The Donuts and the Box: Fly on the Wall

 

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

PurDude texts me every day, just a quick check in. Monday through Friday, it's at around 11:00 am, and on the weekends, it's when he gets out of bed, around 4:30 pm (unless he's going skiing).

It was afternoon on a weekday and I hadn't heard from him. So I texted him, just a quick "how are you?"

PurDude: I'm sorry, I was tied up with meetings this morning. I didn't expect you to get so angry.

Angry? I kept reading his response, why did he think I was angry? And then I read my initial text to him, and saw the added "d." Apparently I hadn't texted "how are you?" I'd texted "how dare you?"

We'd been watching a baseball game when a player who hadn't played for a while due to injury came up to bat.

Hubs: He looks really little.

Me: Yeah, he's short.

Hubs: You're on your laptop, Google his height.

Me: He's 5'8".

A little later, another player came up to bat.

Hubs: He looks really little too.

Me: He isn't tall, but he doesn't look as short as the last guy, I bet he's 5'11" or so.

Hubs: I guess so, maybe around 5'`10". Google him and see how tall he is.

I do. And start to laugh.

Hubs: What's so funny.

Me: Either everyone's 5'8", or Google thinks everyone's 5'8".

Another night, another Sox game, and this time the Sox were on a losing streak. During the game, the announcer addressed the situation:

Announcer: Before the game, Cora (the manager) was trying anything to change their luck. He was even seen in the dugout beating the monster.

Me: What??? That's X rated, they can't say that on TV.

Hubs: Say what?
Me: That Cora was . . . you know . . . beating the monster in the dugout.

Hubs: Feeding. He was feeding the mascot head. 

Me (in my best Rosanne Rosenadanna voice): Oh. Never mind.

So, here's the story. The Red Sox mascot is Wally the Green Monster (named for the famous the monster sized green wall in Fenway Park). This year, there has been a large mascot head in the dugout. When a player gets a home run, he puts on the head and walks through the dugout.

Apparently, before this particular game, Cora was throwing food into the large open mouth on the Wally head. I guess sort of like making an offering to the gods.

And as strange as this may be, it's a whole lot better than what I thought he was doing.

I was trying out a new recipe. It wasn't mine, something I'd seen online. The recipe was pretty vague, giving the basics, but no specifics, allowing for interpretation. 

 

I prepared the chicken as per the recipe, then mixed the 3 ingredients specified for the topping, but from there, it was up to me. I chose what I wanted to enhance the sauce with, spread it on the chicken and put it in the oven.

 

I was hopeful, but as it cooked, I started to have my reservations. Then Hubs walked in the door and said the quiet part out loud.

 

Hubs: What smells like armpits?
Me: That would be dinner.

 

Dinner was OK. Not bad, but I wouldn't make it again. Dessert though, the Apple Crumble Tartlets were delish! 

Apple Crumble Tartlets

This is a perfect example of hedging your bets.

Hubs looks at the weather report and swears by it. I'm more skeptical, following years of seeing meteorologists frequently getting it wrong, and because I can get more viable information by just . . . you know . . . looking out the window.

So weather reports, for me, are either mostly confirmation of what's going on outside or, often, a way to get a good laugh.

Like today.

It's really cloudy outside, getting cooler, feels like a storm is going to come through. It's 8:00 am, and I look at the weather report, which both tells me that the chance of rain is 90%, and the UV index shows I should wear sunscreen from 9:00 am to 6:00 pm.

Sorry guys, you kinda can't have it both ways.

Although I could end up having another chuckle if Hubs lathers up in sunscreen to go out in the rain.

I love those little Dunkin' munchkins. Hubs, every now and then will come home in the morning with a box of them. I think it's great that you can pick which flavors you want and how many of each. It's like a mini donut smorgasbord.

Hubs is an intelligent guy, but handy, he is not. That may be an understatement.

Exhibit one:

He cannot work the munchkin box. 

And honestly, I'm not sure what's more fun, being surprised with the Dunkin' treats, or watching him trying to figure out how to close the box.

I guess I've got my puzzle games, and he's got his.

 

So . . . donuts . . .

Once again, I was trying a recipe that wasn't mine. It was for donut twists made in the air fryer, and without yeast. I'd made baked donuts before (Vanilla Glazed Baked Coffee Donuts, Baked Caramel Apple Donuts, Baked Chocolate Lovers' Donuts, Baked Cinnamon Carrot Donuts, Baked Cookies and Creme Donuts, Baked Key Lime Donuts), and I'd also used the basic yeast free dough mentioned in this donut twist recipe before in my Rosemary Infused Shrimp Scampi Pizza, both of which had been successful. So I decided to give it a try.

I wasn't happy. First they weren't baking as twists, so I rolled them into 12 round (what I hoped would be) donut holes. They browned, but still not happy.

Me (calling down to Hubs in his man cave): Want to come and see if these are edible?
Hubs (coming up the stairs): What are they?

Me: Well, they're not donuts.

Hubs: OK, they aren't donuts, but what are they?
Me: I don't know.

Hubs: You don't know what they are?
Me: I know what they aren't and they aren't donuts.

Turns out what they ended up being was food for the kitchen trash compactor.

If you were a fly on the wall at my house this past month, you would have been witness to a few things that just didn't work out for me.

1) Sneezing while applying nail polish.

2) Walking down the street to the mailbox without the key.

3) Plugging the charging cord into my laptop without plugging the other end into the wall.

4) Putting dinner on the grill and leaving a clean plate and spatula next to the grill while I went in the house to work on the sides. Then coming back outside to find that a bird had . . . well . . . let's just say I needed a new clean plate and spatula {{gag}}.

5) Reenacting an old cartoon scene where I play Bugs Bunny when Yosemite Sam shot at his feet telling him to dance. That composite deck we had built last year apparently soaks up the broiling heat from the sun the way our wood deck had not. My poor feet. Went out to water my plants and came dancing. I'm sure the neighbors are still laughing.

I was watching a show, and the cop was describing his assessment of the intelligence of the suspect. At least I think that's what he was doing. 'Cause I didn't quite get it.

He stated that she clearly wasn't the sharpest bulb in the drawer. And I honestly don't know exactly what that means.

But then maybe he knows what he's talking about, and I'm just not the sharpest tack in the box. Or the sharpest knife in the drawer. Or the sharpest tool in the shed. Or the brightest bulb in the circuit . . .

But at least I can close the donut box.

 

Things have been incrediby tough for me lately. Not only am I heartbroken and terrified about the fact that it's this generation that allowed our country to be decimated, but a lot has been going on for me on a personal level. It's been hard to keep my head above water.

So I want to end this month on a hopeful note. I've taken some recent signs from nature, and tried to incorporate their message into my thinking.

I went out front to water my plants when there, between the front door and where I was going, sat a beautiful butterfly. Right on my driveway. When I got right up next to him to take this picture, he moved forward a few steps but, surprisingly, didn't leave.

I looked it up, it's a Black Swallowtail Butterfly, and if it visits you it's supposed to symbolize a major life change, a transition to something new and positive, an ending of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Sounds perfect to me.

But then as I was heading back into the house, I stepped up to the front porch and there, hanging right over my head (freaking me out), was a big, thick, hairy Wolf Spider (yes, way bigger than the picture shows, no way was I getting any closer). Oh, no, does this negate all that positive? 

Back to Google. There are two versions of what a spider hanging over your head symbolizes. The first, based on superstition, is that you will receive a letter. The front porch location means that a new energy or message will enter your life.

The other potential interpretation is that it represents good luck and wealth, that something positive or important is going to descend from above.

But wait. That's not all.

As I opened the front door to go into the house, I looked down and to my right and saw something I've never seen before, a pure white moth. The moth also didn't fly away as I bent to take a picture.

Does this also have meaning? I don't know, I didn't even know they existed.

Back to my friend Google. And this time, with mixed results. Although some ancient beliefs is that they represent death or misfortune (yikes), by far most believe they are symbolic of hope, great change, guidance, or protection.

I tend to be far more analytical than spiritual, so one butterfly alone could just be chance. Add in the hanging spider and you could still have a coincidence. But three separate sightings? All within minutes of each other? I think someone is trying really hard to get me to see something. And I'm going to say that something is that I should have hope, that change is coming. 

Thank you, Mother Nature, for the beautiful gift. Just when I need it.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Apple Crumble Tartlets

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1/2 package refrigerated pie crusts

5 apples, peeled and chopped

5 TBSP butter, room temperature, divided

1 TBSP lemon juice

4 1/2 TBSP brown sugar, divided

1 1/2 tsp cinnamon, divided

1/4 tsp apple pie spice mix

5 TBSP flour, divided

OPT: whipped cream or vanilla ice cream

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

*Roll out the pie crust. Using a cookie cutter or a 3 1/2 inch template, cut out 12 circles. If you don't get all 12, using a rolling pin, roll out the unused portions around the circles to make more. Press the circles into the bottoms and partially up the sides of 12 sturdy 3 inch disposable tart liners.

*Heat 1 TBSP butter with the lemon juice over medium heat in a skillet. Add the apples, 2 TBSP of the brown sugar, 1 tsp of the cinnamon and the apple pie spice mix. Cook, stirring, until the apples start to soften. Mix in 1 TBSP of the flour to thicken up. Set aside.

*For the topping, cut the remaining 4 TBSP flour, 2 1/2 TBSP brown sugar and 1/2 tsp cinnamon into the remaining softened butter. Set aside.

*Divide the apple mixture among the 12 tarts, add the topping and place the tart liners into a 9 X 13 pan. Bake for 30 minutes. Serve once cooled or partially cool and serve warm.

*OPT: top with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

Birdbrain: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

Often, when I'm reading through my social media feeds, if I find something amusing, I share it with Hubs.

Me: OK, this is a Julia Child quote: "The only time to eat diet food is when you're waiting for the steak to cook."

Hubs (laughing): That's funny, but I thought she was dead.

Me: I'm pretty sure she said stuff when she was alive . . .

We were sitting in the den watching a movie when Hubs started coughing. And coughing.

Me: Do you want me to get you some water? Or a cough drop?

Hubs (still coughing): I'd rather have a cookie.

Me: I don't think that will help with your coughing fit.

Hubs: And???

It seems I have a little secret admirer. Who's actually not so little, and not so secret.

The cicadas are active starting in late May or early April and remain active for 4 to 6 weeks. Living along the woods, we really, really, really hear them. Four to 6 weeks of loud chirping. But by the middle of July, maybe the end of July for the stragglers, they've produced their eggs and have died off.

Or have they?

It's the end of August now, the incessant chirping has quieted. Phew.

I was sitting in the den when I heard a thump at the side of the house. Concerned, I went to the window. And there, on the screen, was this monster, the incredible Hulk of the bug world:

How is that possible? This guy is still here. And apparently spending the day watching me through the window.

I didn't think anything else about it, until a few mornings later, I went out to the deck with my coffee. And guess who was waiting for me . . .

Some people have little secret admirers, how sweet. Apparently, I've got a Hulk sized insect stalker.

Lucky me.

I was recently issued a challenge by my trash bags. Not something I'd experienced before, but there it was, written in plain English:

Warning: to avoid danger of suffocation, do not use this.

So, I feel threatened. And I have a decision to make. Do I take my chances with the threat of suffocation? Or do I pay for the trash bags, but not dare to use them?

We love corn season, and hate that it's so short. This year, as always, we took advantage of it as much as we could.

A few weeks ago, after we'd finished dinner, I took a look at our cobs, and wondered just how much it says about us, how we eat our corn.

One is mine, and one is Hubs'. Can you guess which one belongs to whom?

And which one are you?

Grilled Orange Pork Chops

I had mentioned to Hubs that there was a small weed growing in my Day Lillies out back. He was going out to mow so I asked him to pull it. Obviously he forgot, the next time I looked out back, that weed was growing like . . . well . . . a weed.

A few days later were in the den watching TV:

Me: That weed in the flowers has gotten huge, it's really bothering me.

Hubs: I'll get it during a commercial.

A commercial comes on, and Hubs goes into the garage. He comes out and I see him heading for the back deck (which does not have stairs into the back yard) wearing gloves and carrying a garden trowel.

Me: What are you doing?
Hubs: I'm going to get that weed.

Me: Are you planning to jump off of the deck? Or do you have some kind of Gumby superpower?

Hubs: What do you mean? Your flower pot is right out here on the deck.

Me: The weed is in the Day Lillies out back. If it was in my flower pot, I would have pulled it when it first started growing. It certainly wouldn't require you going out there dressed for combat.

Sheesh!

Oh, and that weed is still there. Pretty soon it should be a climbable beanstalk.

 

We had a pair of Barn Swallows trying to build a nest on the bricks above my front door, and we weren't having it. We already have a nest up in our gutters and under our back deck. No matter where we go on our own property, we get dive bombed.

But no way am I letting them build a nest on the bricks over the door. For one thing, we need to use that door, and we've gotten used to, you know, things like getting packages, and people being able to ring our doorbell. I know there's an old superstition about birds pooping on your head being good luck, but I'm not falling for that one.

Swallows are protected, so you can't remove an active nest, but you can stop them from starting one. 

So, I'd been going outside all day long shooing the pair away. Not fun. I thought I was getting somewhere, but there turned out to be bumps in the road.

You can see that to the left (in this picture) of the front door, there's a wall. So when I come out the front door, I can't see what's happening on the other side of that wall.

I realized this when I was out front clapping my hands and yelling "go away" when suddenly I a woman who apparently had been coming up the sidewalk with her two dogs, started to run past my house dragging her poor dogs along with their leashes.

Oops, I didn't mean you, lady. 

Those Swallows, they had a few tricks up their sleeves (umm . . . wings?). 

Interesting. Anyone know anything about the sexual practices of birds?

Not me, so when Hubs comes in from work, right away I have a question for him. Because it seems they were quite serious about their choice of nesting spot.

Me: Do Barn Swallows do three ways?

Hubs: Huh? 

Me: Barn Swallows, do they get kinky?

Hubs: Where did that come from?

Me: That Barn Swallow couple I'd been shooing away all day? Well they're back . . . and they brought a friend.

So now we've got 3 Barn Swallows circling our front door. 

Eventually, my persistence seems to have prevailed. They finally seemed to get the idea that they weren't going to be able to build on my bricks. Hubs hosed the mud/saliva (yuck) cement they left on the bricks, and when I checked later, it was still gone. Phew.

Not so fast.

I turned around, and instead of above, but opposite the door, they had started again. Different brick wall, but just like 10 feet from where they were.

What a bunch of birdbrains.

I can't spend all day every day racing to the front door to yell at birds. We had both googled and asked at multiple stores what to do to "encourage" the birds to go elsewhere. The only thing we could come up with is that they don't like shiny things.

So Hubs went out front with heavy tin foil and duct tape. It wouldn't stick to the brick, and Hubs ended up wrapped all up in it like a shiny mummy.

Now what? Should we buy mylar balloons and hang them from the columns? 

Eventually I found hook and loop fastener tape option with adhesive that sticks to brick. We cut it into pieces, stuck one side to big squares of tin foil and up on a ladder using a long stick, stuck the tin foil to the brick. 

Will it ever come off? I have no idea. But the birds flew in and right back out again a few times, then high tailed it out of here.

I can't imagine what the neighbors, or even people driving by must think:

A) We're conspiracy theorists who think tin foil can prevent mind control.

B) We're attempting to communicate with extraterrestrials.

C:) We're really bad at decorating.

D) All of the above.

But that's a price I'm willing to pay, because victory is mine!

Hope I didn't just jinx that.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Grilled Orange Pork Chops

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

4 boneless pork chops, approximately 1 inch thick

1/3 cup orange marmalade

1 TBSP cooking sherry

1 TBSP maple syrup

1/2 tsp minced ginger

1/2 tsp minced garlic

1/4 tsp paprika

Directions:
*Place the pork chops into a gallon sized resealable plastic bag.

*Whisk together the marmalade, sherry, maple syrup, ginger, garlic, and paprika. Pour over the pork chops in the bag and seal. Manipulate so the chops are all covered with the marinade. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours and up to overnight, flipping over now and then.
*Preheat the grill to medium high heat. Place the pork chops onto the grill and reduce the heat to medium. Discard the remaining marinade.

*Allow the chops to cook for 3 minutes, then turn them about 45 degrees and cook for another 3 minutes. Flip them over and cook for 3 - 5 minutes. How long they need to cook will depend on the heat of your grill and thickness of your chops, but be sure they are cooked to 145 degrees.

*Remove the chops from the grill and allow to sit for a few minutes before serving.