Category Archives: Uncategorized

Jason and I made a pizza.  This was a first for me.  We didn’t make our own crust however, we cheated and bought a pre made one.  We used a recipe by The Pioneer Woman found in her cookbook.  It is called Leek and Potato Pizza.  It sounds atrocious I know. 

This pizza recipe calls for potatoes, leeks, bacon, mozarella, parmesean, and goat cheese.  Potatoes on a pizza?   That was my first thought.  There aren’t any tomatoes or tomato based product found on this pizza anywhere.

It was delish!

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I’m still training for a half marathon and hating myself for committing to this.  It is very challenging, time consuming, and not to mention hard on my body.  I ran 8 miles last weekend.  Tomorrow I have to run nine.  After this is over, I vow to never run again.   One of my friends who is not a runner said,
“If you see me running, call 9-1-1 because someone is after me.”  That will be my new mindset after April twenty whatever-it-is.   I can see how people can love running, but the whole not-being-able-to-walk-afterwards is a big turn off for me.  I’m not an extremist.  Running this many miles at one time is a bit too extreme for me.  I’d rather run 2-3 several times a week. 
I told Jason next year when I want to sign up for this again, there’s only one thing I want him to do.  Talk me out of it!

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Today is beautiful.  March has come in like a lamb I think.  The birds are chirping in the oak trees outside my window.  The wind is light and the sun is out and I am going to go dirty up my fingernails in the flowerbeds.  It’s cathartic.  My tulips have popped their little green heads out of the dark earth.  I’m going to grow an herb garden this year.  My husband is so much into cooking these days, I think I’ll add to his hobby and grow fresh thyme, rosemary, sage, and perhaps some marijuana. 
Just seeing if you’re paying attention.

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Last weekend we went down to Abilene, TX to see a group play called The Hot Club of Cowtown.  They are some talented musicians let me tell you.  Go ahead and have a listen.  It just might make you tap a toe.  They hail from NYC and play this type of music.  Come on, open your minds and have a listen.
http://www.youtube.com/v/Jr8My5Uo0gE&hl=en_US&fs=1&
We stayed with Jason’s dad, who thinks that anyone who doesn’t know who Gene Autry is should be hanged before the masses, or at least kicked out of Texas.  I had to google him when I got home.  I thought he was from Gunsmoke.  Jason gave them my blog address, so now I run the risk of him reading this and finding out I’m not worthy to be called a Texan. Oh well, that will give him plenty of time to have the gallows built for the next time I’m down there. 

Scarlett O’Hara….now, if you don’t know who she is, you oughta be shot.  It’s just my opinion.  Different strokes for different folks, I guess.  And what does that expression mean anyway?  What are these folks stroking exactly?  Makes me wonder.

I have a second grade classroom full of second grade students.  They are just plain groovy.  I like to mingle amongst them some, get to know them, talk with them, listen to them.  They’ll share their lives, their secrets, their fears, not to mention everything their parents’ want them to keep quiet. 
They aren’t all equipped with a filter at this age, and thoughts just come out of their mouths in brutal honesty.  I have one particular little girl who shared a story with me today. This is how it went.

Precious second grader (PSG):  I was bawling up last night because I got afraid I wouldn’t ever have a husband. 

Yes this is pretty odd for a seven year old to say.

Me:  Oh, honey.  You don’t need to worry about that.   You have a long time until you need to think about that kind of stuff.

PSG:  My mom said not to think about it and my dad said I don’t need a husband because he’s everything I’ll ever need.  And I said ‘No, you’re too old!’

We were having a good laugh right about this time, and my curiosity was extremely high.

Me:  Sugar pie, what were you doing that made you start thinking about having a husband?

PSG:  Oh, I was watching this kissing movie with my mom and dad.

Me:  EWW, I hate kissing.

PSG:  Do you let your husband kiss you?

Me:  Well……sometimes.  I…..might let him kiss me on the forehead.

PSG:   (mouth dropping and gasping) You don’t know anything about love!!

We have a love/hate relationship.
I think she’s a brat, in the loving way an aunt should.
She thinks I’m a hag.
My sister thinks it’s because we’re both Pisces, and more alike than I care to admit.
Truthfully, she is a brat and I’m a hag, and we’re both just real perceptive.

Her feelings wouldn’t be hurt if I dropped dead tomorrow.

See how she’s staring me down? She knows I’m unarmed in this fight. She knows she’s got control of an endless water supply. She’s evil. My only defense is to scream, “I’ve got a camera. I’ve got a camera.”

Today I’m giving her a Happy Birthday shoutout. She is an amazingly awesome, undeniably goofy, eight year old drama queen.  Rotten to the core and more stubborn than any mule you’ve ever seen.

I got to name her.
Zoie Eden.
Her name might be in lights someday.

PRESENTING ZOIE EDEN

Can you picture it?

Go ahead and check her out.

http://widget-4c.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf

Happy Birthday Zo Belle.  I hope you have the best birthday an eight year old could ever dream of having. 
And I love your little old stinky butt!

Most of what I know about cows, I’ve learned from Jason.
Rephrasing. 

Everything I know about cows, I’ve learned from Jason.

I’ve only seen one baby calf born a couple of years back, and it was one of the most awesome things I’ve experienced.  Except for the fact that it was a first time mommy. You have to keep your eyes on those first timers.  So when Jason pulled kind of close to make sure it wasn’t having trouble, she decided to stand up and flee causing the calf to fall out on its head.  Then it was something akin to trauma in the ER.  The momma cow ran off scared.  Jason had to rush out of the truck, pick the baby up by its back legs, shake it (not sure why).  Then he got a piece of grass and tickled its slimy nose until it sneezed to make sure its lungs were all clear.  Then we left and hid out with a pair of binoculars and watched to make sure the momma came back. 
And she did. 
And all was right with the world.

When calving begins, it’s my favorite part of the whole ranching life. 
Most of the time, calves are born, mommas tend to their babies, and the angels sing.  In my mind they do.
But some calves aren’t so lucky. 

While out feeding this past weekend, Jason found a calf.  Its momma was nowhere in sight and she hadn’t yet cleaned it off.  It was lying in the snow in dire need of nursing.  After an unsuccessful attempt to reunite the mom with the calf, and knowing the baby needed nourishment right away, he called me to tell me he’s bringing a baby home.  I love it!  A bottle calf.  It adds excitement to my life.

He didn’t have a good way to transport it, so he used his cowboy smarts and put it in the cake feeder.

This was extremely unpleasant for me, and I wasn’t the one with a tube down my throat.
The gagging was the worst part.

I think I was louder than the calf.

We then decided to call it a night, desperately hoping she would make it.  The  next morning, she was hanging in there.  Since Jason was cooking a delectable breakfast for us, I decided I’d try my non-ranching hand at bottle feeding. 

She still wouldn’t take the bottle.  She fought it, thrashing her head around, chewing on the nipple.  So I decided to do what I do when I’m in doubt.  I googled it.  One little trick said to dip your fingers into the milk, let the calf suck your fingers a while, and then sneak the nipple into its mouth.  Lo and behold, this piece of sneakery worked.  As she sucked on my fingers, I stealthily crammed the nipple in her mouth. 

Did you know?  Calves only have bottom teeth.

After church, she took another bottle.  Then we delivered her to the owner’s family to raise her.  This same family bottle-raised a different black calf in the past.  The daughter named that one Rainbow.  So in the tradition of giving a little color to a black calf, this one is named Scarlet.

Frankly my dear, I hope you do well.

P.S.  Jason really doesn’t wear my undergarments, unfortunately.

Remember when I  broke my mirror and was automatically assigned seven years bad luck?  If not, read here.

I’m here to tell you, that is all bull hockey.  You can take it to the bank.

Because if I was having bad luck, I wouldn’t have this story to tell you.

Since breaking my mirror, I have looked high and low, far and wide for another one.  A pretty one.  Not a plastic one with a handle from the drugstore.

This past weekend, we went into a consignment shop, and I found this little treasure for $7.50!  You can’t beat that. 
The kicker is, it’s almost identical to my last one.

TAKE THAT, Superstition.

My niece called me.  She left the sweetest, most precious voicemail.

Before you hear more, I must tell you this.

“Mama” in the message works in bail bonds.  They were at the jail to bail someone out. Thankfully, not a member of the family…….this time.

My niece had been prostrate weeping and wailing for hours because her friend Pearla couldn’t come over after she had been planning it for a whole entire week.  She was devastated.

And lastly, Jesus is her homeboy.

Click on the play arrow below.  You must.  It’ll make you smile, I hope.

http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=10255644-023

Authors Note:  It took me 17 hours, 904 online tutorials, and ten of my own dollars to learn how to post this to my blog.  I have yanked every hair from my head and am now forever changed, not to mention bald.  So it had better make you smile.

If for some highly likely reason, this audio clip does not work, here’s a transcription.

Me and my mama went to the jail, and I found a ten dollar bill laying on the floor and I think it’s because I was crying because of Pearla, and I think God felt sorry for me, so he laid that ten dollar bill right on the floor for me.  Anyway, thanks for listening.  Bye.

Today. 
It has arrived.
Hallelujah sings my soul.
It is January 21st.
Which means it is the final day of my 21 day Daniel fast.
21 days of only drinking water.
21 days of no meat or sugar or bread or milk or cheese or coffee for crying out loud.
21 days of oil and vinegar and alfalfa sprouts with more oil and vinegar.

It has been unenjoyable.
There has been wailing and gnashing of teeth.
I have longed to thrust my head in a big ole bowl of mashed potatoes with butter, yes butter, lots and lots of butter.

Tonight, oh the anticipation,  I just might set my alarm for 12:01. I just might rise from my sleeping slumber and gorge on chocolate and peanut butter pretzels.  I could if I want to.

But I won’t.  Because I desire sleep more than I desire food.  And it would probably give me a tummy ache.

Saturday, as soon as I suck down 2 cups of coffee with french vanilla creamer,  I am baking this, and nobody can stop me.  So don’t even try.  It’s the Pioneer Woman’s Perfect Pound Cake.

Do you know how much I love pound cake?  If you don’t, now you do. 
If we are ever on a game show like the Newlywed Game (which would be way weird) and you’re asked my favorite food.  Say pound cake. 
Or cereal. 
It’s a toss up.

I would love to bake it Friday immediately after work, but we have plans.  We’re dressing up, then we are having supper at a ritzy joint and afterwards attending a symphonic presentation.  It’s like a date.  Sorta.

I only hope my gastrointestinal system is up for it.

One day last April Jason stood in a pasture and watched his truck burn plumb up.

His one and only truck.

His one and only brand new truck that he has ever owned in all of his thirty some odd years.

His means of transportation and his form of livelihood.

He had been unrolling a bale of hay.  The pasture was soppy and muddy.  He was pushing the hay bale with the nose of the truck to unroll it when his tires fell into a rut formed from a sprinkler pivot.  He was stuck in a rut…..literally.  He was also high centered on the hay bale.  The catalytic converter got extremely hot, and hay is a highly flammable material.  When he saw the smoke, he grabbed a pitchfork from the bed of the truck and tried frantically to pitch the hay away, but it was all for naught.  The hay ignited and all he could do was stand there in a deserted pasture and watch the flames while he waited for the fire trucks to arrive.

 

which match his boots.

And believe me, he needs all the good luck he can get.