For something different, here’s some Thursday Dog Blogging.

While my Dad was in the hospital (and for several days afterward) we had his dog at our house.

Bounder’s biggest problem right now is he doesn’t have much control of his bladder. So he spent most of his time in his cage, waiting for the cats to come by so he could bark at them.

Even worse, it was cold and snowy outside, so as soon as he did his business outside, he’d run to go back into the basement (and back into his cage.)

As that was about an inch of snow, you can see why he wasn’t excited about being outdoors.

I found some more pictures to scan and add to the Pics from the Past Post.

Additionally, I found a picture that summarizes how I like to think about myself.

What you can’t see in the picture, is that the flower girl and I were jumping up and stomping down.

Kinda like moshing for toddlers.

That’s how I like to see myself, jumping around with a little kid, dignity long flown out the window.

Also?

Worm Boy!

Yes, that’s my brother.

And a worm.

To the best of my recollection, Brian did not, in fact, eat the worm.

This story is going behind the cut because it’s extremely disturbing.

(more…)

My aunt and uncle brought my grandmother some organic tulips from California (they were out visiting my cousin).

They are gorgeous flowers.

As I seem to have spent today dive bombing everyone else’s comment threads and posting non-sequiturs, it seems only fair I allow you to do the same here.

Alien pen pals? Life forms made of sulfur? The true 50th state?

Have at it.

The kettle hung over the fire, close enough that the thick contents slowly boiled.

Blup. Blup. Blup.

It was actually a rather irritating noise, but not much to do about it if the contents were to be properly cooked.

Blup. Blup.

She sighed and stirred the contents. There’d be hell to pay if the whole mess burned.

Blup. Blup-up. Blup Blup.

In stories, when apprentices were left alone to tend a fire and the item over said fire, it was something interesting, like the salmon of wisdom or a love potion or something like that. So what did she get? A potion that was supposed to cure male baldness. Ugh.

She wasn’t even sure if the potion was to be drunk or applied topically. If it was the former, she was pretty sure that she’d suffer with baldness before downing this batch of putrid green vileness. I mean, who really used eye of a newt anymore? And she just knew that when they ran out, she’d be the one dredging the lake looking for replacements newts.

Did they even use any other part of the newt? Or just the eye. Seemed hardly fair to the newt to have to give up his life just so some fat old guy could get his hair back.

But wait, did newts regenerate? Maybe she’d have to pluck newt eyes from newt eye sockets and then throw the things back into the lake.

She shuddered at the thought of that. “‘Settle down and marry,’ they said. ‘Who wants to marry a working woman?’ they said. Why didn’t I listen to them?” she muttered.

But of course she knew precisely why she hadn’t, and as boring as stirring this damned potion was, it was far better than marrying young and growing old before her time. She was going to be an independent woman. A woman who depended upon no one except herself for her living. And if she had to live with some old hag to achieve that, so be it.

As if drawn by her thoughts, the old hag in question opened the door and came in.

Of course she wasn’t really old. Nor was she a hag. But Mary liked to pretend the witch was an old hag. Because it felt more traditional. I mean really, who expected a witch to be blonde and buxom and to have half the young men of the village following her around every time she went out the door.

Mary had a sneaking suspicion that a portion of the baby-not they made was being used by her mistress rather than being sold.

“How are we doing today?” Even her voice was chipper.

“Fine Mistress Jones,” Mary replied, staring intently into the pot.

“Oh come now, how many times do I have to tell you, call me Carol!”

“But it just seems wrong!” cried Mary.

“Why?” said Carol. “You’re not much younger than my sister. And truly, ‘Mistress’ is just so last century!” She laughed brightly as she took off her cloak and hung it on an empty peg by the door. “I think you’ve spent entirely too much time sitting over the fire inhaling Mr. Rozinski’s hair tonic. Why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air, and then we’ll start on dinner.”

“Yes Carol,” said Mary. She stood up, then walked over to the door to put on her shoes. Carol insisted they not wear shoes in the house. When Mary asked to be her apprentice she was expecting strangeness, but not this kind of strangeness.

“Don’t forget your bonnet,” said Carol. “The sun’s no good for your skin!”

And with that Mary closed the door on the sunny yellow cabin, took a deep breath of fresh air, and decided that maybe you didn’t have to be all ugly and dress in black to be a witch, but she was damned if she was going to dress in pink like Carol.

I love this soup, and more shockingly, so does Michael. He’d prefer all the broccoli to be ground to bits, but too bad for him.

Broccoli Cheddar Soup

Fresh broccoli, one to three heads
4 tbsp olive oil
1 to 2 tbsp flour
2 cups stock, heated
2 cups milk
2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
dash salt
1/2 tsp red pepper (or more)
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Peel and chop the tender broccoli stems, discarding the lower woody potions. Divide the florets into bite size pieces.

Heat the olive oil in a soup pot, then saute the broccoli stems for about five to ten minutes (longer if they are large pieces). Add the flour and stir until dissolved. Pour in the hot broth, and stir. Add the 2 cups of milk. Add all but about a cup or so of the broccoli florets. Add salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce.

Simmer for about ten minutes, or until stems are soft.

Puree soup in the blender.

Put soup back into pot on the stove, and add remaining florets and cheddar cheese. Stir and heat for about five minutes. Serve with slices of bread and butter.

The knife clattered to the floor. His hands, numb with cold and slick with blood, couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Now you’ve done it,” said the damned voice in the back of his head. “This will be it for you for sure.”

He quickly stopped down, grabbed the knife, and surreptitiously wiped the blade on his bloody pants. He held the knife up and stared at his hands. They told him to buy gloves, but he had forgotten or maybe ignored them, sure he could handle it.

He was wrong and desperately wished for gloves, but it was too late.

He stared at the body before him, hanging from a chain and draining of blood. Blood pooling on the floor. A lake of blood and he was standing right in the middle of it.

What made him think he could do this? It wasn’t that he was squeamish–not really. It’s just that he never thought about how cold it would be. Or how much blood there would be.

“HEY! What the hell are you doing?” The angry voice broke into his reverie, and startled him into dropping the knife again.

He looked down at the knife lying in the pool of blood then turned on his heel and ran for the door, slipping in pools of blood, but managing somehow not to fall.

And that was David’s first and last day working at the slaughterhouse.

Happy Groundhog day!

Six more weeks of winter!

ADDENDUM the First:
Announcer on WDUQ (Pittsburgh public radio) just said “Puxatony rodent said six more weeks of winter.”

I love WDUQ.

So Jeri asked everyone to post pictures of their childhood and teenage years.

Problem is I don’t have more than a couple pictures of my childhood. Got pictures of my Dad and even my grandmother as kids. But I think I only have two pictures of myself. Found some more pictures and scanned them. I really need a new scanner. And some new photo-editing software.

So you’ll get a little bit of everything here.

Here I am with my grandmother and grandfather at Coopers Rock. Yes, my hair was really blonde when I was little.

This picture was taken in Baltimore, of me and my grandfather. Again my hair is really blonde, and notice that it’s been wild all my life. I was three or four at that time. No older because Popbo died days before my 5th birthday.

Me and my brother, Brian. Aside from the decor, I don’t think it’s particularly obvious this picture was taken in the 70s. Don’t be fooled by that look. He was plotting something horrific.

Yes, yes I was queen of the circus. Feel free to continue to address me as royalty if you like.

This might help explain my overwhelming desire to dress in monochromatic solids. Maybe 5th grade here? Hard to tell, as I didn’t really grow much until high school.

I was a bridesmaid when my friends Del & Kathy got married. Del told me he’d kill me if I wore my boots to the ceremony, but said nothing about the reception. Yes, I dyed my hair very red for about six years.

This is a picture of my Dad (on the left) and his cousin and best friend Billy (on the right).

This is the 4th of July, my grandmother is the kid in the middle, the adorable blonde girl is her sister (my great-aunt Doris) and the other kids were her friends, one of whom came to her 90th birthday party.

This is one of my favorite pictures. This is my Dad’s cousin Billy, taken at the house where both my grandmother and father grew up. I think Billy took the most charming pictures, and I’m very sorry he died as a child.