you could say, she took the bull by the horns.

Now Bull is a meek fellow, shy and reserved.

And Bossy made sure he got all he deserved.

But if you want to know how I think it all ended,

I think old Bull got just what he intended.

Cause I see him smile when nobody is lookin’,

It seems like Bull loves what old Bossy is cookin’.

She bats them long lashes at him when he’s near her,

And he nudges her neck, so he doesn’t fear her.

If you wait long enough you’ll surely see

A little old calf trailin’ ‘long, makin’ three.

Nothin’s as sweet as observin’ the endin’

When you know happily ever after’s not pendin’.

It's Already Happening

Yesterday morning Husband and I went walking along the river. I felt a stiff breeze waft through my wet corkscrew (although still beautiful and blonde) hair and thought to myself, "That feels like the fall of the year."

I looked up, and lo and behold, five or six leaves came floating down.

This morning, when I was in the shower, I looked out the transom window (on the second floor) and at the very tippy top of the oak tree what did I see? That's right, red leaves.

So, I guess fall is on its way. You could certainly feel it in the air this morning.

Our summer has been not very hot, but very, very wet. All the 'old timers' used to say if it rained the first day of Dog Days it would rain every day until Dog Days was over. 

That's certainly been true this year. It had not rained all day  yesterday. As I was coming to bed, Husband raised his  head and said, "I think it just started raining." 

And it had. It rained for just a few minutes, as if to say, "There, I've rained today."

Then it stopped.

I've seen no rain today, but I will be more surprised if it doesn't than if it does.

I ain't complaining, mind you. 

I HATE hot weather. July to mid-August is the only time of year I don't like Georgia weather. 

And this year?

No hate from me.

I  hear people asking, "Does this mean we are going to have a bad winter?"

Beats me. 

But you know what I always say, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Runs far, far away.

Happiness is Fleeting

I called the library this morning to see if they had a book I desperately need.

You see, I am reading (or gobbling up) Craig Johnson's books. One must read them in order, as they are about the life of a small town sheriff.

I have two books that are to be returned, one I checked out and one I have on the sly from a friend (you know who you are). She read the book in one day, so I got it from her after church Sunday and finished it yesterday. It is still getting back to the library seven days before it's due, so if there is a person in line for it, they will be thrilled and none the wiser that I got to read it.

Anyway, the girl at the library said they did indeed  have the book I wanted, if I didn't mind large print. (I didn't ask her, but why would anybody mind large print?) I told her Husband would be by this afternoon to get it.

I was  happy! I could start a new book, one that I really, really was looking forward to!

In  less than five minutes the phone rang. It was the Library Lady. She said she'd looked everywhere and could not locate the book.

I was not happy.

Somebody needs to call the Li-burry Po-leece! I  mean, really. Has someone snuck off with my book without checking it out at the desk? Don't they  have detectors at the library doors for those thieving rat finks?

Anyway, see what I mean? Happiness is fleeting.

I believe we can have that deep abiding peace and joy Christ talked about. I have it, in fact, whether I'm happy or not.

And I also think God doesn't care whether we are happy. Many times He puts me in situations that makes me pretty unhappy. Growth and discipline aren't always fun filled, you know.

But I have His peace.

I wouldn't trade that for all the happy in the world.