Onward Ho! We're Cooking Again!

 

I’ve made it to the point where I can function like a neuro-typical human and not either fight or cry when faced with conflict. I’m going to stick that in the positive column.

On another positive note, I’ve been cooking unusual, a.k.a. new-to-me recipes. We’ve been missing good Asian food where we live and we found out why after asking around. It seems most everyone here would rather drive 2.5 hours to the nearest big city for a meal of good Chinese food, than subject themselves to the local fare. Long car trips are not something we can do at this time because, besides the plague, the old woman doesn’t travel well, and quite frankly, watching her have “seconds” by whipping out her false teeth and licking them is just not something I’d like to experience in a public place. It’s rough enough at home, especially when she looks up and says, “mmm, good!”

I know, right? If I ever end up with false teeth, my children have permission to take them away if I ever start doing that shit.

We found an easy recipe for hot-and-sour soup, a long-time favorite of ours. So I made it, and you know, it was pretty damn tasty. It reminded me of the soup we got at a place we used to go to when we lived near Seattle. Their soup was ALWAYS made right there and it was amazing. Then the original owner retired and the person who took over started using a mix for the soup. Not ok. In fact, we were very sad at the quality of all the food we had there the last time, but I digress.

Egg rolls were next on the list and I had a recipe for air-fryer egg rolls, which, to be honest, I wasn’t sure would turn out.

I was kind of right. The flavor was amazing! EXACTLY like the ones we used to get at the restaurant, but I didn’t get enough oil on the wrappers and they got a little dry and, um, burnt in a couple of places. But I’m sure with practice, I’ll get them figured out and we can have them whenever I feel like chopping veggies until my back is bent and I can’t stand up straight. Oh, there was LOTS of chopping for both the egg rolls and the soup. We’re talking up to the eyeballs in mise en place, folks. And lots of chaos with some panic tossed in for good measure.

Because the recipes were new, I was a little flighty, going from one place to the next, then back… Next time, I’ll have a better idea of what to do and how to get everything set up first. Like, the day before or have someone else do it. Also, it will be beneficial if the old woman isn’t busy setting my hair on fire while I’m cooking because I’m pretty sure the cutting board will not withstand another round of chopping meat like that last one. The cleaver is heavy and I’m quite strong, so there are some seriously deep cuts in the surface of that plastic cutting board. I will admit, it was loud, it was destructive, but it was also highly satisfying.

So was the meal. Satisfying, not loud and destructive. I think next on my list of dishes to learn will be sweet-n-sour pork, bbq pork, Szechuan green beans, mu shu pork and I’d really like to get either fried rice or chow mein mastered. I’ve already done General Tso’s chicken a couple of times. Great dish, but the mess… yeowza! However, the sauce makes the chicken dish, and I got that one spot on so far.

I’ve even made pot stickers from scratch. Totally from scratch, like even the wrapper. It wasn’t hard, but it was a royal, tedious pain, and if you don’t keep the wrappers slightly damp, they dry out and get sassy when you try to wrap the filling. I may just stick to buying those, because dang…

I’ve found a source for sweet bean paste, which delights me. I want to make some baos, which are a big hairy joy because of all the extra kneading you have to do to get the texture just right, but they are so damn good, I just have to make it work.

Then there are the sesame balls, but I’m not sure I’m really ready for that one. The last time I tried it, things did not end well and I wound up with gooey, snotty balls of sticky mochi that were about as unappetizing as the description: gooey, snotty balls. However, I discovered the error of my ways and will know better than to drop them into that temperature of oil, causing them to kind of blow up… And the clean up for that one was off the charts. Sticky, starchy, gooey and greasy… The four horsemen of the kitchen apocalypse, also my constant companions while cooking, much to Tammie’s dismay.

Tonight, we’re doing leftovers, because neither of us feels much like cooking or cleaning.

Road Trip

 Getting out of the house has become one of those activities that, at one time, had almost been a bane of our existence, but has now become a necessity. What we miss most are those opportunities of going out together, just the two of us, for a nice trip to the grocery store, or better yet, just out tooling around the countryside on a whim or adventure. Still, getting away from the Old Woman, even if it’s a solo trip, has become our motive for keeping the car keys handy.

Any excuse to leave for a few hours is a good one.

However, neither of us can truly get “away” because our time off is wrapped in guilt for leaving the other one stuck in the pit of despair with the Old Woman. But that bit of guilt doesn’t stop us, so when an opportunity to travel 2.5 hours (one way) to see a friend came up, I didn’t blink twice, I just went. And yes, I feel guilty, and yes, Tammie gets a break very soon.

My get-away came in the form an offer to meet a friend in Olympia so I could pick up a glass etcher she was selling. We also decided to grab some lunch while we were there. I had intended to get gas on my way off the peninsula, but I was running late after having to scrape the windshield, and when I got in the car, the gas gauge read ¾ full. I figured I was good to go, so I did. And it was. It’s a Prius, so you can go a long way on about 7 gallons. Besides, there are gas stations in Olympia, so it was no big deal.

A little voice in my head said, “don’t you think you should just top it off before you go?” I told the little voice, “Bah, I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s a hybrid. I get EXCELLENT mileage.” I plugged my phone into the stereo with the aux tail, pulled up some Apocalyptica, and headed east, rocking out grooving on the familiar scenery. I passed through a couple small towns, with half a gas station each, toyed with the idea of taking a new route before remembering I was on a schedule and decided to stick with a familiar path. Pretty soon I hit the highway, tunes blaring, head nodding, feeling pretty ok.

When I got to Olympia, I still had four bars left on the gauge, so I knew I was golden. I was also hungry. My friend did some research on local Thai eateries, found a couple with good reviews and away we went. The reviews were correct, and the food was as excellent as the company. After we finished eating, we hit up an arts-n-crafts store so she could get some items for a project, and I found a watercolor book for beginners on sale, and two tiny (2.5 x 3.75 inches) tablets of hot press watercolor paper. I have some of my mom’s watercolor blocks and tablets, but they’re huge and all cold press, so I wanted to try the smoother hot press paper (without spending a huge amount of money on something I’ve never tried and may not like). Oh, yeah, guess who has a new “thing” in her life. It’s me. I have a new thing. It’s watercolor painting. It’s what my mom did and I totally see why. Watercolor is awesome.

After that, we hit a bookstore where I found another watercolor tutorial-type book in a slightly different style (and it was on sale, too!). I’m rather proud of myself for getting out of both stores for less than $40. It was a great break, but unfortunately it was time to head home. The last thing I wanted was to be on the road after dark, because deer and elk like to come out to play and none of them are afraid of little hybrid cars. I, however, am afraid of wildlife on the road, even though my car is probably small enough to zip right under most elk. Not even blasting a Nightwish CD would faze a gang of elk wandering across the road. Especially when it’s coming out of a Prius. Seriously.

(Funny aside, when I bought the car, my dad was worried that I’d get a speeding ticket, because “cops know people who drive red cars are always speeding.” I said, “It’s a Prius, Pop. The only way I could get going fast enough to get a ticket is if I was going down hill, with a tailwind.” After he saw the car, he agreed there was nothing to fear. Elk know this, too).

Anyway, I was about 10 miles from home when there was a “ding” that didn’t come from the CD, it came from my car. I had no idea what the hell was happening, until I noticed the fuel light was BLINKING! That’s an “aw shit” moment, if ever there is one. And a well-deserved “I told you so” for the little voice in my head. The last time the “ding” happened in my current ride, I was very close to home, and a gas station. There is a readout on the dash that will tell me how many miles I have left on the tank, and that time, when I was within walking distance, it was going down to TOTALLY EMPTY super fast. Since I did not want to watch my fate approach me like that so far from home, I didn’t switch the readout to show me the bad news.

Memory finally served me, because several years ago I had read an article about hyper-miling. It’s a technique you can employ to extend your gas mileage. Slow down, don’t accelerate up hill, coast whenever possible, don’t rush up to stop signs, lots of ways to improve mileage. I tried it while I was driving my old Subaru (a five-speed darling that I miss to this day) I went from 23 mpg to 38 mpg on a trip to southern Oregon, so I know hyper-miling works, and I remember how to do it.

So I hyper-miled: I pulled over to let cars go around; I went slower up the hills; I coasted as much as I possibly could. As I was still several miles from home, I called Tammie with the bad news. Since we only have one working vehicle, and I was driving it, she called her son who was on standby with a gas can. According to my car, I was getting 56 mpg, but would that be enough?

Three miles away I could see the light at the intersection where there are two gas stations. So. Close. I coasted down the last hill, accelerated slowly (much to the annoyance of the person behind me who just wanted me to get the hell out of the way), and the gas station grew closer. This time the readout said I was up to 63 mpg.

Still, the light blinked faster.

Less than ½ a mile to go, nice level road, the electric motor kicked into give me some help, boosting my mpg up to 90.

¼ mile, I was able to pull off far enough off the pavement to let the cars behind me go around, then back onto the road I went, easing my way up to the 35 mph limit and crashing my mpg to 20 as I gained the speed limit.

I reached the intersection directly across from the gas station I’d been aiming for, but their fuel delivery truck was there and all the pumps were blocked off. I turned off the music so I could think.

The light blinked faster. I saw the other gas station, 100 yards across the street to my right. I took a chance and went for it. But the driveway had been reconfigured, and I had to go a little farther to reach the pumps and I still had to cross traffic. If I stalled now, I’d be in the middle of the road with oncoming vehicles and drivers around here aren’t all that kind to fools who run out of gas in the middle of everything.

As I waited, the engine stopped and I panicked. But then my brain said, “hey, it always does than when you’re stopped more than a couple seconds, remember? It’s a Prius! Prius play dead at stops.”

Oh, yeah.

Traffic cleared, I hit the accelerator, and zoom! I bounced into the driveway and up to the pump, cheering all the way. Until I saw the price of gas at that conveniently located station. Gadzooks! With no other choice, I put a couple gallons in, knowing that would be more than enough to get me home.

I was quite pleased with myself for making those thin fumes of fuel last the final miles. But next time, I’ll allow my paranoia to have its way and I’ll make sure I have enough gas to get home without playing will she, won’t she? with my car.

I don’t need that many gray hairs all at once.

When it Rains...I Don't Care

 Would you look at this! A second blog post in a month. What will I think of next?

It’s still along the same vein as the last one, griping about this, that, and the cryptkeeper’s effects on her caregivers, but to clarify:

A) I’m still not “on” facebook. I can share this post on facebook without actually going TO facebook, and that’s fine by me. Except I can’t see any comments, unless Tammie remembers to share them with me. Every time I think about pulling up facebook on my phone or computer and checking things out, my stomach does this thing that feels a lot like wanting to barf, so I play a game of solitaire and go work on my article or a manuscript or a painting or a card project or baking...

B) I have gone beyond the wishing-I-was no-longer-here feelings and am now firmly ensconced in the I-feel-nothing stage of whatever the hell this is. I suppose it’s a scary place to be, because there’s a tiny part of me that asks, “what will happen if something goes wrong, will you be able to help?” and to be honest, I don’t know. I could pretend, and if that gives comfort, then fine. Whatever. But that’s the deal, everything is just “whatever.”

What.Ever.

Things can still piss me off really bad, probably more so and a lot faster now than before. Just recently I was placing an order online and there was a problem with the address. Because we have a P.O.Box, getting things delivered can be a problem. Not all delivery services will accept a POBox address. That’s fine. We also have a street address, but that one is NOT the address registered with the bank. So, I have to have separate addresses for shipping and billing. Most of the time, it’s not a big deal, however, the business where I was attempting to shop insisted the two addresses be the same, and they do not deliver to POBoxes.

Enter the bad Karen. Bad Karen WILL make you cry and wet your pants, because while Bad Karen has been trying to play the game by the rules, the rules are broken so it doesn’t work. After 30 minutes of attempting, and failing, to make the address thingy match up, Bad Karen was ready to make a phone call that would definitely ruin someone’s day/week/month/whatever. And I didn’t care. I was gonna make all those Karen memes look like child’s play when I finished my phone call. I was gonna dump out my drawer of offensive language and personal attacks to mix in with my rant AND I was going to start the whole thing with them. I didn’t fear hurting someone’s feelings. My “anger filter” has always been fear that I would hurt someone’s feelings or ruin their day just because I’m unhappy about something. But that filter is gone, Bad Karen has no fear and I was ready to go raw on someone.

Thankfully, my Tammie filter is still working and disaster was avoided (she took away my phone). This means at some point I’ll be able to attempt to do business with that company again (since they’re the only store of their kind within a two-and-a-half-hour drive). If the order doesn’t go through because of sheer stupidity on their end, then they’ve lost a sale and I don’t fucking care.

Whatever.

So, am I ok? I don’t think so, but I don’t care. There’s a big hard lump where my all my feelings used to be and anger is all that’s left. It’s pissed off at everything, and most everyone, but I don’t care. I will probably punch the first person who tells me to “smile” or tries to tell me, “it’s not so bad” or “other people have it worse” or even say those things as a joke, because it’s not funny. It hurts.

It fucking hurts, and I’m furious. And I don’t care.

Will there ever be any blog posts that AREN’T fueled by rage? Will I EVER feel like a decent human being who can enjoy watching puppies play, chatting with strangers in the grocery store, or sunsets at the beach, or funny memes on facebook? I don’t know. It will depend on several things over which I have zero control.

So, if after all this you still want to contact me, come on over to the blog and leave a comment because that’s the only way I’m going to interact with anyone online for a while.

It’s been a rough four years with a pandemic chaser and for us, we have a side of old woman to go with it, so I know I’m not alone. If you’re feeling much the same as I am, let me know and we can rant together at the blog.

Let's Play Catch-up. Again

 Here we are, a new year and a long stretch of non-communication since the last time I posted (and promised to post more often, but we can all see how well THAT turned out).

Lots has been happening. Not much of it has been good or happy, either, which totally sucks.

The pandemic is STILL going on and we’re STILL at home, eyeing every stranger (and a few family members) with suspicion and standing fast with face masks and cans of spray disinfectant at the ready. I honestly think we could have enjoyed it a lot more if we hadn’t taken Tammie’s mother in to live with us. Dementia sucks, and her mother, besides being a victim of dementia, is also a HUGE fan of drama and is still quite capable of inflicting all kinds of havoc on the household. On purpose.

Due to several small strokes that have jettisoned most of what was left of her mind, the Old Woman has taken to wittering (a kind of high-pitched mumbling) about whatever she’s doing. For instance, “I’m walkin’. I’m walkin’. Here I come. I’m walkin’.” as she very slowly makes her way down the hallway from her room to the living room. It’s a very long walk. The house isn’t large, but when someone is narrating their adventure from one room to the next, it gets both larger and smaller at the same time.

Most mornings she’ll sit back in her bedroom stuck halfway through getting dressed, with her pants at her ankles, all the while saying, “Stand up, pull up. Stand up, pull up. Stand up…” you get the idea. This will go on for an hour or more, despite being reminded several times that if she wants breakfast she needs to finish getting dressed, which means she needs to STAND UP and PULL UP her pants. Wittering continues once she’s in the living room, because everything must be narrated. It’s like having a mosquito buzzing around your ears for hours and there’s absolutely nothing that will make it stop. Then there’s the regular whining about all kinds of things.

Twice this month she gave us a break and spent a majority of the day in her room, talking to no one, at least no one we can see or hear. I like those very rare days, because with music from the stereo, most of the wittering is drown out and we have some peace. Tammie checks in on her every 20 – 30 minutes or so, brings her food and makes sure she’s okay. Around 4 p.m., right about the time we’re starting dinner preparation, she made her appearance.

Yeah, 2020 was not a fun year, and some of that is leaking into 2021.

Besides the extra help the Old Woman began needing, things were kind of scary all over, especially during the Black Lives Matter marches in Portland and Seattle. That’s when Tammie discovered that friends of ours had strong opinions of the protests and had no compunctions against lobbing them at her. Tammie and I are firm believers and supporters of Black Lives Matter and are doing our best to be anti-racist. It’s hard work with lots to remember (which is the hardest part because stress is beating the hell out of our ability to remember stuff), but it’s work we’re more than happy and willing to do.

Our friends, on the other hand, while insisting they aren’t racist, will not support BLM because “all lives matter” “they’re destroying legitimate businesses just to wreck things” blah, blah, blah and no amount of offering up information would change their mind. They “know things” because they listen to “the deep, dark web where ALL the REAL, unfiltered information comes from” and it’s the same with the “hoax virus” which leads them to not wear masks. Tammie was crushed. We had both hoped that we could nurture a friendship with them, have couples movie night or host dinner and table games. But that doesn’t look likely to happen now. What hurts the most is their cavalier attitude that some high-risk folks are simply expendable (like Tammie, me, and the Old Woman). Nothing says “fuck you” like refusing to keep people safe.

To keep with the theme of 2020, we ended up closing our hat store. We had high hopes for our new location, but between the plague and the Old Woman, we were done, physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially. Even though the new location was truly wonderful, any time you move a business, even if it’s to a cleaner, safer location, you lose business. So, with all those things in play, and no end of the pandemic in sight we decided it would be best if we just closed it down. It still hurts like hell.

November rolled around and we had the elections. Then came the fun part. Let me just sum it up: Fuck. Good grief. WTF?!? and, of course, the HOLY SHIT! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME day of January 6^th.

My fear level had already been cranked up into the red zone, and reading things on social media didn’t help, especially with the pundits pundit-ing that there would be more trouble on inauguration day. The thought of seeing all the hopes and dreams we hoped and voted for come to a horrific halt was more than I could bear. Things started to spiral down, hard and fast.

One morning, I woke up and was hit with an old feeling that I hadn’t had in a very long time. A crushing hopelessness, dread, and regret. Regret that I woke up because I knew I was facing another day of the exact same things that we’ve struggled through every day for nearly a year, another day of fear, stress, more stress, and trying to keep Tammie supported while she deals with her mother and her mother driving us both into despair. It was too much. I had reached a point where I wasn’t sure I could, or even wanted to live through it any more. I no longer cared about me, or anyone else.

Tammie had to spend the emotional and physical “spoons” to comfort and support me. It was hard on both of us, as neither of us has the energy to spare. I made the decision to get off of facebook for the foreseeable future. There are not enough videos of baby animals that could lift that mood.

While stepping away from facebook has helped some, we’re still assailed on a daily basis by many of the things that constantly beat us down and contributed to my despair. It goes on every fucking day. ALL FUCKING DAY LONG. Every so often, we can distract her with a magazine or catalog with pretty pictures in them, but she loses interest and if the television is off (“you don’t need to turn it on for my sake”) the wittering begins. On goes the testosterone-poisoned westerns, or the Walton’s with their whiny harmonica soundtrack, or, gods help me, Little House on the Prairie. It’s like being verbally and emotionally beaten by noise that offends. It’s crushing, not just emotionally, but spiritually and mentally. And, to make things even worse, all the elder care support groups are no longer meeting due to the pandemic.

Then on January 20^st, nothing horrible happened. President Biden was sworn in, took the office and began undoing some of the horrors that was caused by the previous administration. It was a HUGE load off our shoulders, both Tammie and I felt it, and from what we’ve seen on the few social media outlets we still look at, we weren’t alone.

My funk has receded enough that I might consider feeling some hope, but it hasn’t shown up yet. We’re working on clearing out the spare room (because it took the brunt of harboring stuff during the holidays) so with luck, Tammie’s sister will come and take care of their mother for a few days and we can go somewhere else. Someplace where we can find that hope, feed it, and allow it to return, even for a little while.

Tales of Battle from the Kitchen of a Failed Domestic Goddess.

 

There’s been an incident… That’s Karen-speak for “the kitchen is a disaster and stuff has landed where it really shouldn’t and now it’s dried up and stuck there forever. Or water. Sometimes there’s just a whole lotta watta EVERYWHERE!

Actually, there were TWO incidents in as many days. The first happened when it was time to clean our wonderful steam juicer. We love that thing, as it is a much easier way to extract juice from fruits in order to make jelly. Clean-up, however is another story.

The juicer is quite large. It comes in three pieces (five if you include the hose and the lid). You’d think being able to break it down into smaller components would mean easy clean-up, right? Not in our tiny kitchen sink. It’s like trying to bathe a buffalo in a bathtub. There was a lot of loud noise, clanging, and some swearing. It managed to get caught between the sink and the tap, which forced water to go places. Many places.

Then, just when I thought it was all over, I discovered I’d forgotten to clamp the hose. I learned of this omission quite simply when the front of me became sodden. I grabbed the hose to bring it back up to the sink and it flung an arc of water across several cabinets and counter areas. It reminded me of when my older son was born and he peed on the doctor that delivered him. At least this time nothing was sticky.

That same day I canned 9 quarts of veggie broth done, so I was a bit tired and the kitchen was sweltering.

The very next day someone (Tammie) mentioned zucchini bread and I thought, "what the hell. I'm terrible at quick breads, but I'll give it a shot."

We (Tammie) looked through several cookbooks (we have...a few...dozen) and all the recipes called for a cup of oil. That seemed a bit excessive, so we (Tammie) decided I should buzz up a couple of apples to replace some of the oil. This requires the use of a piece of kitchen equipment with whom I am locked in an eternal battle of wills, but because zucchini bread sounded so good, I figured, "eh, I can do this."

I peeled, cored, and chopped up some apples and tossed them into mine enemy, the Vitamix ®, placed the pitcher onto the base and then watched the blades slap the shit out of the apple pieces. Fine. I’ll throw in a banana to give it something more to work on. That helped, but there were still apple pieces in dire need of pulverizing. Ok. Let’s add ½ cup of oil.

Yeah, that didn’t do much either, so… it was time to bring out the tiny cup thing. Now, this tiny cup thing is a marvel. It gets the food right where it needs to be in order to turn it from solid to semi liquid in mere seconds. It’s super small, and therefore will not tolerate bouncing apple bits. I put part of the apple/banana/oil mixture into the tiny cup, fastened the blade part, and set it on the base. That little bastard made short work of the mix, giving me a lovely smooth sauce-like stuff. Very tasty sauce, at that. I emptied the cup and refilled it with the remaining stuff from the pitcher, attached it to the blade whatziz, set it on the base and… nothing.

Zero, zip, zilch-a-roonie. This is not unusual, and highly annoying. I took it apart, cleaned things, put it back together, and still nothing. After several minutes of repeated nothingness, I surrendered. Fortunately, I had enough “sauce” to get things done, it just wasn’t all super smooth.

Turn we now, to the stand mixer. The mixing paddle was present, but the bowl was AWOL. Then I remembered, I’d assigned it dishwasher duty and it was awaiting further orders. I changed tactics and dumped stuff into a regular mixing bowl and grabbed the electric hand mixer. We’re good buddies. We understand each other.

Of course, one of us just has to be a fucking traitor.

Everything was going as planned. Batter was mixed and the mixer was removed from the bowl. Unfortunately, there was a bit of oil on my hand and it compromised my grip. The next thing I knew, the “on” thingy had been moved forward and the beaters were flinging batter EVERYWHERE!

There’s batter on the counter, there’s batter on the cabinets, there’s batter on my jars of broth, and there’s batter in my freshly washed hair. Zero to disaster in .5 seconds.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow I’m going to work at the shop and stay as far from the kitchen as possible. By the way, the zucchini bread turned out perfectly, despite the lack of walnuts. But with what’s been happening to me in the kitchen the past couple days, I wasn’t about to add sharp knives to the mix.

Critter Update

For the longest time, I always thought of Freya Fishwhore as the typical nit-witted nitwit, with all the brains and wisdom that graces a turnip.

Mostly, I'm right, however... Freya Fishwhore can talk. I know, I know, you think I've been in quarantine too long, but I'll have you know that I've rather enjoyed quarantine because being around people makes me anxious. Staying home is good. There's plenty to do. I have a computer.

Occasionally I get the urge to take a car ride and make sure the rest of the world is still getting it's mail delivered to the planet. It is, and I'm done.

Anyway, Freya has developed a rather rudimentary (and occasionally just plain rude) vocabulary. It started one fine evening, when Tammie and I were sitting around and Freya came in and stated, "I'm a cowww!"

Tammie and I looked at each other and she said, "Did she just tell us she thinks she's a cow?"
"Yes. I do believe she did. I don't know if I should correct her for being wrong, or praise her for talking about it."

Several months later, she stood outside the bedroom door and said, "Mooommmmaaa" in her most plaintive voice. Tammie was in there, trying to nap. It was sweet. And a little annoying. It's very difficult to sleep when someone keeps yelling for you.

Recently she got a little sassy when she wanted to go hang out by herself in the bedroom. Tammie asked, "Don't you think you've been in there by yourself long enough?" and the answer was quite clear: "No."

We'd love to get this on video, but she's a typical feline when it comes to cooperating, and falls silent the moment the phone is aimed at her.

Rocky is still Rocky. His eating habits are bar none, the most irritating thing about him. Well, that and the ability to take up the entire loveseat by himself. And overreact about everything. But the eating! Sheesh.

Right now, he's working on his breakfast. Mind you, it's 11:50 in the morning and we usually feed the hounds around 6:00. But Rocky rarely eats then, for whatever reason. If we leave his bowl down, he will spend the entire day guarding it. He won't move, he'll bark at anything that looks at his bowl. Even me.

So, today, Tammie is feeding him, a few kibble at a time, by dropping them on the floor for him to scavenge. She's thrilled. It's a good thing she adores the hell out of that dog, let me tell you.

Douglas is doing very well. He's lost enough weight we cannot call him a sausage any more. He has found a new purpose in life, and that is taking over everything. He can jump up on the furniture and snuggle with whatever human happens to be sitting there. His favorite thing in the world is to cuddle up next to a person and have Thor join in the pile. Then Douglas will clean Thor's ear until he's tickling the single working brain cell inside that damn cat's head. Then Thor will turn to get the other ear cleaned out. It makes them both happy.

Miss Bitte is fine. Just fine. The new residents are annoying, although jumping onto the back of the recliner is a lot more fun now. The old woman who sits there makes all kinds of interesting noises. But she always has at least one chihuahua in her lap, so there's no going in for a scritch, despite the magic fuzzy blanket of warmth. It's quite the conundrum for her furry little brain, warm place with chihuahua, or high perch and the knowledge that her presence is annoying. Such a dilemma.

Then there's "Teeny" the dog that came with Tammie's mother.

Let's just fast forward to the point where we can go for a mile walk at a reasonable pace and no one dies. When she first got here, I got her to the end of the driveway and half way to the corner before she had to be carried back. She's an older dog, but no one seems to recall how old she is. She's also discovered what it means to be a dog and have the run of a secure yard (with grass!) and only two limited meals per day. Two meals of a single serving each! Plus some kibble snacks for good behavior.

She's a sweet little thing, and has decided I'm pretty cool, mainly because I take her for walks where she can sniff at giant piles of bear poop, snuffle around the coyote poop, and bark at raccoon poop. She will also leave her contribution to the poop parade, usually at the doorstep of the local wild rabbit warren in the vacant field of blooming sneeze (a.k.a. Scotch broom). Her likes include, ignoring the boy dogs, chasing Miss Bitte (that cat is gonna wallop her a good one soon), snacks, breakfast, snacks, dinner, walkies with Karen, pooping, and visiting the rhubarb. She also loves Rocky's favorite teddy bear and will give it a vicious shaking and play tug-o-bear with it, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ROCKY!!!

Her dislikes: loud noises, walking when the wind is blowing (unless it's blowing from behind her), tall grass (which, when you're a chihuahua, is pretty much everywhere), and being told NO! especially if it involves food. Tammie carries scars from trying to get her to drop something she shouldn't eat.

Thor is still the dumbest cat on the planet and I really don't like him. He's taken to finding new and creative places to take a dump, and has also taken up the hobby of bathtub peeing. Really. I do not like that cat. His only redeeming quality is my darling love adores him. If she didn't, he'd be an outdoor cat.

The New Computer

For about a month or so, I've been experiencing things. Ungood things. Unfun things, and they're all related to my desktop computer.

I love that machine. It is small, fits perfectly on my desk and still has room for the printer. Then it started forgetting stuff. We'd be in the middle of something and everything would stop, except the strange whirring noise from inside the tower.

The screen would sit there, staring into space, a small puddle of drool forming near the keyboard. At first, I'd try distracting it by clicking something, but that never worked. Sometimes a gentle "tap-tap" on the tower would startle it awake again and we'd be back in business.

Sometimes that wouldn't work and I'd walk away. Usually, in a few minutes, there would be some kind of noise, or the screen would go black for a few seconds and tah-daaah! it would be like nothing happened. Well, nothing is EXACTLY what happened, but you know what I mean.

Then it started staying like that for a longer period. Like 10 minutes. Then 15. I don't know if we would have made it to 20, because I'd just to a hard boot and restore things when prompted. But every time that happened, I would worry.

I'd been given a new (open box, but still new) external hard drive and everything was neatly backed up on it. However, when I went to check on it, I realized I didn't have the key code to access that information, so if there had been a catastrophic failure of epic proportions, I would have been totally screwed. A friend suggested a specific cloud service, so I went for it.

I was warned it would take a while to do that backup, so I was prepared, or so I thought. 12 hours in, it got hung up on a single file, where it sat for many hours. All attempts at moving things along failed, so I turned off the computer.

The next day, I started it up again, and fortunately the backup resumed where it had left off. 20 hours later, it was done. 20 hours, plus the original 12... that makes for a very long time to do anything on a computer.

I knew it was time, so I bit the bullet and called a friend for help. I must say, I am very grateful for the computer savvy people in my life. Especially the ones who do not treat me like an idiot. She asked a few questions, did a quick search, and came up with exactly what I needed for a price I could afford.

She said, "It's solid state, so it will be a lot faster."

She was not kidding. It downloaded chrome in 4 seconds, and took another 30 to install it.

It's not the latest OS or whatever, but it's plenty for me.

Soon, very soon, I'll be attempting to get all my stuff back from the cloud where it rests in tranquil safety. I just hope everything will play nice and all my stuff will come back to me.

(I'll cross my fingers once I'm done typing).