Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, Sarah, 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!
I recently saw a commercial for Dish TV in which a bird asked a hyper (aren't they all?) squirrel "were you recently electrocuted?" I thought it was such a great burn, I started using it.
Hubs: Supposed to be a beautiful sunrise tomorrow, want me to wake you up?
Me: What time?
Hubs: About 5:30 am.
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?
Hubs: About 5:30 am.
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?
Response on Threads to a post about the continued attacks by the trump on medicare, medicaid and social security: He is the best president ever making America great again.
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?
I was sitting out on the back deck when I saw one of the workers from a new internet company laying cable in our area. He walked through the end of my neighbor's back yard, continued along the tree line of large cottonwoods along the woods behind my house. Clearly, he didn't see me. All of a sudden he stops, kicks one of the big trees, takes about 6 more steps, kicks another tree, and keeps going into my neighbor's yard on the other side.
Me (from the deck): Were you recently electrocuted?
Random Email from the co-founder of a company in Hamburg, Germany: We are searching for an online site to acquire. Your site came up in our research. Would you be interested in starting a conversation with us?
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?
But I need to be careful not to let the wrong word slip. When I somehow mistakenly asked Hubs if he'd been recently executed (oops) . . . let's just say the humor gets lost in the translation (so to speak).
I'm not someone who considers herself to have an especially dirty mind, and certainly not when it comes to produce.
But when you place your grocery pick up order online and it includes a sweet potato and a couple of russet potatoes, and this is what you get:
I mean, what am I supposed to do with this?
Wait, don't answer that. But here's something I know for sure, I'm not going to be peeling that thing.
I've mentioned before that, with the woods in our backyard, we have with all kinds of wildlife. Most of it we really enjoy, but some are actually quite destructive. Like the woodpeckers, who have cost us thousands of dollars.
And then there are the moles, who destroy our yard.
Hubs was advised to buy these solar mole deterrents, you put the plastic stake in your yard, the solar sensor is fitted into the top and emits a pulse and a sound that apparently the moles don't like. For the past few years, when we see we have a problem, Hubs puts them in the back lawn.
A few weeks ago, our neighbor came over to let us know that our yard and his were being attacked. He put out a trap, and Hubs put out 4 the solar deterrents.
A couple of days later I was in the back yard and almost tripped over a plastic stake sticking out of the ground. I looked around, and about 3 feet to the right, I found this:
So, I'm guessing the moles have decided to definitively make their objections known.
A recent new recipe was inspired by an impulse buy. I'd found some fresh hot chili pepper linguini, and knew what I wanted to do with it.
I boiled water to cook the linguini, put it in the pot, checked the directions on the package and was stumped: "boil for 2 - 3 minutes, until the product internal temperature reaches 165 degrees".
I mean, I've never checked the internal temperature of pasta before. Like, what do you even use? A meat thermometer? Oral? Rectal?
I was telling Hubs about the directions over dinner:
Hubs: So what did you do?
Me: I just cooked it for 3 minutes and hoped for the best.
Me: I just cooked it for 3 minutes and hoped for the best.
Hubs (giving me the side eye): And if the best doesn't happen?
Me: We'll be grateful that we have 4 bathrooms in this house.
Me: We'll be grateful that we have 4 bathrooms in this house.
Yes, we bravely ate it. And yes, it was delicious. And yes, we were fine. Phew.
Speaking of new recipes, once I have one in my head, I'm anxious to try it as soon as I can. Sometimes, though, I just don't have all of the ingredients on hand. That happened recently. I had everything but 2 ingredients.
Lucky for me, Hubs texted from work and wanted to know if I wanted him to pick anything up on the way home. I texted him the short list.
About an hour or so later, he texted me back:
Hubs: I know what the first thing on your list is, but I'm not quite sure about the second. Can you clarify?
Hubs: I know what the first thing on your list is, but I'm not quite sure about the second. Can you clarify?
I didn't know which item he was referring to, so I checked my text to him:
heavy cream
heavy cream
cinnamon pot farts
Oy. Make that Cinnamon Pop Tarts. There are no farts in my recipes. Ever.
Cinnamon Pastry Ice Cream (no churn)
I love to read, I'm mentioned it in many different blog posts, including in one of my earliest called Read This. My genre of choice is, and has always been, mysteries. I love trying to solve the who-done-it puzzle before the author reveals it.
Sometimes when reading, you pick up the strangest little bits of information when you least expect it. In the book I'm currently reading, the male protagonist was on a date. He's a scientist and, in trying to impress his date (not how I'd do it, but you do you, buddy), he imparted this bit of wisdom about the planets: "you can fit 63 Earths in Uranus."
Well I, for one, will never be able to think of the planets the same again.
Hubs and I have opposite eyes. He needs his glasses for close up, and I use mine for far away. I suppose if we could marry our visual resources we'd end up with 20/20, but those days are long gone.
An example of our opposite eyesight:
Hubs (looking at his cell): That's ridiculous.
Hubs (looking at his cell): That's ridiculous.
Me: What is?
Hubs: My cell says it's 79 degrees, and it's more like 65.
Me (looking at his cell): Put your glasses on.
Hubs: What do my glasses have to do with the weather.
Me: With your glasses on you might be able to see that the little symbol next to the 79 is not degrees, it's percent.
Hubs: What?
Me: You're not looking at the temperature, you're looking at your battery level.
Hubs: Oh. Never mind.
Hubs brought in the mail, and right away a pink envelope caught my eye.
Me: What's that?
Hubs: It's from your mother.
Hubs: It's from your mother.
Me (looking at the envelope): It's not FROM my mother, it's TO my mother.
I quickly grabbed the phone:
Me: Guess what I got in the mail today?
Mom: I don't know, what?
Me: Your birthday card.
Mom: I don't know, what?
Me: Your birthday card.
Mom: My birthday card? My birthday was weeks ago.
Me: Yeah, I guess they're real sticklers about that whole you need to add a stamp to your mail thing . . .
Hubs and I were sitting down to watch a Red Sox game.
Or to recite a comedy routine, although we didn't know it at the time.
Hubs: Looks like Casas isn't playing first base today.
Me: Who's on first?
Hubs: I don't know.
Hubs: I don't know.
Me (laughing): I know.
Hubs: Who?
Me: Yes.
I'm going to end this post on a very serious note.
I have, in the past when I was publishing 8 to 9 blog posts a month, spoken out quite a bit about both the politics in this country, and the hatred unleashed by the con man currently hell bent on destroying it. I don't generally bang my head against that brick wall in my posts as much, partly because at this point, I'm mostly only publishing this monthly Fly on the Wall.
But College Boy came here the other day with a story, and a picture, that both saddened and sickened me.
He had ordered some Mexican food, and was approaching the restaurant from the back when he saw something that made no sense. There was a truck parked behind the restaurant and what looked like a dead rabbit placed on the hood.
College Boy took a picture and went inside. He asked the person at the counter if that truck belonged to an employee. It did. When he was shown the picture, the employee didn't seem surprised. He told College Boy that people "have been messing" with them. "We think it's because we're Mexican." They do have cameras in the back, and he said he'd check the video.
But honestly, I think even if he reports it, no one will really care.
Because, right now, that's who we are.
So saddened, and sickened, and exceedingly ashamed.
Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:
Cinnamon Pastry Ice Cream (no churn)
©www.BakingInATornado.com
Ingredients:
3 Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon toaster pastries
2 TBSP cinnamon baking chips
1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
2 cups heavy cream
Directions:
*Line a loaf pan with strips of plastic wrap long enough to hang over the edges. Place in freezer.
*Line a loaf pan with strips of plastic wrap long enough to hang over the edges. Place in freezer.
*Toast and chop the toaster pastries. Place in freezer.
*Using a clean coffee grinder or a food processor, crush the baking chips into crumbs.
*In a large bowl, mix the sweetened condensed milk and the cinnamon chip crumbs. Set aside.
*Beat the heavy cream until stiff peaks hold, then fold into the condensed milk. Last, reserving a few pieces for the top if you want, fold in the chopped toaster pastries.
*Pour evenly into the loaf pan. Freeze overnight.
*Store in the loaf pan with the long ends of the plastic wrap folded over the top.
